#if they ended up alone in a room they might eventually have a few sparse and impersonal intercharges | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

maximotts · 3 years

Note

ceo natty making sure no one hurts her (pillow) princess

protective and soft natty pls

implied little!r

a/n: I wasn’t sure if you wanted smut for this, but since you mentioned pillow princess reader I just kinda went with it haha.. also I don’t write little!reader stuff so I just made reader shy and skittish? It fits with the vibe I think so I hope this is acceptable? I spent waaayyy too long on this so apologies for typos and whatever

warnings: 18+, minors DNI; smut; creepy men being creepy (Natasha saves you obvs); masturbation (briefly); fingering (r receiving); possessive Natasha, but she's very loving and soft to R

words: 2.9K

kinktober event. || kinktober masterlist. || main masterlist.

If you had it your way you’d be comfortably in bed in your pajamas, curled up while you watched the new baking show Netflix managed to squeeze out. Preferably in your girlfriend’s arms. The same girlfriend who’d kept you away from your cozy plans tonight.

Going into the relationship, you knew Natasha was a busy person. She was important, the best at what she did even. She was respected for good reason; Natasha worked hard to get where she was, having made it to the point where she didn't have to work another day for the rest of her life, but still she showed up and stayed present. It was safe to say Natasha was a workaholic. And while you were proud of her, you did miss her a lot.

Once it was clear you were serious about dating the slightly older woman, Natasha started to let you in more, but you were still subject to cancellations for "work emergencies" and "necessary work meetings." Eventually she insisted you move in with her, claiming she wanted to spend more time with you, but you had a sneaking suspicion the nights you went out drinking your loneliness with friends and her worry for your well-being had something to do with it too.

Living together was nice, sweet even. You got to sleep next to her each night and sometimes you woke up ridiculously early just to watch her resting face, to look at her face when her features were fully relaxed and free from thoughts of her work. Occupying the same space as Natasha also meant she knew your day to day schedule in and out and she tried to plan around you to get the most time with you, but sometimes things came up.

Things like tonight, some Halloween cocktail gathering for people who mean nothing to you, but everything to the future of business. Talks of stocks, trades, and risky investments flew back and forth while you either nodded half-heartedly or zoned out altogether. Natasha convinced you to come with promises of free drinks and laughing at everyone's stuck-up attitudes together and you reasoned that it might be nice to meet some of the people Natasha grumbled about most evenings at dinner.

Instead she'd left you alone about thirty minutes in and she's been sparse ever since, only seeing her for a moment when she found time to check in on you, twirl a stray hair at your ear and promise she'd be back in a few minutes. You wanted to be mad at the redhead, but mostly you were mad at yourself. It was expected she'd be drawn into conversations; everyone wanted to talk to the alluring Natasha Romanoff.

Occasionally she'd gesture in your direction and smile with a few other people, presumably talking about you and it made you blush every time, the proud grin on her face making you feel like the most important person in the room. No, it was impossible to stay upset with her when she looked at only you in such an uncharacteristically soft way.

So you settled into your little corner and scrolled your phone, nursing your glass of champagne while you waited for the event to end. It grew as comfortable as can be to at least not be bothered by anyone else, but of course that didn't last.

"So whose wife are you?"

The voice was almost weaselly, obviously a little intoxicated from the tinge of slur to his words. You let out a long-suffering breath, annoyed that you were now being bothered in the spot you'd carved out for yourself. "No one's. But I'm here with Natasha."

Any hope that he'd go away with the mention of your girlfriend's name was dashed when he only scooted closer. "Ah, you're her. And she left you here all alone?"

"She didn't leave me. She's busy." He was sitting way too close now, your bare arm brushing his suit sleeve. You didn't like this and Natasha would hate it. But she probably wasn't paying attention; you hadn't caught sight of her for at least twenty minutes and when you scanned the room you didn't find fiery red hair anywhere.

Whoever this man was apparently found your answer funny because he was laughing, his alcohol soaked breath hitting your nose along with an unfortunate spray of his saliva. If you could, you would've bolted, but he'd trapped you in the booth you sat in, his arm stretched out to the table now so even the thought of trying to squeeze by him was impossible. Maybe if you were more outspoken, you'd have yelled or had some scathing remark to send him running, but you remained painfully quiet. You cursed your head for staying empty when all you wanted to do was help yourself out of an excruciatingly uncomfortable situation.

"Seems like she left you, sweetheart. Does she do that a lot? I'd never let you out of my sight. Or my bed even." You felt bile rise in your throat at the insinuation.

So absorbed in your disgust, you didn't notice the looming shadow of a certain redhead cast over the drunk party guest. "I'm sure I didn't just hear what I thought I did." The man before you went pale as a sheet, eyes wide as he turned shakily to face your girlfriend. She had her arms crossed across her chest, staring him down as if she wasn't half his height once he stood up.

While he shook in fear, safety washed over you with her mere presence and something else, something like lust flooding you at the sight of her defensive stance. Natasha always made sure to remind you of your free will, to do whatever made you happy, but you wouldn't deny that her stepping between you and your annoyance made you feel.. protected. Like something you were worth protecting. Lovingly owned.

“What was it you were saying? You’d never let her out of your sight?” Natasha went to step closer, but at some point you’d grasped her hand and held it so she could tug you closer until your head was pressed against her hip. Instinctively, you folded against her side, eyes to the ground because as safe as you felt, looking at him wasn’t a necessity anymore so you wouldn’t. Natasha’s hand came to your head, smoothing out your hair much more lovingly than the rest of her.

The poor man finally grasped how fucked he truly was, eyes darting between Natasha and over to where the rest of the guests were talking to themselves, either unaware of the situation or knowing better than to intercept Natasha. “N-No, I didn’t mean it that way. I would never-!”

“With all of the ‘never’s coming out of your mouth tonight, let me add another one to your list,” You doubted Natasha knew her hand was gripping your shoulder almost painfully now, clutching you impossibly closer as if you’d flee without her grounding you. “Never talk to my girl again. Never look at her, never think about her- nothing. Because if you do, that would be really upsetting to me and I wouldn’t be able to let that slide.” Natasha’s typically deep voice currently held more threatening energy than you’d ever heard. It scared you a bit and you vowed right then you’d try your hardest to never be the subject of her ire.

He fumbled and sputtered, scrambling for absolutely anything to say. There was nothing except, “Yes, Ms. Romanoff. S-Sorry for the confusion.” Natasha’s unwavering stare sent him running with his tail between his legs, making his way across the room as fast as his drunken gait would take him.

As soon as your problem fled, the weight of your situation hit you, tears springing to life in the corners of your eyes. “Natty…” Perfectly manicured nails moved to scratch at your scalp, the motion of her fingers soothing your worries instantly.

“Come on, my love, it’s time to go home, yeah?” Her tone was soft again, the voice reserved for you alone. You nodded her head as you mumbled an apology for ruining her dress with your running mascara, but she shushed you in an instant.

The trip home was a blur and that was alright. Natasha took care of everything, as always, and next time you truly registered your surroundings you were right where you wanted to be: home in bed with your love.

You didn’t know if you’d fallen asleep or not, but when you finally took a peek out of the far off window, it was pitch black outside. Slivers of moonlight were the only light source, just barely illuminating the sleeping features of your girlfriend’s face. Flashbacks of the night’s events played through your mind while you thought of the difference between the public persona of Natasha Romanoff, CEO and ruthless negotiator, and your Natasha, a loving partner and fierce protector. The memory of how hot she looked shielding you from harm made your legs squeeze together, a familiar tightening blooming deep in the pit of your stomach.

There was a slight element of shame tied to having been turned on by the sight of Natasha brutally cutting someone down to size, but she was doing it for you and that’s what stuck in your brain. You knew she would do anything for you, but seeing it was something else. Still, you couldn’t wake her up for just this; you’d needed enough attending that night.

Scooting back down under the blankets until everything but your head was covered, you resigned yourself to taking care of your own problems. Shy hands slid down your body, feeling the curves and slopes of your own form until you reached the top of your thighs. Typically you slept in a short nightgown, a simple pair of underwear your only other layer. Natasha’s request, of course; she loved feeling your skin against hers while you slept. Tonight was no exception and you were grateful, less fabric to contend with as your fingers slipped past the thin elastic waistband.

It felt naughty almost to have your hand buried between your legs while your girlfriend slept unaware mere inches from you, but you didn’t want to bother her and as one finger purposely just barely brushed your clit, you doubted she would want to deny you such pleasure. You gasped aloud when your fingers reached your entrance, surprised at how fast you’d grown so wet, but images of Natasha’s hardened expression had you clenching around just the tips of your digits.

“I’m not that deep of a sleeper, just so you know.” Natasha’s words held amusement so she wasn’t mad, but still you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes.

Reluctantly you pulled your fingers away, wiping them on your thigh as if that would erase what you were so clearly doing. “Sorry, Nat.. I just-” But she was on you before you could finish that thought, bringing you flush against her as she swallowed your worries in her kiss. Her grip on your waist was bruising and while you still squirmed, the possession in her hold was exactly what you wanted.

Still laid on your side, Natasha pulled away just enough to look at you, your skin still clearly flushed even in the darkness of the bedroom. She maneuvered your nightgown over your hips, cupping your core in her strong palm, “Poor girl, you were bad enough off that you wanted to take care of it yourself?” It was true, it was bad; usually you asked Natasha for anything, once she’d had you, nothing compared to her touch and while she didn’t have a rule about seeking relief without her, you rarely ever did. It was never as good; she’d long since ruined you for anyone else, including yourself. “You know I would be happy to help.”

Her hand ground the soaked fabric against your sensitive folds, a clear tease just to watch you moan. She could’ve done it by now, nudged the fabric aside and plunged her fingers into you, but she didn’t. And it was on purpose. “Please, Natty?” As much as she loved you and wanted your constant happiness, she had to have some of her own- it happened to manifest in loving hearing you ask for her. There was no greater rush for Natasha knowing you were fully capable of doing things yourself, but still you relied on her. Because you needed it to be her. “Please touch me, keep me- protect me.”

That was all the pleading she needed, her free hand winding about your waist and pulling until your chests were touching. Her other arm was wedged between you now, but there was enough space for Natasha to manage, ridding you of your underwear and immediately bringing her fingers to bare skin, sliding easily through your folds. You whined at her broad strokes, touching just enough to rile you, but slow enough not to get you anywhere. “You’re so wet, and all of this is for me?”

You nodded your head against the pillows, fighting the urge to close your eyes; Natasha liked it when you looked at her. “Just for you, I’m yours, just yours…” Carefully, you started to ride Natasha’s hand, grinding against her palm desperately for any type of relief. The surface was too flat, it was her, but not what you needed and it was getting borderline painful how needy you were.

Natasha only smirked, pleased with your admission, but all too smug about how little she had to do for you to be getting off so wantonly on her open hand. Normally she’d make a show of it, make you wait until you cried out for her, but you’d had a long day so she relented. “Is this what you want?” Two fingers sunk into you humiliatingly easily, stretching your hot sex with an expert touch. Her satisfaction grew with the sound of your moan, settling into a steady pace with her thrusts. “Did you like it earlier when I came to save you?” The reactive clench around her digits was a good enough answer for her. When she curled them, your body curled with them back arching as she hit the spot you never managed to hit yourself. “Do you know why I did that?”

“N-No-” Of course Natasha knew how much you’d enjoyed her little show of possession earlier, one twitch of your jaw and she knew what was going on with you. Being known so intimately down to your very core sent a shiver down your spine and you were dangerously close to losing it now. Your hips moved in time with her hand, yearning for the high you’d tried unsuccessfully to chase on your own.

“Because you’re mine.” She maneuvered you both so that you were straddling one of her thighs, sinking deeper onto her offered fingers. Far beyond caring, your forearms settled on either side of her, close enough to breathe each other’s air while you rocked yourself back in earnest. “And I always take care of my things, don’t I?” The question was punctuated with a kiss to the corner of your open mouth, “I’m the only one who gets to see or touch you like this, I’ll make sure of it.”

Carefully chosen words brought you unknowingly higher, Natasha whispering things you were sure you’d only expressed in your wildest dreams. You rocked forward against the base of her wrist fruitlessly for any type of friction, whining at the lack of pressure. She’d been so giving tonight, surely she wouldn’t deny you just one more thing, “Nat.. Nat.. Tasha, I need-” You tried to explain what your voice couldn’t with a particularly obvious movement into her hand and Natasha’s low chuckle in your ear told you she was already well aware of your needs. “Please?”

A devious thumb made its way to your sorely neglected clit, positioning it just so. Somehow Natasha made sense of your frantic actions, pistoning her hand in time with you. “There you go, take what you need. I’m the only person who can do this for you, aren’t I?” Strained noises of agreement were music to Natasha’s ears, her lips trailing down your neck to mark you further lest you forget for a moment you’re hers alone. “Fuck yourself on my fingers. I want to see you.” Your legs clamped vice tight around hers, ass pressed against her thigh as it propped you from wiggling too far away from her.

The sensations were going to be the death of you, filled with Natasha, mouth latched to that perfect spot in the hollow behind your ear, her free arm slung around your waist to make certain you didn’t stop riding her. You were so close, chasing your high with what Natasha would remember as a whorish moan. Eventually you came with a screaming cry of her name, back arching into her prone form because in some tactical way, she could still be in full control while she laid under you.

When you finally came down, you let your top half sink, arms limp as your head fell onto her chest. Her fingers left as carefully as they could, but still you whined, more from the sudden emptiness than any pain. You felt blissfully numb, sleep already threatening at the edges of your consciousness. “Thank you, Tasha… for protecting me and also.. yeah.” Already hot cheeks burned at your sudden salacious display, but Natasha craned her neck to press a kiss to your messy hair and you let your words float away.

“You only ever have to ask, sweetheart… I’m sorry I left you all alone today.” She spoke softly to preserve the moment, pulling the blanket tighter over you before you could even possibly start to get cold. But you were already gone, drifting away to dreamland and tucked safely in Natasha’s arms. Safe and sound as always.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x f!reader #natasha romanoff fic #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanov x f!reader #natasha romanoff #maximotts kinktober #kinktober #marvel imagine #marvel fic #motts writes

2K notes · View notes

pitaparka · 3 years

Text

when he’s sick headcanons

note — can you tell i was in a francisco morales mood when i wrote this? also, i’m incredibly soft. i just wanna hold them :’( also also send me your own headcanons!! i wanna hear ‘em!! big love <3 - nat

MANDO

- he doesn’t know how he survived all those bouts of sickness alone when you step in to help him for the first time

- his body aches, and not the usual after-bounty-capture either

- his head is foggy, he can feel the sweat in his helmet, and his breathing is hard

- he can’t tell if it’s coming through the modulator, but when you bring soup up to the cockpit for him, he knows you know

- he takes it gratefully, knowing that if there was nobody else here he would have just gone to bed to sleep it off, dinner vetoed for the night

- your cold fingers wrap around the back of his neck, moving his cape as you do so, and he melts into you

- he doesn’t know that he lets out the smallest whimper when you do this, and it makes you want to tear off his helmet, pull him into your arms, and hold him until he’s better

- but you can’t, so you settle for a hand on his neck, and the tilt of a helmet when he drinks the soup in front of you, as requested

- he definitely has a fever, and maker knows what else

- so you tell him to get some rest, that you’d watch the ship and get him if anything went wrong

- you supervise him down the ladder, just in case, which he finds funny and sweet

- you wish you could squish into his bunk with him, but you don’t want to invade on his personal space, especially while he’s hot and sick

- you you settle into the cockpit, the ship on cruise control, and you check on him every once in a while, keeping grogu occupied and quiet while he gets some well deserved rest

EZRA

- you knew he would get it

- right after you recovered from your illness, he started displaying symptoms of the same one you had just gotten over

- shortness of breath, fever, aches, lethargy

- he had taken such good care of you, so it was only fair that you’d do the same in return

- resources were sparse and quarters were cramped on the green, but you did what you could to make him as comfortable as possible

- his feverish back was pressed up against your chest in a cot designed for one after he’d stripped down to his underwear to avoid overheating

- he really enjoyed you being the big spoon sometimes, and now was one of those times

- when he got too hot from your shared body heat though, you would sit on the floor next to the cot and stroke right behind his ear to get him to fall asleep

- you made sure he ate as much as he could keep down, and you gave him all the fluids you could spare for his speedy recovery

- it broke your heart to see your usually verbose boy so quiet and in pain

- he muttered fever nonsense to no one and whimpered in his sleep

- you moved your cot directly next to his in order to keep a close eye on him

- but you knew that with time he would heal, and that as soon as he started talking to you again he was getting better

FRANKIE

- he sweats through the sheets next to you in the early hours of the night

- you’re the one who wakes up first, and you honestly thought one of you had wet the bed because of how much liquid there was

- but you realize that it’s frankie, back drenched and sweating out whatever flu he had acquired from whoever he had gotten it from

- you wake him from what seemed to be a not great dream anyway, and when he realizes what happened, he apologizes, groggy from sleep and illness

- “no, no! i’m not mad, frankie, you just can’t sleep in this sweetheart. you’ll get more sick. how are you feeling?”

- he curls up deeper under the covers and you get out of bed to kneel next to him

- your hands card through his matted, sweat soaked hair, and you wipe the drops from his jaw

- “do you want a cool shower, baby? you’re soaked.” you suggest, but frankie is so out of it

- he was fine last night, you remember

- sure he didn’t eat dinner, and went to bed early, but you thought maybe he had a late lunch and a long day

- now, helping him out of bed to the shower, you understand that it was early onset symptoms of whatever he was battling

- he pressed heavily to your side and you’re nervous as you strip him down and get him into the tub

- he sways, and you’re not sure what you’ll do if he passes out, or hits his head, so you sit him down, take off the shower head, make sure the water coming out is room temperature, and you run she showerhead over his overheating body

- you’re careful not to get any water in his face and ears, and you don’t wash his hair, just his body with a gentle soap

- you figure this is one of the only times frankie will let you take care of him like this, so you milk it for all it’s worth

- you blow dry his hair on a low setting, just in case he has a headache, you change the sheets of your bed, you lay him down on his side and you bring him close to your chest

- which is how he falls asleep for the next few nights until his illness eventually subsides

WHISKEY

- he curls up in your lap on the couch as soon as he gets home from work, which is how you know something’s wrong

- but you ask him anyway

- “i don’t feel so great, sugar,”

- which scares you, because did he get drugged? is this just a regular illness? is this like a biowarfare mission gone wrong?

- you leave him to get the thermometer, and when you come back, he’s got sad eyes looking up at you that just break your heart

- turns out, it’s not biowarfare. just a fever of 100.4

- you slip your hands up the back of his shirt and it’s so warm, along with his forehead

- he moans weakly at your touch, worn and tired from his extensive mission that day

- he’s definitely been overexerting himself

- as you settle back onto the couch, he settles into your lap again

- you let him rest for a while, but not after long, you realize he’s fallen asleep, and you’re stuck there for god knows how long

- you turn the volume down on the tv just in case, and you stroke behind his ears and you play with his fingers

- it’s best to just let him sleep it off, and you're not opposed to letting him do it on your lap

- you imagine there are statesman resources you can use to help him, but if he’s feeling better after he’s slept it off, then maybe you won’t need to misuse them

JAVIER PEÑA

- you scared the shit out of him, knocking on his door like that

- in your blinding rage, filled with thoughts like “how dare he take the day off to bang hookers, to recover from his hangover, to generally be a hindrance to the fucking DEA,” you had not pondered the possibility that THE javier peña, was sick

- he’s pulling on a t-shirt just as he opens the door, wearing pajama pants, and it startles you to see him so disarmed and casual

- his eyes and nose are red, his hair is disheveled, and he looks... exhausted

- “wow, you look like shit."

- “i feel like shit,” he says, walking away from the door, sniffling

- you take this as an invitation in, and close the door behind you

- he collapses back onto his couch, where you assume he’s been all day, and wraps himself up in a thick afghan blanket

- his hands shake the slightest bit as he opens his lighter to ignite his cigarette

- you take a seat next to him and help him with his lighter, and he nods his thanks to you

- “you’re gonna be late,” he mutters, taking the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out smoke into his apartment, coughing it out halfway

- “i’ll call out,” you offer, eyes wandering up his blanket clad body

- he closes his eyes and lets his head rest on the back of the couch

- “go in. i’m just gonna sleep it off anyway,”

- you lean in close to him and press your hand against his forehead and he freezes, staring at you

- you run your hand down his neck and feel his warmth, and he melts into your touch just a little bit

- you offer to only call out for a few hours to get him settled and make sure he doesn’t die or something, and he lets you, simply because he knows his illness will only get worse

- when your time is up and you have to go back to work, javi’s eaten, gotten some fluids in him, and taken some pain meds

- you let him know that he can call you if he needs anything, and before you even walk out the door is sleeping contently on the couch

MARCUS MORENO

- you find out he’s sick when he calls you, and asks for a favor

- “hey, can you do me the biggest favor ever?”

- he’s super congested. at first you think it might not be him because of how grainy his voice is

- “i hate to do this to you on such short notice, but would you be able to pick up missy? i’m not feeling too hot right now.”

- when you make it back to their home, it's very clear why he thought he wouldn't be able to make it

- he's curled up in bed, tissues piled on his nightstand, trying to get some sleep, but clearly failing

- he notices the two of you come in, and you quietly usher missy away to her own room to entertain herself while her dad tries to get some rest

- he thanks you for picking up missy, and you tell him you'd be there for him whenever he needed you to be

- you make a special phone call as you care for marcus, keeping his curtains closed and running your cool hands up and down his back and shoulders until he felt like he could fall asleep

- you let him know that you'll be right back, that you were going to pick up a few things for him and that if he needed anything at all, just call

- knowing your chicken noodle soup skills were rusty, your special phone call had been to marcus' mother's house, where she had tupperware containers full of soup waiting for you to pick up for him

- when you get back to his house with pain meds, gatorade, and the soup, marcus is passed out in bed

- you don't want to wake him up, but you have a hunch that he hasn't eaten all day, so you whisper his name softly and lightly shake him awake

- he's so grateful and only eats a portion of what he normally does, but anything is better than nothing

- and you don't want him feeling even more sick as a result

- you end up eating the incredibly nostalgic and rich soup with missy at the table and talk to her about your day while marcus gets some sleep

MARCUS PIKE

- it's only when you get home from work that you realize something's wrong with marcus

- he's asleep on the couch

- which would have been fine, if you had worked overtime, or had gotten out late, but it was only four thirty

- plus, you two had planned on going to see a movie you he was excited about tonight in theatres and maybe grab dinner after

- the tv plays lowly in the background, and he hasn’t changed out of his work clothes yet

- he startles when you close and lock the door, and rubs his temples, eyes squeezed shut in pain

- "marcus, are you okay?"

- "yeah, i'm fine." he tells you, and when you mention the date, he looks shocked that he forgot about it

- "oh my god, you're right. i can’t believe i forgot, i’m so sorry babe, i'll get ready right now."

- you tell him it's no biggie, but he insists

- after you've taken off your work clothes and showered quickly for your date, you realize the two of you are most definitely staying in

- he's promptly fallen back asleep on the couch, and he looks adorable

- you put on your pajamas and he does too, and you settle into the couch behind marcus, flipping through channels with him

- he says he doesn't care what you watch, as long as it's not too bright or loud

- so you choose some old black and white movie with the subtitles on

- normally you're the one between his legs, as he rubs your shoulders and plays with your hair

- but this time, he's curled up into you, his back pressed up against your chest, his head tucked into your shoulder using it as a pillow

- you figure you didn't really want to see the new movie anyway, and decide takeout and casablanca was a better way to spend your time with your sick boyfriend

MAX PHILLIPS

- a big baby

- but he IS a vampire and DOES NOT get sick, which slips your mind completely when you come home after some overtime and find him paler than usual on the couch, his head in his hands

- you try to get him to tell you what’s wrong, and he refuses, but he caves when you sit down next to him and start stroking his head, and playing with the hair at the base of his neck

- he tells you that after the whole vampire fiasco with the company, he was set for a while, and has been feeling great, but he hasn’t had human blood in so long that it’s made him weak

- he gives you a sad puppy dog look, and you know he’s being an asshole about it, but you hate to see the dark circles under his eyes or the color his skin turns when he’s like this

- so you oblige, but you give him STRICT instructions to follow, otherwise you won’t do it again

- don’t take more than a pint, don’t leave unnecessary bruises, if you use your safe word he has to stop immediately, and he has to make it as quick and painless as he possibly can

- he nods enthusiastically, and pulls you into his lap

- he nuzzles into your neck, and grabs your chin, anchoring himself to you

- he blows softly on your skin, and presses hard kisses to the area to get your blood flowing and disarm you

- which isn’t fair because he knows your neck is so sensitive

- it’s a sharp prick when he ejects his fangs into your body and you stop moving completely, your hand fisting at his shirt, just listening to your breathing and his soft moans echoed against your skin

- out of habit your rub soothing circles into his back, more to sooth yourself then anything

- minutes pass, and you start to feel light headed and are about to tell him to stop when he pulls away, grinning ear to ear at you

- he’s back on your neck in seconds though, licking and sucking the leaking blood from the small holes he’s left in your skin

- now that, that feels much better than the bloodsucking that was going on originally

- you jump when he presses soft kisses to the sensitive area along your throat and dives a hand between your legs

- looks like someone’s feeling better already

MAX LORD

- tries to power through it as much as he can with pain killers and cough syrups, but after he almost passes out at dinner after a week of symptoms, you beg him to take at least a day off to recover

- that morning, his hair is a mess, he missed a button on his shirt, and his tie was uneven

- he was about to put on two different colored socks when he begrudgingly obliges

- you unbutton his shirt and help him take off his tie

- it’s easy to bring him back to bed after that, and you let him hold you from behind like a teddy bear, no matter how uncomfortable his arm is shoved under your neck

- usually he likes to be held, but he can feel his own back burning up, so he decides to hold you instead

- he whimpers in his sleep, plagued by fever dreams and his traumatic past

- so when he wakes you up in the middle of the night, something he so very rarely does, you’re concerned

- “i’m sorry, for waking you, i just... i just need... you... i want—“

- it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he needs a hug

- you hold him and rub his back until he falls back asleep again, in your arms

- when he wakes up with a killer headache, you fight to keep him in bed again, rubbing his temples and pressing kisses to his forehead

- he falls back asleep in less than five minutes

- needless to say, one more day off couldn’t hurt

OBERYN MARTELL

- it’s not often than he gets sick, surprisingly, considering how close he gets to so many different people

- when you arrive at his chambers that morning, the guards seem keen on not letting you in

- you argue with them, but they insist oberyn didn’t want anyone in there

- you call them out, obviously upset and visibly frustrated when his doors creak open and you see him, in a robe, hair messy and pressed down to his forehead

- he quietly tells the guard to let you in, and you’re a little confused

- he sits down on his bed and looks up at you with guilty eyes

- “apologies, my love, but I don't want you to see me like this”

- you scoff and roll your eyes at him, moving in front of him

- you take his head in your hands, and he stares up at you

- “apology accepted, but i’m offended, my prince.”

- he scrunches his eyebrows and presses his chin to your stomach

- you run your hands through his hair and he brings his hands to your waist

- “you think mere illness could keep me away? keep me away from you?”

- his confusion melts into a small smile, and he lets his head rest against your belly as you pull him into you

- “can i get you anything, oberyn? wine, medicine?”

- “no, my love. just you is enough for me.”

PERO TOVAR

- wants to be left alone for the most part

- grumpy in general, and it doesn't get better when he's sick

- he'll let you wipe a cool cloth over his forehead and neck, and doesn't complain

- he says he doesn’t want you there because he doesn’t want you to catch what he has

- you know, survival rates are low for things like this at this point in history

- but really, like oberyn, he doesn’t want you to see him weak

- he’s afraid it’ll ruin your image of him in your mind

- william asks you to get some rest, as they can’t afford to risk more days at the campsite with sick travelers

- so you oblige, keeping your distance from pero, but you stay vigilant

- you stand guard for him for most of the night, listening to him breathe, watching his chest rise and fall, until you eventually fall asleep too

- but you’re up early, with the rest of the men, except pero, who sleeps well into daylight

- the rest of them take off, desperate to find something for dinner, but you stay back with him, stroking his forehead, a gentleness that’s rarely ever been afforded to him, listening to him ramble half in english, half in spanish, but he has your full attention

- it would be a rough few days until he recovered, but his muttered thanks and appreciation for you was more than enough for you to do it all over again if he ever needed you to

829 notes · View notes

one-boring-person · 3 years

Note

Ok. A little different but I was thinking about Top Gun and I was wondering if you could do an Iceman x Mavericks little sister reader where they meet at a local bar near the base and slowly start falling in love

I hope you like this!😊💛

You Beat Me To It.

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x reader

Warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption (moderate)

Masterlist

As cliche as it sounds, it had all started with an unfortunate accident in the popular little bar near the airbase.

It was a busy night in the small place, as it usually was, the room filled to the brim with pilots, RIOs, ground staff and civilians. Music blared somewhere overhead, garish lights illuminating the area in their own peculiar way, casting an odd glow over every person there. People gathered and collected around the bar itself, the tenders never kept idle, money flowing in from a variety of hands, the alcohol and beverages keeping spirits alive throughout the bustling room. It had been here that Iceman found himself.

Slider had insisted they went on that night, despite his own reluctance; it had been a long day at the base and all he had really wanted to do was to sleep and rest. Of course, he knew there was no arguing with his RIO, the young man far too persistent for his own good, so naturally the pilot had found himself dragged into the busy bar, a beer shoved into his hand almost instantly. It hadn't taken long for the girls to start flocking to him.

Iceman knew he was good-looking, so he wasn't surprised that he was quickly engulfed in a crowd of eager women, all of which flirting and baying for his attention, though he could already tell none of them would tickle his fancy. He kept them entertained, joking with them and keeping them on their toes the entire time as he peered at them over his sunglasses, which he insisted on wearing inside, smirking as they swooned over him. Hands seemed to be everywhere, pressing at his shoulders, chest and stomach, feeling over the muscle in his arms, creeping up his neck until he batted them away with a pointed look. Eventually, he had tired of this, however, and went to push out of the gathered group. Misjudging himself, Iceman had then collided with someone else, a surprised yelp escaping the person as moisture spread between them.

Turning to them, Iceman had been ready with a sharp quip, finding himself tongue-tied when he actually saw who had bumped into him.

"Careful, big guy." Is all she said before she collected her composure and left, heading towards the other end of the room, where some others from the airbase were.

Frozen in place momentarily, he had watched as she went straight to Maverick and Goose, the former slinging an arm around her shoulders as she approached, grins appearing on their faces.

From that moment onwards, the two seemed unable to avoid meeting each other in the bar.

Not even a week later, Iceman had been sat at the bar, thankfully alone for once, slowly drinking from a beer bottle in front of him, the pilot deep in thought. Once again wearing his sunglasses inside, Ice never realised someone had come up beside him to order drinks until they spoke to him directly.

"Last I checked, the sun tends to stay outside." She had commented, tapping her fingers on the countertop as she waited for her drinks.

Looking up, Iceman had once again gone to say something sharp, only to be surprised when he immediately recognised the person standing beside him.

"Maybe it's not the sun I'm protecting my eyes from." Is all he can manage, pretty stuck under the intensity of her gaze, a somewhat familiar feeling he had when talking with a particular pilot.

"No? What, then?"

"When I've figured it out, I'll tell you."

She had given him a quick smile, then, thanking the bartender as he gave her the drinks, before leaving, returning to the group of aviators she was with.

Everytime after this moment, every conversation between the two had been started by a sarcastic or teasing comment on his choice of eyewear, both of them often finding themselves at the bar at the same time. It had been after their fifth time meeting that she actually stayed with him for more than a minute, placing herself into the stool beside him as he fought off a couple of persistent girls, her face creased into a barely concealed smirk of amusement. When he'd finally gotten rid of them, she'd passed him a beer with a knowing look.

"You ever gonna take those off?" She had asked him, gesturing to his sunglasses, sipping her own drink.

"Only when you finally tell me your name." Iceman had replied, smirking at her. In their last few meetings, he'd found he'd started to enjoy her company, often looking out for her when he first enters the bar.

"You only had to ask." She shrugged, holding out a hand, "I'm (Y/n)."

Taking her hand, he told her his name before reaching up to remove his sunglasses.

"Well, I can see why you always have a fan club." (Y/n) acknowledged, smiling at him to show she meant no harm.

"Thank you, but they're a right pain." He laughed, placing his glasses in his breast pocket.

"I can tell." She chuckled, sipping her drink.

"You often come here?" Iceman inquired, curious as to her reason for coming.

"Yeah, pretty often. I meet up with my brother here." She casts him a look, "You might know him. Pete Mitchell? I guess you'd know him as Maverick."

Iceman had done a double take.

"Maverick? He's your brother?"

"Yep. And before you say anything, he's just as annoying out of uniform as he is in uniform." (Y/n) rolled her eyes, gesturing to the pilot across the room.

"I thought he might be."

Following this meeting, it wasn't too hard to arrange a repeat of it, the two finding that they enjoyed themselves a whole lot more than they thought they would. Of course, as soon as Maverick had found out his sister was hanging out with his rival, there had been some trouble.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" The young pilot had snapped at him a couple of months after he and (Y/n) had first met.

"What are you talking about?" Iceman had responded, looking up from the beer in his hand to acknowledge his fellow pilot.

"My sister, you asshole! What's your deal with her?"

"My deal?"

"Yeah, your deal! What the hell do you want with her?" At this point, Goose had come up to stop his pilot from going too far, laughing it off as he always did.

"She's my friend. I don't want anything with her except that." He had told Maverick, though he knew it was a lie: he had developed a particular affection for the girl, finding her presence very enjoyable to be in at all times.

"Bullshit. I know what you're like, you want to get laid." Maverick had been quick to spit back, this comment feeling particularly unfair.

"No, I don't. (Y/n) and I are friends. Suck it up, dickhead." Iceman bit back, scowling at his fellow aviator angrily now, standing up so that he loomed over him.

"And even if we were more, that's none of your concern, Pete." (Y/n)'s voice cut through their argument, the girl coming to stand beside Iceman, an action that clearly irritated her brother.

"He's not good for you, (Y/n). Stop hanging out with him." Maverick tried to reason with her,

"No, he's my friend, and you don't control me."

"Come on, (Y/n), I'm just looking out for you."

Sighing, (Y/n) had then done the one thing that stuck with Iceman for months to come.

"No, you know what? Fuck you, Pete." And with that, she had kissed Iceman on the lips, right in front of her brother.

It hadn't been a particularly long kiss, or a particularly passionate one, but it had left him wanting more, his lips tingling with want as she pulled away after a second. And Maverick's face afterwards had been totally worth it.

(Y/n) had quickly left after that, leaving Maverick to go sulk with Goose, Iceman fighting with his morality, before he also got up and followed her from the room. Catching up to her just outside, he had taken her arm in his hand gently, pulling her into him. Without letting her speak, he had kissed her again, glad when she had reciprocated, heart skipping a beat when their lips had moulded together almost perfectly. For what felt like years, they had kissed, neither wanting to let go, not until they had to, at which point they'd pressed their foreheads together and stood still, breathing heavily into each other's faces. At that moment, their relationship had become much closer.

In all honesty, he wasn't expecting her to turn up.

(Y/n) had been distant in past months, but that was understandable - her brother lost his best friend, so it made sense that she'd want to be there for him to help him through it. Unfortunately, that had meant that interaction between her and Iceman had been sparse, though he had managed to ask her along to his graduation, which he was very much looking forward to. He was certain he'd won the Top Gun trophy with Slider, and he wanted her to see that.

So when he notices her sitting at the back of the crowd as he takes the award, he feels a burst of pride flare to life within him. With her slight absence in recent weeks had come a revelation, a revelation that he intends to tell her today, whilst the confidence of this win is still rife in his body. Nerves run rampant through him, worried that it will go wrong, though he is mostly sure of what he wants to say; somehow, this is worse than flying a plane into battle, the reaction here totally unforeseeable for him for some reason.

As the crowd gathers to congratulate everyone, he politely pushes through them to the back, focused on (Y/n) as she waits for him, a smile on her face. Quick to reach his destination, he laughs as she swiftly runs to him and climbs into his arms, holding him tightly.

"Congratulations, Ice. I'm so proud of you!" She says to him, looking up into his eyes with a broad smile, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"Thank you, (Y/n)." He grins back, unsure of whether or not now is the right time.

"Reaching up to play with the hairs at the base of his neck, (Y/n) seemingly considers something, before she leans up to whisper to him.

"I love you, Tom."

His heart nearly stops at her words, body filling with happiness, relief flooding his mind at the thought that she feels the same way.

"You beat me to it. I love you, too, (Y/n)." He hums back, pulling her in for a deeper kiss.

#top gun #top gun iceman #top gun imagine #iceman x reader #Iceman

424 notes · View notes

lupismaris · 3 years

Text

Blackberry Crepes- silverflintham black sails modern au ficlet

(i saw a few posts about how love is sharing food and making breakfast for your loved ones and lets just say this is part 1 of a series in which Flint cooks for his loved ones when saying i love you might not be enough)

Sleep was something of a stranger to Silver. He liked to joke that he didn’t need it, that he could just cat nap for half an hour here and there, and be good for a few days, that he was just built different, the perks of life on the run and never having a real routine. But in truth he’d push himself until his body gave out and he slept for 18 hours and woke up feeling like death warmed over. That was the only way he’d be able to get any real sleep. Pushing himself to the point of exhaustion, or, as he had eventually learned with Flint and Thomas, getting well and truly laid until his brain shut off and his body felt like lead. He preferred the latter, of course, but it still wasn’t something he felt he could readily ask for. Especially when it wasn’t enough to keep his mind quiet. Dreams, nightmares, they’re funny things. You can think you’re too tired to dream and then on your way into an REM cycle you get blind sided by the most vivid night terror you’ve had in the past three months. You could be napping on the couch when the phantom limb starts acting up and your mind conjures memories of when you lost it or just vague ideas of what life would be like if you hadn’t and you wake up unable to tell which is worse. You could be strung out and coming down from an orgasmic high and then feel your stomach drop when you finally fall asleep and your mind tells you it isn’t safe, jolting you violently back to consciousness. Or you could be dozing in the early morning hours, the way Silver had been, after a good night, a genuinely good night, and find yourself halfway between deep sleep and waking, faced with fears you’d buried so far deep you hoped they’d suffocate. They’d gone to dinner, on a date even. Flint and Thomas had made a point to be home and get dressed up and take him out on the town and pay complete attention to him, like he was just a normal lover and not, well, himself. It was still an adjustment for him, this idea that he could just have this, a normal relationship with men who actually wanted him, where using each other wasn’t part of it, where the end game wasn’t someone’s bank account or an act of violence, where there wasn’t even an end game to consider. By the end of July the charms of summer had started to wear thin, even for Silver, and he was tired of the heat and the mirror like cage of the city, he was tired of the long days and the long conversations and the longer shadows on the blistering asphalt. He was tired of the haze that made his mind question what was and wasn’t real, despite knowing what was. It left him on edge and he knew Flint could tell, no matter how hard he worked to hide it. If Thomas knew, he was at least polite enough not to give it away. Dinner had been lovely. A little Spanish place by the promenade, followed by a short walk since the evening was cooler than expected and a breeze of the Hudson meant it was almost blissful. There had been wine and Flint’s homemade limoncello tarts when they got home and endless lazy kisses and one of them always touching him as if trying to keep him tethered. There had been sex, great sex, not that Silver had ever had bad sex with the pair of them (the smug rotten bastards), but the kind where Silver had been able to let go and drown in it for a while, let someone else carry the load, and do the thinking for a while. It still hadn’t been enough.

Silver sighed, a cloud of smoke curling around his face as he watched the rooftops shift and glimmer in the faded teal skies of four am, his second cigarette of the hour dangling somewhat carelessly from his fingers. He had tried, valiantly he felt, to stay in bed with Flint and Thomas, to sleep curled up with them the way Flint always hoped he would after sex. Some nights it worked and he’d wake up when Flint went for his blasphemous morning run. Most nights though he’d wait until Thomas was out cold and snoring like a bear, then kiss Flint goodnight, and slip back to his room next door. He’d fallen asleep tucked into Flint’s chest, with Flint’s arm around him and the deep rumble of his breathing filling his ears. Thomas was spooned up behind Flint, clinging to his husband like a child and snoring loudly, but that too was somehow comforting. He was safe, he was loved, he was home. And suddenly the next thing Silver knew he was choking on nothing and fighting the air, sitting bolt upright in bed with a wordless, noiseless scream of fear. The only saving grace was that it didn’t wake the others, Thomas still sound asleep and curled up under the covers, Flint spooned up behind him, years younger in sleep, a different man. Silver had sat there shaking for some time, half an hour, five minutes, he couldn’t be sure. Once he could breathe without wheezing and his hands had stopped shaking violently, he steadied himself and slipped out of bed, grabbing his crutch from where it rested dutifully against the nightstand. There wasn’t much he was good at in life, but John Silver had always been good at running. This wasn’t any different. Now, he was wrapped in an old blanket, hidden away on the roof where he’d been putting together his own little makeshift garden. Plants that he’d found half dead or dying on the curb, abandoned succulents from friends, houseplants he found on discount at the hardware store that he’d barter down to a dollar. He liked the distance heights gave him, always had, was always climbing things as a kid to try and get a better view, try to hide away from prying eyes. It was harder now that he had the prosthetic, but the elevator could take him up to the loft, and the stairs to the roof weren’t too steep, so he could manage them with his crutch. It wasn’t that he didn’t love the little patch of green paradise that Flint and Thomas had nurtured down below, he loved it and the time they spent there. But this- this little scrap of roof top, with it’s homemade shelves of plywood and resurrected plants, was his. Silver took another drag from his cigarette and watched a flock of pigeons shift their course in flight, heading west towards Manhattan where the morning crowds were no doubt slowly beginning to stir. Even on Saturdays, the city got a bright and early start if it ever truly decided to rest. He could hear tidbits of conversation from his perch, voices carried up to him like secrets as their owners walked past, heading home from work, from a night out, leaving home to go to work, whatever their little lives demanded, existing in spite of themselves, for themselves. Cars hummed past, cabbies and uber drivers trying to catch the last of the club goers as they left the bars in search of a trip home, picking up the true early bird tourists as they tried to beat the others to some absurd event or another. He could even hear music, someone’s window open on their block he thought, and the faint repetitive sound of a piano as they worked through their scales. Maybe he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. The neighborhood would be well and truly awake soon. The running group would be on the corner waiting for the stragglers, hitting the asphalt by five am. The store fronts and bodegas would start opening up around six, the bars by eight if they served brunch, and the world would come to life at Silver’s feet. He had until then to quiet the noise in his head and remember how to put his mask back on. The sound of the door nearly gave him a heart attack. He thought for a moment that maybe, if he kept still, he’d go unnoticed, they the sparse shelves and plants and the blanket might hide him well enough that Flint, because it was always Flint, would go back down stairs and go for his morning run and leave him well enough alone. But he knew better. “Do I want to know how long you’ve been up here?” came the sleep heavy rumble of a voice. “Depends on whether you want to be disappointed this early in the morning,” Silver replied dryly. And there it was, the telltale sigh of disappointment, because Flint was going to be disappointed no matter what answer he got. “Silver-” “I don’t want to do this right now.” “Do what?” Silver sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He heard Flint move across the roof, the soft footsteps of bare feet on the weatherproof matting slow and well chosen, stopping next to him. “This thing you do where you try and bully answers out of me. I don’t fucking feel up to these games, alright? I just- I don’t,” Silver said, risking a look upwards. Flint was shirtless, as he always was when fresh out of bed, but he’d pulled on a pair of old sweatpants before going to look for Silver. He’d left his hair loose, the rich copper strands hanging in a curtain around the left side of his face, the shaved under cut peaking out along the right. Silver could still see the pillow prints on his cheek, and his beard was disgruntled and unbrushed the way it rarely was when he left the house. Silver loved him like this, he loved Flint always, but there was something about Flint like this, soft and at ease, bare chested and vulnerable that managed to settle even the worst of Silver’s deep seated insecurities. Because who else got to have Flint like this? Who else but Silver and Thomas got Flint at his gentlest? They looked at each other for a moment, Flint frowning softly with his hands on his hips and Silver wrapped up in his blanket, saying nothing, saying everything they could. Then Flint sighed and sat down next to him. “I’m not here to bully you,” he said gently, taking the cigarette that Silver was neglecting. “You were gone when I woke up, thought I’d check on you,” He paused, relighting the cigarette with his trusty old lighter, “but as you were not in your room I figured something was bothering you and you’d be either working in the office or up here.” “You didn’t have to check on me.” “It was for my sake, not yours.” Silver smiled faintly, his eyes stinging from what he hoped was just exhaustion but was probably tears. He didn’t look at Flint, just blinked them away and watched the sky lighten little by little as Flint finished the cigarette. “You know that’s not what I’m doing, right?” Flint asked after a few minutes of silence. “Whats not what you’re doing?” “Bullying you.” “I mean it’s kinda what you do.” “Is that how you see it?” Flint wasn’t looking at him. He was reaching for the French enamel cigarette case that was sitting next to Silver, one he’d stolen in Monaco several lives before, and lighting another cigarette. Silver watched him, a little wistful, and incredibly exhausted all at once. “No.” He said. “Yes. Depends on when you try and do it I guess.” That got a low hum from Flint, smoke filling the air for a moment in a pensive cloud. Silver waited, oddly tense, hoping that Flint would listen to him, and not try and play one of their fucked up little games so early in the morning. They were doing really well these days, not playing any games at all, having real, honest conversations like well adjusted adults who hadn’t done all the awful things they’d done, to each other, to others. But sometimes it was so much easier to just be awful to each other, to fall back into the old way of doing things. “I only check on you to know you’re still here,” Flint said finally. “I only ask if you’re alright because if I can fix it, I want to. I don’t care if you lie to me about what had you out of bed this morning. I don’t give a shit if you never tell me the names of your ghosts, I’ve told you that a dozen times, I know you remember that as well as you remember the names of my own ghosts.” Silver did remember, both the ghosts, and the plaintive way Flint had asked him to trust whatever it was they had between them. “I just want to know you’re still here. That you’ve not gone running off again. That you’ll run to me next time this,” he waved at the rooftop and the skyline as if encompassing all of Silver’s faulty coping methods, “fails and you’re out at sea. I just- I ask those questions to reassure myself, alright?” He paused, taking another drag from the cigarette, tipping his head back with a heavy sigh. Silver could see the age starting to show on his face again, in the soft lines around his eyes, the firm set of his mouth, the scars on his nose and throat, the endless sea of freckles, the faded ink of his tattoos, the streaks of gray in his beard. Before his eyes, the man he loved, his Flint, was appearing, returning to flesh and blood from the land of dreams. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, pup,” Flint added, finally turning his head and catching Silver looking at him. The sea green of Flint’s eyes always seemed to hook Silver, regardless of whether he wanted them to. They could be the deep inky black full of secrets or the still gray of quiet waters, it didn’t matter- if Flint looked at him, soft and open and endlessly patient the way no one else was, Silver would eventually break. Flint knew it, but so far, he never seemed to abuse the power he held. Silver smiled faintly. With a soft groan he shifted onto his knees, loving the way Flint’s hands immediately reached to steady him whether he needed it or not, and crawled into Flint’s lap, straddling his hips and wrapping the worn blanket around them both. He took the cigarette from Flint’s lips and stubbed it out in the ashtray, as Flints hands settled like an anchor, warm and sure, at the small of his back. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, old man,” Silver said, brushing Flint’s hair out of his eyes, “I promised you were stuck with me. No amount of nightmares are gonna change that.” He kissed Flint softly, smiling at the low rumbling purr it got him, at the way Flint’s hands pulled him closer, spread wide on his back. It was a soft, innocent thing, no heat, no hunger, and that too was still something novel to Silver, that he could have this innocent kind of intimacy with someone, with a man like Flint. He craved it as much as he craved the wilder side of love and was grateful that Flint seemed happy to satisfy both moods whenever they arose. “Good,” Flint said, once the lazy kiss broke and Silver tucked his face into Flint’s shoulder with a happy sound. “Because while I would absolutely give chase, I’d rather not have Thomas trailing after us as well. You know the kind of trouble he gets up to, just imagine him trying to find you.” Silver snorted with an undignified burst of laughter. “No, god, he’d be impossible.” “Exactly. I’d have my hands full just trying to keep him in one piece. I’ve got enough gray hair as it is, pup, don’t go giving me anymore before my time, alright?” Flint lifted his chin as Silver’s fingers petted the gray streaks in his beard, letting out another soft rumbling sound. “Alright. Though I do think it’s sexy.” “Yeah yeah, you’ve made that perfectly clear,” Flint kissed the top of Silver’s head, nuzzling his messy curls. “C’mon, why don’t we head inside, I think it’s a reasonable time for coffee.” “What about your run? Your awful five am morning ritual I can almost never talk you out of even for a blow job.” “I feel like skipping this morning.” Silver lifted his head, leveling Flint with a skeptical look and a raised eyebrow. Flint returned it with a fond smile. “Its Saturday, I feel like making breakfast,” Flint said with a shrug. I love you, Silver heard. “Can we have blackberry crepes? And scrambled eggs?” Silver asked after a moment. “And that fancy bacon you got from the farmer’s market?” Flint smiled, still fond and impossibly warm. Silver’s heart skipped, flipped, and settled in his chest. Flint had heard the unspoken, skittish, and undeniable “I love you too” tucked into Silver’s reply. Flint coaxed him into another soft kiss, still wearing that same smile.

“Blackberry crepes it is.”

#my fic #black sails #black sails fic #silverflint #silverflinthamilton #james flint #john silver #thomas hamilton #opening act of spring bs mdau fic #jamie's fic prompt fills #reuploaded because of the bot bullshit #i was up till three am working i dont need this shit rn

64 notes · View notes

marjansmarwani · 3 years

Text

beyond the terror of the nightfall

4.5k || ao3

After everything, there is much healing to be done. But comfort can always be found in the ones you love. --- A (very late) 2x13 coda

Did this take me forever? Yes. But I got it done before the new episode and that's what matters. Shoutout to @justaswampdemon for helping me make sense of my own timeline, you’re the best!

(And am I insane posting this 6 minutes before the 911 episode airs? Probably.)

----------

Things looked brighter in the morning.

Not only because they had fallen into bed without drawing the curtains when they had finally gotten to a bed in the early hours of the morning, but because of the man laying beside Carlos; face still peaceful in sleep. He couldn’t help but stare; taking in the miracle that was TK’s rhythmic breathing. It was irrefutable proof that he was still there, that Carlos had not lost him in the chaos and fear of the night before.

He lay on his pillow, silently observing and resisting the urge to reach out and touch him for that extra layer of proof. He wanted to feel the warmth of his familiar skin beneath his fingers but he did not want to pull him from this blissful state where maybe he could forget everything that had happened, for a little while. He turned away to avoid the temptation and look around the room, taking in the details that had escaped him the night before.

Owen Strand’s guest room was sparsely but tastefully decorated and the warm browns of the room were as comforting as any place could be. The bright sunlight streaming in told Carlos that it was well past the time he usually woke up and for a brief frantic moment he thought he must be late for work. But then he remembered that at some point during the seemingly never-ending night one of his coworkers on scene informed him that their captain had ordered Carlos to take at least a few days off and that more leave would be ready for him should he need it.

He let his head fall back against the pillow with a sigh, closing his eyes as he tried not to think about all of the things that needed to be done. He and TK had nothing now: no home, no clothes, no wallets. Every bit of their life, no matter how important or trivial had been reduced to ash right along with their home. Carlos knew they were lucky to have even escaped with their lives; the very real fact that they almost hadn’t had haunted him since the moment the flames erupted. But now, after, he was able to see around that and consider their way forward; and he knew it wouldn’t be easy.

The sound of TK stirring beside him pulled Carlos from his thoughts and he rolled over to see his boyfriend slowly blinking open his eyes. He tried for a smile when those eyes landed on him and received an equally unsteady one in return.

“Good morning,” TK said softly, his voice almost a whisper as if he didn’t want the world to know they were awake yet.

“Good morning,” Carlos replied, matching the other man’s volume even as he moved closer and pressed a light kiss onto his lips. TK smiled into it, but once they pulled apart and he took a look around at their surroundings his smile faded.

“I remember it happening,” he said after a moment, his eyes on the sparse furnishings of his dad’s house, “I was just hoping that maybe it was a dream.”

Carlos hummed his agreement but he slid his hand across the bed to find TK’s. He squeezed it as soon as he found it and TK wound their fingers together in response before he pulled his mind back to the present and turned so he was facing Carlos again. They lay in silence, simply soaking in the presence of each other for a long time before Carlos finally sighed and ran a weary hand over his face.

“We have so much to take care of,” he lamented, “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Me neither,” TK agreed, “but we can divide and conquer, I suppose. You’re not alone in this Carlos,” he reminded him earnestly, “We are in this together, 100%.”

Carlos smiled at him as warmth spread through his chest. Their home might be gone but he can’t help but feel lucky that they didn’t lose this, that he didn’t lose him. The tasks before them were daunting and he was already dreading the hours spent on the phone with the insurance company, but knowing that he has TK at his side makes it all just that much more bearable.

“We do make a good team,” he agreed, watching as TK’s smile grew.

They lay there for a few more minutes, soaking in the calm silence of the late morning sun and the soothing presence of each other. It’s eventually TK that moves, a groan coming from his lips as he pulls himself up.

“I suppose we need to actually face this,” he said wryly, “but I’m going to take a shower first. Care to join me?”

Carlos laughed at his suggestive eyebrows but shook his head, “As tempting as it is,” he told TK, “I don’t think I could knowing that your dad and Mateo are right down the hall.”

TK gave a light chuckle and leaned down to give him a lingering kiss. When he pulled away he took Carlos’s air with him as he stood from the bed.

“Your loss,” he told him as he disappeared out the bedroom door with one last suggestive grin.

Carlos watched him go, still trying to find his breath. Sometimes he was just struck by how much he loved the other man. It was a thought he had often, and a thought he had had last night as the flames had raged around them.

As he pulled himself out of the familiar bed and began to get ready for the first day in their uncertain future he knew without a doubt that no matter what came and no matter how difficult, it would be worth it. Because he still had TK and they still had each other and after that, nothing else really mattered.

-----

It doesn’t hit him until he is in the shower, of all places.

He and Carlos had both spent an extremely long time under the running water the night before, plying the soot and smell of smoke off of their skin with Owen’s myriad soaps and skincare products but somehow now this regular, everyday act of showering before he got ready was his undoing.

It was inevitable, he supposed. He hadn’t really processed it after all. There had just always been another thing to focus on: getting them out safely, answering questions about what had happened, supporting Carlos. TK had been a firefighter for the majority of his adult life; fire was nothing new to him. The sights and smells and sensation of being trapped among the hungry flames hadn’t affected him like it had the other man, for which TK was grateful. Carlos was the consummate pillar; always there to lend his support, always ready for TK to lean on and he was happy to be able to return the favor.

But eventually, he ran out the timer he didn’t even know was running.

It’s the smallest thing that acts as the catalyst. He’s just reaching for a shampoo when an idle thought drifts through his mind: he can’t remember the name of the shampoo Carlos used.

It had been a bit of a running joke between them that Carlos had been struggling to find a shampoo that worked with his curls. He finally had settled on one just last week, but TK couldn’t remember what it was. He needed to replace it for him, he needed to make sure Carlos had everything he needed but he couldn’t remember the name of his shampoo.

And it’s that thought that somehow brings the reality into focus. Everything they had is gone. They needed to move forward and they needed to do it completely from scratch. Everything they had built together was gone, and there was no bringing it back. The past month of living with Carlos and building a home together had all been erased; all proof of its existence reduced to ashes.

All their memories seeped into every square inch of the house were gone and there was no getting them back.

It’s just one tear at first, but the rest quickly follow. Before he knew it he was sliding down the wall of the shower; chest heaving and shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs. He landed on the shower floor as the tears kept coming, mixing with the warm water falling around him as he put his face in his hands.

He hadn’t let himself feel this because Carlos had needed him but now, in the privacy of the shower with the sound of the water concealing his sobs, he let it come. He cried until he didn’t have anything left in him, until all the fear and pain was gone and he only felt numb.

Then he stood up, shut off the water, and stepped out of the shower; drying himself off and getting ready to face a new day.

----------

Carlos stepped into the kitchen to find Owen, fully dressed and bent over the counter writing something on a notepad. He cleared his throat awkwardly as he stepped into the kitchen, not wanting to startle the older man.

“Carlos!” he greeted cheerfully, Good morning! I was just leaving a note for you boys, I have to head out for an appointment in a bit. How’d you sleep?”

“The room was very comfortable,” he replied, carefully skirting around all mentions of sleep and dreams. The look Owen gave him told Carlos that he wasn’t fooled, but he didn’t press.

“I expected you both to sleep longer,” he said instead. “It was a late night and lord knows TK’s never really been a morning person. Is he up too?”

“He’s in the shower,” Carlos answered, taking a seat on one of the stools at the counter. “We both figured we have a lot to get done so it would be best to get moving.”

“That actually brings up something I wanted to talk to you about - well, a few things actually,” Owen amended. “The first is simple.”

He followed his words by picking up something resting on the counter beside the paper he had been writing on. It was his credit card and when Carlos went to protest he shook his head, “Don’t even think about it. Unless one of you went to bed with your wallet last night and failed to mention that, neither of you has access to any of your accounts at the moment. We’ll get that all sorted out in time but for now I’m sure you’d appreciate having some clothes that actually fit. And don’t even think about trying to pay me back,” he added as he slid the card across to Carlos, “I can cover it, and it’s the least I can do.”

Carlos carefully picked up the card in front of him and looked from it back to his boyfriend’s father, “Thank you, Owen.”

Owen waved off his thanks. “It truly is the least I could do, given everything. But I’m not the only one who wants to help you two.”

Carlos opened his mouth, ready to assure him that the 126 didn’t need to do anything, that simply being there was enough (though knowing them he was sure his assurances wouldn’t stop them) but what Owen said next was not what Carlos had been expecting.

“I know TK talked to his mother last night and told her it was fine that she couldn’t fly down here, but if I know her she is kicking herself for that. Now, this is all up to you and TK. It’s your house and your insurance and it’s up to you how you want to handle it but don’t forget that you have a powerhouse of a Manhattan lawyer on speed dial,” Owen reminded Carlos, “don’t be afraid to call Gwyn if you think it’ll help.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to…” Carlos began but Owen shook his head.

“None of that,” he told him firmly before his expression softened. “She hates that she can’t be here for you two and if you would like to pass on some of the legal and insurance stuff to her I know she would be happy to do it. She would probably feel better about it, knowing that she was able to help you both even if it’s just a little.”

Carlos nodded, feeling the smallest amount of weight lift off his shoulders. There was still plenty left behind, but the knowledge that someone with a better understanding of the system could help them made it just that much easier to breathe in the face of it all.

“Thank you, Owen. I will.”

“Good,” Owen said with a nod. “It’ll mean a lot to her and I’m sure you won’t mind a few fewer things to deal with.”

Carlos nodded emphatically at that and Owen grinned. His expression shifted though as he caught sight of the clock about the stove.

“I need to go,” he said hurriedly, “I have an appointment at the hospital. Will you tell TK...I don’t want to leave before he comes down but…”

Carlos shook his head, “It’s fine, I’ll tell him. We’ll see you later.”

Owen gave him a grateful smile, “Count on it. If you need anything while I’m gone just call me, and don’t worry about buying whatever you need because I’m not letting either of you pay me back, I mean it.”

Then he was gone, out the door with a wave before Carlos could even open his mouth to argue. He picked up the card idly and was tapping it against the counter while his mind wandered when he heard footsteps behind him. He looked around and felt a smile spread across his face at the sight of TK entering the kitchen. It abruptly faded though when his boyfriend grew closer and he could see the telltale signs of recent tears all over his face. They were well concealed, but Carlos knew TK’s face better than his own. TK had been crying, there was no doubt.

“Babe?” he asked gently, rising from his seat at the counter.

“I’m fine,” TK assured him in a hearty voice that did not have Carlos fooled for a second.

“TK you are not fine,” he retorted adamantly, “talk to me.”

“I am Carlos, really,” TK repeated firmly and Carlos went to argue again but TK kept talking. “It just all finally hit me, I think,” he told him, “that’s all.”

Carlos could feel the panic that had sprung up at the sight of TK’s upset start to fade in the absence of any immediate threat or injury. “I’m not surprised,” he admitted softly, stepping forward to wrap his arms around the other man. “You’ve been a rock the entire time and while I appreciate it - really, I do - it was your home too.”

TK heaved a weary sigh and wrapped his own arms around Carlos, returning the embrace. “I know that,” he said softly into Carlos’s shoulder, “but I’m okay, I swear.”

Carlos pulled away enough to study TK’s face, to look for any sign that he was lying. When he didn’t see any he relaxed and took a breath. He knew that it would take some time for them to both move past this and that they were each going to deal with this in their own way. He also knew that this would be far from the last time they talked about this, or the last time one of them struggled. But if TK said he was fine, he was fine and Carlos would let it go - for now.

“Your dad just left,” he said instead, stepping away from his boyfriend so he could enter the kitchen. “He had an appointment but he said he would see us later.”

TK nodded as he crossed to the counter and pulled out two mugs before filling them both with coffee and handing one to Carlos. Carlos took it with a grateful smile and continued, “He also left his credit card and told us to buy whatever we need and was very clear that we were not paying him back. He mentioned that part twice.”

TK shook his head fondly and Carlos grinned before he moved onto the next part of their conversation. “He also suggested we call your mom to see if she can help us with any of the insurance stuff.”

TK looked up, surprised for a moment before his expression evened. “That makes sense,” he admitted. “If anyone knows their way around the system, it’s her.”

Carlos grinned at that, allowing himself a quick moment of enjoyment at the thought of an unsuspecting insurance agent trying to pull one over on Gwyneth Morgan. “I think we should,” he said a beat later, “I think it could make a difference because frankly, I have no idea where to even start with all of this.”

TK chuckled and shook his head, “Honesty, me either. I’ll call her in a little bit, see what she says.”

Carlos nodded but secretly he was sure the answer would be yes. He was fairly certain that Owen was right, that she would do anything that felt like she could help them, especially in a way that only she could.

“We should make some time to go out for a bit,” he says instead, “get some clothes to get us through the week, get you a new phone.”

TK grimaced at the reminder. “You’re lucky you still had yours in your pocket,” he told Carlos. “It feels so weird not having it. I feel so out of the loop.”

Carlos chuckled and reached across the table to place his hand on top of TK’s, “That’s okay,” he assured him sweetly, “I’ll make sure you stay in the loop.”

“My hero,” TK deadpanned, but he was grinning.

Any further conversation was halted by the dinging of the phone in question and Carlos fished it out of his pocket, swiping it open to reveal a new message in the group chat. He put the phone down on the counter so he could see the message from Paul: Status update: everyone make it through the night?

TK rolled his eyes fondly as messages from the others appeared, all confirming their continued existence. Carlos grinned at him before he pulled the phone closer to type out a message informing them all that yes, he and TK had in fact survived the night. The conversation quickly shifted from there and, TK reading over his shoulder as he sipped his coffee, slowly a plan began to form.

Paul reminded them all that they had scheduled a game night for tonight and that if there was ever a time they all needed it, it was now. Marjan was quick to agree and Mateo to wonder where they were going to meet. It was Nancy who suggested the 126, reminding them that it would be abandoned for the foreseeable future and that the building had been deemed structurally sound. It was at this point Carlos felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to meet TK’s concerned eyes.

“Would you be okay with that?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” Carlos responded, baffled at the other man’s concern, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because we barely escaped from a burning building with our lives last night.” TK reminded him gently, “I’m just making sure you’d be fine hanging out in another one.”

Carlos considered, looking back down at his phone. The messages had paused and it seemed as if everyone was waiting on him. The idea of being surrounded by the work of the arsonist who had taken their home did seem daunting, but doing it with their friends and TK at his side made it seem far less so.

So he smiled at TK and gave him a nod before he typed his agreement into the chat. The others were clear in their enthusiasm and despite everything that lay behind them and what was still waiting, Carlos found another smile.

He had a feeling they’d be okay after all.

-----

Walking into his destroyed firehouse is like walking into a grave, again.

When he first started out as a firefighter he never thought he would be forced to stand in the ruins of the place that had come to be a second home (or even a first home, at times) and contemplate the loss and tragedy of the sight before him. But he had, twice. The first time it had been silence: the emptiness of the formerly bustling kitchen, the hastily made beds in the bunk room. The knowledge that the rooms would never be filled again.

This time it was charred walls and shattered windows; physical destruction scattered with the debris and clutter of their day-to-day lives. They were still there - still standing - but there was an illusion of safety that had been washed away, never to be fully regained again. A safe place had been violated and for that Owen was sure he would never forgive himself for being the cause.

His flashlight caught a glint of something in the debris of his office and he reached down to pull out the lump of melted steel. He turned it over in his hand as he sank into his chair, his mind fractured between a time nearly 20 years ago and this moment. He had once walked out of hell alone; filled with the grief of losing his brothers and the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again. But he had moved on and he had built new families and he had vowed to look out for them so he would never have to feel that loss ever again. In the minutes between his frantic call to Judd and the call confirming they were all safe he had nearly been toppled by the fear of that thought. He had thought that he might lose a family again, and that this time it would be his fault.

But he hadn’t; his luck had held again. It had even carried on late into the night, saving him from losing the one thing that meant most to him in the entire world. The pure, unrestrained fear he had felt upon making the connection between Raymond’s threat and the fact that TK and Carlos - the two people both he and Gabriel Reyes cared for most - lived together, making them a perfect target, was unlike anything else he had ever felt in his life. The helplessness had almost overwhelmed him as he and Billy had raced to the scene, the guilt still did even now.

But his luck had held once more and while he was beyond grateful - the thought of losing either of the boys was too awful for him to even comprehend - he was left now to once again wonder why. What had he ever done to make him deserve a happy outcome when Tommy didn’t get one. What made him better, more worthy of a long life, than Charles Vega? He may not have known the man for long, but he had come to know him well and he knew without a doubt that Charles had been a better man than him. Not just a better man: a better person, a better friend, a better husband, a better father. Charles Vega was better than Owen in every single aspect of life that mattered.

Yet for some reason fate had decided that Charles’s time in this life was over; that Tommy needed to face life without her partner, their girls without their father.

And Owen was still here, left standing once again in the ruins; wondering how to move on.

He turned the lump of steel - a reminder and a relic - over again in his hand. There were so many skeletons in his past and sometimes he was afraid that his present was trying to match that. It was a fear that he lived with day in and day out, it was one of the things that kept him up at night and kept him turning to the tequila. He didn’t know how to shake this feeling of dread that had become his constant companion and sometimes he was afraid it would drown him.

Sometimes he wished it would.

There was a list of people in his head; people he couldn’t save, people who should have lived instead. He was running through the list of names (Pullman, Rollins, Rosewater, Santiago…) when the sound of loud music erupted through the silent shell of a firehouse. He frowned, glancing around as if the source would reveal itself before standing and heading down to the first floor.

The sound of voices soon mingled with the sound of the music as he followed it to its source. He turned the corner from what had formerly been the kitchen into the skeletal remains of the lounge to see a small crowd. It was his team, and Carlos. He watched in awe as they took it in stride, as they made the most of it. He lingered off the side, beer in hand and more than content to watch and observe as they bantered and argued about foosball teams. They had all been deeply affected by everything that had happened; he had seen it in them in the immediate aftermath. He knew it had affected them each deeply in their own personal way.

But somehow, they keep moving forwards.

He wonders vaguely when he lost that ability as he stands off to the side, watching them jostle and tease each other by the foosball table as Carlos and TK watch fondly from the sidelines, quietly seeking comfort in each other. He is amazed at their fortitude, at their propensity for healing. They have all faced so much and yet they keep coming out on the other side just as good, just as strong. Just as whole.

He felt a smile find its way to his face as he saw TK gently rub at Carlos’s back; an almost unconscious act of comfort and support. They were fine because they had each other and as long as that was true he knew they’d be okay.

His new team had become a family somewhere along the way and he knew that together, they could make it through anything. It’s in that moment that he decides two things: first, that the news of Charles Vega’s death could wait. These people deserved one night unmarred by tragedy and he had the power to give it to them so he would.

The second, he decided as he watched them laughing with abandon and leaning into each others’ space - finding happiness in the literal midst of destruction - was that the best thing he could do for them is to make sure that they always had each other. And he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would do anything and everything in his power to make sure that stayed true, for as long as he possibly could.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #my writing #userkimmy #userjilly #userac #usermaximus #userbones #tuserjamie #tuserpaige #reyesstrand #reyeslonestartag #jazzyjess #hierophvnts #buckybarnesalways #laelipoo #maizsnex

64 notes · View notes

now-im-a-belieber · 3 years

Note

Hii❤️ can j please request "i love you so much that it terrifies me" with Bill? Thank you❤️

prompt: "i love you so much that it terrifies me"

bill guarnere x female!reader

a/n: annnnd im back to writing angst! don't worry the ending is mostly happy and i kind of have an idea for a part 2?! but here's this for now, i'm kinda proud o' this one!

taglist: @capsparkyspeirs @wecomrades @tvserie-s-world @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant

══════════════════

Your enlistment was nothing short of a miracle.

It happened during the last attempt you'd given yourself out of about a dozen other times. The officer, who'd become used to you storming up to his desk every other day, sighed upon noticing your return this time. Until then, he'd only ever glance your way and then back down at whatever work lay upon his desk. But this time, he sighed.

Hell, so what if you'd worn him down more so than convinced him you were fit to fight? He'd finally agreed to let you sign your name on the dotted line.

"Fine." The officer said. "You wanna prove something so badly, go on, prove it." And he went on to ramble about how he wouldn't be surprised to find you back home in a week's time after failing to meet any requirements at Toccoa.

"War is no place for women." He huffed, finally.

"Then I'd better hurry and get out there. Since anyone who shares your ideals clearly has no fight left in them on the behalf of people like me."

You brushed off his discouragement and marched home to the beat of your ever quickening heart. Bill was certainly going to have a lot to say about this. But so were you...

He was packing when you arrived. There were no more days left until Bill was due at the training camp. Just one night's rest. The last night you'd planned to spend together for only God knew how long.

But before any goodbyes could begin, you hovered in the bedroom doorway with news to share. Better to get this out in the open and out of the way...

"I got in." You breathed, stood with the confirmation papers in your vice grip, like if you let go of them they'd cease being tangible.

"You got in?" Bill repeated in monotone. You weren't expecting a fight. You'd actually thought Bill would burst at the seams with pride and joy, like he said he would when you first wondered aloud, if your joining up was wise.

But then he repeated the same sentence in some kind of realization. And there was a smile affecting his tone as he spoke in the charming draw you'd always adored. He abandoned his poorly packed bags and swept across the room to stand before you, with a gleam in his eye. And then came his rambles of praise and excitement. Telling you he knew you'd make it. Telling you he'd be right behind you every step, ready to give hell to anyone who might try and break you down along the way.

You let your man fawn and flatter you, but knew this night couldn't end without making yourself perfectly clear.

"That's the thing though." You revealed with a shaky breath. You hadn't thought much about how to say this. But you knew you had too.

"Your help.... I don't think it would help. Bill, I have to do this on my own. The officer's right. I *do* have something to prove. And I don't want anyone thinking I made it to where I'm headed because my boyfriend knocked enough barriers out of my way."

You didn't wanna fight. You desperately didn't want this to be a fight. But this was something you were sure of. So you braced yourself at the sight of your man's jaw clenching.

And there was no hiding the flash of sadness in Bill's eye's, though sadness for what, you couldn't be exactly sure. As you held your breath, you watched as Bill slowly relaxed his shoulders. And through the pregnant silence that had settled, he reached out to you and said, "Alright, doll."

"Alright?" You wondered in suspicion. That was almost too easy.

"I know you ain't gonna change your mind about somethin' this important to ya." Bill pointed.

So then it was decided. You'd be headed to the same place with the same goal with the person you'd loved longer than you had fingers to count on. But you wouldn't let on that you'd known Bill long before stepping foot onto the camp grounds. After a while longer of your making your aspirations clear, Bill promised he understood. And you hoped your selfish determination wouldn't be misconstrued.

And still, your man went on another monolog about how proud of you he was.

"But if ya think I won't be around every corner waitin' up to steal you away, you'd better think again." Bill kissed your head and coaxed you to bed, reminding you this was the last of night's like these.

So you stayed entirely swept up in Bill's orbit. Talk of what things would be like quickly washed away by your appreciation for the moment Bill implored you to stay focused on. This was the last of night's like these indeed...

///

He'd been at Toccoa for a week already. You realized entirely, that your late joining would affect you just as negatively as every other aspect of your joining at all.

But this only made you want it worse than ever. Not just to prove yourself. Not just to prove others wrong. But you felt the desire to be a part of this for reasons much more profound than you'd ever had the means to understand for yourself, let alone explain to anyone.

So you followed every rule like it was do or die. From which path to walk to find your barracks- to the drills you were sent to practice before you'd so much as stepped out of the cab ride here.

And to your surprise, you seemed to blend into the background of things. There were no gasps or whispers traded as you found your place among the men.

It was hard to tell if they could care less about your presence, or if they collectively, subconsciously, decided to freeze you out; finding it the easiest way to focus on reigning supreme themselves.

And it was just as you'd gotten used to the silence you'd been receiving, when you saw him. Your man. Your Bill, yakin' with some fellas who reminded you of the kids you'd hung around the school yard with, back home.

And at the sight of the man you'd loved for so long, after a fortnight gone from his side, you were inclined to run into his loving arms- despite your fuss made about keeping a distance.

And then he saw you, too. And the bunch he was with had begun walking off. Bill seemed to turn, to follow along, in a moment that sent your heart to plummet. But over his shoulder Bill shot you a wink and a sly smile.

And something about the smile he gave you beyond the space he respected made your heart rise back up and melt all the while. And you realized he was completely on your side. How did you get so lucky?

Things went on like that for a couple weeks. Most of the company would pay you no mind. This meant your accomplishments seemed invisible and the times you might've been bold enough to ask for a helping hand fell on deaf ears.

But some started to pester you, unable to hold back their snide remarks any longer. An odd pride swelled within you, when your existence started becoming meaningful enough to irk them. And eventually, a few of the sweeter souls seemed to recognize that you were, in fact, a human, just as eager to be a part of the great big fight as they were.

So with the few friends you'd made, you'd found occasional moments of respite side by side. But of course, there was one soldier who managed to hold your attention everyday- though you were damn good at pretending this wasn't so.

Bill, on the other hand, couldn't be stopped from shouting encouragement across obstacle courses and casting longing stares across the dining hall. And some of the guys you'd started getting on with kept cracking jokes about how Bill must've had some secret crush on you. In a way, they weren't wrong. And the whole act was almost a little bit fun.

Bill went as far as introducing himself to you, acting a bigger flirt than you'd ever recalled him acting when he was very first pursuing you- which was really saying something.

And when the pair of you managed to sneak off on those weekends you were set free, it was almost as if you'd never been parted at all. Bill would trace patterns across your skin and laugh with you about nothing into the night, like always.

And every one of those rare opportunities ended by you asking if he was still alright with this whole strange arrangement you'd created. And Bill assured he was fine to sit back and watch you out run easy company's fastest sprinters, and give Shifty's near perfect shooting record a little competition. Bill knew you were on a personal mission to accomplish all the things you knew you could, without any implications. But you *were* starting to miss him.

Because those days and nights where you got to steal a moment of Bill's time were becoming sparse. And your rough plans together were almost always thwarted- by surprise drills and punishments.

And it came as a shock to no one that you'd most often get the worst of it from Sobel. His unhinged language somehow sunk lower when aimed at you. You knew his demeaning of your gender was intended to break you down. But you didn't let it. His discipline was often set up for you to fail, and make a fool of yourself. But you powered through the worst of it, and shot the bastard a grin each time you managed to come out on top of each ridiculous task. If you hadn't been motivated to push yourself before, you'd become mad to gain power by now.

Trouble was, on the few nights Bill made a point to sneak into your bunk, there was just no time for much besides dutifully listening to him drone on about how he missed you.

You'd been made to double your workload when everyone else got the rare chance to take it easy. And during then, Bill sought you out, like he once promised he would. And though you couldn't help but appreciate the nights he offered to stay up with you; to help finish some nightmarish task made to drive you to throwing in the towel- you sent him away. Bill would argue that any fight you had to face was his fight too. And you argued back that you thought he'd promised he understood that you were dead set on coming through this on your own.

Some mornings he'd let his hand squeeze your own below the table in the dining hall; while the others were busy fighting over desserts. But you eventually started shooting down Bill's attempts to display even the smallest affection- feeling strangely endangered by and entirely undeserving of his kind attention, at least until you earned your wings.

Those moments were already so few. And eventually they ceased all together, and the weeks started to fly by. Before you knew it, the time that had passed almost seemed to push the two of you further apart. Bill would be sent on one exercise while you were banished elsewhere. And on and on, until d-day.

As you slipped into your gear, a pit grew in your gut. Not for fear of what might be to come, but because you couldn't find Bill. And you *needed*to find him before thing's got even more complicated.

The sight of the man boarding a separate plane only brought you a blink of relief. But hardly so, it was no goodbye. Only confirmation that he was headed toward the same fate as you.

You were pushed onto your own flight, and the worry within you increased ten fold.

As the plane idled, some men chattered to ease their nerves. Their conversation had passed through one of your ears and out of the other, until you heard Bill's name repeated a couple of times.

"What's his problem? Seems to be more of a bitch than usual." One of them griped, wondering about the state of your man. It made you sick to realize you hadn't been near enough to him to realize he'd been in a strange mood, for a while.

"Yeah, well you'd be a bitch too if you found out your brother died, just before your flight out to hell." Johnny Martin pipped up. His tone more defensive than usual. You couldn't help but gawk at the peevish soldier who'd often, perplexingly, been kind to you. Had he really just said what you thought he said?

"Bill's brother?" You begged to know, trying quickly to hide the way your face fell.

"Yeah. He was killed in Italy, somewhere." Martin informed, keeping a quizzical eye on you.

"I see." You played, shoving all the terror and hurt deep deep down. There simply was no time to feel such things, and certainly not enough time for an explanation, should you start to lose it a little.

Before you knew it you were rocketing toward the ground and scrambling through tall grass to find a familiar face. Smoke and flames led your way, and one day and night passed before you saw your man again- two days that seemed to pass slower than years and decades.

And when you did spot Bill, he was relaxing with some of the others on the steps of a blown up building; and some horrid resistance within you grew stronger than the usual natural instinct to run into his embrace. The mixed emotions caused a cry to lodge itself in your throat, but you wouldn't let it out of course.

And by then Bill had made his way close enough to you to notice the sheen of tears you were reluctant to let fall.

"Still blerry eye'd from that shit storm we dived into, huh?" He nudged your side with his elbow and the smile he wore was gentle and encouraging despite the mayhem that had shadowed your senses, and his no doubt, for days now.

"You didn't tell me about your brother." You spoke in a whisper that came out in more of a hiss, unintentionally.

"Yeah, well you didn't tell me goodbye. But who's countin'?" Bill shot back, not speaking in anger so much as dejection. The two of you stood holding each others gaze for the first time in longer than just the two days you'd been separated.

"So what are we gonna do?" Bill wondered. But the ending of his statement was drowned out by the officers shouting for your company to fall out.

And for weeks that was as good as it got. The looks you shared across rooms were scant. And if there was ever time you might've had to find each other and sort things, you didn't take it- too terribly afraid he'd tell you how horribly you'd been treating him and break your heart in the middle of this already loveless bedlam.

It was all your fault, creating this chasm between the two of you and having no clue how to close it up. You'd walked around it many a time and met on the edge but the space was only growing.

The distance you insisted upon at first was never supposed to last this long but it seemed to have found a permanent place between you.

And what was worse, were the instances Bill found himself at your side- sharing silence on patrols and long rides from one place to another.

He was right in your reach. Just like he promised to always be. But that only made the storm of emotion within you seem to rage even wilder.

By the time your company had reached Belgium, you'd convinced yourself that everything you'd once shared with Bill was long gone. For all the times you failed to reach out to him, Bill seemed to pass up reaching out to you all the same.

Until one night. You were headed back from viewing some old film with a few of the guys who'd become used to your presence. There were still a few troopers who grimaced at the sight of you mixed in battle near them. But there were more who'd been proud to fight beside you, and invited you to take in a film on one lucky night off.

Bill was among them, listening to their banter while you lagged behind the bunch. You'd been certain that he'd finally crossed over to the side if the men who'd found it easier to turn a blind eye your way. But then

your crew rounded the corner of some weather worn barn. And Bill broke away from the group and stopped you from walking on- grabbing you by the elbow and gently holding you to stall.

"Bill, I don't think-" you began, croaking past the ever present lump in your throat. Worried that the others would hear should you start to bicker. You didn't care what they knew, anymore. Only hoped to prevent any further upset. There was already so much sorrow you're lot had to carry and sort through. And selfishly, you couldn't dream of stirring up any more upset.

"Shaddup. This ain't how it's gonna be no more." Bill returned, his voice full and insistent. He still held one of your arms and brought his other hand to follow suit.

You were too stunned by his insistence and his closeness after so much confusion that you keep your mouth shut.

"I miss you, damn it."

Your brow furrowed at his gentle confession and your mouth hovered open. Too many words jammed in your throat but you manage to stammer out the one's that reign truest.

"I miss you too."

Bill's worry seemed to fade into relief. His eyes shut as he brought his lips to your head, like he always used to do. And you let him.

"Well, we can't have that." You closed your eyes then, as he spoke against your temple and ran his hand up to your shoulders, bringing his fingers to hold your face. You let Bill lean in for a real kiss, feather light and sweet as ever. And you didn't try and stop as he followed behind on your decided way back toward your billet.

But as you turned the corner at last, a drunken member of your company stopped you from walking further.

Cobb stood in the middle of the rest of the path, sipping from a foreign bottle. He never liked you much. Before you could shove past the guy, he spoke up.

"Who the fuck do you two think you are?" Cobb spat, eyeing Bill past your shoulder. "What makes either of you think you deserve happiness, let alone love? In the palm of your hand in the middle of all this? It's audacious. You disgust me." Perhaps Cobb had seen the way Bill had only just so tenderly held you. Or perhaps he was just on another senseless bender.

Either way, you let your eye's roll and breezed on by, leaving the drunken fool behind. He didn't let Bill pass so easily, though, slurring something about your character in the face of the man who'd so far unconditionally loved you.

"Get fucked, Cobb. Maybe that stick up your ass'll come lose, then." Bill pushed past the soldier who'd been insulted enough to shut his mouth. But his alcohol fueled barb rang in your ears the rest of the walk to the place you were headed.

The walk was quiet. And you debated over speaking your mind even as you crept into the room. It had to be done, you realized. The room was empty of listening ear, and equipped with a door to shut the world out. You and Bill hadn't had many chances like this in a year or so. And you knew fate had designed this opportunity, a chance to finally say everything that you hadn't been able to.

"Bill." You stared, turning to face your man after you'd turned the lock on the door. He stood with his arms crossed as if to brace for impact.

"Maybe Roy wasn't wrong."

Bill shook his head as you spoke and met you in the middle of the room where you'd stood.

"I just got you back. You're nuts if ya think I'm gonna let you slip away from me again."

"But I didn't slip away!" You corrected with urgency. "I pushed you away. More than a couple of times!"

"Maybe, but you had a good reason." Bill assured, his eyes going wide under his strong furrowed brow.

"No, I had a selfish reason. And Cobb might be a drunk asshole but he's right! I don't deserve you, not now!"

"Fuck that guy. He gets a say in what happens to us? Don't fuckin' think so. You're not walkin' away from me after all this time just cause some pessimistic asshole-"

As Bill shouted, you lost all the strength you'd been enforcing to keep from falling apart over this. Your throat burned as a pathetic sob escaped and hot tears ran down your face.

What had started as some mechanism you'd used to get through training turned into something bigger and uglier. This was war. This was what it turned you into. Some selfish monster greeded for more credit when you'd already earned your place.

You'd pushed Bill away time and again and you knew he had to be near his breaking point. He proved so tonight, by grabbing you close and demanding you not stray so far again, like you'd ever really come back from doing so.

And what was worse than the realization that you'd pushed him away, was the realization that Bill might not always come back. And what if you couldn't change? What if, on your road back to being less selfish, he'd finally realize you weren't worth the chase?

"I fucked up." You admitted, heaving the realization through sobs. "Oh God, Bill, please don't leave me."

"Hello? You heard a thing I've been sayin'?" Bill rang, reaching out to you much like he did not even an hour ago. One set of fingers came to lovingly brush the tears still rolling from your eyes. And then he held your head in his hands so you'd look at him as he spoke up.

"It's always gonna be you. That's what I'm put here fightin' for. Even when you get all determined and leave me in the dust. Hell, I'm so in love with you it terrifies me, doll. Scares me that one day you'll get too good at bein' on your own, and leave me, all alone, still be fightin'." Bill poured forth, searching your gaze as he spoke.

"Point is, I'll always be on your team. You just gotta let me stay cheerin' you on, damn it."

You nodded and tried to swallow your emotions to no avail. And finally just let yourself cry again as you repeated to Bill how sorry you were. He wrapped you in his embrace and let you lose it.

"I'll do better." You swore, meeting his eyes.

"Just feel better, for now, huh? That'll make me a happy man."

You didn't deserve Bill. But damn it, if he'd still have you, you'd be right there ready to cherish his very existence with each set and rise of the sun. You both agreed that there was no way either of you could make it through the rest of this hell without one another close by.

And you figured some of the guys had already pieced together that there was something between you and the man with an unforgiving nickname. And, apparently, Bill had entrusted Babe Heffron with his entire life story by now. That explained the curious glances the replacement had now and again thrown your way.

To hell with what anyone might've made of the two of you. To hell with any future or past where Bill wasn't in step with you.

The next night your company was hauled off toward the forest without a coat to trade between the lot of you. Teeth chattered and breath fogged the freezing air. But Bill clasped his hand in yours, and an incomparable warmth spread across everything that made you whole.

Some new kid was the subject of the company's pestering tonight, but it hardly lasted. Spirit's settled and someone near the front of the ride seemed to rhetorically wonder about home, and what it would be like to get back.

Some men answered, voicing hopes and dreams of the future. You only turned to look right at Bill, who already had his sights set on you. And then you realized, nothing much had really changed. You'd always been lucky with Bill at your side. God how you'd be glad to let it last...

#bill guarnere #bill guarnere x reader #bill guarnere imagine #band of brothers

93 notes · View notes

secondhand-trash · 3 years

Text

“I love you.” “It’ll pass.”

Season 2 ep 6, Fleabag

(more lines I like from things I like as prompts for people I like)

A/N: I reserved this one for Dabi when I was making the list but fuck Dabi It’s Getou time😌✨this scene impacted me so hard when I was watching the show and I knew right then that I had to write something off of it one day

Pairing: Getou Suguru x reader

Description: He left without saying goodbye.

Warning: major manga spoilers (set after the hs flashback arc and connecting to the prequel)

Word count: 3007

Playlist:

Cigarette Daydreams//Cage The Elephant

You Say I’m in Love//Banes World

The Killing Moon//Echo & the Bunnymen

It wasn’t until the report came out that you realised Getou was never coming back.

All 112 villagers of the prev. ** village deceased.

The letters printed on the white paper was staring right at your face, but somehow it still felt like it was miles away, like everything you read fell through your ears as an echo.

Residues at the scene could determine that it was Getou Suguru’s curse manipulation.

No one said anything when they saw you staring blankly at the still screen of your phone. The last few messages were still there, sitting there and waiting to be read.

You weren’t sure if you were hoping or detesting a response. He probably never would, like he probably wasn’t your boyfriend anymore.

“Do you know when you are getting back?”

Getou Suguru escaped.

“This is taking longer than your usual missions, is everything alright?”

According to item 9 of the Jujutsu Regulations, he is to be classified as a curse user-

“Suguru?”

-and is to be executed.

The other two saw him again after that, which they had the mercy of not telling you explicitly, but anyone could tell from the heaviness lingering in the air.

Shoko smoked more than usual.

Gojo got quiet, and sometimes you would catch him fidgeting with the candy paper in his hand underneath his table.

Getou’s table was still there, an empty space starkly standing in the middle of the already sparsely occupied room. You had assumed that they would remove all traces of him immediately, but you could understand why they didn’t when you realised that your gaze still paused at where he once sat whenever it wandered.

The same way crimes scenes were always kept as it was, only the supposed corpse was still out there somewhere.

It was a silence bonding, the unbreakable chain of experiencing the same loss at the same time, but somehow your remaining friends were already there when you pushed open the door to the rooftop where no one usually went to.

That was the first day when he was gone. You had felt an impulse to go somewhere where you were not trapped inside, where you could feel the air entering your lungs as you inhale and it seemed like you were not the only one with that thought.

Gojo was already there, with his back bent forward as he leaned on the rail. He had one foot on the iron bar of the railing, casting a glance to your side when you silently joined him in looking down.

There was no one visible in your sight, but still you looked, and looked. The quiet footsteps getting closer let you know that the third (and last) classmate was here, a soft sigh ringing before there was a click and the smell of smoke made you furrow your eyebrows together.

You remembered that he used to smoke rather often, but somehow always put the cigarette off when you neared. He stopped smoking around you entirely after you got together, because you would push him away if you smelt the tell-tale scent of tobacco on him. But if you caught him at the corner with one between his fingers, he would always pull you close with his eyes curling into two thin strands, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his other hand fumbled for the mints he kept in his jacket pocket.

You wanted to be mad at him, but the chill tickling your tongue when his breath fanned against your lips always had you weak.

“If he had come back for you,” Gojo’s voice was void of emotions, without the usual certainty or cockiness that always dripped from his words, “would you have followed?”

You shrugged.

“I don’t know,” you shook your head slightly, your eyes not once shifting away from the empty courts below.

The reality was that it still took you some time to process that fact that he killed a whole village of people, even longer when you eventually remembered that he did the same to his own parents. It didn’t feel real, like a bad dream that you could wake up from if you beat the thought into your head enough, like you could just close your eyes and see him walking up to you with his usual smile, asking you if you really fell for it.

But the feeling of being left behind, of conflict at the sentiments in your heart that you couldn’t brush away, of doubting if everything you once had was ever truly yours, of anger at how you were supposed to be the closest to him but knew nothing, of not being told anything, of not receiving a proper goodbye, of him running away without even telling you straight up that he was leaving you behind, were all very, very real.

There was a dull ache budding at the back of your throat over the fact that your last image of him was still the way he looked at you with so much tenderness made you sick to the stomach, and twisted even more at the knowing that to you, that was his one biggest crime.

Perhaps that was what love was. You could look past the fucked up morals or even the murder, but there was no ignoring that you were left behind, and that meant that there was where it all ended.

You chuckled at the conclusion you had drawn, earning you a questioning stare from the boy who raised the question.

Hell, then he might just be the love of your life.

“I don’t know,” you repeated, bitterness lingering on your tongue when you smiled.

Sick, just sick.

They were both looking at you, but you didn’t turn to see what expression they were wearing as you dropped your head. The metal pressing against your forehead growing warm under the heat of your skin as you muttered, this time to yourself and no one else.

“I really don’t.”

Time sped up from there.

Life went on. Eat, sleep, going out on missions before collapsing on your bed when you came back alone and tired, repeat. Gojo and Shoko stayed after graduation season hit, you didn’t. You spent so many years there already, you clicked your tongue as you said, it is time to move on.

You were not really talking about High school, both of them knew it but neither said a thing. The empty table remained as it was until a new batch of students poured into the classroom that was once yours, before they left and another group filled in.

Occasionally you met young sorcerers on the field who wore the same button that once adorned your collar, and wondered if it was them who sat at that table now.

You did not think about Getou Suguru for years.

Yet, you were not surprised to find the exact same man that once plagued your thoughts late at night standing in the middle of your living room uninvited, without a single hint just as when he left.

“It has been long.”

You had a gut feeling that he got taller since you last saw him, even though you were probably standing too far away from him to truly measure. The edges and corners of his face were more prominant, his hair running down his back in a way that used to happen only when he was at his most relaxed.

“You should try to let it grow,” you mumbled as you ran your hand through one lock of his hair, letting the black silk fell from your hand onto his chest, “it would look good on you.”

He chuckled, and the vibration seeped into your skin from the way he laid on your lap. The weight lifted from your legs when he sat up, his face right in front of yours as he grinned.

“When my hair reaches my waist, will you marry me?”

You laughed, and the smile on him only grew.

“Where did you get that from?” you hid your smile behind the back of your hand.

“It’s from a poem,” he replied with a tilt of his head, “Never heard of it?”

“No,” you still sounded breathy from the laughter, “but did people teach you not to make promises so easily?”

The one long piece of his bangs had fallen onto his face, covering his eyes just slightly. He huffed as he pushed it away from his view, placing his head on your shoulder.

“Who told you it was easy?”

Ah, your jaw clenched at the waterfall of black that stopped just above his waist, so he did grow it out in the end.

You did not move from your position at the door, standing with your back straight and your keys still gripping tightly in your hand. “What are you doing here?”

You were just about to head back from a mission when you got the call. “He showed up at Kousen just then,” Gojo did not bother with formalities, or give you any context as to who “he” was but still you froze, knowing exactly what he was talking about right away, “he might go see you.”

(You were sure that he wouldn’t, but it seemed like you truly didn’t know him well at all.)

He chuckled, a soft sound that made your nails dig into the middle of your palm, “Am I not allowed to check up on you because I want to?”

He sounded familiar, exactly the way you remembered him to sound like. The corners of his lips were lifted up in a calculated angle, smiling at ease but not from heart. You suppressed the heat that was near pouring out your throat, swallowing the discomfort back into the pit of your core.

Was it true that this wasn’t how he smiled, or did you only notice the way his eyes were lifeless now?

You replied with a smile of your own, not willing to lose your footing, “Oh please.”

You never bothered to check on me before.

He was not bothered by the dryness in your voice, and if he was then he did a great job at not appearing so.

“When I left,” he asked, “were you mad at me?”

“No,” But I spent nights crying over you. “is that supposed to come out as a mock?”

“No.”

You searched for a hint of wavering in his eyes, any sign that he was experiencing even a bit of the turmoil that was boiling and burning in your chest as you tried to keep your voice still.

You wondered what you had hoped to find.

“What do you want?” you said, and forced yourself to look right into his eyes. You imagined that you could see your own reflection staring back at you if you were any closer to him and the hint of soreness shooting right up to your nasal until it the sting that left almost resembled longing.

If you were to fight, you probably couldn’t win him no matter how hard you try.

“If I say I miss you, would you believe me?”

There was a ring in your ear as you shut your eyes tight, forcing the corner of your lips to hold back from twitching.

God damn it.

“Does it matter?” I wish I don’t.

“Perhaps.”

He was looking at you, and you could taste the blood at the tip of your tongue. You wished there wasn’t some part of you that was near breaking down inside of you, or that you didn’t feel such an urge to let the tears run free.

But you wouldn’t, your pride wouldn’t allow it.

His arms crossed loosely in front of his chest, the fabric of his cassock bunching up around his elbows. You had pondered why the cloak seemed so out of place, and then you remembered that he wasn’t even religious in the slightest.

It was all for show.

“Leave.”

There was a hint of relief when you heard your own voice landing back on your ear and there wasn’t the shakiness you had so dreaded to hear. You knew you had lost the moment you even cared, but still, on the front you refused to show there sometimes, during the many years after he left, you would still see his face when you couldn’t sleep and all you could do was stare at the ceiling. You hoped the iciness in your expression was enough to cover up the fact that you had no erased all traces of what you once had with him completely, and there was still a photograph or two that you hid away so that no one would know you still hadn’t let go of him, a traitor.

He glanced down at your command, before nodding slightly to himself. Getou Suguru turned around until he was facing your window and his shadow slanted on the opposing wall from the cold hue of the moon.

The pale light blurred his figure, like smoke, like the mint tingling your senses.

“You ruined my life.”

I love you.

He paused briefly, before turning to look at you once again. You were taken back when you see the look in his eyes, and the downward tug at his mouth.

With the moon and the cassock and the unexplainable depth in his eyes, he did look the part of feeling sorrow for the world and pity for the masses.

Oh, how ironic.

Getou parted his lips slightly, and you could see the shudder but heard no sound, until they pursed, before he finally spoke again.

I love you too.

“It’ll pass.”

You did not realise that you were staring out the window, not moving a step until you saw the dots of snow slowly landing on the glass. Your steps stumbled as you walked towards where he jumped out, your hand touching the chilled glass while the world outside was a scene of white.

He probably came and left on the back of some curse he had, not leaving even a trace.

You stared and stared, and wondered what it would feel like to be buried under the snow that was starting to pile up.

Gojo asked you if you want to see him for one last time.

You refused.

Your bones were cracking with each twist of your joints as you finally got back to your own space after the whole fiasco that went down had you drained.

Of all the days he had to plan an uprising, it had to be Christmas Eve. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips when the door locked behind you, the lights flicking on to show the red number on the calendar hanging on the wall.

It was quiet, the handle of the clock ticking was all you could hear. It matched the pounding in your ear, drumming and drumming as you stared upwards at the ceiling, sucking in a deep breath as the cold air filled your lungs.

So he really was gone now.

“He said he couldn’t manage to laugh happily from the bottom of his heart in this world,” Gojo called you again a moment later after the initial one, and you had to swallow the want to tell him that there was no need to tell you what he said when the other end fell into silence when you didn’t response.

Only there was. You knew there was.

At the back of your head, you had a faint memory of where you had put the old things that you couldn’t find somewhere to store when you moved out of your dorm room. It was hidden under the piles and piles of clothes and blankets that you never used, much like how you had not touched that box since you first put it there.

You sucked in a deep breath when your fingertip touched the rough corner of the cardboard, reaching in deeper to pull it out. It was covered in dust and slightly crooked from all the things you had stacked on it, but still exactly the same as how it looked when you sealed everything inside with the cover and shoved it in your closet.

There was still an innocent sense of glee when you opened it and saw all the things that reminded you of your youth.

The student handbook, and your student card that was stuck in there like a bookmark. The gold button in which some of the gold pain had already come off from years of wear and tear. Your graduation picture, which showed the three of you sitting side by side properly in all its rarity.

The familiar ache in your throat returned when you got to the bottom, where you found the sole reason why you dug this out. You smiled, your hand gingerly picking the thin film laying flatly there without a single crease on it.

He was looking at you, who had your face on his shoulder with an arm thrown around your frame. Your hand was on his neck, pulling him down towards you as you laughed and he laughed back at you. You did not remember who took it, or when it happened, but the rush of warmth in your chest as you held the picture in your hand must be the proof that you were happy.

You should have thrown this away the moment you knew he was not coming back, but you didn’t have the heart to.

How could you when he looked so happy too?

Your thumb traced over the smooth surface of the film, over where his lips were nearly touching your hair, over his eyes that were fixed on you.

Couldn’t manage to laugh happily from the bottom of his heart... huh?

You laughed, at him, at yourself, before the droplet of tear finally fell.

Like there was smoke in your eyes.

Like the chill on your arm was not from the snow outside but from the taste of peppermint on your tongue.

#jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #getou x reader #getou imagine #getou imagines

232 notes · View notes

snuggetfish · 3 years

Note

I love your thoughts on Majima so much! He’s such a fun and interesting character to analyze and I’d like to ask what your general headcanons of him are? Like, just about any headcanon that comes to mind

Aaah thanks so much anon, it makes me fuzzy inside to know people like reading these sometimes really rambly replies! 💙 Headcanon-wise, ohhh, I’ve got a good few, but below are the first ones that come to mind. I’ve split them up roughly by topic, hopefully they’re easier to read this way!

Outfit

It always seemed to me that Majima’s environmentalism was a bit at odds with his signature look. Leather pants, leather gloves, snakeskin jacket, that’s a hell of an animal cruelty combo right there... so I think they’d actually all be fake. Majima may be flashy, but he’s not a hypocrite and with how many clothes he ruins by getting into fights, I don’t think he’d want to continuously sink cash into the leather industry.

Though, that’s not to say his fashion would look or feel cheap! Whoever his tailor is, I bet they’re being paid well to source high quality, realistic looking leather and snake imitations.

Diet

While we’re on this topic, I’d like to think Majima had a phase where he tried going vegetarian, after reading up on the ecological effects of animal farming. But here, he finds he can’t be as principled as with clothing, because the beef bowl cravings get too strong sometimes and the boys are noticeably crankier without their usual family barbecues... So he’d give up on the idea eventually. He's not a saint, he’s gotta have some indulgences.

Love life

Other things yakuza are known to indulge in: the sex trade (or “water trade” in Japan I suppose). I mean, they run a good amount of these businesses, makes sense that they’d visit them too, right? But I think, for Majima, hostess clubs would hold too many bittersweet memories and, generally, he wouldn’t enjoy being buttered up. Simulated love and empty words for a price... a hostess won’t be nearly as sincere with him—an obviously loaded customer—as the Sunshine girls were with their manager, so why bother? If it’s just gonna be two clowns putting on a show for each other...

Frustration and distracting thoughts might push him to go to a soapland or brothel, but those visits are about as frequent as his one-night stands, which is to say: rare. His body has needs, but they mostly serve to remind him of the needs of his heart, which are so much harder to fill...

Pastimes

So how does Maijma spend his spare moments then? Batting cages, of course, but also watching TV in his apartment, playing zombie shooters or just about any game that can help pass the time. When he’s alone, I think a lot of his habits are carried over from his days in Sotenbori, whether he realizes it or not. Thus...

Smoking

He’s likely got an ashtray in every room, since his addiction manifests all the worse when he’s at home. He usually remembers to open the window first, but on particularly bad nights, he’d be no stranger to smoking in bed or on the bathroom floor.

I think he didn’t use to smoke much as a young adult (19-20), but after his days in the Hole, it’s a way to cope with trauma and mounting stress. The habit only really ramped up when 23-year-old Majima realized that the more cigarettes he burns through, the less hungry he feels and the more money he can save for Sagawa’s monthly payment.... Grooming

His apartment is sparsely furnished and looks barely lived in, probably because it is. You also won’t find him in lounge clothes too often, even the eye patch stays on almost 24/7. It’s so much a part of him now, that he occasionally forgets to take it off in the shower. But let me just say this: he’s no slob. Majima has had more than his fair share of living in squalor, while he was still in the Hole... People joke about him being greasy, but I really don’t think he could stand the feeling of being dirty. Though speaking of, I think he’d prefer showers over baths. Less idle time for the painful thoughts to creep in. The only way he’d start warming up to the idea of a nice soak every night is... if he maybe had a partner who’d gently wash his hair and back, to ease the day’s tension... or if there was a little munchkin all too eager to have him play sea monster to their fleet of rubber duckies. Would at least one of the duckies have a little eye patch scribbled on it in sharpie? Well, who’s to say... 😌

Just like his apartment, I think he would himself smell of cigarettes, but always mixed with something almost... citrus-y. Muted and a little bitter, like bergamot, from the cologne he wears on days where he needs to dress presentably. Though if you also happen to catch a note of vanilla on him... well, that’s likely a hint that Goromi’s been out on the town. (´~ ω •`)

Skills

Last but not least, a slightly unrelated headcanon: Majima’s surprisingly good with numbers and equations. Not because he’s received a great education (though he is definitely the kind of guy who succeeds in almost anything he applies himself to, it’s just that he rarely does) but because being in charge of The Grand’s bookkeeping, night after night for two years, has taught him skills that are not so easily forgotten. However, it’s not something he brags about, so the first few times it’ll definitely come as a shock to his subordinates. He’ll be given a balance sheet or a contract to sign and Nishida assumes his eye will just glaze over and he’ll throw the papers back at his face, but instead Majima spots a calculation error within a minute of looking at it. Then he gives Nishida an earful about paying more attention to these things... then he throws the papers back, yeah.

And because I can’t help myself on the Majidad headcanons: of course this means he’s on duty for helping his kid with their math homework.

Whew, this ended up as a big wall of text, sorry! Guess you can tell Majima occupies my thoughts a lot more than he probably should hah... It’s fun to share these though! Thank you so much for the ask! 💙💙💙

#majima goro #goro maijma #yakuza headcanons #anon asks #answered #you ask for Maji headcanons brain go brrrr

96 notes · View notes

arcturusreads · 3 years

Note

Hi are you still accepting prompts? if you do here’s one: Hayes doing something special for Meredith’s birthday.. No pressure though take your time writing you are such a great writer💕

Celebrate - Merhayes

Thank you so much, that means the world! Hope you enjoy x

Meredith Grey had never been one to celebrate her birthday. Ellis had never bothered with birthday parties for her little girl, the day was never made a fuss out of. By the time Meredith had moved out and one to college, she didn’t see the point in celebrating it. It was only after meeting Derek that her own birthday began to have special memories attached to it. He’d pestered her for months about when her birthday was and was mortified when she at last told him and had found out that he was two months late. The date was now permanently etched into his brain and he made sure that regardless of how lowkey the celebration might be, Meredith would always celebrate another turn around the Sun. Ferry boats, dinners and long drives had become the tradition and Meredith found herself looking forward to it.

Since her husband’s passing though, Meredith had stopped bothering again. Whilst she made sure she went all out for her kids, she would stop her sisters and friends from doing anything that resembled celebration for her. Maggie had put her foot down and yelled when Meredith tried not to accept the present that’d been gifted to her though. Her kids would bake her a cake with the help of their aunt’s, with homemade cards and presents and Meredith thought it was perfect. That was all she needed for her birthday. That and a good surgery.

After six months of dating Meredith and having celebratedhis own birthday with her, Cormac was beginning to get curious as to when Meredith’s was. When he had asked her once before she just laughed it off, saying that he would have to find out himself. So, he’d een on a hunt to figure it out. It seemed that Meredith had briefed the entire hospital staff on not letting him know her birthday.

Hie’d asked both Amelia and Maggie multiple times but neither of them would let up. Amelia seemed to enjoy watching Cormac’s torture over not knowing the date whlst Maggie seemed pained that she couldn’t say anything, reminding Cormac every time he asked that she was not willing to face her sister’s wrath .

Cormac and Maggie were stoof across each other in the OR when he tried one more time. “You know, I wouldn’t let her find out that you told me…”

Maggie knew exactly what he was on about without having to ask. She just shook her head as she continued to work. “I’m the first person Meredith would come to if she found out that you knew. She knows that I’m terrible at keeping secrets. Remember when you two told me you were dating.”

It had be pure tiorture for Maggie not to say anything to anyone else. She was fit to burst with happiness for her sister but she hadn’t been allowed to say a word for three months. She’d spent way too much time ranting to Ameliia about why she wasn’t able to understand the reason that Cormac and Meredith wasnted to keep their relationship a secret. When the couple had finally told everyone, Maggie had felt a weight lift off of her shoulders and Meredith wsa pleasantly surprised at how well her sister was actually able to keep a secret.

“Why are you so desperate to know about her birthday, anyway?”

Cormac gave her a flat look, “She’s my girlfriend, Pierce. I feel like it’s something that I should know.”

“It’s not like you’re going to be able to do anything with the information. You know that she doesn’t like to celebrate.”

Cormac gave her a knowing look, “That’s because you’ve always given her an option.”

After a touch-and-go surgery, Cormac headed up to his office to grab some files before a consult. As he stepped into room, he felt shoe slid against something on the floor. Not the usual grip the carpet would give him. Looking down, he saw a small sheet of paper. As he picked it up to take it to the bin he saw some writing on it.

‘September 19th but I didn’t tell you -M’

Cormac smiled, he owed Maggie big time. Making a mental note of the date, Cormac knew it wasn’t one that he would forget anytime soon, he scrunched up the paper and tossed it into the bin. Plans began to form in his mind as he went about his day. He had two weeks and that was more than enough.

***

When September 19th rolled around, Meredith was treated to breakfast in bed courtesy of her kids with a side of birthday cake. Meredith arched a brow at the cake and looked at Amelia who just shrugged.

“It’s your birthday, you can have cake at 7am!” She defended quickly as the kids crawled up on the bed next to Meredith.

After opening her cards and presents and sending the kids off to school, Mer headed straight to the hospital. She had a whipple at 9 AM that she was looking forward and a fully booked day of surgeries after that. There was nothing more that she could have wanted for the day.

The entire day had gone by and Meredith thought it was strange that she hadn’t even caught a glimpse of her boyfriend. Even on their most busy days, they would end up finding time to at least have a coffee together but he hadn’t even messaged her. A younger Meredith would have worried that something had gone wrong, that he was angry with her for some unknown reason but these days, she was able to be a little more rational, if not completely. He must just be busy with consults and surgeries, or maybe the boys had something on that had slipped her mind when he mentioned it. Whilst Cormac didn’t know it was her birthday and she wasn’t planning on celebrating, it would have been nice to see him for a minute.

After getting changed back into her street clothes and grabbing her bag, Meredith made her way out of the hospital, ready to get home. She was a few steps away from her car when she felt a arm slip around her waist and a kiss pressed onto her temple.

“Sorry I haven’t had a chance to see you today,” Cormac’s Irish lilt immediately ebbed away any tiredness she had been feeling as she leaned into his side. “Forgot I had a meeting with Bailey this morning and then had back-to-back surgeries.”

Meredith took a second to breath in familiar scent of her boyfriend. It never failed to make her feel safe. “Was everything okay?”

“Mostly, got a 10-year-old boy in the ICU right now but Schmitt will page me if anything happens.”

Meredith suddenly realised that during the course of the conversation, Cormac had veered them away from her car. “Uh, my car is back there.”

Cormac have a light squeeze to her waist, “I know but I haven’t had a chance to see you today so let me take you home.”

“My car though…” She trailed off, not really bothering to put up a fight. Meredith had missed him wasn’t going to say no to being able to spend a little time with him on the drive home.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow and you can take it home after your shift.”

“As long as you don’t mind…”

Cormac rolled his eyes at her, smiling, “I wouldn’t offer if I did, come on.”

As Cormac drove away from the hospital, Meredith leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes for a minute. She slowly opened them as she felt Cormac’s hand rest on her thigh and gave him a smile.

“Wait, where are we going?” Meredith looked out the window to realise that this wasn’t the usual route home.

Cormac grinned at her quickly before looking back at the road, “Just thought we would take a detour.”

“A detour where?” She asked, slightly sceptical.

When Cormac didn’t reply, she decided to continue pressing for answers. “You know I have kids at home? Alone, right now?”

“Well, I know that’s a lie because I saw Winston before he left two hours ago who said he was going to your house to keep an eye on the kids.”

“Hmm…” Meredith both admired and hated how Cormac had an answer for everything. It was infuriating at the best of times but he was one of the only people she knew that could match her toe-for-toe.

After a while, Meredith saw that they were out of the city limits. “You know, if you don’t want to be with you just have to say, no need to drive me into the middle of nowhere to kill me and dump the body.”

“Oh ha ha,” Cormac laughed drily, “Like you would ever make it easy for me to kill you anyway….”

Meredith smirked at him, a wicked glint in her eye, “As long as you know.”

The car had now left the main road, and trundled along a dirt road, the only source of light coming from the headlights of the car. Meredith had no clue where they were or what was going on.

“Seriously, Cormac, where are we going?”

“Seriously, Meredith,” he jokingly mocked, “Can you be quiet?”

“Fine,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

It wasn’t later when Cormac turned the car engine off and turned to Meredith. “Come on,” he jumped out of the car and jogged over to her side to open the door.

Taking his hand to step out, she looked around. “Whe-“

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” He grinned at her, stopping Meredith before she had the chance to say anything else. “Just trust me.”

Meredith let Cormac take her hand and guide her. She wasn’t entirely sure how he could even tell where he was going in the dark.

“Are you taking me up a hill?”

Her question found no answer and all that there was left for her to do was to huff out a breath and follow Cormac. Eventually she saw some light up at the top of the hill and squinted, trying to make out what was going on. When they were finally close enough to make out what was going on, Meredith stopped in her track to take everything in. Trees were sparsely dotted around with fairy lights hanging from all of them. In the middle was a black pickup truck. The bed of it was covered with pillows and blankets with a picnic basket nested in the middle. Stretched between two trees was a canvas sheet, projected on it were the opening credits for ‘Maid in Manhattan’, one of the few movies that Meredith was able to time and time again.

“What is all this?” She turned to look at Cormac who had a sheepish look on his face.

“Happy birthday, Meredith,” his voice was a gentle whisper.

“You did this for my birthday?”

“Look, I know you don’t like celebrating it and I know you really didn’t want me to know but,” Cormac rubbed the top of his head, “You’ve survived so much, Meredith Grey, and that deserves to be celebrated. I deserve to have the chance to celebrate you. So, you can’t yell at me about this.”

Meredith stepped towards him, wrapping her arms around her neck, “How can I argue with that?” She grinned at him before pulling him in for a kiss.

#merhayes #meredith grey #cormac hayes #cormac x meredith #mcwidow #grey's anatomy #excuse me whilst i rearrange the alphabet

29 notes · View notes

stories-by-rie · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5 - Heart of Silver

In the present, still in the dead granny’s house, Evelyn and Ariel search the cellar for clues and slowly start to understand the curse better.

words: 2614 || masterlist

The air in the cellar was strangely musky. From all the dust and cobwebs, it was clear that the old granny hadn’t gone down into the cellar for any longer than she had avoided going upstairs. It was hard to breathe, probably due to mold growing on the walls, mold they couldn’t see because none of the lamps were working.

“This feels like a deliberate attack on my person. That old lady knew I was going to end up here with the uneasiness that creeps over me in the darkness. Disgusting.” Ariel had flipped their phone open but it was only a little light to help them see. Evelyn had turned on the flash-light on her phone, but the battery icon was blinking red already, so it was only of little help for the time being.

No new notifications.

With the sparse light of their phones, even combined, it was hard to make anything out in the cramped place. Whatever use the four rooms must have had, they all seemed to be storerooms now. It was impossible to make out every single detail, but the amount of Easter rabbit decorations was concerning, to say the least.

“Maybe she was really into bunnies. I, personally, would never judge anyone for what they collect.” Ariel put their hand down on a pink rabbit with fake feathers on its neck.

“As you shouldn’t,” Evelyn replied at the thought of the amount of- well, everything in their flat.

It wasn’t just tasteless holiday decoration, though. From the little that was recognizable, they could find dysfunctional vacuum cleaners, stacks of old garden magazines and old workout gear.

“Was that granny ripped?” Ariel asked at the sight of an old ergometer.

“She was a granny!” Evelyn said and shook her head, both as an answer and as a general reaction to Ariel.

“Old people can work-out too, Evelyn! Oh, look! A cursed mirror!” they exclaimed and jumped into a corner where a big wall mirror hung. Evelyn could hardly follow their words, least of all their movements in the dark space.

So she just reacted and yelled, “Don’t touch it!” -- idiotically, of course. Because Ariel was a curse broker and knew not to touch cursed objects, and also they weren’t a child and Evelyn not their mother. For some reason, despite those three facts, Ariel still touched it.

“No worries, no worries. This one only activates on full moons. You can see it on the symbol in the corner, see?” They held their phone so that Evelyn could just make out some lines that had to be the symbol Ariel had spoken about. She didn’t understand them, it was not her forte after all, and she was too pumped on stress and anxiety to really care.

“Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m a bit on edge and-”

“No need to apologize. Thank you, for looking out for me,” Ariel replied with their soft voice that felt so much more stern than any other. Evelyn couldn’t help but believe them. She smiled, forced but in a way that would have been honest, had her emotional state allowed her as much.

Ariel’s eyes widened. First horror, then understanding, and then excitement ran over their face, leaving them with a crooked grin.

“What-” As Evelyn turned around, the white light of her flash-light hit a high figure, a dusty blanket covering it completely. The fabric’s folds gave the hint of a human statue, enough to let Evelyn’s blood run cold. For some reason, she didn’t have to uncover it to know what was beneath it. In the end, it was Ariel who clenched their fist around a drape, hesitating despite their obvious curiosity. With a flick of their hand, the fabric slid off the statue, their lights letting the heavy dust shimmer in the darkness; then reflecting off the silver boy in front of them.

In contrast to the pictures Evelyn had seen in Ariel’s books, this boy looked nearly calm. Maybe there was some sadness in his eyes that could not compare with the smile on his lips. He looked nearly peaceful.

“That would explain why she seemed so invested in curses and the supernatural,” Evelyn whispered, not trusting her own voice to speak louder. “I think it might be the ghost I saw in the study before.”

“Seems very likely, I agree,” Ariel said.

It was hard to bring the chaos in her head to a stop, to grasp a single thought. When she was eventually successful, the only thing she could fathom was the feeling of hope. If this kid had looked content in his death, then maybe it would not hurt after all. If it wasn’t as painful as previous pictures had made it look, then maybe she would manage that part.

“This child got hit by it quite young. All this time the fork was the curse medium and they did nothing about it? This case never made it to the books, I really wonder why?” Ariel mumbled and as they stepped closer to look at the kid better, Evelyn’s phone battery gave a last warning sound and then died in her hands.

Ariel gave a huffed sigh of annoyance and held up their old phone closer, even if the light was multiple times worse, not to say completely useless.

“Maybe it was her son? If she had told the authorities about it, his body would have been taken away, no? With such a high ranking curse, it would have.”

“No one is allowed to take a cursed body away, even if it’s a high-ranking curse,” Ariel corrected, and then, quieter, added, “Though, of course, just because authorities aren’t allowed doesn’t mean that they don’t do it.”

“Mother could not bear to part with me,” a thin voice behind them said and as they turned around, the boy from before stood right in front of them again.

His next words were hard to hear over the loudly pounding heart in Evelyn’s chest, “No curse-broker wanted to take my case, they said it would be hopeless. There were more urgent ones.”

In the near total darkness, his shape looked much more solid than most ghosts Evelyn had seen before, the faint shimmer of death old, the ash to his feet already thick. Probably subconsciously, Ariel stepped a bit closer to her, took their glasses off.

“Do you know how to break the curse?” Evelyn had the mind to ask, not that it was really her decision, but at least the question was put out there. Yet, the ghost did not answer.

“My mother tried so hard to save me. But the curse moved too quickly. I was gone within three days.”

Evelyn could not gasp or cry. She just stared at the teenager, the hollow thing that was left of him, and listened to the words that promised her doom, to the constant trickle of the ash at his feet. Only distantly, she heard Ariel typing on their phone furiously.

“What cursed you?” Ariel then asked, looking up from behind their phone.

“I wish I would have had a few more days. Maybe one day would have made a difference.”

“Have you gained insight of the curse through your death?” Ariel pressed again while Evelyn could only stare at the flimsy figure.

“I think I will go soon. Mother has been gone for so many days now. I am all alone.”

“Why aren’t you answering my questions? What’s wrong with you?” Ariel did not yell, Evelyn was certain they never did. But at this moment they seemed as close to it as possible. Still, the ghost looked completely out of it, staring between their heads at his own silver statue.

“I am very tired. I think I really want to go now.”

“It’s fine. You can rest now,” Evelyn said with nearly no voice at all, and carefully put her fingers down to his forehead. A human touch, to remind him of death. Under it, he crumbled. In a matter of seconds, all that was left of him was ghostly ash (not real ash at all), that seemingly fell through the ground – or perhaps became one with it. Soon, she might find out as well.

“What the fuck, Evelyn?” There was even more anger in Ariel’s voice now, “This was our one chance to get answers to save your life and you just sent him off? He might have said something useful! Now we’re back at nothing!”

Only then, Evelyn truly realized the extent of her actions. Sorry, however, she was not.

“You know that there was no information about the curse we could have gotten from him. He was already way too far gone, I have seen it often enough. If you had continued questioning him, then all we would have achieved is to torture him in this loneliness. It might have driven him even more insane, nothing else.”

There was just another curse for an answer, and then they turned around and stalked out of the cellar, as well as that was possible. Some items toppled down their stacks, and just as clumsily, Evelyn followed. It was not until they returned to the ground floor, that Ariel stopped.

“I really dislike darkness. I can’t see when it is completely dark,” they said, as if they needed some sort of explanation to walk out on Evelyn after such a disaster.

“It’s fine. There was nothing more we could have found down there.”

“How late is it?” Ariel asked, only to check on their own phone. “Nearly two am,” they muttered and then looked around the floor to the entry door.

“We can go if you don’t need to look around any further,” Evelyn suggested. Even if the prospect of leaving alone made her anxious. If there were any clues to a cure, wouldn’t it be here? Shouldn’t they stay until they found something – or at least searched everything until they could be certain that there was nothing to be found? If the boy had died within three days, then she only had two more days to live as well. Could a curse even be dealt with so quickly? Even if it was Ariel who worked on it. Really, the best would be if she just would get her affairs in order and-

She reached for her phone, forgetting that it had died. There wouldn’t be anything new anyway.

“Well, we still haven’t found out what caused the noises before. Not that I have a great desire to do so. But even if we don’t keep looking for it, we should stay a bit longer.” Ariel turned to her with a look that was impossible for Evelyn to read. It could not be a good look. She wanted to ask about the implications, but her breath came too fast and too shallow to really form words in her mouth. “That’s the point where we tackle more drastic measures. I do have some nolly-powder with me, so if you happen to have some face masks, we could give in and try the powder search to find the medium’s traces?” The longer they talked and stared at Evelyn, though, the more the furrow between their eyebrows increased. “Evelyn? Are you o-” They stopped short.

Evelyn wanted to reply that she was not really that okay, that it got hard to breathe and, if she really listened to her own body, that she felt like the silver was weighing her down so much that taking another step seemed just impossible.

But what she eventually said was, “I have face-masks in my car.”

Ariel eyed her with a suspicious look, but whatever they were thinking did not make it out of their mouth, so Evelyn decided to ignore it.

Rain dripped down, even if just lightly now, and it still coated Evelyn’s skin in a thin veil. If she turned into a silver statue outside, rain would probably make louder dripping sounds on her body. In winter, the snow and rain would drape her in a layer of ice. Like a true piece of art.

With shaking fingers, she got the face-masks out of the glove compartment and walked back inside where Ariel was working on plastic bags with their powders. For a while they worked in silence. She handed them a mask, put her own on too and watched as Ariel committed to the chemistry before them in ways that simply were beyond her. For all the caffeine they ingested at most random times, they had incredibly steady hands. With those steady hands they kept at it until a dark red light glowed up for a few seconds.

“So, in the worst case, which also might be the best case, this powder will tell us for once and all what the curse medium is. Except for about seven percent of the cases where nolly-powder doesn’t work, then we will be absolutely fucked.”

“Let’s just do this,” Evelyn muttered and gave them a nod.

With a sigh they filled the powder in their hands and then simply threw it up into the air. As if out of nowhere, wind twirled it through the whole floor, let the particles dance in their search for something to hold on to. It could have barely been a minute. Short enough for Evelyn to hold her breath and wait with tension in her shoulders.

Then, all at once, the powder turned, nearly grew in its ferocity, and shot straight at her. Before it could wrap around her completely, though, Ariel gave a sharp order that cut right through it. At once, it dropped down to the ground, mingled with the dust of time and ghosts.

“Are you okay?” they yelled once they reached her, a hand reaching out for her arm before they thought better of it.

Evelyn was shaken by sneezes and didn’t even manage a gesture.

“This horrid sneezing. I am so sorry. It’s really so pesky. People are working on a better powder if that helps? Let’s get you out of here, okay? I will fix you a cup of tea to rinse most of it out-” A sneeze broke them off, and a single touch made them freeze. Evelyn followed their gaze down to where they had reached out for her hand, and only found silver.

To her great dismay, time did not stand still. Even if she stared at it so still as if a statue already, she could clearly follow the silver spreading. Along with it, her heartbeat increased as panic kicked in. Evelyn looked up as Ariel’s hand travelled up her arm where she could still feel their skin and warmth.

“I can only imagine how it feels. But I do know that it is not yet too late. Let me fix you.”

Tears came hot in her eyes, her throat aching once she spoke, “Please. Help me? I really don’t want to die yet.”

Ariel smirked and pointed towards the door. They sneezed a few times. “Of course I will! I’m really looking forward to being the greatest curse-broker of this century. Nonsense! The greatest curse-broker to have ever been and ever will be. You’ll see how quickly you’ll be rid of this curse. But first I will make you drink copious amounts of nettle tea to- oh shit. I am out of nettle tea.” They sneezed.

“I have nettle tea at home,” Evelyn pushed out between multiple sneezes.

previous chapter || WIP intro || masterlist || next chapter

“That’s good. Then your place first. But I am driving.” Ariel held out their hand for the key, and considering how weak Evelyn was in her knees, the matter left no room for protest.

_____

#writeblr #novella #my writing #original fiction #fantasy #urban fantasy #ghosts #wip; heart of silver #heart of silver chapter 5 #tw death mention #because ghosts #tw body horror #very light cause she's still turning into a silver statue

12 notes · View notes

coruscantguard · 4 years

Text

Endless Night, Half a Sliver of Light

Requested by @roborails

Fox and Ahsoka for #98- “You’re actually a big softie, aren’t you?”

The clock on Ahsoka’s bedside table reads 02:09.

Nighttime on the Coruscant Guard’s ship is much quieter than she’s used to it being on the Resolute. It makes sense, since it’s a smaller ship, and there are less people on it, but the quiet still puts her on edge. In her experience, quiet is rarely a good thing

Barriss would disagree with that, but Barriss also reads ancient texts on Force philosophy in her free time, and eats space waffles without cooking them, so Ahsoka is inclined to disregard her opinion here.

The clock on Ahsoka’s bedside table has progressed to read 02:10.

The Guard’s ship is also quieter than the Temple, but in a less tangible way for anyone who is not Force-sensitive. While the Temple tends to be quiet and peaceful, the Force is always very alive in it. There’s a feeling of home that comes with all those strong Force signatures, and it’s an eternal reminder that she’s not alone. That as a Jedi, she’ll never have to truly be alone in the galaxy.

The clock on Ahsoka’s bedside table now reads 02:11.

Her attempts to go to sleep and the ever present quiet aren’t mixing in a way that’s conducive to her getting any shuteye. The briefing ended hours ago. She’s still awake.

The clock on Ahsoka’s bedside table still reads 02:11.

Ahsoka groans, buries her face into her pillow, and lets out a muffled scream.

The embarrassment from her little social mishap earlier is hitting full force now that the planning is done for the night, and she has nothing to distract herself with. She’s been wallowing in it, she knows that. Her attachment to those feelings is the furthest thing from productive, and she should be releasing it into the Force. There’s nothing she can do to correct the situation until morning comes.

She should release it to the Force. It's helping no one, and making her feel worse. She really should release it to the Force.

She’s not releasing it to the Force.

Master Anakin felt that Senator Amidala needed additional security, kriff’s sake, Ahsoka. Did she seriously say that? Force, it’s like all of Master Obi-Wan’s diplomacy training just flew out the window. And all the basic manners the Temple taught her.

“Ahsoka, you utter di’kut,” she mutters, and rolls over, flopping her legs off her bunk. The room is small enough that her feet can nearly brush the opposite wall, and she uses her toes to inch her torso off the bed until she can. Heck yes.

Not that he thinks you guys can’t handle it, her brain reminds her, efficiently quenching any joy that her victory brought. It’s just, well, Master has this thing about Senator Amidala, because like, they’re really close friends, right? So--

She groans again, and reaches a hand out to grab her pillow so she can smother herself with it. Right now, suffocation sounds like a great way to go.

Knight Skywalker, I regret to inform you that your padawan has joined the Force because she is a karking laserbrain who keeps putting her shoe on the other side of her mouth.

When Ahsoka pulls the pillow off her face, she’s disappointingly still in the land of the living, and the clock on her bedside table now just says 02:13. She manages to resist the urge to chuck the pillow at said clock, instead opting to throw it at the wall in front of her.

The pillow bounces off the control panel, and her door hisses open. The pillow falls to the ground by her feet, and Ahsoka forces herself to close her eyes, take a few seconds to breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Release your anger to the Force, young padawan. Do not use the Force to pick up your pillow and slam it into the clock, young padawan. Vandalism is not the Jedi way.

When she’s sufficiently managed to breathe through most of her anger and annoyance, she opens her eyes again.

Ahsoka calmly looks at her now open door. She looks at the pillow on the ground. She looks back at the door. Then back to the pillow. Then back at the door.

Well. There’s no way she’s going to sleep at this rate. Might as well see if anyone else is up.

She manages to pull herself up from her half on the bed, half off it position without using her hands, lets out a silent cheer in the form of a fist pump, and pops her head out of her room to look around. There’s nothing to the left, but when she swivels her head to the right, she sees some kind of faint yellow light at the end of the hallway, where the officer’s lounge is.

It’s as good of a sign as any, so Ahsoka grabs her lightsaber, clips it to her belt, and leaves her room. As she makes her way down the ship’s hallway, she instinctively reaches out with the Force to get a sense of what she’s walking into.

She senses only one other presence nearby, and one that flows easily with the jigsaw pattern of the world around her. With a bit of concentration, she’s able to catch sight of a flash of gunmetal grey, which makes it easy to figure out who the presence is.

Commander Fox’s Force presence is unassuming, both in it’s color and it’s general feel. Unlike Anakin, who’s Force presence was more akin to a supernova, the Commander of the Coruscant Guard’s presence was steady, unwavering, slightly darker than most non-Force sensitives tended to feel, but not enough to actually be concerning. The only thing that’s even remotely odd is the lack of color around him, but that’s not bad either, just different.

The door slides open automatically as she reaches the end of the hall, and the adjacent lounge. She silently slips inside, and the sound of flimsi rustling greets her.

Fox is sitting at a table near the back of the room, head bowed, presumably reading the pile of flimsiwork in front of him. On one side of the table, his bucket sits beside his elbow, and on the other side, there’s a cup of what at least smells like caf to Ahsoka. She realizes, belatedly, that this is the first time she’s ever seen him without his bucket on.

He looks old. Tired. Like he’s Master Obi-Wan’s age, not Skyguy’s. Not that Master Obi-Wan is old, of course, but… whatever. Moving on.

“Commander Fox,” she greets, and steps further into the room. He looks up from the flimsiwork, but thankfully doesn’t bother saluting.

“Commander Tano,” Fox says, and he slides his bucket closer to him as he stands up. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I’m not… looking for anything,” she replies quickly. “I saw the light, and I got curious.”

Fox nods, and another spike of guilt gnaws her. She does her best to ignore it. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” he says, and it’s with a practiced politician’s calm that Ahsoka recognizes from her time around Senators Chuchi and Amidala. “There’s caf by the stove, if you’re in the mood.”

Caf. Kriff yes. Skyguy would never give her caf at 2am.

It takes three tries to find the cabinet that has mugs in it, and she pulls out the biggest one. As she starts to pour the caf into her mug, she looks over at the table. Fox has sat back down, and he looks just as engrossed in the pile of flimsi as he had when she came in.

Ahsoka finishes filling her mug, adjusts the sugar-to-caf ratio so it’s drinkable, and takes a small sip. It’s on the edge of being too hot, but it doesn’t actually burn her mouth, so she deems it satisfactory. She turns back to face Fox, and asks, “What are you working on?”

He doesn’t spare her a glance as he answers, “Reports, mostly. There’s never an end to the flimsiwork when the Senate gets involved.”

“Oh,” she says. Fox picks up a stylus, sets a stack of flimsi to the side, and moves onto another piece of flimsiwork. ...Right. Okay. Time to entertain herself. She can do that.

Her eyes dart around the room. Military sparse, nothing unusual. The lights are only half on, upon closer inspection. There’s nothing particularly remarkable around.

Carefully, she nudges herself up onto her tiptoes, and glances over Fox’s head at the flimsiwork. It’s all just words and numbers, none that catch her attention, and she’s about to look away when Fox moves the next piece of flimsi over. This one is different in that it has a photo on it.

It’s a portrait shot of a man, like what one would find on an ID card. He looks older than her, but not by too much, and vaguely familiar in the way many beings look due to all the different planets she’s visited. There’s something about this one that she knows, though, and she focuses harder on that knowledge, wracks her memory trying to connect the navpoints. Young, clean-cut, memorable but still one in a crowd-- “Is that one of Senator Organa’s aides?”

Fox doesn’t jump at the interruption, or react to her prying, just gives her a cursory glance before turning back to the flimsi. “Yes, Christoforos Massimo, de domo Mac Ghabhann.” Fox replies, and his voice is clipped, but not to the point of being rude. “He was one of Senator Organa’s aides. He’s also the third senatorial aide to die of mycotoxin poisoning in the last year.”

Oh. She looks back at the photo, lets herself feel the dull throb of regret that follows. It’s not-- she didn’t know him, not well enough to know his name, but all life is important, and she did recognize him. That’s something. It’s always something.

Still, he’s with the Force now, so she lets herself feel, but then she makes herself let it go. He’s not gone, not truly. No one ever is.

Ahsoka eventually takes another sip of her caf, and runs Fox’s words through her brain again. Mycotoxin poisoning, mycotoxin poisoning, mycotoxin-- “Wait, isn’t that poison that has cerulean slime mold in it?”

Fox signs something, then nods. The signature is longer than she would’ve expected, but she’s unable to read it, as he swiftly places the flimsi at the bottom of the stack. “The mold’s name is technically kytrogorgia, but, yes.”

“That’s evidence of foul play, right?”

“Not definitively,” he says, and takes a sharp breath in, slowly lets it out. “There can be accidental deaths because of it, but it’s rare to find naturally occurring on Coruscant.”

“Huh.”

Ahsoka goes back to drinking her caf, keeping her face by the mug so the heat of it warms her face. Poisonings. Huh. It makes sense that the Guard would deal with that, she just… never thought of it.

The silence of the ship is… odd. Besides the distinctive hum of hyperspace, and the scratching of Fox’s stylus, it’s quiet, a quiet she hasn’t experienced much since leaving the creche. Fox evidently has no issue with it.

She shouldn't have an issue with it.

“Doesn’t that mold smell like overripe kakadu fruit?” She suddenly asks. “I think Obi-Wan mentioned something about it a few weeks ago.”

“It has a relatively distinctive bitter citrine smell, yes.” Fox stops writing, and turns to look at her. She takes a sip of caf. “...Is poison a regular topic of discussion for the Jedi?”

Ahsoka pauses, thinking about it. “Not really,” she says. ��I mean, we have an elective class on it, but that’s about it. Obi-Wan just likes that kind of stuff, you know, molds and rare species of worms and the like. It drives Skyguy up the wall.”

Fox makes a noncommittal sound, turns back to the flimsi, and starts writing again. “Sounds like one of my brothers.”

Ahsoka snickers. Then, carefully, remembering Barriss’s last comm call, and the look on her face when she mentioned the flesh-eating moths the 41st ran into, she asks, “Is there any chance that brother is Commander Gree of the 41st Elite Corps?”

Fox doesn’t quite smile, but the corners of his lips definitely twitch. “No comment,” he says dryly, confirming her hunch.

“Do you think Massimo was murdered?” Ahsoka asks, and her voice is quieter than she means it to be. Fox frowns, but he doesn’t comment immediately, so she leans in over his shoulder to get a closer look at the report. “This could all just be a coincidence.”

“It could be,” Fox agrees. “But when the Senate’s involved, assuming something is a coincidence usually ends with someone like Aurra Sing showing up, as it’s actually part of some larger conspiracy.” He grimaces. “Still, I don’t like the look of this, so lets hope you’re right.”

It’s not an actual answer to her question, but she doesn’t press, just hums in acknowledgement, and steps away. She moves to the other side of the table, and sets her mug down on it, then walks over to the stacks of chairs against the far wall. It’s easy to pull one off the top, and carry it back to the table, let it thunk down on the durasteel floor. She’s mentally weighing the merits of sitting down against those of raiding the pantry for snacks when a flash of movement catches her eye.

“What was that?” She asks, and moves forward, eyes scanning the officer’s lounge, montrals straining to pick up any noise.

“Hm?”

There’s another burst of movement seconds later, a pitter-patter of paws accompanied by a blur of fur, ears, and a large fluffy tail that quickly disappears under the sofa. She must’ve disturbed it when she moved the chair.

“Is there any chance that there’s a loth cat on this ship?”

Abruptly, Fox’s stylus stops moving. “What?”

Ahsoka cranes her head to the side, trying to catch sight of the blur again. “I think I just saw a loth cat.”

Silence. Then-- “Is it grey?”

She opens her mouth to reply right as the blur comes speeding out from under the couch, and she barely twists out of the way in time as it launches itself at the table. It lands on the table with a thump, and turns to look at her for a second, accessing.

Then it moves over to the flimsiwork, and rubs its head against Fox’s hand and stylus, before flopping down on the flimsi, and starting to purr.

Ahsoka stares at it silently for a minute, then bursts out giggling. “Yeah, it looks to be a grey cat,” she somehow manages to say. “Why do you ask?”

Fox sighs. “Commander Thire apparently has less sense than I thought he did,” he says, and he’s staring at the grey loth cat as well, a look of resigned exasperation etching away at his bland facade of indifference. The cat rubs its head on Fox’s bucket.

Ahsoka snorts, then pauses, frowning. She leans in, and-- “Isn’t this Senator Chuchi’s cat?

She examines the cat further. It blinks it’s yellow eyes at her. “This is definitely Senator Chuchi’s cat.”

Fox sighs again. “Yes,” he replies, his voice long-suffering. “If I’m remembering correctly, her name is Mayday.”

“Mayday?” Ahsoka questions, wrinkling her nose. Weird. “Why would the Senator name her cat after a distress signal?”

“Why indeed,” Fox says, and he looks pained, but nothing in his Force presence backs that up. All she can sense around him is a feeling of vague indifference. It’s mildly disconcerting.

“Why is Senator Chuchi’s cat on one of the Guard’s ships?” She asks, turning her attention back to more important things. The cat- Mayday is now stretching on the table. Ahsoka is pretty sure loth cats aren’t usually supposed to be on tables, but Fox doesn’t seem to care, so, whatever.

“Why indeed,” Fox repeats, and reaches a hand up to massage the bridge of his nose, scrunching his eyes closed. “Force. If I run into Thire anytime soon, it’s going to end in property damage.”

Right as he’s lowering his hand, the loth cat’s tail flicks up, and hits him straight in the face. Ahsoka clasps her hands over her mouth to muffle her laughter, but she’s not very successful in that endeavor. Fox’s eyes are still shut when he sighs, and it’s a sigh that reinforces the expression of long-suffering pain on his face. Then he reaches one hand up to scratch behind Mayday’s ears.

It takes away from the dramatics of the sigh, but Mayday seems to like it, so Ahsoka lets it slide. The cat’s tail flicks again, and this time it hits the underside of Fox’s neck, drawing her attention to the edge of a scar--

“Sithspit, what the kark happened to your throat?” She blurts out, her jaw dropping. There’s an ugly scar across it, deep and painful looking, like someone tried to literally slit his throat, and very nearly succeeded.

“Well, it’s a funny story,” Fox says, and his voice is as dry as the Geonosis desert. He looks up from Mayday to meet Ahsoka’s eyes. “Someone tried to slit my throat.”

Ahsoka stifles a snort. Oh man, the 501st better work a mission with the Guard soon. Anakin and Fox would get along like a spaceship on fire that ends up exploding. It would be friendship at first dramatic understatement.

Fox gives Mayday a few more pets, then steps backwards, away from the table, and gestures at Ahsoka. It takes her a few seconds to realize what he’s getting at, but when she does, she wastes no time taking the spot he abandoned.

She moves so that she’s a bit farther back than Fox had been-- he obviously had a history with Mayday that she lacked-- and crouches down so that she’s eye level with the cat. Once it meets her eyes, she forces herself to blink as slowly as possible, the closed eyes a silent gesture of trust and vulnerability.

Mayday blinks slowly back at her.

Kriff yes, kriff yes, kriff yes!

She holds out her hand, moving her head slightly to the side to make her gaze less intense, and it takes all her Jedi training not to cheer as Mayday comes to nuzzle her hand. Force, would the Resolute be a safe environment for a loth cat? Surely they could make it safe, right? A cat would undoubtedly help improve morale. Maybe she could convince Senator Chuchi to let her borrow Mayday when she pitches the idea to Skyguy and Rex, just to help sway their support to her cause.

“The nape of her neck,” Fox says, interrupting her planning. “Or the small dip behind her left ear. Stay away from her tail unless you’d like her to claw your face off, though.”

Nape of neck. She could do that. “Speaking from experience?”

Fox actually huffs a laugh at that. “Let’s just say that Vice Chair Amedda and the concept of respecting personal boundaries get along in the same way that Senator Amidala gets along with Viceroy Gunray.”

Ahsoka stops petting Mayday, and spins around to look him in the eyes. “You’re joking.”

“I have to give kudos to his medical team. Those scratches definitely should’ve scarred.”

“Force, seriously?” He nods, and Ahsoka grins, not even bothering to try and hide her teeth. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like that guy. That’s hilarious.”

“The Chancellor thought so as well,” Fox says offhandedly, and crosses his arms, leans back against the counter. “I mean, he muffled his laughter quickly, but…”

“Sith hells,” she breathes out. “I think I might want to be on Senate rotation more often, if that’s what goes down there.”

Fox winces, takes a sharp breath in, and shakes his head. “Unfortunately, that sort of incident rarely happens. Usually, it’s just a lot of yelling.” He pauses, looks over her shoulder, and, “I think Mayday may have taken our lack of attention personally.”

Ahsoka spins around, and sure enough, the grey cat is jumping off the table, and heading for the door. “Awwwwwwwwwww, no,” she says, disappointed.

They watch Mayday leave the room in silence. Once the door hisses shut behind her, Ahsoka goes back around the table, and slumps into her chair. Fox pulls out his comm with a sigh, and heads for the caf machine, picking up his mug on the way.

Whoever he calls picks up almost instantaneously.

“Senator Chuchi’s loth cat is on board. We need to keep it from the airlock and the hyperdrive. I’m putting you and Candor on cat-sitting duty.” He says, and starts to pour the caf into his cup. There’s a pause, where he doesn’t say anything, then, “Rocket, that’s an order, not a request. If you have an issue with this beyond the fact that you don’t want to, you can file a complaint, and Internal Affairs will look into it. But I warn you, if you interrupt Swan’s leave with a complaint about how this isn’t what you were made for, he won’t be merciful when he rips you a new one.”

The pause is longer this time. “Yes, well, Lieutenant Swan will learn the concept of mercy around the same time that Tatootine freezes over,” Fox says, and he sets the caf pot back down. “I trust you know where to find any supplies needed?”

This pause is only for a moment, presumably how long it takes the trooper on the other end to say yes, sir! Fox replies with a, “Fox out,” then hangs up the comm, sighs, and takes a long gulp of caf. Ahsoka pauses, briefly considers the possible consequences for her next words, and decides that it’ll be worth it.

“You’re actually a big softie, aren’t you?”

“What.” Unfortunately, he doesn’t spit out the caf, but he does do a double take. “Yeah, no, I’m sorry, what.”

She does her best to put on an innocent looking expression. “Oh man, you totally are.”

“...Commander Tano, as you chose your next words, I’d advise that you keep in mind the fact that I can put you on cleaning duty if I feel like it.”

“Ugh,” Ahsoka grumbles, dropping the charade. “Wait. No? We’re both Commanders. I could just put you on cleaning duty right back.”

Silence that follows that statement. Fox’s face is unreadable. “Have you read the regs?”

Uh-oh. “Why are you asking?

“Have you?”

Kriff kriff kriff kriff-- “How about… I’d like to invoke the fourth right of sentience?”

“Force, Commander,” Fox’s tone sounds similar to the one Kix uses when he’s exasperated. Ahsoka winces reflectively, because an exasperated Kix is not a fun Kix. “First of all, when you’re invoking a right, don’t make it sound like a question. You’re not asking to invoke your right, you’re not saying that you’d like to invoke it, you are invoking it.”

“Are you seriously--”

“And secondly, just say that you’re invoking your right to remain silent. I applaud you for remembering exactly what right it is, but it’s usually best to be as direct as possible in these matters. First and fourth sound alike enough in Basic that you could run into some real trouble if an officer “mishears” you, and the right to be free from slavery is not helpful when you’ve allegedly committed murder in the first.”

“You don’t need to tell me this, I’m not a youngling.”

“You sure about that?” Ahsoka glares at him, and opens her mouth to retort, but Fox cuts her off again. Kriffing chizk. “Thirdly, yes, I am the highest ranking officer here. Jedi Commanders have authority over everyone up to and including Clone Captains. They’re subordinate to Clone Commanders and Jedi Generals”

“...Right,” she says, “I… totally knew that.”

“Really.”

“Yes!”

There’s no verbal response, but Fox rests his elbow on his bucket, and blinks at her.

“I did!” She protests. The look on his face tells her that he doesn’t buy a second of it.

...Okay, time to move on. “Anyway, the fact that you’re my superior officer doesn’t mean that you aren’t also a big softie.”

His eye roll is unnecessary, and completely overdramatic. “There are a fair amount of people that would disagree with that assessment of Commander Fox’s character.”

Oh thank Force, he’s willing to go along with it.

“Yeah, well, I guess it’s a good thing Commander Tano isn’t asking those people then, huh?” Ahsoka sends back. Then she pauses to take a sip of her caf. “Now, is there a reason Commander Fox hasn’t actually answered Commander Tano’s original question yet?”

A beat of silence.

“Osik, you got me there,” Fox says, and Ahsoka lets out a whoop of celebration at the small victory. “Don’t go spreading it around, I have a reputation to uphold.”

She mimes locking her mouth, and throwing the key out the window. Fox doesn’t look particularly reassured by that, but he doesn’t comment on it either, so, victory.

Wow, if only she’d bothered to shut up earlier, her brain suddenly hisses at her, imagine how great that would’ve been.

Ahsoka takes a long, long drink of her caf, stopping only when she finishes the mup. She stares down at the mug mournfully, willing more caf to suddenly appear.

More caf does not suddenly appear.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s 2am, and that the distraction the caf provided is gone. Maybe it’s the guilt that’s still curling up her throat when she stops to think about it, the regret that’s coating every word she says. Maybe it’s the fact that the kitchen feels warm and comforting, the fact that it reminds her of the Temple and being safe, being able to make mistakes without having people die for them.

Whatever it is, it has her speaking again before she considers what she’s going to say, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she even processes them.

“Master Anakin is out of contact right now,” Ahsoka says quickly, and stares determinedly down at her mug. Oh kriff, kriff, kriff, did she really just-- oh, Force, kriff. Okay. Just… it’s a bacta patch, Ahsoka. It’s best to rip it off as quickly as possible. “He’s on Mygeeto. Since it’s Seppie space, it’s a risk to send any messages. He didn’t send me here. He doesn’t even know there’s a threat on Senator Amidala’s life.”

Silence. She doesn’t dare look up. She knows she’ll lose her nerve if she does.

“The Temple is really empty these days, and the 501st is with Anakin, so it’s really boring as well, cause literally all of my friends are on campaigns right now. And I overheard Master Windu mention something about the Chancellor, and security protocols, to Master Plo when they were in the refractory, and like, the Chancellor is Anakin’s friend, so I kinda just started... listening. I don’t know, I was curious. But they mentioned the threat on Senator Amidala, and Padme’s my friend, right? So I did some snooping, and I realized that there weren’t going to be any Jedi sent, and… it would kill Skyguy if anything happened to her, you know?”

Wow, that came out badly. Way to shift the blame again, Ahsoka. Great job, truly.

Commander Fox probably didn’t know about… them anyway. Kriff. Double kriff.

Excuses, you’re making, her mind whispers at her. Apologize, or don’t. Do, or do not. There is no try.

“It wasn’t Anakin that thought additional security might be needed,” She says, hurried, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “It was me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed that Jedi presence would be needed to keep Senator Amidala safe, and I definitely shouldn’t have just used that assumption to try and justify my actions.”

The next few seconds seem to stretch on forever. The dull void in the Force around Fox feels more oppressive than ever, the absence of anything leaving Ahsoka stranded in the middle of an ocean, with no life raft to cling to, and nothing that gives her even the littlest bit of direction. Commander Fox doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make any sudden movements that her montrels detect, and she finally forces herself to peak up from her mug.

He looks floored. Half stupefied, half incredulous.”I- you- what?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but he raises his hand in the halt symbol, rubs at one of his temples with the other. “Sorry. I’m just- so, you got yourself put on this mission… because you were bored.” He says. She nods. He shakes his head. “Because you were bored, and thought you knew better than the Jedi Council and all of the Generals. Force. That’s… something.”

“Yeah, my justifications definitely made a lot more sense in my head,” Ahsoka admits weakly, forcing herself to loosen her grip on the mug. “I shouldn’t of--”

“It’s… fine, kid. Trust me,” he says, and there’s the edge of something twisting in the Force, some kind of internal conflict she’s catching flashes of. It’s the most activity she’s ever seen with his Force presence. “I hear worse on a daily basis. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Ahsoka frowns. “But that doesn’t make it okay.”

The look he gives her is undecipherable, but she can tell that it’s weighted. Weighted in a way she’ll probably never understand, in a way she doesn’t think she wants to understand.

“No,” Fox finally says. “It doesn’t make it okay.” The words come out hushed, as if it's a forbidden confession, some kind of radical heresy, blasphemous in it’s very nature.

Something loosens in his Force presence with that, an alteration so small that Ahsoka’s surprised that she even notices the change. It looks like a ray of light cutting through the lacuna that surrounds him. It sounds like a breath of fresh air, and it creates a sudden connection, a burst of clarity where there had been none before. It feels like leaving the core worlds, how it seems as if a switch is flipped when one gets far enough from Coruscant, and the Force suddenly becomes so much clearer.

Ahsoka looks down, looks away, pulls her attention away from the metaphysical world of the Force. This isn’t something she’s supposed to see, and given the fact that Fox isn’t Force-sensitive, it’s not like he’s going to raise his own shields and block her off. She busies herself with trying to get any remaining bits of caf out of her mug instead, anchors her mind firmly in the physical world.

Fox doesn’t say anything else for a few long minutes, just stands, staring off into space, that look still on his face. When he speaks again, his voice is back to normal.

“Thank you for your honesty, Commander Tano,” Fox says, ducks his head to stare down at his drink for a few seconds. Ahsoka places her mug back on the table while he ruminates. When he meets her eyes again, the undecipherable look is gone. “And thank you for your apology. It means more than you know.”

Ahsoka nods. She’s not sure if she should say something, or if this is one of the times silence is better. He seems more comfortable in the quiet than she ever will be, so she bites down on her tongue--

“Right,” he says, and abruptly stands up, jarring her from her thoughts. “I’m going to make some more caf. Do you want a refill?”

Kriff yes she wants a refill. “Yes, please.”

#commander fox #ahsoka tano #tcw #the clone wars #my writing #prompts

380 notes · View notes

thecryoftheseagulls · 3 years

Note

Logan Hawke the dragon has a new favourite treasure... a wizard.

ty for the prompt, anon!

I’m doing a few short fics this week to celebrate the 10th anniversary of Dragon Age 2 coming out. Happy anniversary to my favorite video game, here’s a little mhanders fic for y’all!

a dragon’s treasure

[also on ao3 here]

It’s not that Logan Hawke actually wants to find a princess at the top of the tower, it’s just that princesses, or at the very least fine ladies, are generally the ones who get imprisoned in such a way. On account of the sexism, mostly, but also the wealth.

So when he arrives at the base of this newest tower (they’re just popping up out of the ground like crocuses in springtime these days, he might need to get Varric to look into that) and calls up the usual spiel of hallo up there, would you like a rescue, ma’am, he is taken aback by the fireball lobbed down from the tower window. It hits him square in the chest and fizzles out harmlessly. Logan doesn’t even flinch.

“I’m not a damsel!” a deep voice shouts. A wizard with blond hair and a scraggly beard appears in the window, and leans out far enough that Logan begins to fear for his safety. He shakes a fist down at Logan. “And I have no riches, nor family to provide them, to reward you for your services, so you may as well be on your merry way!”

Logan cocks his head. “But you are being kept here against your will?” he shouts back.

The wizard crosses his arms over his chest and glowers down at him.

“Momentarily!”

Logan manifests his wings and leaps into the air, flapping his way up to the window. At this height, he can get a better feel for the magics woven into the tower’s stone -- dampening spells, meant to suppress magical ability, rather than the usual entrapment and warding spells he finds in these places. It’s a testament to the wizard’s magical ability that he was able to create a fireball at all under the weight of this magic, let alone cast it through the barrier and hit Logan down on the ground.

But, as ever, the magic woven into these towers has no effect on a dragon.

Logan grins, stretching his wings out to their full wingspan, as he hovers at eye level with the wizard and enjoys the shock on his face.

“Impressive bit of magic there with the fireball,” he says cheerfully. “Would you like a bit of assistance with your entrapment, or should I just wait around until you’ve freed yourself?”

The wizard wordlessly gestures at the air, where Logan can feel the wards extend a foot or two away from the stone. He swoops closer, landing lightly on his feet on the wrought iron rail with a hook on the end that extends from the bottom of the window frame -- standard install on these towers, mostly to taunt longhaired princesses and knights who carry rope. He feels the wards shiver over his skin. It feels like flying through a cloud: cold, but effortless.

“Well...” the wizard says, taking a step back when this brings Logan very, very close. He sounds a little breathless. Also, he has a very nice nose. Sharp. “I’d be a poor escape artist if I didn’t seize an opportunity when it presents itself.”

Logan cranes his neck to see around the wizard and into the tower itself. It’s a dismal sight: bare wood floors, a small cot, a desk with a few sparse sheets of parchment, and a single shelf with perhaps four books on it. No comforting touches at all. If Logan hadn’t believed the wizard when he said he had no wealth or family, he would now -- all the damsels’ towers are far nicer than this. To a dragon, especially, it looks barely habitable.

Logan takes a deep breath and feels smoke trickle out of his nostrils.

“How can I be of assistance?”

“Stay right there, I just have to…” the wizard spins on his heel and crosses the room to the cot, snatching a tiny embroidered pillow off the bed and clutching it to his chest. “All right, I’m ready.”

Logan looks him up and down, at the tattered clothes the wizard is wearing, and his apparent lack of any other belongings. He hops off the iron rail and does a roll mid-air, shifting to his full draconic form. His bright blue scales flash in the sun. He stretches one forearm in through the window and picks the wizard up carefully in his talons, placing him on his back between his neck and his cerulean wings.

“Sure that’s everything?” Logan asks, beating his wings to stay in place by the window. His voice is deeper in this, his true form, as deep as a rockfall in mountains. “My services also include optional setting-of-towers-on-fire.”

“No need,” the wizard says, letting go of Logan’s neck to fling a fireball into the room himself. The wards, of course, offer no resistance now that the wizard is on the outside of them.

“Nice,” Logan says, and turns away when the fire catches hold. All that wood in the room will burn hot and fast. “Hold tight, wizard.”

“My name is Anders,” the wizard huffs, gripping Logan’s scales with his knees and wrapping his hand around one of the spines on Logan’s neck.

“Logan Hawke,” Logan returns, soaring up above the cloud cover so that they’re out of sight of anyone on the ground who might come looking for an escaped wizard.

“Your family name is Hawk?” Anders asks, sounding baffled.

“Humans seem to like it when you have a second name. My father thought it was amusing,” Logan says, as he’s said to everyone who finds out he’s a dragon named after a bird.

“Hm,” Anders says. He falls silent for a while -- Logan assumes he is watching the clouds pass beneath them, and the farmland and forest far below that can be seen when they pass over a break in the clouds. Eventually, he asks, “And where are you taking me, Logan Hawke?”

Logan turns his head to fix one bright blue eye on the scrawny, powerful wizard shivering on his back. He hums, grey smoke drifting out his mouth and nostrils.

“Home with me, I think,” He can feel Anders tense on his back, grip turned tight on Logan’s spine. Logan faces forward again. “Get a good meal into you, maybe a bath, some new clothes. And then perhaps you can tell me something about these tower-builders before I let you wander off back into the world, treasure.”

Anders is slow to respond, and when he does, his voice is quiet enough that the wind nearly snatches it away. “All right, then,” he agrees.

Logan grins wide, and feels his flames lick at the back of his teeth.

It will be a few days before he realizes he's called the wizard his treasure so soon.

#handers #mhanders #dragon age #da2 #anders #logan hawke #the gull writes things #otp: soft hearts and scruffy exteriors

26 notes · View notes

petri808 · 4 years

Text

Hauntober day 7 prompt Haunted FYI these hauntober drabbles are written straight on tunglr so ignore the grammar lol. I’m just doing them for fun.

Nalu drabble requested by @phoneboxfairy yeah this story just did what it wanted to 🤣

Lucy looks around her kitchen as she stood in the middle of it, unsure of how she’d ended up there. ‘What am I doing back home?’ The last thing she remembered was leaving for work that morning, frustrated for having over slept. If it wasn’t for Natsu pinching her, she probably wouldn’t have gotten up at all. Guess having a ghost for a roommate had its advantages.

When she’d bought the cozy house, the realtor had warned her that it had some quirks to it; aka haunted. Back then she didn’t really believe in ghosts or spirits, but now she did. It was weird at first, and he’d definitely done his best to scare her away. But eventually they’d grown accustomed to each other’s presence and even enjoyed it. She wasn’t lonely anymore and neither was he.

In fact, she rather enjoyed some of the moments they shared. Natsu could be a little handsy at times, loved to tease or tickle her, and she swore he was sleeping next to her in bed despite his denials. Okay, so maybe she didn’t mind the attention and purposely taunted him while she changed. It was the only action she was getting lately and who was he going to spill to? It’s not like a ghost could leak nude pictures of her on the internet like some real life creep.

It took a lot of effort for Natsu to ‘talk’ to her or touch things. He’d told her at certain times of the month it was easier to gather the energy necessary or if he was riled up, he was able to pull it off. Natsu told her he’d been stuck there for a ‘long time.’ How long he couldn’t say exactly, but before ‘those electronic thingys.’ When Lucy found out he couldn’t leave the property, she was sad for him. To be stuck somewhere all alone, but at least according to him it was a place he had loved in life.

She often tried to picture what he looked like based on his own descriptions. Natsu claimed to be taller by about a foot, green eyes, and when he died he was only 24 years old, 1 year older than Lucy was now. He sounded cute or maybe she just hoped he was since she was starting to like him. Crazy, yes, to develop feelings for a ghost but when you spend so much time with someone, is it really a crazy idea? They say people should fall for a personality and not looks, so well, guess this fit the bill. A long distance boyfriend just instead of another State he was in another dimension.

They talked about a lot of things, their lives, friends, family, hobbies, but the only thing he refused to talk about was how he died. Natsu said he didn’t know exactly what happened, only that they’d been ambushed and there was a loud explosion. It made her wonder if Natsu had been a soldier during the Civil War or maybe even the American Revolution. Regardless, the records for this area were sparse and she couldn’t find anything about a Natsu living there at any point in time.

‘What time is it?’ Maybe she’d only dreamt up going to work this morning. It is Monday, right?! Wow, had she drank too much at the party last night and now her brain is only half working? “Ugh, I should’a listened to...”

“Lucy?”

“Natsu?” She whips around at such a strong voice. He’s never come through so well before! It was almost as if, “how are you standing there?!” He was right in front of her. Not translucent but as if he was, “alive?!”

The half smile on his face withers away as he shakes his head ‘no,’ he wasn’t alive. But that would mean?! Lucy races to the back door and throws it open... tried to anyways. Her hand slips right through the door knob. “N-Natsu?!” Lucy turns around slowly to find him closer now.

“I’m sorry,” he pulls her into a hug, gently cradling her head. “I’m so sorry Lucy.”

“D-did I die?!” The tears trickle out into a full-blown sob. This was all too much take!

“I can only assume so.”

His voice was soft and full of empathy. Of course, he couldn’t know since he can’t leave either. Was it a car accident? ‘Oh, no maybe I’d been rushing and got into an accident!’ “Why can’t I remember?” Lucy cries harder.

“Sometimes vague stuff comes back or if you hear or see information about it.” He rests his head against hers, “but I got ya Lucy, I’ll help you get through this.”

At that moment, another presence makes itself known. Lucy raises her head up and sees her dog Plue standing in the doorway to the living room staring at them. “Plue?!” She pushes away from Natsu and drops before the animal, but it continues to stare forward as if it can’t see her. “H-he can’t see me, can he?” The words choke through sobs.

“No, but animals sense us.”

Her head hangs lower as her body collapses. “Oh, Plue...” but is again buffered by Natsu as he holds her close against his body. Her fingers grip tightly to his shirt as she buries her face into his chest.

“Shh,” he gently runs his fingers through her hair and rubs circles on her back. “You’ll be okay, Lucy, I’m here for you.”

As Natsu soothes a sobbing Lucy, they hear the front door open and a familiar voice yelling for Plue. The dog takes off running towards it, and Lucy scrambles to her feet as well. “It’s Levy.” When they reach the front of the house they see the woman clinging to Plue, tears streaming down her face. Levy was her best friend, and despite the pain of her circumstances, Lucy was glad to see she’d come for Plue, however was torn by the pain her friend was in. “It really sucks I can’t comfort her.”

Lucy watches quietly as Levy puts Plue’s leash on and after taking a few silent moments, leaves again. “I hope she’ll be okay.”

“Your friends a tough one, so I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“You’re probably right.” Lucy let’s out a heavy sigh. “Thank you, Natsu. I can’t even imagine how it was for you to be alone all these years.”

“It wasn’t... easy— I was angry for a long time, but hey,” he throws on a silly smile, “at least we’ll both have company from now on.”

“Pfft!” As poor in taste it was under the circumstances, his smile brought out one from her too. “So, now what do we do? Like, how does this all work?”

He chuckles, “well we don’t need to eat or sleep, but other than that we go on with our lives here. We can interact with each other as if were physical, it’s just the living we can’t touch, you know, like how I’d explained before.” Natsu shrugs. “Just takes getting used to.”

She steps closer, facing him, staring at his face, each second ticking by like a contest of who’ll blink first.

“Um, Lucy?”

She places her hands on the sides of his cheeks, her fingers almost testing the surface and exploring his features. Head tipping, studying, as his eyes look back widened and confused.

“Lucy, you’re being weird now.”

“You are handsome. I’d always wondered if you were.”

Heat flood his cheeks. “Um, thank you?”

“Since we’re stuck with each other, might as well make the most of it.”

“O—okay...”

Lucy giggles at his innocence and confusion. She pulls his face down and places a kiss on his lips. ‘Oooh, their soft!’ When she pulls away, Natsu still looks completely shocked. Guess it was understandable considering how long ago it must have been since he’s kissed a girl. She giggles again. “I’m really happy you’re here with me Natsu.”

“I mean, so am I Lucy, but what’s with the kiss?”

“Just checking...” her eyes flit lower for a second, “...which parts of your body still work.”

“What... par— oh, oh! That one still works, yes, why?”

“How do you know for sure?”

#hauntober #haunted prompt #nalu #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #nalu au #ghost au #fairy tail #nalu drabble #nalu fan fic

77 notes · View notes

goldandbluesmiles · 4 years

Text

Heading Towards Something Good

Summary: Damian, Father, Family and Affection

Notes: Based on this prompt by @just-an-aussie-otaku Hope I did it justice.

Ao3

XXX

The relationship between Damian, his family, and affection was...unnamable at best.

The League had not been big on displays of affection, praise had been sparse and the only positive touch had been after a job well done. Jobs that had let Damian empty and hollowed out. His mother had tried, but in keeping the balance between keeping her father happy and keeping her son safe, his mother had let normal child-rearing slide.

It was probably why she had sent him to Gotham.

When he had first come to the manor, he had been distant from his family. Then his father had died and the emotions that he had tried to keep a lid on had exploded around him.

And there had been Grayson.

Grayson, who had sat up with him at night, even when he had acted terribly to the older man.

Grayson, who had given him hugs and ruffled his hair even when he had threatened to stab him.

Grayson, who had ostracized one of his brothers for him. Damian himself might not like Drake but he knew how much he meant to Grayson and how much it had hurt the man to drive him away to look after Damian.

Grayson had given him unconditional love even though Damian had made it extremely hard for him.

And now Grayson wasn't there anymore.

He wasn't gone per se. Bludhaven was only half an hour away after all, and Damian could not begrudge him his own life. Damian was also quite glad to get to know his father alone.

However, Grayson's absence was felt. Especially on nights when Damian felt like peeling his skin off.

Grayson had always had an infinity for knowing when Damian needed him. And while Father was there now, he had no such instinct. They simply did not know each other enough.

The only way for Damian to get anything out of him would be to ask.

And really, he'd rather just take comfort from the dark.

xxx

Damian might not have had much training as a Bat but he had more than enough as an Assassin. He thinks that maybe his family had forgotten that sometimes, especially during the time his father was lost in the time stream.

Damian had started to silently creep around the house at night and none of the present occupants of the house had ever caught him. It had allowed him to hear conversations and exchanges he wouldn't have usually been privy to.

One of the first ones he had heard had taken place three weeks after Father's disappearance.

"I don't know what to do Wally, it's just so hard. I don't know how Bruce used to do take care of little me- Yeah okay, I guess he wasn't grieving at the time but still-"

If Richard and Alfred ever figured out that he overheard their conversation they had never shown. Hearing them had given him a new perspective on the first Robin, it had allowed him to appreciate what the older man was doing for him and had brought them closer.

It was this closeness that had allowed him to learn more about the kind of man his father was. Richard had told him stories of how in the beginning he had practically forced tactile affection on the repressed man. By the time Jason had come along, Father had been so well conditioned by his eldest that he had reached out on his own. Both he and his young ward had been at an uneasy middle until Jason had finally succumbed to the comfort. Post-death Jason had a relationship that consisted of barbs and retorts underlined with the care that existed years ago. Drake had been different, he had had parents and Father had been grieving, but eventually, they had been headed to a sort to a resolution that had picked up now that Father was back. Cassandra and Father had their own language, consisting of silent looks and precise movements. Stephanie and Barbara were not his children but they both had history and respect with him.

Damian had no idea what he had with Father.

"He'll want something with you too," Richard had said a little while after the original Batman had shown back up.

Damian had not answered him but that statement was the reason that he found himself slinking down the hallway towards Father's room.

Tonight was not a good night. It was the kind of night that made him want to silently scream, made the glass shards inside of him scrape at his sides and made the insistent buzzing in his head loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

It was the kind of night that Richard would have held him to sleep.

But Richard was in Bludhaven. And Father was just in reach.

The door was open. A few more steps and Father would surely notice him.

For a second, just a second, Damian consider just turning back to his room and forcing himself to go to sleep. However, the idea of being alone in his room again made him want to be violently ill.

By God, Richard had spoiled him. He had never had this problem with the League.

Making up his mind, Damian went forward until he was standing on the doorway to Father's room. The man was sitting up in bed and seemed to be looking at some papers with WE logo on them. It took him almost a minute to look up from them but when he did, his eyes alight with curiosity.

"Damian?" he asked

Feeling a bit panicked he blurted out the first that came to mind.

"Father, I need affection,"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Damian felt his whole body grow still and cold. This was not how he was supposed to say that! He looked pathetic! Father was going to think-

Except.

Except that Father merely raises his arm outwards, a clear invitation to sit with him. Refusing to overthink, Damian moved until he was in the circle of his father's arm. Once he was there, the older man bodily hauled him onto the bed. The reports were moved around until there was enough room for Damian to curl up in Father's lap, right against his chest.

"Oh, baby," said Father, once Damian was settled in his arms, "You only have to ask. I know I'm not good at noticing when you kids need something like this and I try to be better at it. But Damian if I don't notice, please ask if you need me,"

Damian nodded against the older man's chest and his father gently kissed his temple.

"Do you want me to turn off the light or is it okay for me to continue reading?"

"It's alright," murmured, already starting to get hazy. Father was warmer then Richard and while Richard's hugs had been tight and soothing, Father's was all-encompassing and safe.

Damian fell asleep as the glass inside carefully receded and his skin finally felt right again.

xxx

After that small incident, Damian became much more comfortable asking his Father for what he needed.

He even used the same line he did the first night. It never failed to make Father's lips twitch up in a smile.

Usually, they were alone when Damian asked. Just before school in the morning, the study or the lounge in the evenings, their rare lunches together, sometimes in the Batcave after patrol.

But they were always alone. Then came the day when Richard was over. School had been long and tedious. Homework had taken more energy than he had anticipated. All he wanted was to curl up with Father and just spend the evening in his company, however, it happened.

He first checked the study. Father was not there. The next place to look was in the lounge. Damian did find Father there, lying horizontally on the couch, book in his hand. However, he was not alone. Richard was there too, working on his laptop. He hadn't called Damian before coming over which meant the decision was last minute.

Damian contemplated just going to Richard and sitting with him the way they used to. However, his older brother looked busy and Damian was surprised to find that he wanted to sit with Father. Not just because he was the only option, but because it was honestly soothing.

Mind made up, Damian walked over to Father and stood by him with his arms crossed.

"Father, I need affection,"

In response, the older man raised his arm without taking his eyes off the book he was reading. Damian ducked under it and ended up laying on top of his father, head pillowed on his chest.

Damian knew Richard was watching them but with the way his muscles were uncoiling, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Dick, for his part, hid his shock pretty well. On the inside, he was squealing in delight but he kept his composure, occasionally sneaking glances at Bruce and Damian. Bruce kept reading his book and Damian seemed to be texting someone. After every few minutes, Bruce gently stroked a hand through Damian's hair and give his temple a kiss.

So Adorable.

Dick discreetly took a picture. Damian obviously didn't notice and if Bruce did, he didn't say anything.

The picture was later sent to everyone he knew.

And if Damian internally smiled at the copy he was shown by Selina...well no one needed to know.

xxx

Tim and Bruce were sitting in the cave working on their perspective reports when Damian walked to them. Tim side-eyes him, surprised to see the boy in his civilian clothing. Most of them tried to keep both lives separate and Damian especially never stayed in the cave in his civies.

He was even more surprised when Damian climbed into Bruce's lap. There were no words spoken, no indication. He just climbed up there and started reading the case file along with Bruce.

And Bruce. Just did nothing. He just let him sit there.

Had Tim missed something? When had these two gotten so comfortable? He'd seen the picture but this-? And since when did Bruce let people that close to him?

Tim himself was rarely on the receiving end of the closeness.

As soon as Tim had that thought, he regretted it. He knew from stories that Bruce had been a different man before Jason's death. His relationship with Cass was good. Tim had been unfortunate with his timing. At first, they were just professionally linked and by the time he had been adopted, they had had a habit neither one had taken the time to break.

Tim couldn't begrudge the man trying to have a better relationship with the child he never knew he had. He just wished watching it didn't make him feel a little hollow inside.

Still, as the even went on Tim couldn't help but feel a little happy about it too. He loved his family and both of them deserved this.

And anyway it wasn't as if his relationship with Bruce was lacking any love. He was especially reminded of this later on patrol when Batman bought Red Robin his favourite shake 'just because'

xxx

Jason was halfway out the door when he realized he didn't have his keys with him.

Damn it.

This is what happened when he came to the manor as Jason Todd and got comfortable. He started acting like a normal human being instead of the paranoid and cautious bat he was supposed to be.

It's good to keep them separate. You can be just Jason too, son.

And that was Bruce's voice in his head.

Jesus Christ. He really needed to get out of here and get drunk with Roy. Maybe Kori could be persuaded to come too.

He headed to the TV room and was treated to a lightly odd but admittedly adorable sight. Bruce was sitting on the couch with Damian in his lap, both of them fast asleep and snoring lightly with their mouths open. Cassandra was also there leaning into Bruce's side, looking sleepy but awake.

Jason let his lips twitch up at one side and grabbed a blanket from the armchair. He spread it over Bruce and his siblings. Bruce and Damian barely stirred but Cass smiled at him and mouthed 'Thank you'.

Jason gave her a salute, grabbed his keys from the table and headed out again, a little more bounce in his steps.

Later when Roy asked him why he was smiling like a moronic sap, he just grinned harder and pushed the other man to the ground.

It's what he deserved.

xxx

"Oh Hey, Bruce-"

Tim entered the living room and was greeted to the sight of Damian, once again, curled up in Bruce's lap. Stephanie was there too, sitting on a different couch and discreetly snapping pictures of the pair.

He had been hoping to get Bruce alone and while he wouldn't mind Stephanie, Damian still had some problem sharing his time with his dad.

"Tim did you need something?" asked Bruce

"Uh, well I was hoping to show you my report but we can do it later. I'll just-"

Before he could walk away, Bruce's voice stopped him.

"Why not now, Tim?"

He turned back to look at Bruce and saw that he was frowning in confusion. Tim didn't know how to tell him that his youngest was most likely to stab him at his intrusion. And the was Stephanie was stifling her laughter wasn't helping either.

Before he could come up with an excuse, however, Damian straightened up and jumped to his feet.

"Father is right, Drake," said Damian, "Putting off work is not a good look. You just reminded me I have a report on my own to finish,"

Tim raised his eyebrow at the boy. Even if Tim hadn't been trained by the Bat, he could have seen the lie from a mile away. Which meant-

He shared a disbelieving look with Stephanie. Had the Batbrat just read the room?

Wonders would never cease.

Tim sat down with Bruce and they carefully started to go over the reports from WE.

As he was sitting, Tim found himself leaning closer and closer to his dad. Finally, he just decided to take a leap of faith and put his head on Bruce's shoulder. Without any hesitation or lull in the conversation, the older man put his arm around Tim, pulling him close and giving his hair a kiss.

Huh. So it was that easy.

Stephanie raised her camera at them, looking at them in amusement.

Tim looked her dead in the eye and, very maturely, stuck his tongue out at her.

The deep sigh from Bruce did not deter either of them.

xxx

Bruce had noticed how comfortable his youngest had become around him and it never ceased to warm his heart.

They were at a gala, Him, Dick, Tim and Damian. It was late into the night but only halfway through the party and Bruce was chatting with a group of socialites. He was in the middle of pretending to find Mrs. Doser's vacation story interesting when he felt a tug at his side. He looked down to find his youngest standing by him and sleepily rubbing his eyes.

Damian didn't say anything but when he looked, Bruce read his face loud and clear even if that wasn't Damian's intention. Without any hesitation, he picked up the young boy and settled him against his shoulder. Damian squirmed a little but in the end, he relaxed under Bruce's gentle coaxing.

Damian was surprised at his Father's actions. At best he had hoped to have some of his Father's attention, at worst be berated or sent away. He had not expected this and could find no reason for it to be happening. But as the night went on and people merely cooed and awed at them, he figured this was just something people did with their children.

He got an image of his mother carrying him after a brutal training session but banished it from his mind. She had done her best and thinking about it wouldn't help.

During a separate incident, Batman was sitting in front of the Batcomputer having a meeting with the core members of the JL. He was in the middle of explaining the budget when Damian marched towards him wearing a mask and completely uncaring of the faces on the computer. As soon as he reached Bruce he jumped into his lap and closed his eyes. He must have been severely sleep-deprived because it only took his moments to fall asleep.

Bruce was torn. On one hand, his sweet, precious baby was sleeping in his lap. On the other hand, the founding members of the JL were still online and only Hal Jordan knew his identity.

In the end, the meeting continued with Batman glaring every time anyone tried to deviate from the subject.

If he smiled at the string of emojis and supportive texts Superman and Wonder Woman sent him on hs secure computer, it was his own secret.

xxx

Damian couldn't sleep and the most frustrating thing was that he couldn't pinpoint the reason. He hadn't gone on patrol and his day had been relatively uneventful.

He just couldn't find sleep.

Damian finally gave up and padded down to the den. He was surprised to find that Richard was there too.

"I guess we had the same idea, huh?" said Richard, sending him a soft smile

A closer look at the older man's face and Damian knew that Richard had a good reason to not be asleep. His eyes were puffy and face a little pale as if he had been crying.

"Couldn't sleep," mumbled Damian

"Same," said Richard waving his arm to invite him over.

Damian went over situated himself beside his older brother leaning slightly against his arm. They sat there in silence for a little while until Father came into the room.

He stopped in the doorway, almost as if he hadn't expected anyone to be down there.

"Boys," boys he murmured sounding tired but awake at the same time

"Hey B,"

"Father,"

"You know what we should do?" asked Father, taking in both their appearances.

Damian was confused by Richard seemed to perk up.

"Pillow fort!" he said

Father smiled, "Pillow fort,"

What followed was one of the most confusing half-an-hour of Damian's life. He hand never made a pillow fort before but he was good at taking directions and arranged blankets, pillows and support as required. When they were finished, they had quite a big tent with pillow walls, blanket roof, and cushions to keep them comfortable.

"Why is it so big?" he asked

As if on cue, Timothy, Stephanie and Cassandra stumbled into the room.

"See, I told you I heard voices," said Stephanie

"Yeah, yeah," said Timothy, "Are you guys making a fort?"

"Yup," said Dick, "Join us! The more the merrier,"

Damian expected himself to feel annoyance at being interrupted but found that he felt...content.

Now wasn't that a thought.

They had just started to arrange themselves when Jason walked in with Duke right behind him.

"Pillow forting without us," said Jason

"That's not a word," mumbled and Timothy, "And there's room,"

"What do you think, kid?" Jason asked Duke, "Should we grace them with our presence?"

Duke grinned, "I don't know about you but that looks comfy,"

"The Duke has spoken," Jason mock cried, "Make room brats,"

They moved around until Father in the middle. Dick and Tim on either side of him and Damian on his lap. Duke curled up across Tim and Father's legs while Jason took the spot opposite of him. Stephanie and Cassandra ended up curled together on the comfy couch behind Father.

"Good Night, everyone," said Father

There were a few mumbled answers as everyone started to nod off surrounded by the comfort of family.

Damian fell asleep with a smile on his face.

The relationship between Damian, his family, and affection was still unnamable. But he liked to think that it was heading toward something good.

#batfamily #batman #batdad #Damian Wayne #Damian al Ghul #bruce wayne #dick grayson #batfamily members

166 notes · View notes

satonthelotuspier · 4 years

Text

Truly Indomitable

I’m still here! Honestly, I’m still writing, I just haven’t posted much to tumblr recently for various reasons. I’m still quite active on twitter and AO3 though, for anyone who’s interested, links on my blog header.

That being said, I finally got around to writing the post canon golden core rejection fic I talked about many moons ago. This is endgame Xicheng with some Yunmeng Shuangjie reconciliation (because once you’ve written one rec, you need to write more). There is a pre-fic to this I wrote for the Untamed Spring Fest back in April or May, its been so long I can’t remember when it was (2020 has been A Year right?) but the odds of me being able to find it with tumblr like it is...(it’s series linked on AO3 if anyone is interested)

15k+ words with a happy ending.

Introducing Jiang Cheng’s Vipers.

CW for: Body dysphoria, blood, past torture, MC peril, discussions on death.

“Jiang-zongzhu!” Jiang Cheng heard the call, and ducked behind a tree to avoid one of myriad people who had been bustling for his attention over the past day.

Was there little wonder, with the kind of hassle he was subjected to when attending conferences like this, he was virtually becoming a hermit in Lotus Pier most of the time?

If it wasn’t sect leaders looking to curry favour, or arrange marriages with their daughters (even though he was officially persona non gratis in the eyes of most female cultivators now, due to one or two...unfortunate – yet highly convenient...mishaps,) it was Wei Wuxian and his horde of adoring ducklings, after permission for Jin Ling to join them on this adventure or that adventure. As if the little shit didn’t do as he pleased and paid no attention to Jiang Cheng’s opinions, anyway.

Not that that was necessarily a bad thing, his nephew was the Jin sect leader now, after all, and if he could continue to show that kind of spine in that role, all the better.

He froze, his musings halted, as his body temperature rose suddenly, and he automatically dropped to the ground, placing the bottle of contraband Emperor’s Smile beside him, and tried to clear his mind.

He rarely got much pre-warning when it happened, but he never had, and twenty or so years later, he was more than used to dealing with it.

It began with the increase in temperature, and then the qi began to roll through his channels, burning like fire as it surged and flowed, molten and rampant.

It was the usual mixture of meditation methods Lei Shirong, his sect physician, had vaunted, and force of implacable will, that he eventually quelled the tide, though he knew it was becoming harder and harder for him to gain control as time went by.

He had suffered periodically from the same issue since he had been a young man.

He had initially thought the problem was attributable to the fact he had been given a new golden core, and he just needed time to grow used to it, it hadn’t been the one he formed himself, after all, and was one Baoshan Sanren had given him, with all the implications that had.

No matter how long he’d waited, however, no matter how much he’d worked to bed the new core in, it had always felt like something alien in his body, something uncomfortable, painful, and always unpredictable. Several times, usually in the midst of battle, where he called on his spiritual energy for extended periods of time, he had completely lost control. Once, he had been saved by Lan Xichen, who had carried him away from a Sunshot campaign battlefield and settled his meridians with his own spiritual energy.

When the fact that it was actually Wei Wuxian’s core, rotating behind is lower dantian, had been revealed, it was like everything clicked into place.

How could the core behave like his own, when it had been formed by his shixiong, who was as different from Jiang Cheng as day was to night?

The fact it had been so many years, and it had still not been fully responsive to him, still felt like a stone in his gut, now made sense to him.

And since the Guanyin Temple, Jiang Cheng had felt it suddenly spiral out of control with much more frequency, and it was becoming harder each time to steady that surging tide of qi.

It had never been meant for his body, so how could it behave as if it had?

How could he control it as if it had?

He placed an open palm against his navel, where the core twisted and churned behind his dantian.

It was only a matter of time now, surely, before it reached the point he couldn’t settle it’s reaction. It wasn’t exactly caused by qi deviation, but he thought the outcome would likely be the same.

Hopefully he had a little more time, to make sure Jin Ling was secure as Jin Sect Leader, and make arrangements for the succession of his clan. There were several promising candidates who he could add to his family registry, to ensure the clan he had given everything for, survived after he was gone. Not least his physician, Lei Shirong, or his head disciple, Yang Hai, or his sister, Yang Mei. All were extremely competent, intelligent members of his sect. All were strong cultivators in their own right. And all were unfailingly loyal to Yunmeng Jiang.

He was climbing back to his feet, intending to return to his accommodations and continue his quest to get drunk, when the strident call of; “Jiang Cheng!” had his hackles rising.

Not Wei Wuxian, not now. He genuinely didn’t think he could face the man knowing his body was making the final move towards rejecting the core his shixiong had sacrificed everything to give him.

Wanted or not, it had cost Wei Wuxian so much, he couldn’t look him in the eye and pretend everything was fine at the moment, so he scooped up the jar of Emperor’s Smile, and slipped carefully deeper into the shadows. He found himself in a courtyard surrounded by residences. They were all dark and unlit, silent, probably empty. It wasn’t yet the designated Lan sleeping time, so he thought he had fallen lucky, and, at the sound of Wei Wuxian’s quick, heavy tread still approaching, he did the only thing possible, and slipped over the windowsill of one of the empty buildings, intending to wait Wei Wuxian out.

He settled himself on the floor next to window, and removed the seal on the jar, tipping it up and taking a deep drink. He might as well wait in style.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” a rich, timbred voice sounded from out of the darkness, and the lamps placed around the room suddenly leapt to life, illuminating the sparsely, yet elegantly, furnished rooms, “it’s very kind of you to drop by, quite literally. Altough, I believe it’s customary to wait to be invited.”

He was frozen for a few beats of his heart, which then began rabbiting in his chest thanks to the shock of hearing a voice from the darkness.

How in the world had he been stupid enough, unlucky enough, to accidentally breach the Hanshi; who’s master was currently in seclusion after the events of the Guanyin Temple?

Could he have made a bigger mistake if he’d tried?

The elder man was currently hidden from his sight, sat behind a screen which partitioned off that side of the rooms, and the gentle click of a tea cup being placed on a lacquered table sounded.

“Lan-zongzhu…” he was about to offer his apologies, but heard Wei Wuxian’s still-loud voice from somewhere outside the Hanshi.

“Jiang Cheng! I know you’re here somewhere.”

Lan Xichen murmured an understanding, “Ah,” then remained silent for a while, until they were both sure Wei Wuxian had moved his search on elsewhere.

“Lan-zongzhu, I apologise unreservedly for intruding on your seclusion.” It was now time for him to salvage what he could out of the encounter, and beg for forgiveness.

There was a few moments before the other answered, “No harm done. Perhaps, if you will, merely stay that side of the screen. I assume you wish to wait a while to ensure Wei-gongzi is well and truly gone?”

He flushed a little at the other reading him so very easily, but there was no use denying he had been avoiding that man, like a coward.

“Then I’ll trouble you for a little while longer.” He couldn’t deny it, however, and there was nothing for it other than to accept the elder man’s generous offer.

He lifted the jar in his hands to take another deep, settling drink. Except he had forgotten…

“Jiang Wanyin, is that Emperor’s Smile that you’re drinking, in the Sect Master of the Lan sect’s private rooms, which you have just breached, without permission?”

Suddenly, he was a fifteen year old boy again, caught in the process of sneaking Emperor’s Smile into the Cloud Recesses with Wei Wuxian, and he felt the flush creep up his neck as he put the earthenware jar back on the floor like it had suddenly become red hot to the touch.

Luckily Lan Xichen couldn’t currently see his blushes of shame.

He also couldn’t see that the jar Jiang Cheng held was Emperors Smile. He could just lie.

But that felt very wrong to him, so he made a non-committal sound, to which Lan Xichen chuckled gently in response.

“Some things never change.” Lan Xichen said, a hint of something like nostalgia in his tone, then; “And some things change completely.” And then he was silent.

Jiang Cheng didn’t feel like breaking that silence. He was, after all, intruding on the man’s seclusion. So he sat there for a while, making no sound. He was therefore surprised when eventually Lan Xichen was the one to speak. He had been on the verge of getting up to leave, but Lan Xichen’s voice made him pause.

“How is Jin Rulan fairing, Jiang-zongzhu?”

Jiang Cheng was thrown, and wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. Well, he obviously knew how Jin Ling was fairing, but he didn’t know how much it would be sensible to refer to the Guanyin Temple, it was, after all, what had driven Lan Xichen into secluded meditation, all those months ago. He played for a little time to order his thoughts.

“How is it I was Jiang-zongzhu, then Jiang Wanyin, then back again, in the space of minutes?”

“Jiang Wanyin.” Lan Xichen took the hint, and settled on the less formal mode of address. Alone together in the Hanshi, it made the most sense.

He had decided, in the precious extra seconds the comment had bought him, that there was no point prevaricating. Once the other exited seclusion, the world couldn't be expected to never bring up the subject in front of him ever again.

“It was a blow to him, no doubt. It’s taken a lot of adjusting for him, and the weight of a sect leader sits heavily on his shoulders, he’s so young…”

Even younger than Lan Xichen had been, than Jiang Cheng had been, when they had taken over their respective clans.

“I thought we were done with a world that forced it’s children to grow up as quickly as we had to, when the Wens fell. That I was party to that…that I enabled it…” there was a catch to his voice.

And there was a part of Jiang Cheng that uncharitably thought Lan Xichen should suffer for his guilt, but that was the part of him that had watched, powerless and vulnerable, in the Guanyin Temple, as everyone in the world that he cared about, was put in danger at the hands of Jin Guangyao. Considering his past, no one could have blamed him for his fear for them.

But he also understood what kind of a person Lan Xichen was, and it was a good person. He had a lot of advantages in life, there wasn’t a doubt about that; he came from one of the richest sects in the world, he was an extremely powerful cultivator, he was impossibly handsome, and he could be whatever he wanted, but he was still a genuinely kind person. And they were so very rare.

He knew, in his heart, that Lan Xichen couldn’t be held accountable for Jin Guangyao’s villainy; the man had fooled the entire world for years, with his dazzling dimples and accommodating smile. Jin Guangyao alone was responsible for what had happened. And there would have been no guarantee that his twisted little snake mind wouldn’t have found some way to remove Lan Xichen, if his naivety hadn’t left him blind to what the Chief Cultivator was doing.

Really, the twists and turns of that man’s plots didn’t bear trying to follow, someone as straightforward as Jiang Cheng just couldn’t fathom him.

And he was glad for that.

He might not be perfect when compared to Jin Guangyao’s perceived perfection, he might be rough around the edges when compared to Jin Guangyao’s smoothness, his forcefulness might have looked overbearing when compared to Jin Guangyao’s subtle misdirection, but people got what they saw with Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng was a blunt instrument compared to Jin Guangyao’s sharp little dagger.

Did it make him a better person? He couldn’t say. And he didn’t care much anymore.

Would he have preferred that his nephew was able to be a carefree child for longer? Yes. Of course. Although, since his cousin’s death there had always been an understanding that he was the heir to the Jin sect, and had been treated as such, trained as such. Jiang Cheng knew from personal experience that the heir to a sect only had so much freedom to be a child.

But Jin Ling would be fine. He was strong. He would be fine. He had Wei Wuxian now, and his friends, when Jiang Cheng was gone.

He wet his lips with his tongue. Despite the fact he tried to consider the positives, the thought of leaving Jin Ling alone, like so many others of his family had, tasted sour on his tongue.

There wasn’t much he could do about it, however, the core inside him was a measure of his mortality, and when that measure ran out...

They had drifted into unhappy silence again, each man lost to the abyss of his own negative thoughts.

To try to distract himself, Jiang Cheng picked up the jar, and raised it to his lips. He glanced at the screen, trying to imagine the expression the Jade might be wearing on the other side.

“He seems to have made some firm friends out of the experience, however,” Jiang Cheng said, suddenly uncomfortable at the lack of discussion, “I’m glad. It was something he never had growing up, and it was something I could never give him. I could protect him, and teach him, and be his uncle, but I could never be his confidante, or his peer.”

“The younger generation don’t want old relics like us spoiling their fun.” There was a hint of a smile back in Lan Xichen’s voice.

“Just so.” Jiang Cheng agreed. Wei Wuxian, with his breezy personality and easy charm, however, would tame the birds from the trees.

He was just the kind of “uncle” teenagers would find fun.

He settled back against the wall, and, giving the Emperor’s Smile the attention it deserved, began to recount one of the many incidents he could remember from their time at the Cloud Recesses, where they had gotten into trouble, mostly at Wei Wuxian’s fault for the famed alcohol.

He was feeling a little nostalgic, a little melancholic, and perhaps, a little mellow.

Jin Ling would probably be surprised he was capable of the latter.

“In your honest opinion, is it to be as vaunted as Wei Wuxian would have us believe?” Lan Xichen asked as his low laughter faded.

Jiang Cheng took another mouthful and savoured the taste, considering Lan Xichen’s question.

“Perhaps. It’s very smooth. But Wei Wuxian always had a better head for this kind of thing than I do.”

He had drunk as a youngster to keep up with Wei Wuxian, who had always had more of a taste for alcohol than the young Jiang Cheng. Now, he occasionally overindulged to numb and forget for a while.

“Did it never bother you, growing up with so many rules? Being expected to be so damn perfect all the time?” Perhaps it was the Emperor’s Smile that loosened his tongue enough to ask Lan Xichen that very personal question.

“You of all people know as much as I that a sect leader in waiting is expected to be so much more than any other children of the sect, Wanyin.” Lan Xichen answered, eventually, his voice low. And the use of his courtesy name on it’s own caused the hairs at the back of his neck to stand on end. “But I learned a lot earlier than Wangji it was possible that, while some rules should be considered absolute, others we can learn to bend sometimes, if necessary.”

It was a fair comment, Lan Wangji had been a stickler for rules and order back then. Much less so now, if it came to his beloved Wei Wuxian. Whereas Lan Xichen never seemed to see the world is such shades of black and white. Perhaps it would have been kinder if he had, and hadn’t been quite so accepting of Jin Guangyao’s grey. Perhaps not.

The evening had drawn on, and it was only as Jiang Cheng heard the other stifling a yawn that he realised his intrusion had kept Lan Xichen up beyond his clan’s sleeping

time.

It appeared Lan Xichen still bent those rules when the need arose.

He climbed to his feet, “My apologies, Lan Xichen, it appears as well as being rude enough to trespass on your seclusion, I’ve intruded upon your rest as well. I appreciate your kind, if unwillingly provided, hospitality.”

“Jiang Wanyin, I’ve enjoyed having your company, perhaps you could visit with me again before you’re due to leave.”

“I’m sure you’re merely being kind, and I thank you for it, I would hope not to disturb you again, and bid you a good night”

“Quite the contrary, I would be very happy if you did, Jiang Wanyin. Goodnight, sleep well.”

He took his leave.

He wasn’t sure if it was the numbing effect of the alcohol, but he did, indeed, sleep well that evening.

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

The unusual feeling of being well-rested stayed with Jiang Cheng for most of the rest of the next day. The morning was taken up with routine discussions, and the afternoon was set aside for a joint hunt.

As a sect leader Jiang Cheng wouldn’t be taking part, and he intended to take the opportunity to meet with Jin Ling on his own, and press him on how he was faring, as his friends would all be busy in the activities.

He would search Jin Ling out after he had seen Yang Mei and Yang Hai on their way as Yunmeng Jiang representatives in the same.

To that end they made their way towards the front gate, where the party would be forming.

Yang Hai was recounting the news from Lotus Pier, that he had received via dispatch that morning, but Jiang Cheng, unusually, only half paid attention to him, the other part of his mind had wandered to Lan Xichen’s words of the previous evening. He wondered if he could take them at face value, or whether Lan Xichen was merely being polite?

He had sounded genuine. But Jiang Cheng, as ever, didn’t always trust his ability to read people.

He was jerked out of his thoughts at the sudden appearance of Wei Wuxian, annoyed and frowning.

“Jiang Cheng!”

“Shit.” He didn’t realise he’d verbalised the curse, until Yang Mei stepped forward and into Wei Wuxian’s path.

“Wei-gongzi, Jiang-zongzhu is particularly busy at the moment, perhaps you would like to make an appointment, if there is something you wish to discuss.”

“Jiang Cheng can stop pretending to be too busy to talk to me, and face me like a man.” Wei Wuxian said it mockingly, like he always had. Unfortunately he was now walking among people who didn’t understand his, admittedly trying, character. Wei Wuxian hadn’t been part of Yunmeng Jiang for too many years. Then, he made the mistake of reaching out to take her by the shoulders, intending to move her to one side, so he could pass her to reach Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng of course expected the series of events, and moved quickly to enact what damage control he could. He was between Wei Wuxian and Yang Mei in an instant.

Behind him, the air crackled as two identical navy-coloured whips appeared in Yang Mei’s and Yang Hai’s hands, but Jiang Cheng spread his arm, hand flat and indicating they should stay back as he also raised Sandu, hilt reversed in his hand, to catch Bichen’s forward thrust.

He knew Lan Wangji wouldn’t have moved to kill, and merely reacted to defend Wei Wuxian, but he was also aware Yang Mei and Yang Hai didn’t particularly like Lan Wangji. They were loyal to a fault to Jiang Cheng, and his less than harmonious relationship with Wei Wuxian’s husband was no secret to anyone in the cultivational world. He didn’t know how they would react to the perceived threat. Therefore, he put himself between them before they could all find out.

The greater part of him hoped Lan Wangji would recognise his actions as the de-escalation they had been, but there was a small, secret, part of himself that wished he wouldn’t, Sandu had never been tested against Bichen, and it was a battle that was probably long overdue.

Considering his own impending mortality, it wasn’t really a battle he could lose.

They were all frozen in the odd tableau for a few beats of the heart, before Wei Wuxian, who had been shocked at the demonstration of the twins’ link to his mother’s clan, turned to take Lan Wangji’s wrist, and pull it back, “Lan Zhan,” he said soothingly, and Lan Wangji took his eyes off of Jiang Cheng to look at Wei Wuxian.

Weak, to take your eyes from an enemy, but what was love if it wasn’t a weakness they all shared?

“I shouldn’t have laid hands on one of Jiang Cheng’s Spiders.” Wei Wuxian continued, and Lan Wangji withdrew Bichen after a few seconds, with a nod of agreement.

Jiang Cheng sheathed Sandu, and the pressure in the air behind him indicated the Yangs’ spiritual weapons had also been dismissed.

“We need to go, or we’ll be late.” Jiang Cheng stood back, and turned to Yang Mei, who nodded, and fell into step with her brother, at Jiang Cheng’s shoulders.

“Why are you avoiding me, Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian called after him.

He stopped short, and turned, temper flaring. Even now, the things he did for Wei Wuxian were never enough of him. “Wei Wuxian, you said everything was settled, and we should forget the past and go our own way. You don’t get to yank at me for your amusement, like I’m a dog on a rope. If you wish to speak to me on sect business, make an appointment, like everyone else.” And he spun on his heel and marched off, his Vipers in tow.

His mother had had her Spiders, and Jiang Cheng had his Vipers, sent by his relatives in Meishan Yu shortly after the Siege of the Burial Mounds, the twins had their orders to assimilate into the Jiang sect and protect him, as Yinzhu and Jinzhu had for his A-Niang. They had quickly earned positions as his most trusted disciples.

“Foul-tempered wretch.” Wei Wuxian called at his retreating back.

But he ignored it, Wei Wuxian wanted him to react, to interact. Wei Wuxian didn’t deserve that from him anymore.

“Jiang-zongzhu-,” Yang Hai began to question.

“We have somewhere to be,” he repeated, and that was the end of the matter.

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

Later than evening, and for some unknown reason, he found himself in the Hanshi’s courtyard again.

He had another jar of Emperor’s Smile tucked into the crook of his arm, and he made his way up the steps, and decided entering through the window two nights in succession was pushing his luck. He sat, instead, beneath the window, on the verandah.

It was a relatively warm evening for the time of year, although the mountains of Gusu were always significantly cooler than the lakes of Yunmeng.

Jiang Cheng found it quite soothing to be there though, and unstopped the jar of alcohol, drinking deeply.

There was a soft sound from inside, and Jiang Cheng thought it was likely Lan Xichen sitting on the floor beneath the window, mirroring Jiang Cheng’s posture through the wall.

“You came, Wanyin.”

He made a non-committal sound; but he was a little embarrassed at how happy Lan Xichen sounded about that. He had returned, but he really didn’t know why, except that the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to him that Lan Xichen’s invitation had been a definite request, rather than a suggestion. It wasn’t too much to believe the other had become very lonely in seclusion, and perhaps he was now working towards re-entering society, chatting with Jiang Cheng might be Lan Xichen beginning to interact with the wider world again, in a situation that was still relatively safe for him.

“I was passing, drinking my Emperor’s Smile.” He said it almost challengingly, but Lan Xichen let it pass, as Jiang Cheng had expected him to.

They talked on lighter subjects that the previous evening, it was pleasant and undemanding, to sit and talk about things that didn’t matter in the slightest. This was something Jiang Cheng had never really had. Not since he’d lost his A-Jie and his Shixiong had Jiang Cheng had anyone to talk about anything but the most important matters. He knew that was his own fault, and due to the nature of his personality; he wasn’t easygoing or personable like Wei Wuxian was. He never had been, he had always tended more towards shyness, and seriousness as a boy, even despite Wei Wuxian’s best efforts to change that, and as a man, the seriousness hadn’t changed, but he had become cold, closed off, as a defence. He had lost too much to let anyone else in.

That evening Jiang Cheng excused himself again at the point that it became obvious Lan Xichen was flagging and ready to sleep. Again, the other expressed his hope that they could continue at a later date, and Jiang Cheng again wondered at anyone choosing to spend their time with him.

He wasn’t much of a charming conversationalist, he wasn’t erudite, or witty, but still Lan Xichen had asked him to return.

It became a regular meeting, this faceless companionship through the open window of the Hanshi, some evenings they talked of nothing at all of worth, and others they touched on more delicate, important subjects. It was almost like some form of mutual therapy.

Except Jiang Cheng never touched upon the most important subject of what was happening with his core.

Beyond Lei Shirong, his sect physician, Lan Xichen probably was the closest to knowing about the issue. Not even Wei Wuxian himself knew Jiang Cheng had suffered losses of control, as he had sworn the other two to complete secrecy on the matter. Not that Lan Xichen had reason to believe it had been anything more than a qi deviation he had rescued Jiang Cheng from.

That over the last few days there had been several more instances was a good indication that the core was becoming increasingly unstable. It was likely only a matter of time until he actually went into whatever form of qi deviation it would cause.

He thought he probably ought to return to Lotus Pier. He wanted the end to come in the same place his parents had fallen.

It would be of no real benefit, but it was his wish.

Luckily the conference would only last a few more days, then he could return.

That night, he found Lan Xichen in quite an introspective mood. He spoke more of Jin Guangyao, and how he had tried his best to change the darkness he had always sensed lurked beneath the surface.

Jiang Cheng sympathised, he knew himself how helpless it left a person feeling when someone you cared for began to slip through your fingers, and, like sand, no matter how tightly you tried to grasp it, it only made it trickle away faster.

“I felt so guilty for my part in what happened, for enabling him-,” Lan Xichen paused.

“I don’t think you’d be human if you didn’t feel a sense of guilt, we all do, that we let things happen they way they turn out, even when it isn’t our fault. It’s not unusual.”

They drifted into contemplative silence again. There were very often periods of silence between them, but they didn’t feel uncomfortable, neither felt forced to fill them with pointless noise.

Left to silence, his mind wandered, he had been thinking a lot on the subject of his impending demise recently, and he was again, just full enough of Emperor’s Smile that it had loosened his tongue a little.

“What do you think death is like? Not what you’re told to believe it’s like, what you actually think it’s like?”

The question seemed to have surprised Lan Xichen; he made no immediate response.

“I don’t know,” was the eventual reply, “sometimes I wonder if it might be kinder if there just wasn’t anything, a soul may just find rest in oblivion, unhampered by what it had suffered, and caused to suffer, in life. But that’s also a scary thought, isn’t it? That everything you do, or struggle to be, in this life, doesn’t matter after all. Oblivion isn’t what we strive for as cultivators,.”

Jiang Cheng made a sound of agreement.

“Perhaps this would be a discussion best had with Wei Wuxian-,”

“No.” He realised as soon as he spoke the single denial it was too forceful, too much. “No need to bother him, it was merely a musing.”

Silence again.

Then, “I take it things are still...difficult between you and your shixiong, Wanyin.”

He let the shixiong pass, “We’re different people now, Lan Xichen, that’s all. Wei Wuxian left that life behind him.” He stood up. He knew it was earlier than any of their previous evenings had ended, and he knew it was running away. But there were some things he wasn’t equipped to deal with. And Wei Wuxian, was one of them. “You’ll excuse me, I have an early start tomorrow. There’s still much to get through before the end of the conference. Good night, Xichen.”

“Good night.” Gods, why did that touch of sadness tug so much at Jiang Cheng’s heart? Like a kicked puppy, and if puppies weren’t Jiang Cheng’s biggest weakness. “I’m sorry if I overstepped any boudaries. Sleep well, Wanyin.”

“I-,” he had no idea what he had been about to say, Lan Xichen hadn’t really overstepped, but he was so sensitive on the subject of Wei Wuxian. He closed his eyes; he didn’t know how to extract himself out of this situation without hurting either Lan Xichen, or himself. In the end, he made the same decision he always had when the choice was his, and chose himself. “You didn’t overstep, I’m sorry I’m so-,”

“Don’t, Wanyin. You don’t owe anyone anything you aren’t willing to give. I’m sure you really are busy tomorrow. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to forgive me, and come again tomorrow evening. I know your time is limited, and the conference ends shortly.”

Lan Xichen really was too kind for this world of theirs.

“I’ll do my best.” It was so easy to give such a promise to Lan Xichen. “Sleep well, Xichen.”

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

There was no disguising from himself that Lan Xichen was on tenterhooks after their awkward parting the previous evening. He spent a lot of the following day wondering how it was possible he had become so very dependent on the company of Jiang Wanyin, in such a very short time.

While they had always been cordial in the past, they were never particularly close. Lan Xichen was ashamed to remember he had been too tied up in his brotherhood with Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao, too focussed on trying to help them, to pay very much mind to the young man in Yunmeng who had lost virtually everything, and still limped on, dragging his sect up from the remains of Lotus Pier, by the sheer force of his hard work and will, to return as one of the strongest, most influential sects in the world.

He had been considering for a while, before Jiang Cheng had crashed through his window to avoid Wei Wuxian, that he would shortly start making a move to leave seclusion. He thought he had taken away what measure of peace, and atonement, he could from the process. He knew from personal experience with his father, that when a Lan entered seclusion, the people left on the outside were hurt the most, carrying on the burden, and therefore it had only ever been intended to be a temporary measure for him, to reflect on and repent for his own part in the villainy Jin Guangyao had undertaken, and to mourn for Nie Mingjue properly.

The Jiang Sect leader had smashed into his seclusion, and, with his personality, an odd mixture of sarcasm, matter-of-factness, pragmatism, humour and cutting insight, had reminded Lan Xichen that life was for the living, and there was a world outside the Hanshi, and it wasn’t all bad.

And he had accidentally stepped into a hornets nest last night, and hurt Jiang Wanyin, which he would never wish to do.

What if Jiang Wanyin hadn’t forgiven him? What if he didn’t come back tonight?

Lan Xichen gnawed on his lower lip, glancing at the door to the Hanshi. He could visit Jiang Wanyin, and apologise again, if needed. If he left the Hanshi.

He began pacing as the evening mealtime passed, and the time approached that Jiang Wanyin had normally arrived outside his window, with his jar of Emperor’s Smile.

Nothing. The time came and passed.

He paced a little more.

But it grew obvious Jiang Wanyin wasn’t coming.

He could genuinely be too busy, sect leaders were greatly in demanding during discussion conferences, especially from the larger sects, as lesser sects jostled and fought for a little of their time. Jiang Wanyin was also a very eligible bachelor, despite, as he understood it, most female cultivators having put him on a blacklist.

More fool them.

He paused in his pacing as he examined the thought.

Yes, Jiang Wanyin was a catch. But one had to look beneath the tough exterior, the facade, the defence, to the man underneath.

Something he doubted Jiang Wanyin himself wanted people to do. He wouldn’t be entirely surprised if the other had ended up on this “blacklist” through his own machinations. While the other was blunt, and had a temper, he had still been raised a statesman, politically aware, and he doubted anyone, female or otherwise, would have the power to make Jiang Cheng say, or do anything, that would put him under their scorn, without him meaning to. It just didn’t make any sense.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He would almost want to be a fly on the wall, to see how the gruff Jiang Cheng play-bumbled his way into a woman’s bad graces over the course of an afternoon, or evening.

His paused, and licked his lips. Much like he had, accidentally? In upsetting Jiang Wanyin?

He lost his smile, and moved to shrug into an outer robe. He would just pay Jiang Wanyin a visit. He would likely find the other was actually busy with sect business, and be able to return to the Hanshi, his conscience clear.

Jiang Wanyin didn’t owe him anything, but he did value the sort of companionship they had fallen into over the past evenings.

He of course realised the flaw in his plan as soon as he left the sheltered private clan areas around the Hanshi; he’d had no input into the planning for this event, and he had absolutely no idea where Jiang Wanyin might be located.

Except, it seemed, luck was on his side, as he saw a pair approaching in what were obviously Yunmeng Jiang colours.

The pair noticed him almost at the same time as he noticed them, and they paused, covering their shock up quickly.

He vaguely recognised the pair, always at Jiang Wanyin’s shoulder during other night hunts and conferences.

“Yang-gongzi, and Yang-guniang.” He dug their names out of his memory, Jiang Wanyin wasn’t the only one who’d been groomed to have all these little tricks at his disposal, Lan Xichen had received just as rigorous an education in politics and people pleasing.

“Lan-zongzhu.” The twins greeted him in perfect unison.

“What a fortuitous meeting, I wonder if you can direct me to Jiang-zongzhu’s accommodations? I wasn’t party to the arrangements this time, for obvious reasons.”

They both paused, their respect for another sect’s leader, and their host one at that, fighting against their well known preciousness over their own sect leader.

“We have an appointment.” He smiled. It was only bending the truth slightly, he had come to think of their evening meetings as a set thing, even if Jiang Wanyin hadn’t. And it worked in breaking the pair’s reluctance.

“Jiang-zongzhu was assigned the house next to the magnolia tree, Lan-zongzhu.” Yang Hai gestured in the direction, “please allow us to accompany you,” and Lan Xichen lowered his head in thanks and acknowledgement of their joint bows.

He set off, trailed by the Yang twins, and soon arrived at the residence Jiang Wanyin was currently in possession of.

He paused at the foot of the stairs, at the sound of a sword tearing through the air and burying in something wooden, from inside the house.

He drew Shuoyue automatically, and heard the swords of Yang Mei and Yang Hai slide out of their scabbards behind him, along with the crackle of Meishan Yu spiritual whips.

“Jiang Wanyin?” he called out, half warning that he was outside and intended to enter, half hoping the other would just call out to acknowledge them, and provide a perfectly reasonable explanation for why there was a sudden breaking of something like pottery. And then something flew through the window and smashed into a hundred pieces in the courtyard. It had been a small table.

He could wait no longer.

“Jiang Wanyin!” He dashed up the stairs, and into the residence, the Yangs barely a footstep behind him.

He paused just inside the completely destroyed interior, and sucked a breath in.

Jiang Wanyin stood in the middle of his rooms, he was surrounded by the debris of what had been a table and tea set.

There might have been some confusion over what had happened, except Jiang Wanyin had Sandu in his hand, and Zidian was active.

Blood had begun to leak from his nose, and the corner of his mouth, probably only the start.

He spun to face the door at the sound of the new arrivals, and, not even pausing to identify who the intruders were, swung Zidian.

Lan Xichen had no time to hope he wasn’t too rusty, no time to think. He countered Zidian with the flash of a sword glare, and summoned Liebing.

Except he hesitated at the thought of playing Song of Cleansing, after recognising the qi deviation for what it was. It was a fatal pause. Or it would have been, if Yang Hai’s sword hadn’t flashed over his shoulder to catch and deflect Sandu.

It shocked him out of his indecision, “Use your whips to hold him.” Liebing was returned to the ether, and he raised Shuoyue again defensively.

Although Jiang Cheng was stronger due to the qi running rampant through his channels, he had no control, and stood no chance against three highly trained cultivators, and was soon trapped in the coils of identical navy whips.

As he struggled the first trails of blood collected in the corners of his eyes, and began to roll down his cheeks like tears.

Lan Xichen swallowed. He hadn’t been there, of course, when Nie Mingjue had qi deviated, but it was still a harsh reminder of what had happened to him. He was determined he wouldn’t lose another friend to this.

Decisively, Lan Xichen stepped forward, placed a palm against the struggling Jiang Wanyin’s chest, over his middle dantian, and began to feed qi into the other, quelling and reversing the surging tides causing the other to deviate.

It was no easy thing to achieve, either, the tides were fierce.

Jiang Wanyin eventually lost consciousness, and Yang Hai caught him as he fell. The Yangs’ whips were both dismissed, and between the three of them, then managed to carry the unconscious sect leader to the bed, where he was placed comfortably on top of the blankets.

“I’ll summon a physician.” He left them briefly, to waylay the first Lan disciple he came across, and send the boy to collect Xiao Qingyue, despite the fact he nearly tied his own tongue in a knot at having Lan Xichen, last known to be in seclusion, suddenly appear in front of him like this.

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

His head pounded when he woke up. Jiang Cheng raised a hand and pressed his palm to his forehead. He didn’t remember how much he had drunk last night; it didn’t usually affect him enough to give him a hangover, but why else would his head hurt like this?

He pushed himself upright in the bed, and concentrated on trying to stop his head spinning, then he had to work out why he couldn’t really remember the previous evening.

He glanced up, and gaped at the small coven surrounding his bed. Yang Hai and Yang Mei were at the forefront.

“What in all the gods names are you doing hovering over me like that?” his hands automatically went to his chest, to check he was wearing his inner robe and his chest was covered from prying eyes. It was, so that was a worry dealt with. “Is this some kind hazing ritual? Was I meant to wake up naked in the middle of the woods?” As usual, sarcasm was his default setting when he didn’t feel like he had control of the situation.

There was a soft chuckle, which Jiang Cheng couldn’t process at the moment, because his eyes landed on Lei Shirong, stood against the wall with his arms folded, talking with a serious looking woman in Lan sect robes. She didn’t have the cloud motif stitched into her headband, so she wasn’t a blood Lan.

He realised Jiang Cheng was awake, and staring at him, and they both turned to face him.

“How much do you remember, Jiang-zongzhu?” Lei Shirong asked, and he shook his head. Obviously the headache wasn’t caused by a simple overindulgence in alcohol then.

Which meant it had finally happened.

So why wasn’t he dead already?

“Well, considering you were almost certainly back in Lotus Pier at the last point I can remember, I assume it’s been at least a few days.”

Did that mean those present now knew the truth? That he was a walking corpse, just waiting for the end?

The thing that had been tickling at the back of his mind for a few minutes now solidified, and he turned to the owner of the soft chuckle he had heard earlier.

“You’re out of seclusion.” it was a statement, not a question, it was obvious that he was, after all.

“I am. I came to check up on a friend. Just in time, it seems.”

Yang Hai dropped a bow to Jiang Cheng, then Lan Xichen.

“Lan-zongzhu saved your life, Jiang-zongzhu. We’re eternally grateful, Lan-zongzhu.”

Lei Shirong stepped towards the bed then, followed closely by his Lan equivalent, and picked Jiang Cheng’s wrist up, testing his qi flow and meridians.

“Unfortunately, Jiang-zongzhu, I believe it’s time for you to come clean. We can’t ignore it any longer.” Lei Shirong said, as he stepped back, and the Lan sect healer enacted the same examination. He was about to snatch his wrist out of her hands, when he looked up and met her gaze. He settled like a quelled puppy, and she nodded once in congratulation for his sensibility.

He turned back to Lei Shirong. “Even if I did “come clean”, who here would be able to do anything about it, Lei-dafu?” he asked mockingly, then glanced around the others. He was about to comment that he owed none of those gathered here a damn thing in terms of explanation, but he realised he probably did, and the words died. Yang Hai and Yang Mei definitely needed to know, seeing as they were likely due to inherit a sect very shortly. Perhaps even Lan Xichen deserved the truth, having been concerned enough to check up on him, and then rescue him. And he had referred to himself as a friend.

That caused Jiang Cheng an odd kind of feeling.

But he ignored it for now.

“Where is Wei Wuxian?” he asked instead, looking specifically at Lan Xichen.

The other answered immediately, “Wangji and Wei Wuxian left the Cloud Recesses yesterday morning on a night hunt. They weren’t aware you hadn’t already departed for Lotus Pier, we thought you would prefer Wei Wuxian didn’t know.”

He relaxed a little. The last person in the world he wanted to know was Wei Wuxian. And knowing he was out of the way was soothing.

A low sigh of relief left him, before he began, matter-of-factly, “Very shortly after the razing of Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian and I were hiding in Yiling, on the way to Meishan to seek safety with my mother’s people. In the streets, Wen soldiers were searching for us, and Wei Wuxian had gone out to bring food back. I created a diversion, and was taken back to Lotus Pier.” He forced himself not to lay a hand over the scarring on his upper chest, like he wanted to, and to keep his voice neutral. “Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning rescued me later, but it was too late to save my core. Wen Zhuliu was more than worth his title.”

He saw Lan Xichen wince. “The title wasn’t merely grandstanding?”

Jiang Cheng’s laugh was half-hysterical, but he controlled himself again, eventually, “As literal as can be.” Or how else could that worm Wen Chao best the Violet Spider?

“And that was why Wei Wuxian cooked up his insane plan to have Wen Qing transplant his golden core into me. He lied, and told me he had heard that his mother’s Shifu, Baoshan Sanren, could give me a new core. And I, stupid, naive little boy, believed my shixiong, because if it wasn’t true, what did I have left? I didn’t know the truth until after the second siege of the Burial Mounds, but in hindsight, I do wonder how I could have been so blind as to not realise, even once, in all that time.”

Most of those gathered were hearing this information for the first time, only Lan Xichen, who had been at the Guanyin Temple, knew some of it, and Lei Shirong, who he had told the bare minimum to, as his physician.

“Ironically, ever since the operation, the core has been fighting against me. What you thought of as qi deviations, like when you carried me from the battlefield during the Sunshot Campaign, were instances where Wei Wuxian’s core got away from my control. They usually happened after extended periods of calling upon my spiritual energy, but occasionally they happened without anything apparent being the cause. Until recently I was also been able to redirect and quell the qi with a little concentration and effort, however, they’ve become more frequent, and almost impossible to control. The core is going to kill me, sooner or later.”

“You asked me to keep the incident on the Jianglian front from Wei Wuxian all those years ago, Wanyin, are you seriously telling me Wei Wuxian isn’t aware your body has never really accepted his core?”

Jiang Cheng shook his head. “Telling him his greatest sacrifice was actually a death sentence for me? That would be cruel,” he laughed, because the world probably thought Jiang Wanyin wouldn’t hesitate to be cruel. “And besides, at that time, back on the Jianglian front, I genuinely thought it was this new core that Baoshan Sanren had somehow made, taking time to become used to me, to synchronise with my meridians, channels and dantians. In reality it was never going to, because it was made for Wei Wuxian’s body to use, never mine.”

He settled more comfortably back against the headrest.

There was something almost freeing in finally speaking the truth, as much as it left him exposed and feeling vulnerable.

“Is there really nothing that can be done about it?” Lan Xichen looked at Lei Shirong, who shrugged.

“I’ve been researching for years, Lan-zongzhu. And we never found what happened to Wen Qing’s books after the Sunshot campaign, I did have a hope that after Wei Wuxian found the Jin’s secret treasure room at Jinlin Tai, they may be discovered among the things Jin Guangyao kept there, but they weren’t.”

“Do we have nothing in the Lan Library, Xiao-dafu?” Lan Xichen asked his own sect’s healer, who also shook her head.

“Not even in the forbidden library, Lan-zongzhu, Wen Qing was the theoriser, and the only doctor in the world to perform a Golden Core transplant. The idea is ludicrous on it’s own, without being put into practice. I do wish I could have discussed it with her.”

Lan Xichen rose to his feet, and strode over to stand at the window, looking out into the silent courtyard.

Jiang Cheng threw the covers back, and rose, “Perhaps you could excuse us now, I have some important sect business to take care of.” He turned to Lei Shirong. “I don’t suppose you thought to bring my family registry along with you, did you?”

“It wasn’t foremost in my mind, no.” Lei Shirong replied dryly.

Jiang Cheng frowned at him, and then turned to Lan Xichen, “Perhaps you could be witness and executor for my wishes, then Xichen.”

The other turned back to look at him. Jiang Cheng had almost forgotten how intense those dark amber eyes could become when the Lan sect leader was being serious, focussed. All the time they had spent together since he’d arrived at Cloud Recesses and barrelled unwittingly into the Hanshi, had been without seeing each other face to face.

“Wanyin-.”

“I apologise for having to ask, Xichen, but unlike the Lans, I have no clear blood successor, and have to ensure Yunmeng Jiang will be well cared for after I’m dead. If I make it back to Lotus Pier, I will add Yang Hai and Yang Mei to the registry, it’s my wish my head disciple succeeds me as sect leader upon my death.”

Lan Xichen continued to regard him, “As you wish, Wanyin, I will bear witness to that wish.”

There was something further he wanted to say, but he didn’t know if he could, Jiang Cheng realised, at the look in those eyes.

He waited, never one to push. He had the agreement he wanted, anyway.

“I know of someone who may be able to help. But I don’t know if they would be willing. I’ll dispatch a messenger.”

Jiang Cheng frowned, who could possible help him now? The only person in the world who might have been able to remove the core again had been turned to ashes long ago by the Jins.

Lan Xichen refused to be drawn further on the matter, however, merely begged Jiang Cheng to stay in the Cloud Recesses a little longer.

For Jin Ling’s sake, he agreed. While he may be perfectly ready, willing, and able, to die with equanimity, and at peace with his life, for Jin Ling’s sake he wouldn’t give up. Lan Xichen also promised him that if “things” got much more out of hand before help arrived, he would personally ensure Jiang Cheng was taken back to Lotus Pier to die amongst his ancestors.

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

It was nearly a week later before the one who Lan Xichen had sent a missive to, arrived at Lotus Pier.

In that time there had been a few more incidents, but, with Lan Xichen’s help, they had been kept relatively minor.

It had been trying on Jiang Cheng’s patience, however, that the other had barely left him alone in that time. But he couldn’t complain, as it was to ensure his safety. And at least Lan Xichen wasn’t terrible company. It was just that Jiang Cheng wasn’t used to relying on others, and it was odd to feel the indebtedness to someone else for it.

He frequently fell to wondering, in those days spent waiting, who it was that Lan Xichen thought might be able to help him. And what that help might look like. He was a pragmatic man, and he knew the likeliest form that salvation could take was the complete removal of the golden core. Whatever happened, his life was going to change drastically. He could look on the possibility with equanimity now, something he hadn’t been able to do as a younger man.

He was in a reasonably secure position politically in the current climate, not a refugee running for his life, desperate to avenge the deaths of his parents and sect brothers and sisters, his sect was almost certainly powerful enough to withstand the loss of his personal cultivational power, especially if he maintained good relationships with the other large sects. One of which he was tied to through familial bonds, the other through a childhood friend he was still on reasonable terms with, and the third; well, even though his relationship with Lan Wangji was a fraught one, he thought he and Lan Xichen understood each other quite well now.

The morning was spent in such musings, and sect correspondence. He had already sent Yang Hai back to Lotus Pier, despite his protests. Yang Mei had chosen to remain, despite the assurances there was nothing she would be needed for. Some time in the afternoon a Lan disciple arrived to inform Lan Xichen their guest had arrived, and Lan Xichen rose, Jiang Cheng close on his heels.

“I cannot promise anything, Wanyin.” Lan Xichen paused at the doorway, and turned, to place a holding hand on Jiang Cheng’s arm.

“I’m aware, Xichen. Whatever happens, happens.” He tilted his head a little, gazing into the dark amber depths of Lan Xichen’s, “I’m grateful for your concern, and the fact you’ve done as much as you’re able. I don’t fear my own death at this stage of my life, but I would be incredibly sorry to leave Jin Ling after all he has already lost.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk so cavalierly about your life, Wanyin.” There was a hint of censure in his voice, but Jiang Cheng shook his head.

“With my relationship with this core of Wei Wuxian’s, I’ve had many years to contemplate my own mortality, that’s all. I did originally think it was just going to take some getting used to, but its been a long time now, since I began to understand it only gave me a limited lifespan. It’s one hell of a way to focus on what matters, Xichen, that I can assure you.”

“And you can honestly say to me you don’t feel like you’ve left anything undone, no regrets, nothing you wished you’d achieved, if this was the end?”

He didn’t hide the flicker in his gaze fast enough, he knew that, and damn Lan Xichen for being able to understand him so well.

“Nothing I can control,” he said instead.

Lan Xichen’s perfect eyebrow raised a little, but he turned to move out of the door, Jiang Cheng, again, following.

They made their way through the Cloud Recesses, and Jiang Cheng wasn’t too proud to admit to himself he was actually nervous over the outcome. He genuinely couldn’t hazard a guess over who the person who Lan Xichen had sent a request to was, but they were about to find out.

They entered the Yashi. There were two visitors, one he recognised immediately, and felt a flare of…defensiveness…anger…but it was quickly overtaken by shock.

The pair rose to their feet, and the tall, slim figure of a woman in dark robes turned to face them.

The Ghost General Wen Ning had been enough of a surprise, to be faced by another ghost, was a bigger shock still.

“Lan-zongzhu, Jiang-zongzhu.” Wen Qing greeting them both with a slight bow, despite the distaste on her face. Lan Xichen returned her greeting, and Jiang Cheng must have do so too, although he didn’t recall.

He didn’t miss how carefully watchful Wen Ning was as his sister interacted with the pair.

“I hope your journey wasn’t too taxing, Zhao-guniang.” Lan Xichen said pleasantly, and she made some non-committal response.

“I won’t waste your time, Lan-zongzhu. I came because of the debt I owe you, and because I don’t like the thought of my work being so shoddy it killed someone. There is no love lost between us, but I will assist you, Jiang-zongzhu, if you give me your word I will be left alone afterwards. Lan-zongzhu obviously trusts you enough to reveal what his clan did for me to you, but I would like your personal guarantee on the matter.”

He pressed his lips together, but nodded. His need for vengeance had never stretched to the pair here, but he had never felt any personal responsibility for their fate either; he had just detested the sight of them, it being a grating reminder of everything he had suffered and what he had lost. If they existed in the world still, he didn’t care, as long as he didn’t have to interact with them, see them, be reminded by them. His vengeance on their clan was long since spent, the feeling dead and buried with the deaths of Wen Chao, and, ultimately, Wen Ruohan.

“You came because you’re a healer, Zhao-guniang. You owe me nothing, after all.” Lan Xichen was speaking to Wen...Zhao Qing.

She gave him a sharp, searching look. But it wasn’t mere politeness from Lan Xichen, he was too good, too kind, and a little naive. His actions were never about what he could personally gain from them, his kindness was selfless, genuine, the kind of paragon someone like Jiang Cheng could never hope to emulate in this life.

And, as usual, it confused people.

Lan Xichen understood her implicitly though, in the way that she was a healer first and foremost, and it was very obvious she wanted nothing more than to get to work.

Jiang Cheng had no wish to prolong their contact. And he wasn't even entirely sure he wished to put himself in Wen...Zhao Qing’s debt. He didn’t consider himself in that debt already for what had happened before, between the others, between Wei Wuxian, and Wen Ning, and Wen Qing, as she had been then, they had stolen his right to make an informed decision and choose for himself, to turn down his shixiong’s core, to decide what was put inside of him. That negated any gratitude he should feel, and always had, from the moment he had discovered what had truly happened.

The next few hours were spent in examinations, consultations, and discussions.

After those she spent some time in consideration, and consulting the books she had brought with her, and with Lei Shirong and Xiao Qingyue, who seemed to hang on her every word. In the end, the only treatment option she could offer him was, as he expected, the full removal of the core.

And he had already had quite a long time to consider that. He had always known it was likely the only way to save his life. Basically, he was reconciled to it. Considering it was that, or death, for Jin Ling’s sake there really wasn’t a choice.

He agreed instantly, which seemed to throw those present.

But he would hear no arguments, he had long ago prepared himself for this. In reality, Wei Wuxian had loaned him this core, to enable him to enact his revenge, and resurrect his sect. He had achieved both. He didn’t need anything more, except to be there for his nephew as he grew to full manhood.

“What will happen with the core? Will you be able to return it to Wei Wuxian?” he asked. Ideally, he would avoid Wei Wuxian ever knowing, or being involved, but practically speaking, there was no point in it core going to waste.

He already felt incredibly guilty that Wei Wuxian had sacrificed so much for him, but Jiang Cheng had virtually thrown that away, by being unable to assimilate the core his shixiong had given up for him, wanted or not. If it could be returned, then it would still be useful, still serve a purpose, and salve his conscience. It wouldn’t make what Wei Wuxian had suffered better, wouldn’t remove that, but nothing could turn back time, for any of them.

“I think I will be able to, if you’re willing to be awake when the core is extracted, and if the core survives the process.” Zhao Qing informed him matter-of-factly.

“Whatever is needed.” He agreed without thought.

“You don’t know what being awake entails-,”

“I don’t need to, I’ll have Xichen send a messenger to find them immediately. We don’t have very long.” He left the infirmary, where Xiao Qingyue had invited Zhao Qing to set up her surgery, and delivered his request to the Lan sect leader.

Lan Xichen complied, and dispatched a butterfly messenger, then invited Jiang Cheng to sit and talk for a while, over tea. He was aware Lan Xichen was eager to know the outcomes of his examinations, and Zhao Qing’s findings.

He seemed genuinely disappointed for Jiang Cheng, when he informed him that he had agreed to the removal procedure.

Jiang Cheng told him he was genuinely accepting of the outcome, but, uncomfortable with Lan Xichen’s sadness, he changed the subject.

“It seems I should apologise to you, for dragging you out of your seclusion before you were ready.”

Lan Xichen accepted the change of subject, but not the apology.

“Not necessary, Wanyin, I had been considering it time to end my seclusion, you merely took away the agonising and overthinking about when it should be.”

He laughed at the cheeky smile Lan Xichen directed at him.

Really, he had enjoyed their clandestine discussions through the Hanshi’s window, but talking to Lan Xichen face-to-face, being able to watch the warm expressions flit across his face, the teasing light in his dark amber eyes, was far superior.

“I’m a treasure, its true,” he said, his tone loaded full of self-deprication.

“You truly are, Wanyin.” Lan Xichen agreed, but he meant it sincerely, and their eyes met, and held, but Jiang Cheng couldn’t bear the surge of emotion it caused, and had to break the contact after a few moments.

It was his nature to read too much into another’s feelings; he always had, he knew his own mind well enough to know he was far too ready to cleave to someone who showed him even the smallest amount of affection. He was well aware, and he hated that about himself, but he couldn’t change it. He could stop himself making a fool of himself over it, however.

He rose and made his excuses as soon as it was polite, and made his way back to his accommodations next to the magnolia tree. There was a fat, full moon hanging in the sky and there was a new crispness in the air that suggested autumn had finally arrived, and winter wouldn’t be too far in the future.

There was now a hope in his heart that he might see that winter.

He was a little distracted, and extremely comfortable in the protection of the Cloud Recesses, which was why he was slow to recognise the danger for what it was.

He had reached his door before he felt it. He turned to identify the threat, reaching for Sandu’s hilt.

There was the sudden sound of a dizi, and he only had seconds to identify the twin red pools of rage in the darkness, before something hit him solidly in the chest, and sent him backwards into the residence. Dark, smoking tendrils wrapped themselves around him, pinning him against the wall, he could summon, but not swing Zidian, nor could he form a sword seal to infuse Sandu with his spiritual energy and defend himself with her.

The dark figure stalked into the residence behind him, shadows swirling around him, the only brightness in his blood red eyes. It had been a long time since Jiang Cheng had seen the Yiling Laozu in all his rage-filled, vengeful glory. Even if he was significantly shorter these days…

“Wei Wuxian, you fucker-,” his air was cut off suddenly, a tendril tightening around his throat. He glared daggers at Wei Wuxian, as it was the only response he could make. Not that it had ever worked on that man.

“Appointment made, dear Shidi. I see now is a good time for you.” Really was there anyone in the world who could get under his skin as quickly and effectively as Wei Wuxian? He was going to kick him in the balls the minute he got free. “So, were you ever going to tell me about the core? Why didn’t you tell me it was failing as far back as the Sunshot campaign, when we could have done something about it? What if Xichen-ge hadn’t accidentally found out, and summoned Zhao Qing? WHAT IF YOU HAD DIED OF A QI DEVIATION WITHOUT ANY OF US KNOWING IN TIME TO STOP IT, JIANG CHENG?”

The tendrils pinning him to the wall vanished, and he dropped back to his feet, coughing and choking at the sudden rush of air returning to his lungs.

He looked up just in time to catch the flash of a fist, but not stop it, as Wei Wuxian punched him in the face.

“You stupid fuck.” Wei Wuxian snapped, smashing Chenqing into his belt, then raising both hands to run them down his face as he calmed a little, rage spent.

Jiang Cheng, painfully aware of his own strength compared to the coreless Wei Wuxian, knew he couldn’t return like for like with physical violence, not unless he wanted to break Wei Wuxian’s jaw. And, as tempting as it was, he didn’t really want it.

Verbally, he could definitely fight fire with fire however.

“Try because you fucking lied to me, for years, Wei Wuxian. I didn’t know it was yours, I just thought I needed to get used to it. If you’d told me, even after it was done, I’d have known it wasn’t going to get any better, it wasn’t going to stop feeling like something painful and invasive inside of me. But you never did, you lied and you lied, and kept me in the dark like a stupid child, so don’t blame me.”

“You didn’t tell anyone…”

“Wrong, Wei Wuxian, I discussed it with my physician, who was the only other person in the world who had a right to know If I wished him to know.”

How could Wei Wuxian argue with that?

Except it was Wei Wuxian, who could argue with his own reflection, because he was just that contrary.

“You’re so fucking petty, Jiang Cheng, age hasn’t improved that about you.”

“And you’re so fucking annoying, Wei Wuxian. You haven’t noticeably improved either.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, before Wei Wuxian turned, and walked to the window, planting his hands on the sill, and pulling in a deep breath.

“I don’t want the core back.”

“Fine, then W-Zhao Qing can throw it away.”

Wei Wuxian spun at his comment, frowning, “Why are you always so bloody minded?” he demanded.

“Bloody minded? Wei Wuxian, as much as I hate throwing your sacrifice back in your face, your core is going to kill me if Zhao Qing doesn’t remove it. I can’t use it anymore, my body is rejecting it. Either you take it back, or you don’t, but I can’t keep it.”

Wei Wuxian’s hips hit the windowsill as he leant back, a sigh left him. “I’d hoped she was just grandstanding because you’d asked her to. It’s really a case of it has to come out then.” It wasn’t a question. Wei Wuxian folded his arms and looked away. “I’ll speak to Zhao Qing tomorrow, we’ll finalise things and arrange the operation for as soon as possible.” He stepped away from the window, then, placing a soothing hand on Chenqing, “You know if the core needs to stay viable you have to be awake during the transfer, don’t you? You know it’s painful? You know you can feel your qi settling and never reawakening in your channels, don’t you?”

“Zhao Qing may have tried to mention something of the sort. It’s a novel idea, but perhaps it’s time to stop treating me like a fragile piece of glass, who’ll break at the slightest pressure, Wei Wuxian. I’ve walked through hell in this life, and survived. Perhaps it’s time to start crediting me with having strength, and a mind, of my own.”

Wei Wuxian’s face was unusually expressionless. “Perhaps it is.”

~ Several Months Later ~

He opened the chest, and gently lifted the scroll out. It was an exquisite rendition of a lotus lake, in full bloom, with a shadowed pier in the distance. It was done in beautiful shades of purple and blue and was truly a gorgeous piece.

He had seen enough of Lan Xichen’s paintings over the years, like the sceneries in Jinlin Tai, that he had painted for Jin Guangyao, to know who the artist was, if he had any doubt. Which he didn’t, because it was the third gift that had arrived this month.

It would go over his bed.

“I really should send a return gift,” he said to himself. Unfortunately, himself currently also included his new shadow, Wei Wuxian, who was laid out on top of his bed, swinging Chenqing through the air and watching the tassel trace patterns.

“He doesn’t want a return gift, stupid. He wants your hand in marriage.” His shadow sat up, and stared at him like he was insane.

Perhaps he was.

But he wasn’t yet insane enough to take Wei Wuxian’s words at face value. How could Lan Xichen, the foremost cultivator of his generation, the most handsome man in the cultivational world, want his hand in marriage? He was nothing. Less than nothing. A nobody holding on to power by default, not a cultivator anymore, nothing special, just an ordinary man living his life, and definitely not worth such a man’s regard.

He sighed, and placed the painting back in the chest. He resolved to have it hung later, and send a thank you note for the very kind gift to the Cloud Recesses.

“Why are you even back here? Hasn’t Yang Hai already removed you from Lotus Pier once? Why won’t you stay away?”

“Actually, three times this week, so far, I don’t understand why I keep getting kicked out and Lan Zhan doesn’t, I’ll get a complex, and start feeling like I’m not wanted here.”

“Please do.” Jiang Cheng snapped, and thought he’d have a word with his head disciple, there was no earthly reason Yang Hai and Yang Mei should keep ignoring the Second Jade and just remove Wei Wuxian. Why should this pair of freeloaders be suffered to stay in Lotus Pier just because his supposed right and left hand were scared of Lan Wangji?

“I don’t like your head disciple much, Jiang Cheng, he’s very...dull.”

“Really? You mean efficient, responsible, and dependable.” He recognised Wei Wuxian’s petty jealousy for what it was, and couldn’t help needling him.

“Yes, like I said, dull, boring. Not the kind of head disciple my shidi needs.”

“Exactly the kind of head disciple I need, Wei Wuxian, and we’re not having this discussion.” He stalked over to the bed and caught Wei Wuxian’s wrist, pulling him into a sitting position. “Why don’t you go home, Wei Wuxian? Lan Wangji must be getting bored here by now.”

“I am home, Jiang Cheng. I’ll need to divide my time up a little, but I’m here for now.”

“I don’t need you here.”

“And yet here I still am. Get used to it. And order more alcohol, your kitchens ran out yesterday for the second time. It’s truly an embarrassment.”

“You’re the only embarrassment around here, Wei Wuxian. Don’t drink so much.”

In the time since the transfer, when Zhao Qing had returned Wei Wuxian’s core to him, Wei Wuxian had hovered over Jiang Cheng like a mother hen over her chicks.

It had grated on his nerves from about the second hour, now, it was just a constant irritation. Actually akin to how it had been in the past, really.

He knew why, he really did, and while he appreciated the thought, it was unnecessary. But convincing Wei Wuxian of that was impossible, Wei Wuxian never changed his mind, he was tenacious and stubborn, and he always thought he was right. They’d always had that in common.

Hopefully, though, Wei Wuxian would leave after the mid-year alliance conference, which was due to start in a few days. It was a short catch-up event, meant to build and improve on the agreements and plans that had come out of the larger meeting at the Cloud Recesses several months ago, and so it would only last a day, with a celebration feast in the evening to close. It would also be the first time Jiang Cheng had taken part in the wider cultivational world since Wei Wuxian’s core had been removed. It was safe to say he was anxious over how the world would react to him now.

Recovery had been slow, at least slower than he had wanted, so he pushed himself relentlessly, but at least the constant discomfort and pain, like having a rock in his guts, had gone. And the ever present fear of losing control was now refined solely to his temper.

There was still tenderness around the second incision wound, just below the first, now-white scar on his navel, that Zhao Qing had made; it was still pink and angry, although it would be even more so if Wei Wuxian didn’t wrestle him down and pin him long enough to feed him qi every now and again, usually when the wound was particularly troubling.

Mentally…he thought he was getting there. He hadn’t lied before, there had been some measure of making peace with everything that might happen, this was a definite step up from death, after all.

But it had still been a huge shock.

The procedure itself had been incredibly taxing. Although he had been warned, it hadn’t been the things they’d told him to expect that affected him. The pain he could deal with, and the sensations of his qi flow, of being able to guide and direct it, vanishing, was traumatic, but it was mostly due to the feelings and long buried memories it brought back to the surface. It had felt like being back under the power of the Wens, tied and helpless and begging for mercy as his core was destroyed.

It had brought the nightmares back with increased frequency, although they had never really gone away entirely.

If he felt a little adrift, a little lost, a little like an imposter again, it was to be expected. He was dealing with it the best he could.

Having Jin Ling at Lotus Pier like a protective, yet bad-tempered little bodyguard was actually a help. Not least because his nephew was trying particularly hard not to rile Jiang Cheng up into a temper too often. It wouldn't last, but it was nice while he had it.

Even having Wei Wuxian back, with all the annoyance and aggravation that man caused just by breathing, was a benefit.

As was Lan Xichen’s kind friendship.

He wandered back to the chest and took the scroll out again. It really was an exquisite piece.

“How do you really feel about Xichen-ge, Jiang Cheng?”

He almost dropped the scroll in shock at the question, so sudden in the silence that had fallen. He had almost forgotten. Forgotten that Wei Wuxian was there. Forgotten how shrewd he was behind that sometimes clownish exterior. And forgotten how well he knew Jiang Cheng.

“How do you really feel about broken legs?” But what was the point in pretending? Wei Wuxian already knew, or he wouldn’t ask. And if he decided to tease Jiang Cheng about it, no force in the world, not least Jiang Cheng’s denials, would stop him. “You already know,” he said instead, “you know me far too well to doubt it. We both know I’m in love with him. Like a whipped dog shown an ounce of kindness, ready to wag my tail and beg for scraps of affection. Isn’t that what I’ve always been like?”

Wei Wuxian sighed, which made Jiang Cheng turn to him in surprise. He had expected to be teased, but the other was exasperated with him instead. He didn’t understand.

“What?” he demanded, but Wei Wuxian shook his head.

“Jiang Cheng, Xichen-ge is courting you. Anyone else in the world would recognise it, but you’re so blind you can’t see it for what it is. Just don’t be an idiot when he asks you.” And there went the teasing.

“How can he be? Why would he? Lan Xichen..he’s everything, Wei Wuxian, and I’m nothing. I’m not even a cultivator now.

“I don’t know how to be amusing, or witty, or cute. I have a foul temper, and I don’t know how to let people in. I can’t even be honest about my feelings.”

Wei Wuxian spread his hands, helplessly, then walked towards the door. He paused on the threshold, and looked back, however, “You took me to task, a while ago, for treating you as if you were weak, as if you weren’t able to make your own, informed decisions. Do you remember that, Jiang Cheng?”

Of course he did. He nodded.

“You are not nothing. You are Jiang Cheng, courtesy name Jiang Wanyin. You are the Sandu Shengshou, a mention of your name is enough to make grown men tremble in their boots. You are Yunmeng Jiang; the bones that this sect, that rose from the ashes like a phoenix, are built up around. You did that, Jiang Cheng, not my core, not Lan Xichen. You.

“So maybe you should remember that strength that you promised me you had. That indomitable spirit that you said had walked through hell and survived. And perhaps you should do Xichen-ge the honour of accepting that, just perhaps, he also knows his own mind.”

It was a long time before Jiang Cheng could respond, and Wei Wuxian had long left the room. And the thought terrified him, but when had Jiang Cheng, courtesy name Jiang Wanyin, the Sandu Shengshou, able to make grown men tremble in their boots, ever allowed himself to be scared into inaction? “Perhaps I should,” he whispered.

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

The alliance conference came in the blink of an eye, and the morning passed in a whirlwind of arrivals, and social niceties. There was little time to give anyone, not even Lan Xichen, anything in the way of personal attention, and he had one huge hurdle to overcome before he felt he could actually address what may or may not be between himself and the Lan sect leader.

It was that afternoon, in the hall, where Jiang Cheng had to take the Lotus throne under the eyes of the assembled sect leaders, that loomed large in his mind. Everyone there, who didn’t live under a rock, that was, would likely know the truth. He was spiritually weakened now, coreless. But he had learned at the side of an expert, how to cast the facade of strength, of being an equal to these vultures. Wei Wuxian had swaggered amongst them for years, convincing them he was the most powerful being on the planet, and his ‘fuck you’ attitude had been an integral part of that, (and the demonic cultivation, which actually had made him one of the most powerful beings on the planet, but he chose to ignore that fact). If there was one thing Jiang Cheng had gained over the years, as he had grown up, as his sect had turned into the powerhouse it was today, it was a ‘fuck you’ attitude to rival his shixiongs’.

He stood outside the doors for a few seconds, Yang Hai and Yang Mei, the Sandu Shengshou’s faultlessly loyal Vipers, stood at his back, and at his shoulder stood the Yiling Patriarch, unusually serious, and well-behaved, but with the new look those that knew him well were just growing used to again, that being a Wei Wuxian who carried Suibian, although now her scabbard had been altered to add hooks to hold Chenqing too.

He had told Wei Wuxian his presence wasn’t necessary, with Yang Hai and Yang Mei there. Which was actually a sure-fire way of ensuring he would be there, because he was just that contrary.

“I’m the Chief Cultivator’s husband, I go where I will.” Wei Wuxian had argued, and Jiang Cheng hadn’t actually felt like pointing out that the Chief Cultivator’s husband wasn’t a political position, and even if it had been, that position wouldn’t have given him the right to march in there at the shoulder of the Yunmeng Jiang sect leader.

Because, he actually drew strength from knowing Wei Wuxian was there, and, curling the hand held behind his back into a tight fist, setting his face into it’s usual resting frown, fingers tightening around a sword he couldn’t use, until the knuckles showed white, he stepped forward.

It was quite a sight, no doubt, as they swept down the central aisle, and to the throne, and as he settled, flicking his sleeves out, and resting Sandu against the arm, he threw a look around the room.

There were speculative looks, neutral looks, nothing overtly confrontational. At least not yet. He tried to avoid the one gaze in the room that he wanted to to see, but it was the one he wanted to assess the most, and it was a losing battle. His eyes searched out Lan Xichen’s gently smiling countenance, and he felt something warm and nourishing grow in his chest.

It felt like the moment lasted for a long time, but it was likely mere seconds, before their gazes broke, and business, very much like during any other meeting, began.

It almost went flawlessly.

But, as Jiang Cheng spoke up in the midst of a dispute, someone decided to test the waters.

He would have laid money on Sect Leader Yao being the one to do it, too. He had dared to put Jin Ling down after the Guanyin Temple, because he thought the Jin Sect too weak to retaliate for a slight against one of it’s juniors.

For a man who had a strong moral compass, who claimed to be on the side of justice, he had something of a bully about him.

Still, the statesman in Jiang Cheng allowed his comment to pass, knowing overreaction to a perceived slight would come across as grandstanding from a position of weakness, although he heard Yang Mei let out a small breath of irritation.

Sect Leader Yao decided to push it further, however, and dared to ask why Jiang Cheng thought he was qualified, now, to try to railroad smaller sects.

Despite the fact he had been mediating, and had made no such move, it gave Jiang Cheng the opportunity he needed. He had hoped to get through this conference without a show of power, to give himself more time. But now, or in six months, or a year, it had always been something that would have to happen sooner or later.

He rose, and strode into the centre of the room.

A gesture, and Zidian crackled to life in his hand, her coils falling to rest around his feet like a purple snake, still and threatening, just as deadly in her readiness to strike.

“Yao-zongzhu. I know you think now might be the time to test me. But don’t ever make the mistake of assuming I’m weak, or defenceless. Stronger men, cleverer men, than you have tried to destroy me in the past, and failed. They’re dead. I’m still here, like a phoenix, rising again and again from the ashes of my enemies. I was thirteen when I formed my first core, our generation was quite precocious like that, under the threat of Wen tyranny it was cultivate and become stronger or die. How long do you think it will take me to form a second? With the foundation of thirty years training? Two more years? Three? I’m a stubborn man, too obstinate to know when I’m beaten, you see.” He sucked a breath in through his nose. “Now, may we continue, there is an excellent feast awaiting us after we finish here?”

As expected, Yao backed down, full of bluster and claims Jiang Cheng had misunderstood. He ignored him, and allowed Zidian to return to her resting state.

He had so much iron in his spine at the moment he couldn’t relax, as he sat down. He thought if he did, he’d sag, and reveal his exhaustion, his hands had retreated into the deep sleeves of his formal robes, to hide their shaking. The only part of his body that didn’t show his drained state was his face, which he kept carefully set in it’s frown. He had, of course, been too verbose, and as a consequence had had to use too much spiritual energy to keep Zidian active while he spoke, as a visual demonstration of his power, a reminder of who the Sandu Shengshou was.

He didn’t quite have as much foundation as he might have suggested, yet. But he was working hard towards it; he really was too stubborn to know when he was beaten.

He projected that facade for the rest of the meeting, and made it out of the hall in one piece. He even made it as far as an antechamber, where he dismissed Yang Hai and Yang Mei, and a hovering Wei Wuxian, ordering them to begin the feast, assuring them he would be there shortly, he just needed to meditate for a while, to rest for a few minutes and recover his reserves.

They knew he’d overtaxed himself as well as he did, and he was surprised this wasn’t one of the times he had to fight Wei Wuxian off, from his invasive sharing of qi, but the other went docilely enough, as if knowing Jiang Cheng didn’t have the spare energy left to argue.

He closed the door behind them, and slid down it.

The silent, wrenching sobs, a tangled mixture of exhaustion, relief that he had managed to pull off the biggest act of his life, and pent up emotions over everything that had happened over the past few months, grief, hopelessness, frustration, and anger all mixed together, wracked his frame.

Then, exhausted, he wiped at his eyes, let his head drift back against the door, and cleared his mind enough to meditate.

He couldn’t deny he felt lighter, the biggest obstacle had been overcome, now the rest was just hard work, which he had never shied from.

Well, there was one other thing, that caused his stomach to explode in a sudden fluttering of butterflies. He had promised himself, though, that after the alliance discussion, he would devote himself to the second issue.

A little while later the click of a jar being placed on the floor by his side drove his eyes open.

He almost wished he hadn’t at the dazzling sight of the First Jade of Lan, all pure white robes, and beatific smile, sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

The click had been a jar of alcohol.

He fought the urge to lift his hand to protect his eyes from the brightness.

He was about to ask how the other had entered the antechamber, considering he was still rested against the door, but he realised there was a window.

He hadn’t needed a door himself to crash into Lan Xichen’s carefully cultivated seclusion, and it seemed that the other had only taken a page out of Jiang Cheng’s book of impressive entrances.

He failed to hide the chuckle, which made Lan Xichen smile even wider.

Was it rude to tell a man to stop smiling because he was more blinding than the sun?

Probably.

“Xichen.”

“Wanyin.”

They were silent for a while after the greeting.

Then Lan Xichen broke it, “You were magnificent in there, Wanyin. Truly stunning.” Then, no doubt knowing how badly Jiang Cheng was equipped to deal with compliments, he moved on. “Dare I hope the Lan meditation techniques are helping in qi refining?”

He had felt the beginnings of a flush at Lan Xichen’s praise, but could do nothing but pretend it wasn’t happening. How should he respond to someone telling him that he were magnificent?

He really didn’t know. A simple thank you seemed...either like he didn’t care, or received such compliments at least once every Thursday, whereas the truth was no one had ever described Jiang Cheng as magnificent before.

Perhaps Lan Xichen’s seclusion had addled his mind?

But that wasn’t fair was it?

And perhaps you should do Xichen-ge the honour of accepting that, just perhaps, he also knows his own mind.

Wei Wuxian’s words had profoundly affected him. How could he want that for himself if he didn’t offer others the same respect?

“I have never felt magnificent in my life, Xichen, but I thank you for the compliment. The Lan meditation techniques are very useful, thank you again. I’m not always the best suited to them, I’m not always able to find the level of focus they require, but when I can, they’re incredible.”

A gentle smile was his answer, and another pause.

Jiang Cheng thought he knew...hoped he knew...what came next. And Wei Wuxian was right, Jiang Cheng wasn’t weak, he wasn’t a scared child, he was strong, he was driven, he had known what he had to do at every stage in his life so far, because it was what was expected, what was needed.

This time it had to be about what he wanted. He deserved that.

In one single leap, although admittedly, it was a slightly wobbly-legged one, he had closed the distance, and overbalanced the first Jade of Lan.

“Lan Xichen, I love you.” He said, ignoring the fact his face still burned, his embarrassment stronger than a thousand suns, and lowered his head to capture the soft-looking lips of the most handsome man in the cultivational world. He was met half way, and Lan Xichen’s arms found their way around his neck. It was regrettably short, but he poured his whole heart into it, and it was beautiful, as was Lan Xichen, who’s ears were just as pink as Jiang Cheng’s cheeks when they pulled apart, who’s well-kissed lips glistened in the evening light seeping in through the window, who looked at him with such love in his amber gaze.

“I love you, my Wanyin, you gave so much of yourself to me, so selflessly, when I had nothing, and you thought you were at the end, and must have had a million more important concerns that one lonely man stuck in the past, how could I fail to fall for you?”

His embarrassment intensified. How was it even possible at this point?

But love confessions required certain amounts of reciprocation, he wasn’t such a novice he didn’t know that.

“I only gave you what you deserved, what you’d give to anyone in return. Xichen, you’re kindness incarnate, and this cruel, vicious world might have taken advantage of that, but it never killed it in you, and that truly is the most amazing thing of all, a testament to who you are. You deserve to be treated like the beautiful soul you are.”

“And you like the treasure you are. No matter how much the world took from you, you still had more to give.” Xichen reached up to trace his cheekbone gently, “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, Wanyin, truly indomitable. Marry me?”

“Is tomorrow soon enough?”

48 notes · View notes