#Jade is just helplessly fond

[lesovyart]

((shows up to Willow 2 yrs late)) I LOVE THEM

[tinyletterz]

♡ "just friends"— [ vice housewardens + ortho ]

: friends to lovers trope with the vice housewardens and ortho :

♡— contains: gn! reader, fluff!!

— [ note: this one turned out to be longer than my other ones but i really like how it came out hehe. ortho's part is completely platonic!! idia and i should trade younger brothers ortho cmere ]

trey: childhood friends to lovers

it was always a comforting feeling for trey to know that you would be by his side, thick and thin. it was nice to have someone he could talk comfortably with, no matter the situation, and always walk away knowing his time wasn't wasted. the other students of heartslabyul would sometimes tease trey that you and him act like a sweet married couple.

conversations came so naturally, there wasn't a need to wonder about what to really say next. you both shared memories of when you were younger and the stupid things you did as kids. occasionally riddle and che'nya were in those fond memories. there wasn't much that could ruin the friendship you had going on.

so confessing came quite naturally. one day, you were helping try in the kitchen. he was instructing you on how to correctly fold the ingredients together when you said, i think i like you trey. more than friends, y'know? sure, there were those little feelings of dread, but if he didn't return your feelings then it would be another silly memory. instead, trey laughed in response and offered you a kiss on the forehead. ah, what a fond moment the two of you can add to your memories.

ruggie: friends to lovers with mutual pinning

you held a special place in ruggie's heart. playful bantering when he tried to steal your food, to serious conversations about plans after school. he enjoyed your company, and you his, but there was that unspoken thought that swirled in both of your minds. the thought that ruggie liked you and you him. the simple gestures that caused butterflies to flutter within you, or how your compliments brought forth shynnes to his face. and jack, or poor jack, was caught in the middle of it.

he would hear ruggie complain to himself that he hates the feeling he get every time he sees you, or how you confide to jack that you think ruggie isn't interested in you. it was obvious to all the bystanders that you two were helplessly in love, yet none of you had confessed. he understood what was going on, and he knows that deep inside both of you are nervous about confessing, but one of you had to try!

it finally happened when you convinced yourself to confess — better to get those feelings off your chest. that just so happened to be the day ruggie decided to confess. it was awkward because both of you started speaking at the same time, then paused to let the other speak, yet the pattern continued for a few more moments. finally, you confessed first, laughing it off and ignoring the nervous feeling your gut was making you feel. soon, ruggie followed suit and confessed his feelings. the entire conversation erupted to a fit of laughs, as both of you realized the same thing was said. from that day forward it was official, and jack couldn't help but feel a bit proud as he was you two together

jade: friends to lovers but you guys are fake dating

it started off with playful banter from your friends about you not dating. so you decided to go to jade for help — he seemed to know what he was doing most of the time. you explained the predicament you were in, and he proposed the idea of fake dating. a ghost of a smile danced on his lips as you debated this option; eventually you agreed. you just had no idea what you had gotten yourself into.

at first it's going to take a bit to get used to. one minute you'll be talking with your friends and then he'll wrap his arm around your shoulders, using pet names in public, showing small signs of affection like playing with your fingers. he adores teasing you before your friends, giving them the impression that you and jade had been dating for a while. some days he would pinch your face and upon seeing the embarrassed look on your face he said, isn't this what the couples do? he was such a tease, but you're friends seem to be believing the fabricated lie placed in front of them.

then the gestures started to mean something. they didn't seem empty, like you and jade were trying to convince your friends. sometimes you would catch him staring at you and he'll offer you a smile. or when walking together your fingers naturally intertwine with his. both of you confronted the situation and agreed to drop the term "fake" — there wasn't anything fake about the relationship you and jade had now.

jamil: friends to lovers but you need help with your date

along the way with your friendship with jamil, you had grown affection for your friend. but that was just the problem: you both were friends and you were shaken by the thought of what might happen if you confessed. so you tried to brush off those feelings, dabbling your toes into the waters of dating until you believed you found the right person for you. and while you may have talked to this person for days, falling in love with their uniqueness, your feelings for jamil never really faded.

perhaps the biggest mistake you made was going to him for help with your date. while his face remained passive, everything inside was spiraling. of course he would help you, that's what friends were for. friends. the bitter word that caused so much agony in your heart as well as jamil's. and something inside jamil cracked and he had to tell you.

he didn't want you to go on that date. he expressed how he just couldn't be happy even if he tried. he didn't raise his voice, in fact he was barely audible. then you confessed, letting the wave of emotion through the dam you spent days building. it's safe to say you never went on that date, instead spending that afternoon with jamil.

rook: friends to lovers but aren't you guys already dating?

rook has his own ways of showing everyone affection. whether it be with the strange phrases he said or admiring from afar, it was still his way of showing all the beautiful beings his adoration. it was no different when you were with rook: he complimented on everything he could find and you threw compliments his way too. holding hands, laying in the other's lap, texting each other in the middle of the night. it was all friendly behavior. until one person asked, are you and rook dating?

were you? the thought never crossed your mind until you were asked. that was when you started paying more attention to rook. the way he complimented others differed from the ones he gave you, his conversations more in depth than others. and maybe those sweet words he said weren't empty, and the way he touched your skin was beginning to comfort you. ah, maybe there was something more there...

luckily for you, rook noticed the subtle changes and knew exactly what was happening. the seeds of love were finally blossoming in your heart, quelle beauté! he's going to use this in his favor, expressing his feelings in the most elaborate way possible. and words alone wouldn't be enough. he took your hands and placed them on his chest, told you his heart only this fast when he was around you, and hoped you felt the same way. and once you two finally start dating, expect rook to find anway possible for him to express his love for you.

ortho: casual friends to best friends

it started off with casual conversations when you saw him in the hallways. you usually saw him with idia on your way to class. at first sight ortho thought you were neat, so anytime he saw you he would strike a conversation. simple how are you doing and did you hear what happened? and how could you not want to talk to ortho when being around him was much too fun.

soon the interactions became more common. you did puzzles and riddles together, went on treasure hunts idia made just for ortho, and surprising each other in the hallways (though ortho can usually tell when you've come to scare him). if his brother's busy, ortho is going to find you and float around with you all day.

your friendship with him grew so much that he brought you to ignihyde to show off what his dormmates have created. he treuly values your time together, and idia's glad his brother has a new friend to spend time with. so if ida can't find ortho anywhere, he knows that ortho is probably with you.

lilia: friends to lovers but he knows you like him

lilia has been around for ages, and he's seen love taken shape in many forms. but perhaps his favorite type of love was yours. he knew all about your little crush on him. how sweet! with this newfound information, he's going to tease you just a little bit.

holding your hands for a few seconds longer, cupping your face in his hands, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, and other subtle, yet romantic, gestures. he's not going to play with your feelings too much or take it too far. and you're not oblivious to this, you just think it's his way of showing his friendship to you. the thoughts crossed your mind every so often, but this was lilia.

so one day, out of the blue, lilia casually revealed he knew about your crush on him. and before you could even get a word in he gave you his signature laugh and said, don't you think you're a bit too young for an old man like me? nonetheless he took your hand and placed a gentle kiss to it and said he reciprocated those feelings you had for him.

[wangxianficrecs]

💙the soft animal of your body by sysrae

💙 the soft animal of your body

by sysrae

T, 15k, Wangxian

Summary: “This is slightly embarrassing,” Lan Xichen says, “but I urgently need a pet-sitter."

Mojo's comments: In which wwx is at the end of his rope, coreless, homesless, hurt and hungry, when he gets an offer to pet-sit lxc's suddenly-acquired rabbit. And of course, once wwx is FINALLY somewhere warm and safe, he might just unburden himself of a few secrets, no matter how judgemental this bunny may seem.

Kay's comments: Ah, my heart breaks for Wei Wuxian in this story! It hurt, it hurt so good and I loved every moment of it. In which Wei Wuxian, who's been living in his car and is going through a rough time, receives a late-night call by Lan Xichen who asks him to be an emergency pet-sitter, because he leaves and somebody needs to watch his bunny. Wei Wuxian agrees and looks forward to sleeping on a bed and enjoying a hot shower for once and then he spends a week with the rabbit, who's lovely company, especially considering how lonely Wei Wuxian has been feeling. I loved the modern with cultivation aspect in this story, loved how Wangxian's relationship and misunderstandings were mirrored and how it all got resolved. Prepare for lots of angst and whump though!

Excerpt: “This is… Baozi,” says Lan Xichen, almost apologetically. “Baozi, Wei Ying is going to watch you while I’m away.” “Baozi!” says Wei Ying, sufficiently delighted that he forgets to be self-conscious. Who knew the First Jade of Lan owned an adorable, whimsically-named bunny! “Does he like to be picked up?” “We’re still establishing boundaries in that regard,” says Lan Xichen dryly. “Baozi is a… a new acquisition. He is generally very well-behaved –” he shoots the rabbit a look of fond exasperation which, being a rabbit, it is presumably incapable of interpreting, “– but I’m not sure how he’ll react to others.” Nodding, Wei Ying crouches down, wincing slightly at the pain in his hip, and extends his fingers for Baozi’s inspection. Despite its stern expression, the rabbit deigns to give him a single polite sniff. Wei Ying laughs and slowly pats him, head to haunch, marveling at the soft fur; he does this twice before Baozi shoots him an affronted look and hops pointedly out of reach, hiding beneath Lan Xichen’s bedside table. “Does he have a hutch?” Wei Ying asks, straightening. He doesn’t know much about rabbit ownership, but he has a nebulous idea that hay is involved somehow. “Ah,” says Lan Xichen, seeming slightly embarrassed. “That is – no.” He hesitates, then says, “Baozi is – was – the spiritual animal companion of my great-aunt, Lan Yi, who recently passed away. She lived a very long life, and Baozi was with her for most of it; with his master dead, his spiritual faculties are significantly diminished, but he’s far from being an ordinary rabbit.” His brow furrows. “Truthfully, we don’t know why he survived her death – as tightly bonded as they were, it doesn’t make any sense. And yet –” He gestures helplessly towards Baozi, whose ears are now laid flat.

pov wei wuxian, homelessness, modern setting, modern with magic, shapeshifting, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, animal transformation, golden core reveal, getting together, whump, confession, @fozmeadows

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[robininthelabyrinth]

Wei Wuxian/Lan Xichen? Arranged marriage could be fun, but really any take you might have on them.

ao3

“Did you do something to irritate your uncle, too?” Wei Wuxian asked.

Lan Xichen finishes writing, then puts his brush down before looking back at the guest disciple from the Jiang sect. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

Wei Wuxian was lying on his back and tossing a rolled-up ball of paper up and down instead of copying the rules the way he was supposed to, but Lan Xichen didn’t scold him – the rules would be copied eventually, or they wouldn’t be. If Wei Wuxian wasn’t minded to do his work, would scolding help?

It'd only been a little while, but Lan Xichen felt that he already knew him well enough to know that it wouldn’t.

“I mean, copying rules was supposed to be my punishment,” Wei Wuxian said. “But you’re his prized student, the First Jade of Lan. Why are you stuck here supervising me?”

Lan Xichen smiled. “By all rights, the task should belong to my brother,” he explained. “He runs the discipline hall in normal times. But Wangji chose to remain in secluded cultivation rather than attend classes this season, so I have taken his place.”

Wei Wuxian pursed his lips, clearly thinking it over.

“It’s a pity,” Lan Xichen added. “I think he might have liked you.”

Rather, more accurately, he thought Wei Wuxian’s incessant teasing might have gotten under Lan Wangji’s skin – at times he feared that his brother, in his pursuit of cultivation, was growing too serious, too soon. It would do him well to spend time with those his own age, especially someone as light-hearted, witty, and clever as Wei Wuxian.

“Hey, Lan-gongzi.”

“Mm?”

Wei Wuxian had rolled over onto his stomach and was staring at Lan Xichen, who smiled helplessly back, expecting another prank. Instead, Wei Wuxian asked, “Is there really no one else in the Lan sect who can supervise punishments?”

“What,” Lan Xichen said, “am I not suitable to your eyes?”

“You’re too suitable! You’re the heir of the Lan sect, a perfect gentleman – how can you waste your time copying rules for your uncle’s lectures?”

Lan Xichen chuckled. “My uncle’s lectures are a treasure,” he said. “He teaches not only good conduct, but insight into the world and to the path each person must follow – do you know why they praise him to the skies as a teacher?”

Wei Wuxian blinked.

“He can help students apply the precepts handed down from our ancestors to their own lives, shaping them to match their own philosophies – it’s like encountering a treasure trove with a thousand gleaming gems, and if you only listen earnestly and whole-heartedly, you can claim one as your own. Putting aside exercising and improving your moral sense, the insights you will gain will tremendously speed your cultivation; in the end, you will be qualified to be a real gentleman by the cultivation world’s terms.”

“Why didn’t anyone say so?” Wei Wuxian demanded, sitting up straight. “I’ve been sitting here doing nothing –”

“If you want to waste your opportunity to obtain a beneficial education, there’s nothing anyone else can do about it.”

“You’re very frustrating, and very persuasive,” Wei Wuxian informed him, but he was already smiling. “I think I like you!”

“I’m honored.”

“All right, all right, so I’m convinced. How many more do I need to copy?”

He flicked his fingers and formed talismans: a half-dozen brushes rose up in unison, ready to paint.

Lan Xichen laughed in delight.

-

“His path is evil,” Lan Wangji said. His voice was level as always, unmoved even by the atrocities of the war; the people said that it was as if he had wholly left the world behind, and kept only righteousness in his heart – with no space for love or empathy.

Sometimes, Lan Xichen thought they might be right.

“His motivation is good,” he said tiredly. “Didn’t you spend time with him before? In the cave, with the Xuanwu…”

“We cooperated, and succeeded in escaping together,” Lan Wangji said coolly. “It is that experience that shows me what Wei Wuxian is capable of – and that his current path of cultivation is a matter of choice.”

Lan Xichen shook his head. “He’s fighting the Wen sect. Without him, we would be much worse off; that doesn’t seem to me to be evil.”

“Brother, I know you spent a long time looking for him alongside Sect Leader Jiang. Do not let that commitment, and your fondness for him, blind you to the truth. He could fight alongside us as a righteous cultivator, and he has instead turned to demonic cultivation. Are we to accept evil if the end results are good?”

“I do not believe he is evil,” Lan Xichen said, and then, shamefully, added, “That is my decision, Wangji. Are you questioning your sect leader?”

Lan Wangji raised his hands and saluted deeply, not even bothering to send Lan Xichen a look of judgment for playing that card. “You will need to decide what is more important,” he said. “In time.”

Lan Xichen knew that.

He shook his head a second time, this time to himself, for his foolishness. Lan Wangji was right: he would need to eventually decide between righteousness and victory, between the orthodoxy of the cultivation world and –

Love.

Unrequited love, no less.

Wei Wuxian’s fierce repulsion of Lan Xichen’s attempts to help had made that clear enough.

And yet…

He would go to look for Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen decided, and laughed bitterly at his own foolishness. In an ideal world, he would invite him to come back to Gusu to refresh himself – to rest, to recuperate, to remember why the orthodox path was the right one. But harsh experience had shown him that the Cloud Recesses were not safe – that no one would be safe until the Wen sect was gone.

Even if it meant resorting to demonic cultivation.

Inviting Wei Wuxian back would have to wait. All Lan Xichen could do now was fight alongside him.

-

“You seem unhappy, Xichen,” Nie Mingjue said apropos of nothing, and Jin Guangyao looked up from where he was practicing playing the Song of Clarity, surprised. He looked even more surprised when Lan Xichen nodded, acknowledging the comment as truth.

“Are you really, er-ge?” he asked, putting aside his guqin. “Why didn’t you say?”

“You’ve met him,” Nie Mingjue said before Lan Xichen could respond. “Would he ever say?”

Jin Guangyao considered the point, then nodded.

Lan Xichen smiled. “You are both good friends,” he said. “I am blessed in my friends.”

“In your brothers,” Nie Mingjue said, and Lan Xichen couldn’t help but flinch. “Trouble with Wangji?”

“No, Wangji is perfect.” As always. “He merely reminds me of – an old disagreement of ours.”

“About what?” Jin Guangyao asked. “Is it something we could help with?”

Lan Xichen shook his head. “I don’t think anything could help.”

“Is this about Wei Wuxian?” Nie Mingjue asked, and this time it was Lan Xichen who turned to stare at him in surprise. “What?”

“You – know?”

“Know what?” Jin Guangyao asked, looking concerned and – well, a little irritated, in truth. Probably because Nie Mingjue had figured out something even he didn’t know, which wasn’t something that happened very often. “Er-ge, what is da-ge talking about?”

“Xichen has a crush on Wei Wuxian,” Nie Mingjue told Jin Guangyao, straightforward and blunt as always, and Lan Xichen put his head into his hands.

“How do you even know that?” he said, voice muffled through his palms. “We barely interacted during the Sunshot Campaign, you wouldn’t have even seen it…”

“Huaisang told me. He saw you during his time at the Cloud Recesses; he said you seemed very happy, then. And with Wei Wuxian now an exile from the cultivation world…”

“I just don’t understand why he did what he did,” Lan Xichen said. “He’s always been – I believe in him. He’s a good man. But he insists on continuing his demonic cultivation, he stole away the Wen sect and ran to Yiling…” He shook his head. “Perhaps my family is merely doomed to tragedy in love.”

He was trying to speak lightly, but for some reason that made both of his sworn brothers frown and look at each other, silent communication passing between them as if like lightning – and that was rare, too. The last time he’d seen that had been before Jin Guangyao had left for Langya.

“I don’t like the idea of er-ge being unhappy,” Jin Guangyao said abruptly. “Er-ge deserves the world. What’s one Wei Wuxian?”

“I agree,” Nie Mingjue said. “He might have been ejected from the Jiang sect, but that just makes him a rogue cultivator – and other than stealing the Wen sect remnants, he hasn’t done anything in nearly a year, hasn’t he? He just lives peacefully.”

“Growing radishes,” Lan Xichen put in, and shrugged when they looked at him. “I went to visit him…I thought someone should tell him about his shjie’s engagement.”

“You went to visit him,” Nie Mingjue said, as if that was significant. “In Yiling. I see.”

Jin Guangyao was nodding as if Nie Mingjue had said something profound.

It was a bit like the days before Langya, when Jin Guangyao was Nie Mingjue’s right hand man, his trusted deputy, and between them they planned out battle and aftermath alike, strategy and tactics.

Lan Xichen looked between the two of them and suddenly was struck with a bad feeling.

“No, wait,” he said. “You can’t – he doesn’t even like me!”

“Nonsense,” Jin Guangyao said. “Who doesn’t like our er-ge?”

-

“I’m incredibly sorry about this,” Lan Xichen said to Wei Wuxian, who looked dazed. “I didn’t think they’d go this far just because I liked you. You shouldn’t have to marry me to bring your Wen sect back into the world – in fact, I’m not going to allow it! I’ll fight for their ability to live freely without any such ridiculous conditions, I promise. Am I not a sect leader in my own right? I will –“

“Wait,” Wei Wuxian said. “You like me? As in –” He mimed cutting his sleeve. “Like me?”

“Yes, and you don’t like me in return, I know,” Lan Xichen said. “You should feel no obligation whatsoever. As I said, I will –”

“Doesn’t your brother want to kill me?”

It was quite possible Lan Wangji wanted to kill Wei Wuxian.

“I wouldn’t let him,” Lan Xichen said. That seemed more relevant.

“You don’t mind my demonic cultivation?”

“I mean, I prefer orthodoxy, of course, but it seems clear enough to me that your intentions are good. As long as you remain restrained and disciplined – and I know you have the capability to do so – then I don’t see why –”

“When are we getting married?” Wei Wuxian asked. “And can I invite Jiang Cheng, and shijie?”

“You misunderstand,” Lan Xichen said. “You don’t have to –“

He stopped speaking for a few moments.

A little later he cleared his throat and said, “Ah. I see.”

Wei Wuxian grinned at him.

[greyswritingagain-ohhell]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔢𝔫 ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔰

*yeets this at you and runs* PRINXIETY FAIRYTAIL SOULMATE AU-

The compass… What a beautiful creation. Burned into one’s little arms at birth, the red pin always pointing at destiny. Destiny one must travel to, a type of destiny named love.

Roman Sanders X Virgil Sanders

Word count: 2,393

TW: Blood mention, vague mention of sex (i guess?), threats, mentions of an unhappy father-son relationship. Msg if there is more.

★-----☾-----❍-----☽-----★

The compass… What a beautiful creation. Burned into one’s little arms at birth, the red pin always pointing at destiny. Destiny one must travel to, a type of destiny named love. The blissful romance of twirling skirts and melodic laughing from a young story of either woe or contentment. Though destiny is not entirely glitter and kisses, it is and will never be the work of fiction we all wish it be. It is also a raging storm against a raft in violent gunmetal waters, smashed plates and wine glasses once filled stained with tears and tragedy as cries and whimpers fill the lonely grey room that withheld an untold tale of sorrow.

Destiny, as mystifying as it is, can be merciless.

Though… maybe not in this case. Maybe not in the case of the poor little prince in his depressing creamy marble balcony. His glimmering jade eyes were devoid of the usual passion and joy they once shined with. Passion and joy were replaced with longing and unfulfilled urge. Urge to find his soulmate. His soulmate. He has built a reputation for himself for finding his citizen’s one and only, why couldn’t he find his? Why not a quest for the brave prince with a promise of a fairytail ending?

Simple. His father. The man who insisted he stay locked up inside, only seen when needed, only for the fair young maidens to coo and swoon at upon sight. All his services had been classified, hidden away within the palace walls, never to be dug up. But of course, that was only dust on his shoulder that he will eventually brush off. Because the one thing in his mind was them. His rare focus was on what he had considered will be his best achievement. His missing piece. The one he will treat like royalty then proceed to make them royalty.

His soulmate.

Though their meet was delayed many times, today, he was finally going to find them, see their sparkling eyes twinkle in the natural warm sunlight, witness their face contort from confused to… hopefully something positive. Today he will set off to the depths of the unknown and finally, finally, without any form of hesitation or restraint, be free from the chains of the limelight of their watchful gazes on him. Because as much as he loved his kingdom, he didn’t mind the morning breeze flowing through a woodland cottage as his love lied next to him, breathing softly and peacefully like an angel sent from the heavens. He didn’t mind the playful ribbons of the sunset reflecting on the diamond windows, endearing touches slowly becoming a burning sensation that lasts midnight when the stars bless their love.

But alas, father dearest must foil his plans once more when Roman Kingsley heard the familiar thudding of leather boots on the porcelain tiles, not even an attempt to sneak up.

“Father?”

At the unceremonious acknowledgement, his father came closer, crossing his arms as his eyebrows furrowed, “Roman.”

Roman only heaved a heavy sigh, his brown hair teasing his forehead as he ran a hand through them to tame the flying strands. They seemed to shine in the sun, glowing a divine gold over the hues of brown, a halo of a prince. A prince fit for the role of a protagonist, a hero in fiction. Too good to be true, too perfect for such an icy hell called Earth, a forgery for the monsters and myths. A place of fire and ice, uniting to let their twisted gift see the light, the most merciless craft of the gods all creation feared as their result of boredom wrecked havoc over the paradise they so generously provided. And yet there he was, gleaming gold and red, a divinity in the midst of the madness.

Gold in the sand dunes, he'd say.

“What do you need from me, father?” He pondered, raising an eyebrow. There was no denying the slight hurt bubbling in his chest. The weight that rivalled Earth itself was pressing down harshly on his tired shoulders, a warning like defying gravity to never let go. Handling pain had always been his forte, a duel of clashing bronze and gold in the air. But dealing with muffled, inconveniencing pain from someone he had once considered his own father? He'd rather be thrown to the wolves.

“Morgana's at it again. This time worse than usual.”

Contrary to popular belief, he was rather fond of the treacherous shape shifter. Sure, they both had their moments of malice and graceful of fiction-worthy battles, but nonetheless, she was one of good company. Maybe even a friend. Though Roman was positive she'd never admit it. She always struck up a conversation, even the first time they met. Throwing blasts of flames and questions about him and then proceeding to vent to him about the stupidity his father must’ve had to send a 15 year old to “slay” a dragon. His agreement and addition to the topic had unknowingly blossomed a purple and red friendship, flourishing in the snow while dripping vicious, warm blood on the contrasting temperature. If anything, he was thankful his father had sent him on those missions.

But one thing stuck out from his father's sentence.

Worse than usual?

“Will you take care of her?” He deadpanned, placing a large, heavy hand on his shoulder. It was of the most brief displays of what his father called “affection”. Please. Even the stalactites in the dark of the caves nearby loved him better. That is, if constantly falling and almost gifting him a concussion is loving in one's words. Which apparently was to the stalactites. But what did he expect? Kisses on foreheads and ‘we love you's?

“You know I will.”

Its not like he had anything better to do.

Well, there was one mystery at hand. Er, wrist. Because no matter where he turned, the compass pointed the tip of the silver dagger north. It didn’t, not once, change direction. A cliché, yes, but one can only assume his soulmate takes solitude in the brutally icy snowy mountains, freezing for their own life. Or maybe thriving. Who knows, this fair lass or lad may be a hunter, shooting silvery bits of moonlight to puncture any stags nearby. A life they see worth living over their humanity. It was grave, yes. But Understandable. It was ironic, really. Because north was where Morgana set camp that day. Just his lucky day.

The trot of the thoroughbred echoed widely in the evergreen willow forests, tiny little warm white stars shining and illuminating the strip of a path towards his usual Sunday evening. Towards the steep, rocky mountains of Ragana. Could’ve done a better job at naming the damn thing but hey, it's her mountain after all. He had no jurisdiction to interfere with her property.

But the peak of the mountain showed way, standing in all its shimmering glory in the afternoon sun.

“Morgana? My dear, I appreciate the need to see me, but I am on a quest! I must find my soulmate! Can this please wait?-“

“What do you want with my mother?”

He froze, his begging paused. His hands grow stiff as a tree in the air, his hair brushing his forehead teasingly against the cold wind the white snow tinted. The voice had slightly shocked him, foreign and quite… mystifying. He says foreign, through there was a silver lever snapping in his mind, saying it is a familiar melody in his ears. Dark, surely a male's, unwavering, and very, very attractive. How does one tell if another is attractive through their voice?

Another detail caught his attention. His compass, rock solid. Normally a compass' pin will vibrate, jitter, yet still keep its direction clear. The silver end was ice, now burning his arm once more ever since the day of his birth, the tip of the pin now locked on the engraved N. He never recalled any but one knowledge of the compass freezing mid-encounter.

The compass speaks.

Was this young lad his bound? The end of the red string…? His.. Destiny…?

“Hey! Prince guy! I was talking to you-“ the voice died, now silent. The only thing that passed his ears were the slapping of the drooping Willow trees nearby that served him a dreamy backdrop and the blowing winds, gentle and smelling of the oddly comforting breeze of winter.

His body regained its motioning state, his hand dropping to his side, brushing his white blazer. His eyes scanned the scene, remembering the direction the voice came from. It came from under the dark overhang of stone, untouched by the snowflakes. Morgana's humble abode, he'd say. And since when did she have a son? Assuming it’s a man.

“I-She's been wrecking havoc amongst Acelina. We cannot afford any more wreckage, we cannot spend money so carelessly to clean up her messes. She must be stopped.” He said, his head held high. One could take one look at his poised form and think that he was actually confident, brave as he faced the man. But no. His head was screaming. His legs felt like stiff jelly. He was weak for just a dark and mysterious voice. Sue him.

“And? Must you kill her? What proposes that need?”

He squawked in surprise and offend, “I never said she must perish! I simply need to talk-“

“Oh? Then why a sword? Why the need to bring a rash weapon when all you need to do is talk?”

If this was his soulmate, his guards better prim his deathbed soon for this hiding man will be the cause of his delicate demise.

Everything evaporated into the wind, a heavy silence falling and pressing on their slouched shoulders, a force like defying physics. And as every second ticks by in the hourglass, the weight started to gain, pound by pound as they helplessly watch themselves almost get wordlessly sink into a rabbit hole of deep tension.

Almost all else was lost into the marine depths of the Pacific till Roman heard footfalls against the 2inch thick snow. Till the small clouds of breaths from the other brushed softly against his flushed cheeks. Till he felt something cold and sharp press against his chest.

Oh no.

“Listen, prince, I don’t care who you are, what you want, or what your intentions are, all I want you to do is to not—touch—my—mother.”

Though the icy silence was the only solace he could’ve confided in, he had to reply. And he had to do it carefully. One wrong spin, one wrong puff of air, one wrong gesture, and the dagger drives violently through his panicking heart and he will be left to die in the clutches of the dark, mysterious lad without even a glimpse of his face.

“I have no intention or need to hurt your mother. She and I are… acquaintances. And I wish to speak to her.”

The lad lifted his head, his purple velvet hood now falling off as Roman was sure his heart had stopped and screamed at the sight…

His eyes. Those wretched, silver and coffee eyes will be the death of him. Sunlight flooded in them, the numerous similar shades of iron and dirt violently popping against porcelain skin. His hair was a tint of purple, blending in with midnight spikes flopping on his head. His lips were tight and sealed, a menacing scowl stretching his sharp features.

“Acquaintances, huh?-“

“Virgil!” a new voice broke through the sharp silence, stern and feminine. They both recognized it immediately.

“Mom?”

“Morgana!”

The woman was insanely beautiful, he had to say, what with the curled umber hair and the piercing gold eyes against equally pale skin as her son. The threaded hem of her slim burgundy dress was damp against the snow, her black velvet cloak waving against the wind.

“Virgil Anxolia Black, what on earth were you about to do?” she loudly proclaimed, pulling him by the arm and releasing the tight pressure ‘Virgil' so graciously put him under. He released a breath, swallowing lightly. Virgil, however, looked outraged, a cold, hard determination in his eyes. His gloved hand seemed to tighten around the knife the second Roman began to speak.

“Fret not, Morgana, he was simply-“

The knife was raised, another step falling onto the snow as he heard the crunch of it under Virgil's boot, “what’d I say about my mother?!”

Perhaps it was the strong tone of his voice or the alluring gleam of his wide, steely eyes, but Roman had just felt his heart skip a sobbing beat. His beauty was radiant, a rose against the crowded leaves, a lit candle amidst a hurricane, a stray shadow in the room of light. And with a knife pointed and a lethal scream of his heart, Virgil Black was truly an unmistakable Adonis in his jade eyes.

The scene went still, a brush of the wind setting tiny movements for the three. A chill ran down Roman's spine at it. Silence was never an area of expertise of his. Silence turns into tension, tension into impulsiveness, impulsiveness into absentminded decisions that lead to blood being drawn and late night regrets to weep for. He was not a fan.

But alas, before tension turned into a form of impulsiveness, the woman in the cloak stepped forward, gently taking her son's wrist, “your compass…”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, taking his wrist down, therefor lowering the knife and allowing Roman a few seconds of oxygen, “what’s wrong with it…?”

His mother huffed in gleeful disbelief, her golden eyes glimmering, “its still! Your soulmate must be in your presence!”

Contrasting the unusual cheery expression of the shape shifter, Virgil stilled, his hand once again a lethal grip on the bronze dagger, his eyes flat with no emotion, “someone's here.”

This only made Roman's skipping heart seemingly beat faster in lovesick adrenaline as he slowly connected the dots.

Mine doesn’t work either…

And it was clear that Morgana thought the same as she dragged Virgil's wrist forwards closer to him, careful not to impale the flinching prince, and took his own wrist, lining both their compasses up until both North and South are parallel points.

Everything seemed to click in the two men's minds, mismatched eyes meeting jade.

Oh boy, this will be a ride.

★-----☾-----❍-----☽-----★

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

FFT: it all started with glow paint; jeff hardy

Notes:

Did I ever mention to ya’ll that I am legit still in love with Jeff Hardy? No? Oops, sorry. Anyway, this ask came into my main from @xladyxfatex​ and I had to move it to this blog, of course. Couldn’t lose this one. I had fun writing Jeff again. Perhaps I’ll write even more Jeff Hardy in the future? Who knowsss.

Summary:

Iris decides to ditch a girls night out and sneak down to the room Jeff hangs out in whilst he’s painting. Flirting and playing with glow in the dark paint and making out ensues.

Warnings:

uhh.. paint in places not a canvas. mentions of nudity. innuendo. steamy makeout.

Pairing:

Jeff Hardy x OFC, Iris

His taller muscular frame filled the doorway to the dressing rooms and he chuckled quietly to himself. Inside the room, Iris wiggled her hips as she whipped her hair around and giggled quietly. He’d overheard her earlier saying she was getting ready to go out and quote-unquote “Dance her little ass off.”  and just the thought of other men seeing her like she was dressed currently had the North Carolina native up in arms. He nearly shot a foot into the air as he felt a finger tapping the back of his shoulder.

“Being a creeper again, I see?” Lita gave a soft and knowing smirk as Jeff tried to play it off. Trish was quick to speak up and call him out. “ Ya know, if you just actually made a move as opposed to skulking around and taking out pretty much any other guy who shows interest, Jeffro.. You might possibly get somewhere. Something to think about?” Trish mused with a soft laugh as she shut the door in the man’s face, drawing a pout to his lips.

Trish and Lita shared a look and wandered over to the newest hire to the roster, flanking her on either side. “Happy 21st!”

“I know right? I can finally legally drink!” Iris giggled, sitting down the almost neon pink lipstick she’d been about to put on, staring at herself in the mirror. She realized that Lita and Trish were staring at her and then kind of trying to subtly have a muted conversation over her head and she cleared her throat. “Okay, out with it. What’s going on, huh?”

“Well…”

“Here’s the thing, tiny.” Lita took the lead. She knew Matt and Jeff better and she knew that Jeff was literally never going to step up. But he would keep taking on every single guy who even dared look at Iris wrong and earlier tonight, he’d almost bitten off much more than he could chew when all 3 members of the Brood tried ganging up on him. It had taken Matt and one or two others just to break up the insanity at the end.

It had taken Jeff at least two hours to calm down and stop threatening to go and find Edge and kick his fucking head in for whatever thing he’d done or said towards Iris that Jeff wasn’t particularly fond of, too. Lita just hadn’t seen Jeff get that way before, so she knew that whatever he was feeling was real and until he got it out, it was going to keep him from having his head totally in the game.

“Yeah?”

“ Remember how you were telling us you thought a certain Enigma was so hot?” Lita teased gently, laughing to herself at how easy this was potentially going to be as soon as she saw the look on the younger female’s face and saw those big brown eyes getting that dreamy and faraway look she often got whenever Jeff Hardy was concerned.

Iris eyed Lita with a raised brow and a hand on her hip, the other one tangled in long blondish brown waves. “Yeah? And?”

“What if I told you that the Enigma in question might feel the same way?”

Iris started to laugh but her laughter trailed off as soon as she saw the calm serious looks on the two older females faces while they stared at her. She swallowed hard and muttered in a quieter tone, “Okay, you have my attention..”

“But you know how shy he is, Iris.” Lita started, Trish chiming in in a velvet purr, “Sometimes men.. They have to be lead.”

“Lead, huh?”

“Mhm. And maybe, Iris, if you were to go down to the room he always disappears to.. Maybe you’d have a better time tonight than if you were going out drinking with all of us like we planned.” Lita finished, nodding towards the door, giving the other female a gentle push towards. Iris swallowed hard, her hand poised to reach for the handle.

Trish tossed a tee shirt at their friend and called out through laughter, “You might want to actually finish getting dressed first, goofball.”

“Good idea.” Iris tugged the shirt down over her body and opened the door, taking a deep breath. She had to relax. She knew Jeff wasn’t the kind of guy who’d ever really.. approach her first, Lita and Trish were right. If someone was going to do something, it clearly fell to her.

She wandered down to the area Jeff always hung out in to paint or play his guitar and she’d been about to raise her hand to knock, but instead, she quietly pushed the door open.

Jeff stood there shirtless, the shirt he’d been wearing earlier tied around his hips as he stared at a canvas that glowed with several varied shades of pink and purple and orange. He didn’t hear the soft click of the door as she closed it. He didn’t hear her tiptoeing softly across the room either. She pressed against his back and he tensed a little, muttering a quiet “What the fuck?” before turning around.

“Iris? Hey.. What are you doin here, darlin? I thought you were goin out with Lita and Trish.”

… come on mouth, work!… Iris took a few deep breaths and pressed herself against him, staring up, lazily pressing a fingertip against those kissable lips of his. “Well, see.. I got to thinking.. I can go out and drink anytime now.” Iris trailed off, getting distracted by bright and deep jade-colored eyes and Jeff’s breath caught in his throat as he muttered huskily, “Yeah?” and his arms wrapped around her, hands locking across her lower back. Iris grimaced at the cold wet paint that he’d had smeared on his hands that was now on her skin and before she could stop herself, she was whimpering at the lingering touch. It seemed to make something snap in Jeff and he pulled her even closer, leaning down and pulling her up slightly. “So you want to spend your birthday with me, hm? Am I getting that right?”

“Mhm.” Iris practically purred the one-word response and Jeff gripped her more firmly, clearing his throat. When he spoke again, it was with a hint of a smirk. “Sweet.” as his hand squeezed her ass, grinding her against him in the process. Iris hissed at the feel of more cold and wet paint on her body. With a giggle, she reached out, grabbing a paintbrush covered in pink. “Ya know, this is my favorite color…” she drawled, painting an arrow pointing down his abdomen. Jeff swallowed hard and chuckled quietly, “Really now, Darlin? I hadn’t noticed.” he pretended to be totally shocked and as he was staring down at her intently, his hand reached back, grabbing for the paintbrush he’d discarded when she snuck up on him. He dipped the brush into the pink paint and gave a low, dark chuckle as he slid the brush down the front of her shirt similar to the way she’d done to him.

Iris reached up, the paintbrush clattering to the floor quietly and taking his face in her hands, she pulled his mouth against her own as deep as she could manage and somehow, he managed to further deepen the kiss to a point where Jeff Hardy honestly couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. He was picking her up, sitting her on the edge of a table nearby. His hands slipped down, fingertips toying with the hem of a tee shirt.

One of his merch shirts, to be exact. He started to tug it upward and Iris gave a shaky gasp, her hands moving over his chest, dragging through wet paint as her legs circled his waist. The more his tongue tangled and dominated her own and the more light-headed she became, the further she wanted to push it. Her shirt settled on the floor and the shirt tied around his waist did the same. Purple glowing paint-covered hands roamed back up her body, gripping her breasts and squeezing them together as he bucked into her and growled against her neck at the way her quiet whimpers and soft pleas filled the quiet between them. Her white bra was now glowing purple on either side and as his hands gripped her thighs and squeezed, purple handprints lingered on soft skin, making her nip at his bare chest and making him whimper almost helplessly as she started to nip and bite her way down.

He stopped her, shaking his head, leaning her back on the table, leaning down into her. “Oh no, birthday girl. No. Tonight, I’m gonna take care of you..” he drawled as his lips ghosted over her abdomen and he fixed lust filled jade-colored eyes on her intently, his tongue slowly dragging over his lips….

[notapaladin]

all there in our baby’s arms

Plotless OTP fluff? Plotless OTP fluff. As always, can also be read on AO3!

Acatl and Teomitl spend time together, and Acatl gently corrects a misconception.

-

Noon had passed hours ago by the time Acatl finally stepped out of the temple interior. Staggered, more like; he’d discovered that prolonged periods of stillness and the rainy season did not mix well with his legs ever since the fight against Itzpapalotl, and he’d felt like an old man by the time he’d uncurled himself from the account ledgers. It had rained earlier, cooling the air, but the afternoon sun was deliciously warm as it drenched the world in gold. He was alone for the moment, and so he sat down and closed his eyes, tilting his face up to bask in it.

A breeze caressed his face, stirring a loose strand of hair that had escaped his attempts at confining it. Somewhere below him were the sounds of the city he loved going about its day; further away, a bird warbled. He breathed in, smelling distant fires and the lingering dampness in the air. Later, he would probably be reminded of a hundred things he had to do, but for now? He’d let himself enjoy this.

Footsteps behind him, too hurried. He would know them if he were stone deaf and therefore didn’t bother to open his eyes; there was only one person who walked as though the notion of wasting time was an insult. “Teomitl.”

“There you are.” The voice he loved was warm and sweet as honey; unresistant, he let himself be wrapped in familiar arms and nestled against a well-muscled chest. The cloak over his shoulders wasn’t as warm as the skin pressed against his back. “I missed you.”

“Mm,” he murmured. “I thought the Master of the House of Darts would be too busy to miss me.” The rainy season would end soon, and Teomitl would be going off to his next campaign. Acatl had tried not to dwell on it, with mixed success. Of course Teomitl had gone to war before, but that had been...before. Before soft words and those first careful kisses, when he’d been Acatl-tzin and never just Acatl. Things were different now. Glorious, yes, but different.

Teomitl snorted. “The Master of the House of Darts just spent his morning dealing with fools who couldn’t find their own heads with a map.”

Acatl shifted, turning to nuzzle into the crook of his lover’s neck and reveling in the way he shivered. It hid his smile—this, at least, was one thing that would never change. No matter what, the war council would always fall short of Teomitl’s impatient expectations. He was surprised there’d never been bloodshed. “Hmm. Did you lose your temper?”

There was a sigh, stirring his hair. “No. Barely.”

“Good boy.” It slipped out without thinking. He regretted it immediately, knowing the depth of Teomitl’s pride, but all it got in return was a sharp little hitch of breath and a tightening of his hold. Oh. Teomitl liked hearing that. He filed the knowledge away safely in his mind; it was something to turn over at a later date.

When Teomitl spoke, his voice was soft.  “...I thought of you.” A hand uncurled itself and slid over Acatl’s chest, and he shivered at the contact.

Acatl imagined his own reaction to being shoved into a room with the war council. He didn’t really know any of the men on it aside from Teomitl; the temptation to superimpose the faces of Acamapichtli and Quenami over them was probably mean-spirited, but it was hard to resist. All the times he’d come perilously close to punching them in the teeth flashed through his mind; how much worse it would be if he was a warrior, raised and trained for battle? “And that...helped?”

Teomitl’s wandering hand was at his shoulder now, twining a lock of hair around calloused fingers. “You are calm and even-tempered—“

He would not laugh. He would not. Even if...gods, is that how Teomitl sees me? Is that the impression I give? For a moment he really thought he would manage it—his lips twitched, but that was all—and then he remembered how his very first meeting with Quenami, before they’d even exchanged three words, had left him seeing red. It was enough. He broke. “Pfft.” Mirth bubbled up through him, shoulders shaking; his breath came in a drawn-out wheeze and for a moment he had to clench his fists to stop his reflexive slap of the stone under him. Calm! Even-tempered! Another wheeze. Another. He knew his face had to be red, knew he was making noises like a dog choking on a bone, but there was no stopping it. Gods, his face hurt. Me!

By the time he’d gotten his breath back, the set of Teomitl’s knitted brow had shifted from concern to annoyance, though he still kept Acatl loosely in his embrace. “...And you are laughing at me.”

Duality preserve me. “Teomitl.” He sucked in a breath. His lungs complained; he hadn’t laughed that hard in ages. Leaning back against Teomitl’s chest was a better idea. “Teomitl. I have wanted to strangle Quenami with my bare hands every time I’ve seen him, and Acamapichtli only slightly less.” It was better for him to know the truth, after all. The last thing Acatl wanted to be was a paragon.

Teomitl wasn’t pouting, but only because it was unbecoming of a noble warrior. Acatl could hear how hard he wasn’t pouting. “That’s a natural reaction!”

An intense wave of fondness rolled through him, and he couldn’t help but smile. His hand came to rest on Teomitl’s knee, tracing an idle little circle into the thin skin there. “I think you think too well of me.”

“...Impossible,” Teomitl sounded huffy, but then his voice softened. An arm slid around Acatl’s waist, gentle and warm. “Nobody can think too well of you, Acatl.”

Oh. In moments like these, he was firmly reminded that Teomitl loved him. It slid through his veins like a knife, leaving him dizzy with the enormity of it—of this stubborn, quick-tempered man, Master of the House of Darts and heir apparent to the Emperor, opening his heart to him. “Teomitl,” he breathed helplessly.

Teomitl kept talking, words running right over him as though he was afraid of losing momentum if he stopped. “I know you don’t expect recognition, but you have saved the Fifth World three times. Four, if you count my own foolishness.” Acatl felt his lungs expand in a deep breath, felt the way his shoulders stiffened as though preparing for a fight. “And even if you hadn’t, you deserve armfuls of gold and quetzal feathers just for being who you are.”

He swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. “I don’t—“

His lover’s voice took on a sharp edge. “Yes, you do deserve it. I would give you all the wealth of the Empire if you wanted it.”

It was too easy to picture it—precious feathers and gold for his ears and arms, silver and jade for his hair and ankles, eating naught but the finest delicacies and having his every whim catered to. It made him itch for obsidian knives and the dry dust of Mictlan to cleanse his palate. Even if part of him did want to flaunt Teomitl’s regard just a little whenever Quenami was being particularly arrogant, it was a mean and unworthy and reckless thought, and he’d long since resolved not to listen to it. “I don’t want any of that.”

“I know.” Teomitl sighed into his hair. “Giving you only my heart doesn’t feel like enough.”

Acatl twisted out of his hold; Teomitl made a brief, surprised noise, but in the next moment he was melting into the kiss that was the only answer Acatl could give him. I love you, he thought fiercely. I love you, I love you. Don’t ever say it’s not enough. He slid his hands down Teomitl’s back, feeling the heat of his skin through the cotton; as hot and sweet and right as it was, his mouth was better. I could die like this. If I went to Mictlan tomorrow, I’d be happy.

When Acatl broke away, Teomitl hummed quietly and captured his lips again, sweetly. “Mmm…” His hands settled at Acatl’s hips; the touch was light and innocent, but Acatl still had to tamp down a pulse of desire. Now wasn’t the time.

He pulled back, meeting his lover’s heated gaze. “Your heart is more than I ever thought I could have. I don’t need anything else, Teomitl.”

Teomitl licked his lips, eyes gleaming. Acatl felt his heart skip a beat. “...You’re sure?”

And then the hands at his hips were dragging slowly over his thighs, and he couldn’t suppress a full-body shudder. Oh, you are wicked. He had to close his eyes; knowing Teomitl was fixing him with a hungry stare was hard enough to resist without trying to meet it head-on. Xochiquetzal told me once that I spent too much time with the dead, forgetting what made me alive. If I’d known Teomitl then the way I do now… What laid between them was new enough, and their working lives difficult enough, that there were things they simply hadn’t done—yet. Teomitl’s desire was obvious in each lingering glance they shared across rooms or in crowds; it still flustered him, but whenever they touched Acatl was reminded that, vows or no, he wanted.

He took a shaky breath and risked opening his eyes again. “I am...open to persuasion.”

Teomitl leaned in, opened his mouth to speak, and Acatl trembled—but then someone’s stomach growled, and the moment was gone. Acatl managed to stop his chuckle, but not the accompanying grin.

Teomitl went adorably red around his ears, ducking his head as though he thought that would hide it. “Ah. Lunch first?”

Reluctantly, Acatl pulled away from the warmth of Teomitl’s touch. “...Lunch first.”

And then they would decide how to make the most of their free time.

[sonnets-and-snowdrops]

春のしろ; or, the Snows of Springtime

Fandom: Bleach Pairing: Kyōraku Shunsui / Ukitake Jūshirō Genre: Angst / Hurt / Think Piece / I love torturing my faves Rating: G Word Count: 1,097 Warnings: N/A Summary: Ukitake probably should have been a Pisces. Instead, he’s a Sagittarius. Here’s a fic about that, sorta. More concretely, it’s about wanting and deserving springtime, but being perpetually stuck in winter. In my opinion, that isn’t an inapt metaphor for Jū-chan’s life and service - and even, perhaps, for his friendship with Shunsui. Author’s Note: I’m late as heck to this party, but here’s a little fic in response to @bleachbigbang​’s first bing prompt. (Figured I’d @ you guys regardless; I do want to give credit where it’s due, and I know wouldn’t have written this without the prompt.) Also, this fic is unedited. I’m not, like, especially proud of it or anything - it’s just been such a long damn time since I’ve written and shared anything, so I figured now was as good a time to take the plunge as any.

...also, I know that the English version of the title isn’t a direct translation. I also also know that 白 is how you typically write white - but it made more sense, I thought, to spell it out phonetically rather than in kanji. Just uh, take a quick look at the way Shun-kun and Jū-chan write their names, if you’re curious :))

Thanks for reading, friends!

Springtime came late that year.

Springtime came late, and Jūshirō tried his very best not to shiver. It was spring, after all, and spring was supposed to mean birth and rebirth and new life and sunshine and fresh, bright flowers cascading downwards, riding the gentle crests of tender breezes and landing softly upon the thawing ground.

But this year, springtime still saw snow.

Jūshirō woke before dawn, but it wasn’t because sleep had left him sated. His eyes were red and crusted, and his hands trembled and his shoulders shook as he pulled his blankets closer, and then closer still. He clamped his jaw together to keep it from quivering, and he gazed with as much fondness as he could muster out across the still-frozen pond upon which he made his home.

He was happy here.

He was.

He had to be.

Didn’t he?

***

“…not the best I’ve ever had,” Shunsui was saying, “but worth a try. Even if a person’s not that into sake. Seriously, Jū-chan, I think you’ll like this one. You’ll appreciate the lightness of it. C’mon – give it a shot!”

Jūshirō eyed the little ceramic mug as skeptically as he could without seeming rude. “You mean it?” he tried, doing his damnedest to forestall the inevitable for as long as possible.

“ ‘Course I do,” Shunsui replied, a broad smile stretching across his flushed cheeks. “What?” he added, dropping his voice low and leaning across the table so that he could look Jūshirō dead in the eye and waggle his eyebrows oh-so-seductively. “You don’t think I’m trying to get you drunk, do you?”

Jūshirō smiled and rolled his eyes. “No,” he admitted. “Those days are long gone, aren’t they?”

“Damn straight.”

“You really think I’ll like it, do you?”

“Told ya once, didn’t I?”

“Very well, then.” Jūshirō reached across the table and took up the tiny cup in his graceful, long-fingered hand. He brought it to his lips, and said, “To friendship,” and downed it in one.

It was too sharp for his liking, but he didn’t say as much to Shunsui.

***

Jūshirō’s naked back was pressed to Shunsui’s naked chest. Behind him, Shunsui snored. Before him, the world was stark and white.

At times like these, Jūshirō sometimes wondered whether he’d chosen well, or very, very poorly indeed.

He swallowed hard, and he clutched Shunsui’s hand even tighter in his own. Shunsui stirred behind him, but he did not wake. What dreams ran rampant in his unconscious mind, Jūshirō did not know – did not want to know, in truth – but whatever they were, they were kind enough to let Shunsui drowse soundly for the time being.

Jūshirō suppressed a shiver.

Even here in Shunsui’s arms, he felt helplessly cold.

***

The next morning saw snow again.

Jūshirō’s pond froze anew, and Jūshirō’s heart froze when he thought of his poor koi fish, trapped beneath the unyielding surface. Jūshirō  couldn’t drop breadcrumbs and small sweets for them, like he usually did at this time of year. Welcome back, those small offerings always said – at least in Jūshirō’s mind. You survived the winter. Well done! And for those that didn’t, we say our prayers, and we celebrate the lives they led.

Shunsui, of course, only ever regarded this practice as sweet, childlike, charming. He didn’t understand the sadness that rent Jūshirō’s heart when familiar faces did not return, and when still more familiar faces returned seeming older, sadder, more jaded somehow. To Shunsui, all life was futile and fleeting. Flower petals were beautiful, but they were dead things. The sun rose and set each day, but it took no interest in the comings and goings of men and souls. Even Jūshirō himself, friend and fixture though he was in Shunsui’s life, was destined for death just like the rest. They didn’t talk about that very often, but when they did, Shunsui always assured Jūshirō that, yes, he’d accepted Jūshirō’s destiny, and that yes, this was surely the way things were meant to be. And so, Jūshirō became a warm body to hold in the evenings, and a smiling face to keep Shunsui moving forward during the daytime.

And warm bodies and smiling faces had no use for mourning.

Especially, Jūshirō remarked sadly as he gazed at his frozen pond, not for the deaths of creatures as small and insignificant as fish.

***

Weeks later, the first blossoms pushed their tentative way through the branches of cold, barren trees.

The air was still cold and crisp, but the snow had long since melted, turning the ground beneath Jūshirō’s shoes to mud. He leaned heavily on Shunsui as he walked – he was still unsteady on his feet after a stubborn bout of sickness that had only relented days ago – but he smiled as he blinked up at the little buds of pink and purple and fresh green.

In the distance, the clash of wood on wood and steel on steel sounded. His men were training, even without their Captain to oversee them. They followed Jūshirō with unflinching loyalty, and they always had, despite Jūshirō’s copious and conspicuous shortcomings. To this day, Jūshirō didn’t truly understand it, never mind how many reassurances he received from his friends and comrades. What good, he always wondered at times like these, was a leader who often found himself too sick to lead?

He let his red-rimmed gaze soften, and he let the sounds of swordplay float sweetly into his ears.

He was a lucky man, and he knew it.

All of a cruel sudden, Jūshirō’s chest tightened. His steps faltered, and his fingers dug sharply into Shunsui’s arm. He squeezed his eyes shut, closing himself off from the budding springtime for the space of several rapid heartbeats. “Easy, Jū-chan,” came Shunsui’s voice beside him. “I’ve gotcha. Don’t worry.”

With an effort, Jūshirō straightened his back and opened his eyes again. “…I’m all right,” he managed, his words coarse and quiet with fatigue.

Shunsui raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Jūshirō didn’t have the heart to answer Shunsui directly. He could have said yes, but that would have been a lie, and Jūshirō had never been a talented liar. He could have said no, but that would have meant admitting his pain to his friend. Jūshirō never wanted to do that, if he could avoid it. Shunsui shouldered enough of his own pain already. He didn’t need to shoulder Jūshirō’s, too.

And so, Jūshirō did the only thing he could think of – what he nearly always did, when situations like this arose.

He smiled.

“Let’s keep waking, shall we?”

[theincrediblesulkmachine]

Voltron Hamilton AU: Satisfied

Summary: Matt can’t decide whether he made the right decision, or the worst mistake of his life.

(Or where Matt is Angelica, Keith is Alexander, and Katie is Eliza.)

|Ships: Katt/ Kidge|  Words:1,508  |  Chapters: 1/1 |

[READ ON AO3]

The End of Days gala happens sooner than Matt anticipated.

The worst part is that he’s expected to dress up for it; Aliens invade Earth, and the Garrison’s response is to throw them a party, ridiculous.

The least they could have done was hold a convention, figure out their tech, what they can teach Earthlings, but no, nah, nope; booze, tea, and finger food is the way they decide to go about it.

R i d i c u l o u s.

Still, considering that he’s devoured half the tray of h'ordeuvres the waiter is circulating, he probably shouldn’t complain.

Katie smirks at Matt, and it’s unfair because she’s in this loose mint-coloured dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and white pants and ergo is quite comfortable- why he’s dressed up is beyond him- and when he pouts, she outright laughs at his abject misery at being stuffed into the tux; it fits him well, but damn, it’s like a second skin. What if a fight breaks out? He’d be too constricted to even raise his hands.

He says as much, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “You could take off the jacket.”

“And lose the Bond look, I think not!” he exclaims, with an extra jerk of his hands, because he can, and he knows that it’ll make Katie laugh.

She snorts- very ladylike, Pidge- but hides her grin behind a hand.

Matt counts it as a victory.

Well, he does… until he sees a boy halfway across the room watching with an amused smile.

At first, an indignant sort of irritation rises in him, amidst an embarrassed desire to hide his face; then, he takes in the boy’s face, and he is… a little starstruck.

He’s tall, and wiry, that much is clear even from his careful slouch against the wall; His hair is thick, falling like a smattering of night sky against pale skin, but mostly it’s his eyes that Matt won’t forget in a hurry;

They’re almond shaped, slightly canted at their upper corners, framed by thick eyelashes. That too wouldn’t be too memorable- a lot of people have beautiful eyes, and Matt appreciates them all- but these eyes… they’re unearthly; a blue so dark it’s almost mauve.

Matt needs a closer look.

“Hoo boy.” He hears Pidge say distantly, an eyeroll visible in her tone of voice. “Here we go again. Who are you hitting on this time?”

For science’s sake, he tells himself.

“I… I’ll be right… back.” Matt hears himself say absently, but he’s not really paying attention. His mind has frozen with single-minded focus on his scientific mission.

More like biological mission, his brain adds in a voice that sounds a lot like Katie, and he doesn’t appreciate the very, very unhelpful quip.

The (pretty) boy straightens as Matt approaches, easy smile falling away to accommodate a more guarded look, and Matt privately mourns the softness that had gentled the sharp line of his jaw and nose.

Up close, he’s even more striking looking, a mix of conventional good looks and sharp, intelligent- otherworldly, holy fuck- eyes.

Up close, he’s intimidating, and Matt is at a loss for words suddenly.

“Hi?” Pretty Boy says, a little quizzical now, thick eyebrows furrowing a little, and Matt coughs awkwardly into his hand.

He blames it on the attractiveness of the expression- confusion should not be attractive, Matthew- when he finally says, in what is most definitely not a return of the greeting, “You know, when they said the aliens are invading, I expected we’d give them more a fight than a welcome party.”

The boy’s eyes lighten suddenly, crinkling in amusement, and a somewhat reserved smile replaces the flat line of his mouth. “Ah well, might as well roll over, and lead them straight to our emperor.”

The response is dry, and a little droll, and Matt sucks in a breath, delighted, because this boy! He gets it!

If he also has a voice that does things to Matt’s insides… well. That’s neither here nor there.

“Matthew Holt. Call me Matt.” He says, sticking out his hand.

The small grin grows as the boy takes his hand, “Keith Kogane.”

“That’s an interesting name; what’s the story? Where are you from?”

Keith’s gaze shutters, and while his smile doesn’t fall, his hand- the one Matt’s holding- twitches in his grasp. “Unimportant. What brings you to this Doomsday Ball?”

Matt’s moment of piqued interest at the neat sidestep, gives way to wicked glee, “I’ve been calling it the End of Days Gala, myself.”

Keith laughs, and its’ sharp but genuine, lilting at the end. “Aliens,” he says, in a manner that’s almost self-explanatory. “And my friends called me crazy.”

“You think you’re crazy? Wait till you meet my imaginary friend.” Matt says, flashing his best shit-eating grin, and bless him, Keith laughs a little helplessly at his frankly terrible joke. His nose crinkles as his eyes shut, and Matt is… irreparably charmed.

Matt wants to taste that laugh.

 Woah there.

Matt surprises himself with the intensity of that thought, and he realizes how easy it would be; Keith is still holding his hand, and all Matt would have to do is tug a little, and…

No.

No, no, nope.

 That way lies madness.

To stop himself doing something stupid, he looks back at Katie, hoping she’ll make a face.

What he sees… his heart, it nearly stops, as realization hits him like a shitload of bricks.

Katie’s eyes are on Keith; the amber, wide and vulnerable in a way his jaded little sister never lets herself be. Her left hand is twisting a strand of her shoulder length hair, and Matt doesn’t think she even realizes, the way her gaze is fixed on the boy.

He remembers all at once, the way of late, she has taken to mumbling about a boy in the Garrison, a few years older than her. An ace pilot, intelligent; sharp-edged but kind…

His hair, she had said, half-muffled by frustration and a pillow.

Matt had laughed at her till she had thrown the pillow at him, but he gets it now. He gets it.

She never did name him, but her eyes… they’re fond… they’re helpless.

They’re scared.

It has to be him.

Matt has never seen his sister look like this.

Just like that, he knows his next move before he makes it, heart plummeting all the while. “Hey, come with me.”

Keith looks at Matt, eyes flashing with interest and what seems to be a little intrigue, something that makes Matt’s stomach swoop, before he smiles, suddenly sheepish. “Where are you taking me?”

And Gravity help Matt, Keith’s voice holds an edge of subtle flirtation.

Shit.

Matt just smiles, knowing it doesn’t quite pass as genuine, and says nothing, simply gesturing with a tilt of his head.

Indicating Katie to him.

Leading him to Katie.

Shit.

Matt could date him, maybe it wouldn’t even go anywhere?

But… It would break his sister’s heart.

He wouldn’t be able to live with that, no matter how happy this boy could make him.

And he knows instinctively, it would be very happy; something had clicked for him- Keith was stunning, witty, and… just something had clicked.

Katie.

How often does someone match your wavelength like this? His heart pleads.

How often has Katie talked about anyone? His mind counters.

And he can’t argue with that.

The path takes less than a minute, or two, but its hazy like a dream, timeless like a nightmare, and in an entirely different way, Matt is just as helpless as Pidge.

Keith seems a little confused when Matt stops, but his face brightens when he catches sight of Katie.

And Katie?

She lights up.

Just like that, Matt knows he made the right call.

So he hurts, a little- a lot- but that smile on Pidge’s face makes it all worth it.

“Keith!” she says fondly, shyly smiling.

It’s foreign and heartbreaking, and lovely.

Matt finds a smile stretching on his own face at the sight.

Keith smile is gentle, and equally fond. “Katie.”

Then he looks back at Matt, and there’s that hesitant confusion again; the shadow of doubt.

“My sister.” Matt says, with a grin.

“What do you make of this?” Katie asks, and her voice is excited, nervousness fading.

Keith’s gaze lingers just a second longer on Matt, before he turns to Katie and Matt felt the weight of it scorch his face, and the loss of it is acute.

Look back at me, he wants to say.

He doesn’t.

Matt doesn’t hear Keith’s conspiratorial answer over the crashing of his own heart, his fumbled graceful exit. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He can’t decide whether he made the right decision, or the worst mistake of his life.

The right decision for Pidge, his baby sister; the worst possible for himself… He decides.

That’s one problem solved, he thinks as he laughs a little wistfully to himself. Just one tiny one left.

Matt leaves them to it.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Uliuli Iwi (Part 1)

Kiyi is sick and both Zuko and Ursa are doing everything to help her, but none of their efforts have any affect. With nowhere else to turn, Zuko decides to try Ember Island’s mystic.

A gust of wind rattles through the bungalow, setting various handmade dream catchers and trinkets into sways and spins. Shells and beads clicking together, adding to the sound of waves crashing against sand. Another more powerful gust sends the thatched bamboo and palm fond roof swooshing. Azula can taste the sea salt in the air. And the scent of fish and seaweed wafting through the spacious dwelling—the odor had bothered her for the longest time, but she has since grown accustom to it. She crosses the threshold, onto the balcony and—from the spaces between lush palms and jungle ferns—takes in the ocean side view. She makes out two familiar figures trotting along the shoreline. A little boy and his Water Tribe father. The boy holds something out to the man, likely a shell or a turtle. She looks away from the scene to check on one of the spices she'd been working on and then approaches her low-resting table to retrieve her mortar and pestle. Azula leans against the balcony railing and continues crushing and grinding the herbal contents in the mortar. The breeze rustles her hair and flutters the feathers woven into her bangs.

She watches Khao preform some skillful waterbending tricks. He mostly toys with the sea foam, building it into various shapes ranging from octopi to koi fish.

She brings her water jade pendant to her lips.

.oOo.

Ursa grabs Kiyi's hand.

Weeks have passed and still the fever doesn't break.

The child calls out helplessly. Ursa watches just as powerlessly. Zuko is raking his hands through his hair trying to figure out who he should send his next messenger hawk too. They'd been sent off to the most prestigious herbalists, apothecaries, and Water Tribe healers. He and Ursa had brought Kiyi to them and had, had them come to him. Helping her is growing ever more difficult now that journeys to the doctors are becoming harder on Kiyi. Zuko has paid the traveling fees just to get doctors to come check her out and say that they don't know what to do.

Phe-Fang—who still sits vexed (at both his own inability and the waste of his time) on a plush cushion near the window—is the most recent medical mishap. He held Kiyi's little arm in his hand for only two minutes before declaring that the child was a lost cause. "She sweats like three are upon us and cries like the tormented souls of the Spirit World. What would you have me do that the others have not tried?"

Zuko himself grows indignant at the lack of empathy and effort displayed by the so-called esteemed doctor Phe-Fang.

"What would I have you do?" He finally explodes. "Maybe, put some work in! Real work! Actually try!" He lets out something between a grumble and a growl and runs his fingers agitatedly through his bangs. "My sister is dying and you," He looks around the room at the palace physicians, "none of you." He pauses, "are helping."

Ursa leaves Kiyi's side for the first time in days, to put a hand on Zuko's shoulder. "They're doing their best."

"How can you say that? Is he doing his best?!" Zuko thumbs in Phe-Fang's direction. He runs his hand down his face and sighs. "I'm sorry I snapped at you…" he is too tired to elaborate. It doesn't matter, he recognizes the look of understanding that crosses Ursa's face. She is just as agitated as he is, if not, more so. She is simply better at masking it.

"I don't know what to do?" Zuko finally speaks again. He can't fight his frustrated tears anymore. "I don't know who else to try."

"How about your friends? The Avatar? That Katara girl, you said that she brought the Avatar back from the dead with spirit water?"

It is a pretty suggestion. But he had already thought of that. He had written to Katara about it and she had tried her best. But even after every service she'd done for the world, she was still denied access to anymore Spirit Oasis water under the guise that she was lucky to have had possession of it once. And that if they kept handing it out people would beg for it until the oasis was sucked dry. That's what her letter had disclosed anyhow. Thinking about it has Zuko's blood boiling all over again. He understands, truly he does, but he still feels outraged that they can't make an exception for him. For the Firelord. For the man who helped the Avatar.

"I've tried asking her. She said she's on her way to the Fire Nation."

"But…" Ursa prompted.

"She isn't sure if she can do anything either." Zuko says. He sits down at Kiyi's side and takes her hand. She is asleep and he doesn't want to wake her, with things as they are, the girl doesn't get much sleep. She is usually roused awake by an ache in her belly, a scratch in her throat, or a pounding in her head. It hurts to look at her. Even in sleep she seems pained. Her face is pale and drenched in fever sweat. Her hair is messy and somehow dull. She is painfully thin and it tears Zuko apart.

He feels completely and utterly helpless.

"Go for a walk Zuko." Ursa prompts. "Get some fresh air, clear your head."

This time he doesn't put up a protest, if for no other reason than to ease Ursa's stress. He turns back and says, "you take a walk of your own when I get back."

Ursa nods. She can use the break as well.

.oOo.

As Zuko treks the street, he is met with imploring voices and hushed whispers. By now most people have gotten wind of Kiyi's condition in some way or another—be it chatty doctors themselves or a simple observation of the amount of physicians clamoring about the palace grounds.

"Is your sister doing any better?"

"Is she going to be okay?"

"How bad is it?"

He deflects or ignores the questions entirely.

"I hear that it's contagious." The gossiping man backs away as Zuko draws near.

"No one's ever seen it before so it must be dangerous." Whispers another.

Zuko ignores this too.

More people scuttle back, deterred by the first man's speculation. His agitation builds. This walk was a bad idea, he thinks.

He feels a tug on his sleeve. A timid girl looks up at him, puzzling over what to say. He waits, when she doesn't begin he quirks an eyebrow, "can I help you."

"Actually, I can help you." The commoner averts her eyes, fearing that she had overstepped some kind of boundary. "What I mean is… I've heard of someone."

Zuko cocks his head. To his surprise the girl picks up on his cue.

"My grandmother was very ill for a long time. We tried everything, from healers to…"

"Scientists." Zuko finishes, "so have we."

The girl nods. "But you haven't tried the mystics yet have you?"

Zuko sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, unaware that he'd just caused the girl's cheeks to glow a bright red. "We—" He hates to admit it, "got desperate enough to try one." Now he is blushing. "But he was a sham, he just blabbered some kind of chant and burned some sagewood."

"Well Uliuli Iwi is different. She saved my grandmother a few months ago, and my brother when he was just a babe." She looked up at Zuko. "You must give Uliuli Iwi a try."

"Uliuli Iwi." He tries the name on his tongue. "Who is this Uliuli Iwi exactly?"

"She's the shaman of Ember Island."

He tries the name again, "Uliuli Iwi."