#Sparring Partner (Closed Thread)

[lgbtqasacrew]

Maybe steady hands with an S/O who is a really skilled pirate and they help Train Steve and spar with Izzy and Ed????

Thank you and your writing is amazing

Thank you! I’m sorry this took me so long to get out

Summary: Stede seeks your help with training, and you having a sparring session with Ed and Izzy

Relationships: Steddyhands x gn reader

Word count: 1.4k+

Warnings: None that I can think of

“It’s not fair.” Stede pouts as his head lays on your lap, your fingers threading through his golden curls.

“What’s not fair babe?”

“How I have three incredibly skilled partners, and then there’s just me.”

“Hey you’re skilled too,” you assure him.

“Not at pirating,” he huffs.

“You just have less experience than us honey, we’ve been on ships for years, we had no choice but to get good otherwise we’d be long dead.”

“I’m glad you’re not”

“Hm?”

“I’m glad you’re not dead”

You chuckle at his sincerity. “Thanks babe.”

“Will you help me train?” He asks.

“I thought Iz was helping you with that.”

“Yeah but he shouts at me, a lot” he pouts again, but you know he enjoys it really, you’ve seen firsthand how hot and flustered he still gets when Izzy starts to get a bit frustrated. You’ve walked in on them several times after training, starting to feel a little hot yourself, and glad that your partners haven’t killed each other.

“Thought you’d ask Ed to be honest.” You admit.

“Ed’s too soft on me, need someone that won’t lie to me about how I’m doing.”

You nod in understanding, Ed is definitely a big softie when it comes to his partners, getting to know him properly and eventually seeing that softer side has been something you’ll always treasure.

“Sure I’ll train you.”

“Thanks darling.”

“Right now though I have a better idea.”

Before he can question what that might be, you bend down, your hand caressing his cheek, Stede let’s out a little noise as your lips collide. Soon he’s kissing you back passionately, his hand gripped into the fabric of your shirt as if trying to pull you closer. You certainly don’t get any training done that day.

“Okay my turn!” You plead, as nice as it is to watch Izzy and Ed sparring, you wanted your own turn.

Not that it wasn’t nice to watch them, really nice, the way Ed’s arms flex as he wields his sword, the sweat currently dripping down Izzy’s bare chest, and pooling in those beautiful tits.

“I choose Iz first” you declare, taking your sword out and pointing it in his direction. “If you accept?”

Izzy raises an eyebrow in amusement “I accept” he replies, quickly drawing his own sword.

You liken the way you spar with Izzy more to an intricate dance, weaving and ducking as your swords clink together in a beautiful harmony. You try your best not to get distracted by that beautiful chest, the dark hair that sits there that you love to run your fingers through.

You carry on this dance between you, Ed whooping and cheering for you both as you move across the deck with ease. Neither of you pull out any moves to best the other yet, enjoying this session way too much to want it to end quite yet. You continue with gusto and precision, your chest heaving slightly from the exertion.

You’re happy to see that Izzy appears to be just as affected as you are, the lust in his eyes is apparent and his trousers certainly look tighter than they did, but you know that won’t affect his performance, he can match you any day of the week.

Eventually you manage to best him, knocking the sword out of his hand, you bring your own sword up, the tip pressed to his chin.

“Do you surrender first mate Hands?” you ask, your breath mingling in the small space between you.

Izzy closes the distance as you lower your sword, claiming your lips.

“My turn.” Ed interjects after he’s bored of waiting, you turn your attention to him giving him a peck on the lips.

“I meant at sparring but I’ll take it,” Ed shrugs, going in for another kiss.

“Oh right,” you giggle, “in that case.” You pick your sword back up from where it previously fell, pointing it in Ed’s direction.

“Captain Blackbeard, I challenge you to a duel,” you say, knowing that calling him that will wind him up a little.

“Seriously?” He rolls his eyes at your teasing, “but yes, I accept.”

The clashing of swords fills the air as you both move around the deck with ease, it’s similar to sparring with Izzy, yet there’s something different in the way Ed moves. There’s also a darkness in his eyes, one that had once scared you, yet now it just makes you feel warm inside.

Izzy stands to the side as he observes, not as vocal as Ed, but still appreciative of what he was seeing. He knows Ed’s an amazing swordsman, they’ve fought together for years, trained together when they were just boys, taught each other tricks that they’d picked up.

You though had been more of a surprise to him, he’d been so used to discovering that most of the crew were useless twats, that he’d expected you to be just the same. Oh how he had been wrong, the first time he’d seen you fight during a raid he’d been so distracted that he had almost got himself stabbed.

But there’s something about watching you and Ed sparring together that just does something for him, the way you both move together as one. He has to adjust himself slightly as he continues to watch you both.

He’s so entranced that he doesn’t even notice Stede’s presence until the man puts an arm around him, his hand instinctively going to the sword that is now back at his side.

“Jesus Christ, Bonnet, where did you come from?”

“They’re good aren’t they?” Stede says.

“Better than good.”

“I wish I was as good as the three of you are.” Stede says wistfully.

Izzy clams up a little, he’s not the best at reassuring people, but it turns out it’s something you have to do quite a lot when you have three partners, so he’s getting better.

“You’ll get there, Bonnet.”

“Thanks Israel,” Stede beams at him, Izzy wouldn’t admit it but he loves making Stede smile like that.

His attention turns back to where you and Ed are still sparring, you’re putting up a good fight but Ed manages to disarm you with a trick that Izzy had taught him many years ago. Not that you seemed to mind, if the two of you making out on the deck is anything to go by.

“How about we have our own fun?” Stede whispers. Izzy nods, allowing him to be guided to the cabin.

“Move that foot here,” you say, attempting to get Stede in a proper stance. “You need to be more on the back foot.”

“Like this?” Stede asks.

“Kinda, just shift your weight slightly, that’s better. Now try and attack me.”

Stede shifts forward, but you’re easily able to predict which way he’s going and block him. He tries again and again but each time he makes it too obvious which way he’s going to go.

“This is useless,” he sighs. “Izzy’s right, I’m totally incompetent.”

“He didn’t mean that,” you assure him. “He just gets frustrated sometimes.”

“He’s right though.” Stede sniffs.

“C’mon babe, one more try, and if you do well I’ll give you one of those back rubs you love so much.”

“With the orange oil?” he asks.

“Of course, but first you need to get a hit.”

Stede seems a little bit more determined after that, brow furrowed in concentration as he adjusts his stance. He uses everything you’ve taught him so far to try and get a hit, it takes him a while but eventually he lands one.

“Y/N I did it!” Stede exclaims.

“You did, well done babe.” You praise.

“Do I get the back rub now?”

“Go on then, I suppose you’ve earned it.”

Stede’s skills slowly start picking up, perhaps your slightly softer but not too soft approach is what does it, or maybe it’s the promise of back rubs whenever he does something well. You and your two other partners are currently sat on crates watching as Stede swings from a rope and lands on his feet.

“You wouldn’t even be able to tell that half an hour ago he was laying on the floor complaining of rope burn.” Izzy whispers, making you and Ed laugh.

“Yeah tenth time round and he’s almost a pro.” Ed replies.

“Guys did you see that one?” Stede asks as he runs up to the three of you, chest heaving from exhaustion. “I didn’t fall over or anything.”

“Well done, babe.” Ed praises.

“Yeah good job, Stede.” You add.

“Can we go back to the cabin now?” Stede asks, slightly out of breath. “I think I might need a little lie down after all that.”

Ed wraps an arm around Stede leading him below deck. “C’mon love let’s go.”

You and Izzy follow closely behind, your arm linked with his, excited for an evening with your partners.

[xxlordalexanderxx]

So, I think I want to make it a bit clear that I'm no longer really into fight threads anymore. I never really was but sometimes they just happened due to plot reasons which I had no issues entertaining. I used to love them, but those who've known me from over a decade ago seen and know the shit I went though that made me more cautious and picky with them. A was never afforded respect or communication let alone had my boundaries respected, Alexander was always treated as a punching bag. So I've grown very jaded towards them. I'm just not interested in spontaneous conflict and I've had a couple people within the past two years abuse that and it took me a while to come to terms with the fact that unless you are within my close knit friend group I will not entertain battles or fights of any kind, not even spars. These past two years have been very shitty for me during my time and return to the RPC and I'm getting very selective.

ESPECIALLY after the Fuckening ™ earlier this year. This isn't about anyone following me currently or vice versa but it is 100% about a couple of folks I am no longer on speaking terms with. You can thank them for adding that nail into the coffin. I know I have a character that's very fightable but honestly I don't care. He's mine and mine to do with as I please. And this goes for all and future characters of mine. I'm sorry if that's upsetting or makes no sense but I want to explore other aspects of Alexander that isn't about how many asses he can beat or how many times he can get his ass handed to him. I've had him since 2014 and then some and he's more than a fucking punching bag for someone's hero muse to conquer or otherwise. Anyway, I'm very 'eh' with tumbler as is, the RPC in some way has been extremally exhausting and the only reason I haven't packed my shit and left is because I still want to write, I still got partners and friends here and I refuse to let people run me off. But I'm setting this clear and hard boundary and would like it respected. Thank you. Maybe somewhere down the line I'll loosen this rule up, but I'm still recovering from a abhorrent event on this site and I'm staying just comfortable in my little corner for the time being and minding my business.

[spicybeefnoodles]

'i choose you'

summary: kung lao has to remind fujin sometimes

warnings: suggestive at the end :)

Kung Lao was dating Fujin, and it made the Wind God’s heart sing knowing that Kung Lao warmed his bed every night. Sometimes, however, Fujin would feel the claws of jealousy grip onto his heart whenever he saw Liu Kang and Kung Lao talk with each other. They had a natural sort of ease and comfortability with each other that Kung Lao didn’t give to Fujin so easily. It made sense. Kung Lao had lived his entire life with Liu Kang at his side, and although Kung Lao had worshiped Fujin as a god, they hadn’t met until a few years ago and had only started dating recently.

Fujin watched with unnerving intensity as he watched Kung Lao and Liu Kang spar, the sand spraying into the air as they fought. The Wind God appreciated how Kung Lao’s muscles were on full display, glistening underneath a thin sheet of sweat. He didn’t appreciate it however when Liu Kang sweeped Kung Lao’s legs, causing the hat wielder to fall on his back, and sat down on Kung Lao’s lap and restrained his arms.

Fujin clenched his fist around the handle of his sword as the monk squirmed, trying to buck Liu Kang off his hips, but eventually he sighed and stopped struggling, and Liu Kang flashed the hat wielder an amused smirk.

“Geez, I yield.” Kung Lao groaned, his hands still restrained by Liu Kang’s. The fire wielder just laughed but stayed on his lap.

“I told you I would win.” Liu Kang boasted, and yet he still refused to get off of Kung Lao’s lap. Fujin felt the last threads of his patience snap, and he stalked through the fight pit and stood over the two. Kung Lao’s eyes immediately brightened, and he wiggled happily underneath Liu Kang’s hips.

The fire wielder quickly got off the other monk, and Kung Lao got up and threw himself onto Fujin, not really caring that he got sand all over the other’s robes. Fujin smiled, cradling the back of the monk’s head and bringing him in for a kiss.

Kung Lao sighed into the kiss, his eyes fluttering close, but Fujin kept his eyes open, glaring at Liu Kang who at least had the respect to look embarrassed. Eventually, the two separated, and Kung Lao hooked their arms together to take a walk around the compound to catch up, excited that his lover had come back after so long. The monk babbled on about something he and Liu Kang had discovered the other day, and Fujin scowled as Kung Lao kept on talking about the fire wielder. When they had passed by the sleeping quarters, Fujin took the lead and pushed them into Kung Lao’s room, surprising the other with his boldness.

“Fujin-” Kung Lao started but was cut off as the Wind God pushed their lips together roughly, tongue pushing at the monk’s lips. Kung Lao eagerly opened his mouth open, and they both groaned into the kiss. Kung Lao pushed Fujin against the wall, slotting one of his thick thighs between Fujin’s legs, and clutching tightly onto the Wind God. They kissed each other for a few minutes, fingers tangling into each other’s hair: Fujin tugged on Kung Lao’s short hair while Kung Lao tugged at the base of Fujin’s braid. They finally broke apart, a spit string connecting them and blushes darkening their skin.

“What spurred this on?” Kung Lao asked, and Fujin rested his head onto the monk’s shoulder, a little embarrassed to say the real reason he had brought Kung Lao into his bedroom.

“Oh, come one, you weren’t so shy a moment ago.” Kung Lao teased.

Fujin mumbled, “I wanted you to stop talking about Liu Kang.”

The monk raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he let out a deep laugh after a second. Fujin pursed his lips and kept his head buried in Kung Lao’s shoulder.

“I see now. You were jealous.” Kung Lao stated, and Fujin could tell he had on a shit-eating grin. “You have nothing to worry about, Fujin. He is like a brother to me. I have chosen you to be my partner, remember?”

Fujin nodded meekly against Kung Lao’s shoulder, and the monk tugged on the Wind God’s braid to force them to make eye contact.

“Words?” Kung Lao had a smug smirk on his face as Fujin grew more red.

“Yes, I understand.” Fujin whined, and Kung Lao smiled and brought them together to kiss again. The next day, when Kung Lao took off his shirt to spar with Liu Kang with Fujin watching in the stands, the fire wielder could only look upon the dark hickeys on his body and know that Kung Lao belonged to the Wind God.

[rwbyrambling]

(10/05/24) - V3E3: The Relationship Growth of Ruby and Weiss and the Dichotomy between Jacques and Winter Schnee

Hello to all my RWBY oomfs, and today, I’m doing a scene analysis of a clip from V3, E3, “It’s Brawl in the Family,” the episode where Qrow and Winter fight. While that fight is amazing and I love it, it is not the focus of this thread. Rather, I will be discussing the scene where Ruby and Weiss meet Winter. This scene had some little moments that I did not pick up on my first watch of the show about a year ago (yes, I am a much newer member of the FNDM), but upon a rewatch, I noticed a few key things I wanted to discuss, namely about the relationship between Weiss and Winter, as well as how the relationship between Weiss and Ruby has developed. This analysis will be relatively long, so I have decided to type this up in a Google Doc and post screenshots to Twitter with a brief summary in each tweet, in addition to the blog being on Tumblr. Whatever format you feel most comfortable with reading. This discussion does not work for a normal Twitter thread, so yeah. Let me know if you enjoy this format, and if not, I will make sure to try something different in the future.

The scene starts with Winter exiting her airship, flanked by Atlesian soldiers. The first noticeable part of this scene to me is the reaction from Weiss. Normally up to this point, we have seen Weiss as this prim and proper heiress. Everything to her has been about maintaining a sort of “mask” in public, where she only lets her guard down around those she is close to (which up to this point, is really only Team RWBY). She maintains a certain distance or haughtiness towards most others, especially around strangers. However, when she sees Winter has arrived, not only do we see a warm, genuine smile on Weiss’ face, which up to this point is a rarity…

What is even more rare than this is what happens after. Weiss at first gently says, “Winter…” before she then shouts her name again and runs towards her in open jubilation. To see Weiss openly display her happiness and emotions like this, especially in a public setting like this, is remarkable. And we can evidently see how surprising this is in Ruby’s expression. Ruby, the person who has consistently tried to earn Weiss’ approval and affection (with fluctuating degrees of success) and repeatedly claims to be Weiss’ “BFF” is utterly stunned at Weiss acting like this.

Her eyebrows are raised, her eyes are widened, and her mouth is agape. While Ruby knew that Weiss admired her sister, this scene to me shows Ruby an entirely different side of her partner. The more child-like, affectionate side of her, to where she drops her guard completely and just acts like a goofy little sister instead of a prideful heiress. However, to Ruby’s credit, she takes this shocking development in stride, and runs right after Weiss to meet Winter.

Now, here comes the main crux of this scene for me: the interaction between Weiss, Ruby, and Winter. Winter begins the conversation by asking how Weiss has been. In typical Beacon Weiss fashion, we see her smug aura activate and she begins gloating with practiced and complete ease. She is top of the sparring class, and all her studies are going well for her. Her posture seems entirely relaxed during this, and she is practically beaming as she’s bragging to her sister. Not anything like I would expect her to act if she was mentioning her accomplishments to her father, that's for sure.

Unfortunately for her, this is not what Winter wanted to hear, and she gives Weiss a good old fashioned bonk, which is strong enough to give her a nice old lump on the head. Now, when I was first watching this a year ago, my first reaction was one of sadness and a bit of anger, because it seemed like Weiss had yet another family member that wasn’t really interested in what was going on in her life, but only how it affected the Schnee name, like her father. At this point in the series, Weiss was not yet my favorite character, but she WAS incredibly close (in fact, the conversation and summoning scene with Winter not long after this was where Weiss was cemented as my favorite forever), so to see this at first was upsetting.

However, very quickly after this, we see that this initial reaction is vastly incorrect. Winter was not bonking Weiss out of a disinterest or cruelty. She was not asking “how have you been” like it was cheap small talk at some gala like her father would, and she was not bonking her for not maintaining a composed appearance and being a braggart, which I could also see her father scathing her for.

No, Winter bonked her because Weiss misunderstood her question. We see this with the following line: “I don’t recall asking about your ranking… I recall asking how you’ve been. Are you eating properly, have you taken up any hobbies, are you making new friends?” We then see Winter give Weiss a small but genuine warm smile. It is small but it IS there, like a more subdued version of the one from Weiss which began the scene. 

This shows that Winter is not really interested in how Weiss can benefit the SDC or the Schnees professionally, but shows that she is instead interested in her personally as her big sister. She is treating Weiss like a little sister instead of an object. While it may be fair to say that Winter is not treating Weiss as a true equal in this scene, it is more of a mentor/student and big sister/little sister dynamic instead of Winter truly treating her as an inferior, like her father would. It is a dynamic built around affection, not manipulation. Winter values her feelings and how she is doing… even if she has to do so in her own way because she’s still in public. Now, enough of the differences between Winter and Jacques for now. We should return to Ruby in this scene, since she hasn’t been mentioned in a while. Despite Weiss’ constant protests against Ruby claiming to be her BFF, Weiss instantly replies to Winter’s question about making friends: “Well, there’s Ruby.”

No hesitation. No shakiness in her voice. Weiss says it immediately and confidently. It may be just because Ruby is right there at that very moment, but I personally don’t see it that way. Weiss has spent so long up to this point trying to distance herself from others or putting up a haughty facade, but here, I think we see a glimpse of the truth. Weiss doesn't say, "oh, I haven't really met anyone I can tolerate," or "yeah, there was this Neptune guy at the dance that I like." She mentions Ruby. Weiss does genuinely see Ruby as her friend at this point and motions to her as such with a smile on her face. This, in turn, elicits a big goofy smile on Ruby’s face as well, creating a nice, warm scene. 

In addition, we get to see Ruby’s tendency to be affectionate with touch here. Ruby gently moves to push down the bonk bump on Weiss’ head. Weiss sees this and acknowledges it with a neutral expression, but does not do anything to stop Ruby from doing so. This to me represents a major shift from V1-2 Weiss to V3 Weiss. Early Beacon Weiss would show dismay or outright horror at the thought of Ruby touching her. The best example of this is in the gag scene in V2 after Weiss loses the board game, where Ruby and Weiss hug and Weiss says the famous “SHUT UP, DON’T TOUCH ME!” line. However, Weiss makes no effort to even pretend like she minds Ruby touching her. She accepts it. For someone as sharp-tongued and brutally honest as Beacon era Weiss, to me, her saying nothing at all speaks louder than most words ever could.

Ah… now comes the best damn part of this entire scene, and the main reason I made this thread: Weiss’ reaction to being touched. Ruby pushes down the bump on Weiss’ head, and this is where the neutral expression of hers fades. It is instead replaced by Weiss closing her eyes and smiling. I think you can have a lot of interpretations in regards to this scene from Weiss. You could say it is embarrassment. You could say it is happiness. You could say it is awkwardness. 

Me personally? I say it is a mix of all three. To me, this is one of the earliest signs of the viewer seeing Weiss for who she truly is: the adorkable cinnamon roll that we all know and love. If you just showed the above picture to someone who knew nothing about RWBY and asked them who the silly one in the scene would be, they probably couldn’t answer you with confidence because they BOTH look like absolute dorks. As RWBY fans, we obviously know at this point that one character is way more of a dork than the other, but here, we see Weiss’ facade fade, if but for a moment, and see the dork underneath her exterior come out.  However, I do think there is another layer to this scene besides the relationship growth between Weiss and Ruby. While this warm scene by itself would be meaningful to me, I think what makes it actually important is where it happened: in front of Winter. The woman who, at the very least, is Weiss’ most important mentor, and at most, is someone that Weiss outright idolizes (to be honest, I fall more on the latter side of that dichotomy, but think that Weiss tries to downplay it a bit more due to wanting to maintain her pride in public. On the inside, I think Weiss is a total Winter fangirl and we see this slip at points, like her defending Winter after Ruby says Qrow kicked her butt.)

I think it’s significant Weiss lets her guard down around Ruby here because of how much she values Winter’s opinion of her. What Winter thinks of her means a lot to Weiss. So… when Weiss says Ruby is her friend and lets Ruby act like a dork with her, it’s like Weiss is saying to Winter: “I trust her. I feel safe around her. I have grown to like her in ways I didn’t expect. Perhaps we aren’t so different after all. Your first impression of her may not be the best, but I promise you that this is someone I have grown to see as a friend. So yes, to answer your question: I am doing well, and I am making new friends.”

I doubt it needs to be said, but this also shows yet another major difference between Winter and Jacques. Jacques would not even remotely care about Weiss making friends, unless they could benefit the Schnee Dust Company. He would find Ruby’s behavior and dorkiness utterly repulsive, and he would berate Weiss for acting like a fool, especially in a public setting. Winter, on the other hand, does not care, and instead decides to quip Ruby by saying she is “appropriately… underwhelming.” We openly see later on how much Winter genuinely does love and care for Weiss, but we can see great hints of it in this scene that can definitely go unnoticed on a first watch.

However, this is not a malicious statement from Winter, but rather one meant to fluster Ruby (which works very well as Ruby responds with a very half-hearted and sheepish “thank you”). Winter shows how she truly feels about the relationship between the two right after when she says, “I wish to thank you for taking an interest in my sister.” Even if she may not personally care for Ruby, she can tell from the little bit of mannerisms and interaction between the two that this is someone Weiss has grown to care about and see as a friend. Her fears are assuaged: Weiss will be just fine at Beacon, because she has people there to care for her and help support her.

And of course, we get to end this nice and wholesome scene that has a lot you can take from it in the span of like, 30 seconds, with Ruby acting like a complete and total fool trying to impress Winter. She does a little curtsy and then almost trips over her own feet. Typical Ruby! But, again, I think even this small gag moment can show something interesting, because it shows that Ruby also cares about how Winter perceives her. There are two parts to this, in my opinion: Ruby may to some extent care about Winter’s opinion directly, but more likely, I think that she wants to impress her since she is Weiss’ sister. Even though she humiliates herself, she doesn’t care because it’s worth trying to impress someone very important to Weiss… because Weiss has become very important to her. If you have made it this far, thank you for reading. To be honest, when I had the thought of doing this discussion of this scene, I figured it would be a bit long. This long, however, was a surprise to even me. It took me about 50 minutes to type all of this up while listening to random video game OSTs on Spotify, so I hope you enjoyed the read! Look forward to more in the future. I would also love if any of you guys had a specific WR or Weiss scene you would like analyzed from the first 3 volumes. You can request me to do so, and I happily would. You can even make requests not related to them; it's just that those two topics are my bread and butter. Because I have not finished V3 on my rewatch, I feel I would be much worse at analyzing scenes from V4 onwards, so for now, I would only like to analyze Beacon moments. Thank you! Long live Weiss Schnee and the glorious White Rose. While I am a multishipper and not a toxic shipper by any means, this pairing is definitely one of my all-time favorites, as evidenced by how much I am able to gush about it. I hope you enjoyed my ramblings. That, and the fact these are three of my favorite characters in the entire show helps. Let me know if you have any thoughts on this scene! (And right as I finish typing this up, “Winter’s Gift” from the V8 OST comes on Youtube mix! What are the chances!)

[tiny-breadcrumbs]

I think Nanyin royalty AU will be a wild power struggle. Full of cutthroat unhinged conspiracy and backstabbing left and right.

1. There is the mild mannered and quite sickly crown prince Li Xiangxian. But no, this is not about him, let that man enjoy his peace.

2. This is about the martial arts genius second prince, Li Xiangyi. That typical imperial brother who lead jurisdiction part of the palace, and basically the strongest fortress in front of the well-loved crown prince.

3. Rumor has said Li Xiangyi learn from the elusive master Qi Mushan since the very young age and inherited the famous yangzhouman.

4. The crown prince, true to his soft hearted nature, once saved a young kid and bring him back to be his little brother study partner. That kid will grown up as Shan Gudao

5. On the side, as a cousin part of the throne is the Jiao family who acted as a door keeper to Nanyin more mystical artefact. The daughter of that family is one who born with ambition to rule and eyes for the crown. She play so many tangled thread behind the palace wall.

6. Shan Gudao is someone that has been planted by that family to keep an eye about the inner court. Greed will blown his ego out of proportion and later he will joined Jiao Liqiao in her coup.

7. Qiao Wanmian is an administrative agent that work under Li Xiangyi. A capable woman that everyone think will marry in as a princess consort. But she know better than to step into court politic.

8. The palace actually in correspondence with Tianji Hall about their mechanism and exchanging knowledge about trap room blue print. The second prince find their young master a cute kid and take a liking to him but unable to get too close because He Xiaohui kept him in a polite (wary) distance.

9. The Jiao family regularly purchasing teenager from Di Fortress under the palace order to make a soldiers. Unbeknown to the inner court, only half the kid ended up in the military camp while the other half being used as a lab rat for the new technique they developed.

10. Di Feisheng is one of those that climb high enough to be stationed practically as a bodyguard for Li Xiangyi. But its not like Li Xiangyi need a bodyguard at first so he make Di Feisheng as his sparring partner more often than not.

11. Somewhere along that, the comfortable nickname of A-Fei begin to stick.

12. Sometimes when investigating near the border, where people doesn't really care of fear the court, Li Xiangyi will use the name Lianhua, a mere travelling merchant with his servant A-Fei (who always scare the shit out everyone with his glare).

13. Li Xiangyi with all his brilliance, once trust people so easily with naive innocence to see good. Thus unable to sniff the first step of rebellion brewing near the inner court.

14. The height of the conflict started when Yun Biqiu, one of Li Xiangyi men, fall for the sweet tongue of the Princess. From there on, poison and slander flying around here and there in a broad daylight. Creating chaos from the inside. A first step into the descend of the dynasty.

15. Fang Duobing left his wheelchair behind and grow stronger. He start to exchange a monthly secret letter with the second prince.

16. The flag of rebellion reach their highest when the fight occur in the inner palace. Many live lost that day and the second prince gone missing after poisoned by his own subordinate.

17. Di Feisheng got tangled up in the neatly orchestrated spot to make him look like he is on Jiao Liqiao side. A small mercy, said the princess, because I want him.

18. Li Xiangyi unfortunately believe that.

19. It is with a burning rage and thirst for revenge a letter came into Di Feisheng hand. And he know enough of his prince penmanship to rush as fast as a lightning to the east sea. He came to retrive and protect the prince. Not knowing the man will ask for his head. Nor expect the prince will not see where his loyalty has been placed long ago.

20. Only weeks later, Tianji Hall will receive the news and proceed to cut ties with the new court. Fang Duobing never receive that month reply from Li Xiangyi.

--

00. This maybe end in the east sea to close the chapter of power struggle and start a new book of quack doctor Li Lianhua from Jianghu. Who knows. Certainly not the people in Nanyin. Not Jiao Liqiao either.

[lemon-grey]

Tagged by @omgkalyppso - thank you!!

Rules: Link a few recent pieces of writing that I think best define me/my aesthetic/my personality.

What I like writing most: grief and moving past it; boys pining about each other’s pretty eyes

—

“To the Sun, to the Ground” - FE3H; ferdibert; 2k words

The rain was chilly and Hubert was instantly soggy; his cape hung on him with the additional weight of so much water, and he grimaced at the sensation of his cold, wet hair plastered against his face. He’d only been standing in the rain for a few moments, but he already felt the cold seeping through his skin to his bones, making his hands ache. He shivered involuntarily as he stood there, rigid and unmoving.

Beside him, Ferdinand threw his head back and laughed wildly at the sky. He, too, was soaked through, with his hair clinging to his neck and back, and something peculiar and frivolous stirred in Hubert’s chest at the sight.

—

“Before the Dawn” - FE Engage; zelgetsu; 25k words

(I’ll always be so proud of this one)

Kagetsu reached out from beneath his blanket to grab Zelkov’s hand. He threaded their fingers together carefully as he said, “I am not trying to make you cornered again. I only want to be your friend.”

His hands were cold.

His breath, so close to Zelkov’s neck, was hot.

Zelkov squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

“I think we are friends,” he said after a long pause, and he meant it. As much as anyone was his friend, Kagetsu certainly was.

A friend.

A fellow retainer.

(A man who was sitting very, very close and breathing warm against his skin and smelling like smoke and steel and soap and gazing up at him with firelight in his eyes—)

A sparring partner.

Someone he could almost trust.

—

“Navigating” - Pokemon SwSh; RaiLeon; 20k words

(Probably my favorite thing I’ve ever written! I still look back on this fic like “what do you mean this came out of me???”)

Raihan sighed. “I can still smell the blood,” he said quietly. “There was so much. I thought he was dead. And then I went over to him and he wasn’t dead, so I thought I was going to watch him die.” He tensed. He’d never said that last part aloud before.

The therapist waited.

“And then for weeks I kept thinking I was going to wake up and have a phone call telling me he was gone. But none of that happened, so it’s really fucking stupid for me to still be this upset.” Raihan gritted his teeth, punctuating his words with a few slams of his fist against the loveseat’s cushion as all his frustration reached its boiling point.

[iragnidei]

we are so glad to see you safe, HIGH KING FAOLAN of SCOTLAND! it’s dangerous out in the world these days, but i hear that you are ANALYTICAL and DEVOTED enough to handle it. just don’t let your VICIOUSNESS bring you down! stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out YOU ARE THE BASTARD SON OF THE LATE KING, AND NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN IN LINE OF SUCCESSION.

FULL NAME: Faolán Alistair Stuart.

NICKNAMES & ALIASES: Corvo is the alias he adopts while going undercover. Ali is reserved for close relations, but not very commonly used.

TITLES & OCCUPATION: High King of Scotland, Army Colonel.

BIRTHDAY: 20th of January.

ORIENTATION: homosexual.

STATUS: unwed.

LANGUAGES SPOKEN: arabic, english, french, german, japanese, latin, mandarin, norwegian, scottish.

TRAITS: resourceful, observant, secretive, passionate, relentless, stubborn, distrusting.

MORAL COMPASS: chaotic neutral.

INTERESTS: sword fighting, psychology, war strategies, reading, horseback riding, botany.

TROPES: aloof big brother, berserk button, child soldier, deadpan snarker, death seeker, genius bruiser, hitman with a heart, knight in sour armor, shell-shocked veteran, sugar and ice personality.

WHAT THE PEOPLE KNOW

Faolán was the first child of the Scottish royal family, after many attempts to conceive a child. He was lauded by the people as a sign of good fortune, and received only the best a noble upbringing could give.

His introverted but reasonable nature gave him good standing with the kingdom, and Faolán was always appreciated for his cultured ideas and politeness. He was a good representative and, above all, a member of the royal family the people could trust.

When The Reckoning occurred, he seemed to be one of the only people to remain level-headed, which elevated his status in the eyes of the monarchies worldwide. He was one of the first to enforce the idea of a settlement between the four siblings.

THE TRUTH

Faolán is a bastard child of the late King. He was hastily adopted, to the dismay of the Queen, since the uproar for an heir was starting to grow unbearable.

Even though his siblings were only born many years after, Faolán’s position was always one he had to fight for. His father insisted on early military training, which resulted in many scars and wounds. He was raised mostly as a child soldier, fit to be a spy and to execute the dirty deeds the remainder of the royal family could not.

The rules were always different for Faolán, and most were led to believe it was all because he needed to be an example. The truth, however, was always much darker. The man deeply resents the late King and Queen, although no one is aware of just how much. At this point, Faolán doesn’t care much about the standing of the Kingdom: the trained part of his brain wishes to see it thrive, while the agony in his chest desires to burn it down to a crisp.

THE THREADS THAT BIND

Army buddies, please! Faolan was a pain in the ass and very much obsessed with honing his skills, but he was a good partner to rely on. In the same vein, sparring partners!

I think it'd be quite funny if a woman tried to get with him before realizing he was a raging home of sexual with too many repressed emotions, and a friendship bloomed from there.

Childhood best friends, just 'cause I'm a sucker for the trope.

Allies from Scotland that always sensed something was odd, especially considering Faolan's weird treatment by the royal family.

Intimate friend or confidante. Faolan is not very close to people in general, but no man is an island.

A betrothal that had been arranged by the late King but Faolan broke off simply because he couldn't be bothered to marry.

Past targets or something similar. Faolan could've gotten closer simply because his father wished for intel, and the friendship could've been then abandoned or flourished.

[denimbex1986]

'...After graduating from RADA, Waller-Bridge watched her fellow alumni rise up the theater and film ranks while she scrambled to get work. She made her proper stage debut in the 2009 play Roaring Trade, where she sparred with Fleabag’s future Hot Priest, Andrew Scott. “I remember her being immediately charismatic and extremely comedically gifted—just a really courageous sort of person,” Scott says, his voice full of affection. “I remember her talking about these ideas of the way theater should be, and it was really obvious to me that she wasn’t just going to be satisfied with just being an actor, you know?”

The solution was DryWrite, a fringe theater company she had founded in 2007 with her friend Vicky Jones, who would go on to direct the stage version of Fleabag. “Vicky really lit that flame again,” Waller-Bridge says. “I just felt like I could make her laugh—she really reveled in the naughtier, more mischievous, less put-together perfect presentation of a person. We used to really, really love mucking around with that in our theater company.” Scott describes “incredibly fun, raucous evenings” at DryWrite where Waller-Bridge and company experimented with outrage, humor, and vulnerability.

A few of the characters that she developed onstage ended up being corralled for her first television series, Crashing, about six young friends living in a London squat. The flirtatious, foul-mouthed, and grief-soaked character that became Fleabag also emerged in those years. Transformed into a one-woman play, it won awards at the 2013 Edinburgh Festival Fringe, which triggered a cascade of opportunities: a supporting role in the series Broadchurch alongside Olivia Colman and the chance to create Crashing, Fleabag, and Killing Eve.

All three of those shows prickle with sexual electricity—particularly Fleabag, which opens with Waller-Bridge’s character having anal sex. (Her partner is thrilled that she can accommodate his plentitude, which causes her to confess to the camera, “You spend the rest of the day wondering: Do I have a massive asshole?”) Asked about the undercurrent of grief and loss threading through all these series, Waller-Bridge says she doesn’t quite know how to account for it, except that grief is the thing that most scares her. “I already feel it for the people I love in my life who are still alive,” she says. “I think I write about what I’m frightened of, maybe in a therapeutic way.” She also loves tackling emotions that unnerve the rest of us. Of pitching ideas to Vicky Jones and another close collaborator, Jenny Robins: “They say, ‘That’s heartbreaking. She can’t do that!’ Then I’m like, ‘Excellent! If it’s upset you guys that much, that’s the one.’ ”...

Speaking about Waller-Bridge’s gifts as a storyteller, Scott compares her to the host of a dinner party who leads guests gently through the evening: “Her hands are on the smalls of their back and it feels like, ‘Okay, this is my party, and I want to make sure you have fun, so let me introduce you, first of all, to the bar. And here’s a handsome stranger….’ Audiences love to gasp and they like truth as well. And I think Phoebe’s able to juggle all those things because of her enormous brain, but also because of her enormous heart.” He pauses. “I’ve just found her to be incredibly thoughtful and fun—and just good at life. She’s good at life!”...'

[shvdwscng]

there  was  only  a  certain  level  of  frankness  spymasters  were  allowed,  therefore  the  winter  fae  would  not  deny  she'd  used  the  very  tactic  before  to  obtain  what  she  wanted,  if  she  had  no  other  choice,  but  certainly  not  something  she  enjoyed.  she  was  curious  to  see  how  this  one  worked,  and  she  supposed  she  would  learn  in  due  time.  it  certainly  made  her  cautious,  that  she  would  have  to  thread  carefully,  he  might  have  been  a  former  scholar  but  those  piercing  hazel  hues  of  his  were  equally  deceptive.  for  all  the  flirting  lailah  had  done,  all  of  which  had  been  genuine  because  of  how  well  he  responded,  she  planned  to  behave,  as  did  she  didn't  want  to  give  anyone  a  show.  she  was  a  spymaster  after  all,  and  had  a  reputation  to  maintain.  she  suspected  daxton  would  agree.  "well,  since  my  ruse  has  been  discovered.  i  will  say,  i  had  that  very  intention."  while  she's  certain  he  did  find  her  appealing,  she  did  not  think  for  a  moment  he'd  let  his  guard  down  yet,  he  would  not  so  easily  be  given  his  current  role  if  he  was  not  careful.  she  could  not  remember  the  last  time  she  had  enjoyed  flirting  with  someone,  though  a  lot  of  the  appeal  was  because  this  summer  spy  had  a  sliver  tongue  and  a  sense  of  humor.  it  also  didn't  hurt  that  he  was  too  pretty  to  look  at,  and  dancing  with  him  was  equally  an  enjoyable  time.  "working  with  our  high  rulers  does  not  grant  us  the  ability  to  be  so  trusting  of  those  outside  of  our  inner  circle."  she  murmured,  "however,  i  also  find  it  hard  to  believe  most  are  not  interested  in  you  personally.  you've  made  a  reputation  for  yourself,  dear  summer  lord,  i  cannot  imagine  you've  left  broken  hearts  over  agendas  beyond  matters  of  the  heart."  did  she  know  for  certain?  not  entirely,  she  would  not  know  how  his  affairs  ended,  by  him  or  the  other  person.  still  her  latter  words  of  him  were  not  entirely  far  fetched,  but  she  did  understand  why  he  didn't  not  grow  close  to  anyone  seriously.  "i  will  let  you  decide  which  one  you  think  i  fall  into."  she  adds  with  a  tender  smile,  but  every  bit  as  sincere  as  she  appraised  him  with  a  pique  of  curiosity.  "well,  certainly,  do  you  know  how  hard  it  is  to  find  dance  partners  who  do  not  step  on  your  feet?  especially  when  you're  surrounded  by  tipsy  bodies.  a  lady  only  wishes  for  a  steadfast  partner  who  will  move  with  her  as  an  equal."  the  words  entirely  sincere,  then  there  was  the  fact  that  some  also  took  far  too  many  liberties  with  their  hands.

"not  entirely,  i  will  not  understand  the  joy  you  find  with  them.  peace?  certainly,  more  than  you  think.  though  i  can  understand  the  comfort  and  familiarity  you  find  with  your  books.  they  are  another  form  of  companions.  people,  family  or  not,  disappoint  us  far  more  than  anything  else."  what  her  own  discovery  had  found  about  his  home  life,  she  had  no  doubt  he  found  peace  in  the  corners  of  libraries  than  anywhere  else.  as  a  child  making  friends  was  already  daunting,  and  it  was  why  lailah  had  spent  hers  learning  the  art  of  combat.  her  mother  had  all  but  tarnished  her  confidence  as  a  little  girl,  so  speaking  to  the  other  children  was  never  something  she  dared  unless  they  approached  her.  "i've  had  extra  time  here,  so  certainly.  come  find  me  when  your  high  lady  can  spare  you,  i'm  curious  to  see  what  a  book  worm  has  learned  so  far."  sparring  with  him  was  certainly  something  she  was  looking  forward  to,  now  he  was  not  helpless,  he'd  have  to  have  skills  to  defend  himself  at  the  bare  minimum,  it  was  only  the  wise  thing  to  do.  the  training  room  had  always  been  lailah's  element,  the  one  place  that  she  had  no  doubts  of  on  anything,  once  aspect  she  could  control.  lailah  wasn't  certain  why  her  body  responded  this  way,  to  his  closeness,  or  why  she  noticed  how  pleasing  his  scent  was,  that  absolutely  resembled  the  sun  and  sea.  while  it  was  definitely  a  valid  response  to  a  beautiful  man  who  held  her  with  such  grace  and  confidence,  it  was  fascinating  how  his  each  action  to  bring  her  closer  had  her  move  towards  him  without  her  permission.  she  did  not  think,  she  simply  moved  towards  him  as  if  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  to  do.  her  hand  rising  to  brush  the  strand  of  his  hair  was  also  something  she'd  done  on  whim,  and  the  prickling  sensation  of  a  soft  current  when  their  skin  touched  certainly  left  her  surprised  and  curious.  "i  have  varying  definitions  based  on  the  individual  i  am  facing  and  you  are  both  one  and  not,  but  I  do  not  mind  the  latter.  I  will  be  honest,  this  is  the  first  time  a  man  has  propositioned  me."  her  dark  gaze  twinkled  in  amusement,  though  she  did  reveal  just  enough  interest  for  him.  she  was  sure  the  way  she  pressed  against  him  said  enough,  "as  i  am."  it  is  why  she  had  not  taken  him  on  his  offer,  and  while  lailah  wasn't  certain  if  he  was  waiting  for  an  invitation  to  her  bedchambers,  it  was  not  one  she  handed  out  so  easily.  "i  am  eager  enough,  but  i  hardly  know  you,  so  we  might  be  wise  exercising  patience  for  a  time.  i  hope  you  do  not  take  that  as  a  doubt  on  my  interestof  you."  idly,  she  did  wish  to  see  just  how  patient  he  could  or  the  extent  of  his  interest,  "until  then,  I  will  be  enjoying  getting  to  you  know."  that  wasn't  a  lie,  he  did  pique  her  curiosity.  she  could  do  her  duty  towards  her  court  and  spend  time  with  him.  "too  well."  she  tosses,  chuckling  along  with  him.  "and  I,  you."  a  pause,  "how  long  do  you  think  this  thing  intends  to  hold  us?"

"  it  depends  on  who  you  are  speaking  to,  i  suppose.  "  daxton  relents.  he  only  did  such  things  for  fun,  to  poke  at  people  and  get  a  rise  out  of  them.  the  spymaster  never  did  such  things  to  tarnish  another's  word  or  use  it  against  them  in  a  hateful  way.  he  may  be  getting  along  with  lailah  just  fine,  but  she  wouldn't  see  the  more  playful  side  of  him  just  yet.  a  slight  shrug  graces  his  shoulders,  he  finds  that  people  learn  far  more  with  their  own  eyes  than  ears,  and  he  wonders  just  what  lailah  might  think  of  him  in  his  rawest  state.  would  she  even  ever  truly  see  it  ?  likely  not.  daxton  may  be  friendly  and  charming,  but  he  was  still  guarded.  he  was  a  spymaster  now,  it  was  required  and  he  was  certain  the  spy  of  winter  would  attest  to  the  same  need.  "  you'll  have  to  keep  spending  time  with  me  then,  my  lady.  "  certainly  that  behavior  would  not  come  out  now  while  they  graced  the  dance  floor,  bodies  moving  as  if  they  had  been  dancing  together  for  centuries.  their  words  parried  back  and  forth,  and  the  music  lead  them  on  quite  the  journey.  daxton  didn't  give  himself  much  credit  to  any  of  it,  dancing  with  a  beautiful  woman  skilled  in  words  and  steps  was  easy,  a  breath  of  air  that  he  simply  carried  away  with.  her  question  lifts  his  brow,  and  dax's  answer  comes  easily.  "  i  haven't  experienced  many  people  simply  trying  to  know  me  for  their  own  desires,  without  a  hidden  agenda  to  speak  of.  "  he  was  raised  alongside  the  summer  nobles,  lived  in  the  palace  grazing  the  shores  of  adriata.  dax  was  raised  to  be  cautious,  careful  of  those  he  trusted.  "  that  is  because  you're  obviously  captivated  with  my  dancing  skills.  "  he  teases,  but  he  knew  why  she  didn't  pull  away.  lailah  was  trying  to  figure  him  out  just  as  he  was  her.  

"  it  is  quite  a  shared  interest  amongst  the  profession.  "  he  says  with  a  small  chuckle,  trying  to  remain  in  a  good  mood.  "  articulation  and  understanding  are  two  different  sides  of  the  coin.  i  could  explain  why  i  love  books  so  much  but  it  might  not  translate  to  another.  reading  tucked  away  into  the  library  was  my  safe  space,  many  happy  hours  spent  curled  up  where  no  one  would  find  me.  it  was  a  type  of  peace  only  a  child  might  obtain.  "  he  doesn't  really  go  into  how  he  didn't  wish  to  be  found,  how  he  would  avoid  his  father  and  only  appear  for  meal  times  if  he  couldn't  get  something  from  the  kitchens  on  his  own.  these  things  were  reserved  for  his  own  mind,  not  anothers.  dax's  brow  raises,  and  he's  hardly  surprised  to  hear  her  love  of  sharp  objects.  "  perhaps  you  ought  to  show  me  what  that  time  taught  you  sometime.  "  he  didn't  really  spar  often,  but  dax  wasn't  helpless  either.  he'd  learned  enough  to  get  by  so  he  might  not  be  in  trouble  should  a  situation  arise.  he  imagined  lailah  was  far  more  skilled,  and  was  genuinely  interested  in  seeing  it.  especially  when  it  contrasted  to  the  done  up  spymaster  in  his  arms  at  present.  daxton's  flirting  had  been  mostly  harmless  this  far,  but  pushing  the  line  was  always  something  he  would  do.  when  lailah  didn't  slap  him  or  pull  back,  but  in  fact  pulled  him  even  closer,  he  couldn't  help  but  feel  a  thrill  of  excitement.  the  spymaster  wasn't  certain  what  he  was  having  more  fun  with,  their  physical  dance  or  the  verbal  one.  the  trail  of  her  fingertips  against  his  skin  leaves  a  tingle,  one  that  interests  him  further.  "  that  entirely  depends  on  what  you  consider  a  gentleman.  "  he  points  out.  he  was  hardly  a  selfish  lover.  a  chuckle  slips  from  his  lips  as  he  pulls  her  in,  timed  with  her  lean.  "  i  was  enjoying  our  dance.  "  it  wasn't  untrue.  "  though  if  you're  eager,  do  feel  free  to  whisk  me  away  to  your  bedchambers,  my  lady.  "  he  doesn't  expect  her  to.  "  perhaps  i  hide  my  upset  well.  "  he  teases  back.  "  should  we  be  freed,  i  shall  write  to  you  to  come  visit.  "

[hibiscusseaart]

Galra courting and relationships

Hey, I decided to make a whole article about it to get everything in one place and not just a twitter thread.

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of ruts, heats, a/b/o dynamics. Mention of almost non-con (nothing happens, but if that triggers you, I put a warning before that paragraph). Includes some of half-altean Lance hcs.

Galra counting in the nutshell: Klance relationships at the start (s. 1-2). Really competitive, rival-like, fighting all the time. Galra believe that every strong relationships starts with a hint of hate at first (kismesis *cough*)

A bit biology for the start: I consider galra, like humans, have two different sexes. One which can fertilize, one which bears kits. But it's okay for them to have same sex relationships. Couples like that considered to be one of the best nannies and every pack with kits wants at least one same sex couple with them. They're the best nannies cuz they usually don't have their own kits (if they didn't find or stole one (yeah that happens)), so have more time on them, but have all the urges to care for a kit. Unmated galra usually don't have interest in kits much.

For galra it's important that their mate would be able to protect them and their kits. And it's not only "males should protect", no, females also strive for their own strength. They need to be strong in case something happens to their mate and they need to tend them and take care of their kits. But it's hard so that's why they prefer to have a pack before having kits.

So ideally both galra should be equally strong for each other. If they are, they're considered as perfect mates. If one mate is much stronger than the other, then they're can be seen like they're using the weak one. Also the weaker one can be seen as lazy or shady.

In general, out of courting, galra fight each other a lot. It's the way they build their status and hierarchy in society (like alpha, omega and that shit, but without mpreg lol). Tho, being just strong isn't enough, they also have to be smart too, but it's a bit less important. No one listens to you if you’re weak, but smart. So weak galra search for some stronger friends or a pack (but not mates as I mentioned before) who can help them to make others listen.

Yeah, talking about a/b/o things. Galra aren't very emotional species. But they can understand other's mood with body language and scents. Keith got that part in him. He may be considered as an autistic human, but perfectly normal and even really emphatic galra.

Unmated galra show off their scent any way they can, so they can find someone who likes it and they try to start courting. Though, don’t be mistaken with abo pheromones and their sweet scents. Galra sweat and stink like humans. For some this scent would be too strong and disgusting, for others it’s sexy as hell.

When two galra like each other’s scents, they start to fight a lot, mostly physically, but a good banter is welcome, cuz it keeps relationships interesting. If one of them is weaker, the other can offer to help them. It's part of their flirt to ask to spar together and help with training.

So when they satisfied with each other they can have their final battle, sometimes with their family watching. Galra don't have weddings, though this battle can be considered as one. It's important for them to get a tie, but to show their best and not to hold back.

But it's not a must and not most of galra follow that tradition. The battle is mostly for warriors or high-status commanders. Usually galra satisfied with play-fights and just get closer as romantic partners with time.

When it's done, the pair is starting a serious relationship. And it's final. Galra mate for life and won't look at anyone else until their partner dies.

So, galra romance. They bite. A lot. They can kiss, cuddle at later stages of courting, but bites are saved only for mates. Also, they fall in love only when they are close to be mates and for them love at fist sight doesn't exist. But crush at the first fight? Hell yeah.

When they're mates, galra start to scent each other. They have big gland at the nape of hair (yeah, where the mullet is), lil glands near ear and jaw, armpits, between fingers and at their groin. So yeah a lof of places. It's important for them to smell as their mate. Scenting each other can bring them a lof of comfort and helps to de-stress.

If one is known to be mated, but doesn't smell like their mate (like after the shower or just sweated a lot) and just smell like themselves, they can be considered as a whore, who's trying to lure others with their scent.

It's mostly social thing, they don't have any instincts about it, but bc of that mated galra prefer to smell like their mate, perfume or not to smell like anything at all. Close analogy would be our rings after a wedding. Better to be there, but if not then sheesh, why are you trying to hide that you’re married?

So yeah, if you're mated galra, you better not to be smelly. But bc of that they're quite neat and thoughtful about their hygiene.

After galra mate and start regularly to scent each other, they go into the 2d puberty. Before that their body considered as a teen one. That means: not yet fully developed at their full potential and really low libido. But don't not mistake them as human teens, galra brain is almost done developing and they act adult. Though galra prefer to be mated sooner than later.

2d puberty is about starting to even have a libido and have it high, being with their mate a lot and growing larger and stronger. Also they start to have regular cycles of heats and ruts (3-5 days per 2-3 months). That's the only time when they can have a kit. Cycles are usually synchronized but if not, it can be helped with meds.

The first heats and ruts are really like in the messiest a/b/o fics, but with time and when the puberty ends, it's mellowing down and they're quite ok to control themselves and even go to work at this time (but it mostly depends on their own biology. Halves don’t have it that strong like pure-bloods). They're attracted only to their mate after all so no one really cares. The only problem is not to smell around much.

So yeah the first few years are the "honeymoon" years, when the pair have much more higher chance to have a kit if they’re common male/female pair. Same sex couples would get an urge to care for children of their pack or any baby they find.

Though even with that they're quite okay to leave their mate for long periods of time. It's caused by their evolution. Ancient galra would separate with their mate to find food for quite long time. But they are still okay with being around a lot and living together, they just don't miss each other much, don't long to be together all the time. They're quite fine knowing that the mate is alive and maybe some text messages or video calls would be good.

So separation anxiety can be ok only for kits and their parents. And openly missing your mate after like 1 week of separation would get you strange looks from galra.

That's why Krolia left her mate so easily. But it was harder for her to leave her kit (plus Keith was MUCH weaker than usual galra kit and Krolia had a lot of anxiety bc of that). Parents are much more hesitant to leave their kit even with other parent or members of their pack. Galra are very caring parents and prefer to have their kits with them most of the time. Zarkon is quite a deviant here.

So Keith and Lance would deffinetly get strange looks and Krolia would be concerned cuz "It's unhealthy to depend on each other so much". For galra their relationships would look like that annoying couple who shares accounts and goes EVERYWHERE together and are miserable and check their phone 100 times per second to see if they send them a new message.

Oh, about jealousy and cheating. Galra usually don't cheat at all, they don't have hook ups or something like that, they're extremely loyal. The problem lays with the other species who don't mate for life. If they do, galra can easily be turned into crazy yanderes and would try to remove "the problem" and get their mate back to them. Or if the mate tries to "break up", heartbroken, they can kill them and end their relationships once and for all. Yeah, they are dramatic.

Getting back to Klance.

Basically Keith and Lance already married and Keith is a REALLY jealous partner. But, we’re gonna start from the beginning.

Keith was fucking SURE that Lance was flirting with him from the day 1, but he didn't really done much with it because:

a) Lance should prove himself first;

b) Keith's shy. It's the first time when a cute boy flirts with him just in the right way after all! But that what he thinks, on Earth people were constantly flirting with him, but it went right over his head.

So when they got together, oh boy, they are fucking inseparable. Keith would cling to Lance like his life depends on it, but would be really shy at first. But when he got over it, Keith would start to bite Lance A LOT and to scent him like a mad man. Keith have smaller glands, he doesn't have a big gland oh his nape, but a few smaller ones there and near jaw, also usual ones everywhere else. But because his glands are smaller, his scent is weaker and it takes more time to build up his scent on Lance.

He always cuddles Lance when they have time and rub his face all over him. Lance is like "ok that's prob some keitn/galra (depends when they started dating) thing" and just reading something or play with his phone while Keith rubbing his face on his neck, biting it and purring the whole time.

i've got a fanart of Keith scenting Lance! thank you!!

One time Lance went to breakfast with almost fully purple-blue neck.

The team obviously panics.

"WTF DID SOMETHING BITE YOU ON THE LAST PLANET??"

"Nah, the 'thing' that bit me is hiding in his room"

"What"

"Well, Keith BETTER be sorry and embarrassed, it fucking hurts!"

Coran let Lance use a pod for 10 mins. Keith was hiding for the rest of the day.

Also Keith’s possessive af and jealous of every alien who looks at Lance the wrong way. Keith doesn't really know why he acts like that and he almost thinks that he's going crazy. But once they meet some friendly galra (or maybe Krolia) they explain to him that he's going through 2d puberty and it's only starting.

(Non-con mention here)

Yeah, Keith is actually starting to go crazy with his high ass libido and first ruts. At first, Lance is amused and quite horny too so it's perfect for him. Though, it wasn't really fun, when Keith tried to get into Lance’s pants with force once cuz his dumb hormone brain thought that Lance is playing and not trying to get Keith off. But Lance is quite capable to wrestle him down. If he didn't Keith wouldn't even got interested at the first place.

(Okay you're good now)

They talk and discuss their limits and it's quite okay next. Though Keith would deffinetly get this "I’m a monster" mindset for some time after what happened. It would take time to get comfortable with this kind of thing, cuz first ruts are quite brutal.

I won't go into any details with galra anatomy here, but Keith deffinetly have a knot (though it's not big due to human half of his biology). Lance sure is scared of that, cuz they don't have anything for this kind of sex in space, plus Lance didn't do anal before. So they stick with other activities for some time. Though who knows what they'd do next. In his rut Keith doesn't care if he's the one giving or receiving, the important thing is orgasms.

With his mate and time Keith starts growing a bit faster than in canon. He got grizzled much faster and Lance's LOVING it. Before Keith had a "teen" body, like almost none body hair. Guess what now. He can grow purple beard (he doesn't cuz it looks dumb) and has hairy legs, arms, chest. For him it's uncomfortable, just he lived without it quite fine, thank you. He prob would like to get it removed lol (Lance's against it cuz hairy bf hot and sexy).

In contrast Lance doesn't have hair on his body at all cuz of his altean heritage. Alteans, like an advanced race, just removed that shit from their DNA.

Oh, funny thing: Galran word for "mate" translates on altean as "life-partner" and that thing translates on english as "husband/wife".

Imagine the team surprise when on some meeting with Blades Keith just casually says "Oh, Lance's my husband" when they ask him about it. (For galra Keith is quite young one and marmorites are like "What? You're already mated? Isn't it a bit too soon?" so that's why the asked Keith why Lance smells so much like mated galra.)

"Wow, babe, at least give me the ring first"

"Huh? Isn't it a bit too fast?.."

"You just said that I'm your husband!"

“I said that you're my mate!"

"Well, you see, number 4, galra mate for life, so you can say, that you're already married"

"..."

"Say what now"

"Okay… but we still need a wedding for my family, they'd kill me if we don't! And I want a pretty ring! I have size 9!"

And Keith after his first embarrassment is just like "Well, I did wanted to marry you anyway..."

"JGUHGUJSHUF KEITH"

Krolia would have lose her mind (internally cuz she has a reputation) about it and def go to threaten Lance and give him a shovel talk. Not-galra mates can be not really loyal after all.

"You, human, threat him well"

"You, the mother that left him, threat him well yourself!"

Krolia thinks that she likes her son's mate.

Well, that's it, don't have anything to wrap it up. Though, I could talk about Klance and kids. Keith would def have an urge to steal some galra baby to take care of. Sometimes it'd be hard to convince him to give the baby back to their parents. Plus they're at war and Lance is like really not ready for that kind of shit.

But if this is all after s8... They could start a family with baby galra on their hands.

Thank you for reading this long text! Please don't be shy to let me know your own thoughts and hcs!

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Guren Bêd Enni - “my heart tells me.”

Pairing: Thranduil x wood elf!reader.

A/N: I’m supposed to be on a hiatus….I KNOW. So, anyway this has been a long time coming. I know about LOTR but I have to say I don’t know the ins and outs of the lore so much, it always held me back from writing it because I do like accurate details in my own work. Anyway. This is just a bunch of word vomit tbh.

Warnings: not much. F!Reader has pointy ears but I think that’s the only defining description I give. Maybe age gap? I mean he’s an elf and reader is an elf but a young adult elf 😅

Word Count: 1590

The swords clashed. The singing of the blades resonated through the training grounds as you pressed your advantage against your partner. At first he let you, his feet moving swiftly but you could not predict his next move. You never could.

You hoped to pin him against the carved trunk that was coming up fast behind him but Legolas had other ideas. He used the momentum of the move to carry him, pushing off from the ground and using the trunk for leverage as he walked up it with ease. His swords slid from their entrapment, twisting clean over your head to land behind you, the coolness of the blade just a whisper away from your skin.

“Dead.” He stated calmly. The point of his sword was removed, the telltale whistle sounded as he spun them in his hands before depositing them back into their scabbards settled on his back.

“Maybe we should see if you can best me with an arrow as well as your sword,” you challenged playfully. Your own weapons were planted firmly back into their holdings at your hips. Legolas grinned and clapped you on the shoulder, his demeanour cocksure as he headed for his bow.

“You know no one has beaten me yet,” he boasted, running his fingers up the bowstring before casting his sky blue gaze over you.

“We shall see.”

“You say that every time.” You didn’t reply. Feeling the tension of your own bow and loosening your shoulders. You enjoyed the times you trained with Legolas. It had started with him teaching you only for it quickly to develop into almost equal sparring matches. You were a quick study and he never tired of showing you new things. He would take beyond the caverns and into Mirkwood itself, pointing out plants and trees. Birds would come and whisper in your pointed ear, their delicate feet weighing nothing on your wrist as you listened to each and every one intently.

You were young for an elf, the only child of your age and so you’d been raised in the warmth and comfort of the very heart of the realm. Somewhat a rarity, you had brought joy and light to many an elf and they all wanted to impart their wisdom onto you.

Your skills grew in healing, sewing, wood carving and even black smithing but nothing came close to the time you spent with the prince.

Looking over at your friend you grinned, notching your arrow in the blink of an eye and releasing it quickly. It thunked into the target, just slightly to the left of where you had intended it to hit and you heard Legolas scoff quietly.

“You weren’t concentrating.” You nearly dropped your bow in surprise at the deep voice of the king sounding behind you. Respectfully you dipped your head, not trusting yourself to look up at him and see the evident disappointment on his face. “Too busy being goaded,” he continued disdainfully.

“Apologies, My Lord.” The words tumbled from you and you hoped the king wasn’t listening to the random beatings of your heart as it fluttered painfully with every word he bestowed upon you.

“Look at me.” You had no choice. Steeling yourself and straightening your shoulders, your gaze dragged up the fine material of his long tunic. Catching the perfection of the stitch work, marvelling in the colour of the thread that came alive in the sunlight. His long platinum hair was straight, not even rumpling as he cocked his head to the side when your gaze finally magnetised to his.

The crown of autumn leaves adorned his head just accentuating his regal and commanding air. His height had you looking up and you unconsciously lifted your chin with an almost defiant motion. He regarded you coolly for a moment as though words had failed him as soon as you looked at him.

His expression changed minutely, the tiny furrow of his brow, the slight down turn at the corner of his elven eyes and his lips parted. You caught every change, every reaction he gave you even when he closed it down as quickly as it had come.

“Concentrate.” His attention drifted from you with a downcast look giving you the perfect view of his profile and you almost choked on your breath. His eyes went back to you for a last look as he began to walk away and your head turned to follow him, until he had his back to you completely and he was leaving the training area as silently as he’d arrived.

“You heard my father,” Legolas jibbed. Without a thought he snatched an arrow up and split yours in two. Tossing your bow down you suddenly didn’t feel like competing with him anymore.

“I need a break,” you stated haughtily and stalked off.

“But we are not finished for the day!” He called after you, chasing it up with your name but he didn’t follow.

You headed to the library. You always came here to clear your mind, to get away from everyone as this place wasn’t tended often. The oldest scrolls were preserved, wrapped in clothes and sealed with beeswax to keep them from decaying. You enjoyed the smell and the peace. Here the sounds of the palace were deadened, even to elf ears and you revelled in that. Your favourite book was where you had left it and the spine cracked when it opened. Settling on the floor with crossed legs you rested against the shelves and got lost in the pages.

“So this is where you go.” The book jolted in your hands, tumbling onto your legs and you gasped a little at the sudden intrusion. Thranduil stood in the doorway, filling it almost completely with his wide shoulders as he looked around the room you had taken refuge.

“M-my Lord!” You stuttered and then felt embarrassed that you hadn’t heard him for a second time today. He stepped into the room, making it seem so much smaller. His presence was intoxicating, the rich scent he exuded made your head swim when you rose, inelegantly holding onto the shelf.

“Are you unwell?” He was before you in a split second, his hand reaching to touch your shoulder but it never made the journey. Curling into a fist and falling back to his side. Concern laced his deep tone and it was matched by the worry in his starlit eyes.

“Quite well, My Lord.” He straightened, his hands clasping behind his back.

“I see my son is dedicating his time to teaching you how to stay alive.”

“That he is.,” you agreed. Thranduil half turned and began to slowly pace towards the shelves on the other wall. His hair dripped down his back like hot spun gold and you found yourself wondering what it would be like to touch. Would it be as soft as the fur on a new fawn, or as thick as the mane on your favourite steed? How you wished to run your hands through it, to have him let you close enough to allow such things.

“He is quite taken with you,” he announced briskly, his tone resonating with a note of interest.

“And I with him, My Lord. He is a great friend.” The King paused and you could see half of his face from where you were watching him. His eyes looked up to the top shelf and he carried on perusing the books.

“Do you not desire something more?” You were stunned by the question and you felt a wave of yearning crest inside you. Thranduil sighed heavily, spinning on his heel away from the scrolls until he was almost baring down on you. You took an automatic step back, noticing the intensity of his gaze as he came to a stop. He was so close you could have leant forward and rested your cheek on his heaving chest.

Your eyes traced the flow of his hair, the perfect arch of his eyebrows and you drowned in the beauty of his features. His expression softened under your attention and he tipped further into your personal space. Your eyes lowered, bowing your head when you felt him gently nudge the top of your head with his nose. A pale hand came up to stroke your cheek, ghosting over the softness of your skin with barely a touch until he rested a long finger under your chin.

His mouth was so close, your erratic breaths bleeding together in the quiet and his eyes fluttered shut. A tormented expression crossed his face and his whole body shuddered slightly but he didn’t move away.

“I do desire something more,” you breathed. He inhaled sharply, blindly running a thumb over your lower lip and creating a tingle that had you almost moan with want. For a wild moment you thought he was going to give in, to kiss you deeply. You’d imagined it enough in the dead of night. Your heart pounding as you let your thoughts wander and tell you stories as you sat bathed in moonlight.

“Guren bêd enni…” he murmured, his lips almost brushing yours when a shout sounded from beyond the chamber.

“King Thranduil!” He jerked away from you. His crystalline blue eyes wide with surprise.

“My Lord,” reaching for his hand in desperation but he was already leaving. You stared at the spot where he’d been standing, your hand still outstretched ready to finally feel his fingers entwine with yours.

Maybe he’d reach back. One day.

You could wait.

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

[internalsealpanic]

In Altercations Long and Fierce

summary: 4 times you fight the team plus 1 time you fight along side them. a/n: Listen, this is basically just me writing a bunch of fight scenes with a very thin plot stringing them together. I have no excuse but also I do not care. Happy birthday to me. warnings: blood, violence, flippant attitude towards canon and any existing timeline.

1:

 The swing is infinite. 

 The motion yawning until time snaps back into place with the sound of knuckles hitting bone. It wasn't a clean, intelligent spar. That notion had gone out the window the moment you'd feigned injury just to elbow Connor in the face then jam your knee into his groin. 

 You could take Connor. 

 Pound for pound. 

 What you had lacked in raw strength, you made up for with a certain feral quality that told Dick that you were a brawler by nature. The jagged cousin of grace singing in your corded muscles with every blow you two exchanged. 

 Your clasped hands smash down on the back of Connor's skull and the half-Kryptonian goes down with a resounding thud that rings throughout the team's bones. Connor grabs for your ankle, pulling at it to throw you off balance and possibly crush the bone underneath, but you retaliate by stomping the heel of your foot into the crown of his head. There's another sick wet sound ringing throughout the arena. 

 The fight, if you can still call it that, is all hard brutality. Your hand threads through Connor's hair, yanking him up and showing off his bloodied face to the braying crowds. With a flick of your wrist, you shift your grip. In the space of a breath, Connor's body is colliding with the impenetrable glass walls of the arena. His head lulls back, consciousness drifting out of reach. 

 The team holds its collective breath. What else could they do as you stand over their friend while they watch helplessly from their own containers? Dick could hear muffled shouts from the cases around him, the rhythmic pounding of a fist against glass, and a body hitting a surface over and over.

 That all goes still though when you bear down menacingly on Connor, a knife sliding into your hand. But before your hand even gets comfortable around the hilt, a hand wraps around your wrist, raising it victoriously. Your shoulders relax. It's only visible to Dick because ... well, Batman training. 

 You glance furtively behind you and you release a relieved breath. 

 Dick makes a note.

 Even if you turned out to be just another run-of-the-mill villain, that was interesting. 

2: 

 The trident in your hand swishes through the air, bright steel cutting an arc of light that looks like it could slice a man in half. Dick narrowly but gracefully dodges with the appropriate amount of flare as he cartwheels out of reach. For good measure, he throws a few bird-a-rangs which you swat away easily. 

 Artemis groans and Kaldur shouts at Dick to keep his distance. 

 Dick knows that and he keeps it in mind as he slides under your trident to close the gap between the two of you. The loud, wet squelch of Connor’s face against glass is still very fresh in everyone’s minds but the lack of proximity is necessary. 

 Why?

 Because you see, Dick is running an experiment. 

 Is it based on previous quantifiable evidence? 

 No.

 Is it safe? 

 No?

 Is it at all advisable?

 Bruce swears Dick is the reason he's getting gray hairs. It definitely has nothing to do with the fact that he risks his life nightly and maybe has the worst choice in partners. Ok, Selina isn't that bad but Talia? B, really?

 See, his theory is this: you're one of those people who probably got the wrong career test or something and some how winded up with henchman instead of, he doesn't know, pro-wrestler or something. He's very aware of how specific this is and how nonsensical it sounds. But he sort of figured after they assessed Connor's injuries. Nothing fatal. Just cosmetic. Sort of. Just something he could theoretically survive.

 You put some distance between the two of you, jumping back, pivoting,  then immediately redirect your attention to one of the metahumans on his team. Making short order of slamming the flat side of your trident against  Wally’s stomach, slamming Wally to the ground. 

 The wood creaks from the force, the weapon splintering from the impact. Wally's on the floor wheezing and you take the opportunity to kick him into Kaldur who falls off-balance.

 God, you really are graceful. 

 Dick shakes the thought out of his head and jumps back into the fray. The dance is chaotic, sprawling with frenetic as you maneuver your way out of their attack, sweeping and slamming the flat head of your trident against their bodies.

 Inevitably, your weapon breaks. You hurl the head towards Artemis to pin her hand to the wall then slam your foot into Connor's face who still manages a punch that sends you careening to a wall.

 You spit blood and draw yourself up. Your limbs coil, ready to lunge at Connor and return the favor when Dick takes the opening to block your path. 

 You freeze, catching the kick Dick aims at your side, grunting as you force it down.

 You stare at him, human and so very confused.  "Oh my god, no," you wince, "I'm not fighting a 10-year-old." 

 "I am 14," he protests, throwing another punch which is actually just a distraction to latch a (possibly explosive) bird-a-rang to your suit. 

 You catch his hand and wrench the device out of his hand. You squint at it then at him.  "Go home, kid," you sigh and toss the bird-a-rang behind you. You really just called him kid even though you are literally only a year or two older than him. 

 Dick shifts his posture, tilting his head to the side. "You literally beat a two-year-old in a cage match." Confusion ripples across your features. You look around at them then back at him for clarification. Dick shrugs. "Superboy is technically less than two years old but we round it up to make him feel better."

 And huh. 

 Horror unfurls on your face as your eyes flicker to Connor. Dick takes the opportunity to land a hit on your sternum. You don't block it but you grab the side of his neck and toss him towards them. M'gann is nice enough to catch him. 

 You and Dick stare back at each other, your face etched with horror.  Dick, well, he's positively delighted.

 Hypothesis proven. 

3: 

 The plan had gone sideways. 

 To be fair, he wasn't exactly expecting it to go smoothly but he wasn't exactly expecting it to turn into this.

 No matter, this isn't Dick's first hostage situation. It's not even his first time as the hostage. He'll just take comfort in the fact that your plan had gone just as sideways as theirs. That's fair, right?

 "Wild seeing you here," Dick says. It engenders a look of mild irritation on your face but there's a familiarity there if not some weird, twisted fondness. 

 "It's not all that wild," you huff, tightening your arm around him. 

 Well, that's true. Kind of. 

 Crush, Wally's voice taunts in the back of Dick's head. Interest, Dick always corrects mildly because he knows if he puts any real heat into it Wally would just tease him more. I mean no matter what tone Dick takes Wally is still on his case about it because Dick keeps volunteering to fight you. And well, ok, it looks like that but that's not it. Not really. He just knows you. Well, he knows your type.

It's not a bat thing. 

 It's ... normal to feel familiar with someone who almost biweekly throws you around like a rag-doll but yanno, does it gently because as Dick had discovered, rather quickly, you preferred not to hurt people excessively. No more than you were required, at least.

 That little revelation had left Dick bright, sparkling, and positively evil.

 He just honestly thinks you've got potential. 

 Seriously. 

 You take a tentative step back as the team closes in on the both of you. M'gann is already phasing through the floor and Wally crouches ready to snatch him away from you the second your grip loosens. 

 "Could you at least look a little scared?"

 Dick glances back at you, feeling you consciously fight the urge to wring his neck. "Why would I do that?"

 "Worst hostage ever", you mutter too quietly. He only hears it because you're right by his ear. Now, he has to fight down the urge to laugh. 

 You hiss and click your teeth. "I'll let you go as soon as your teammates stop following me, yeah?"

 Dick glances at you again. Not worried. At all. "They’re following because they care," he says, drawing out the last syllable. You do a good job of not reacting to that, not rolling your eyes at him and curling your lips. Dick is both impressed and unhappy.  "You know you could have tied them up more tightly."

 You wince. An expletive is mumbled and well, Dick can't contain his laughter. 

 You hiss again and cover his mouth. "Your friends can fly, right?"

 Dick's answer is muffled by your hand. 

 In an instant, you pitch him off the side and make a break for it.

 As you run, you glance back and you and Dick make eye contact as M’gann catches him. 

 You let out a relieved breath. 

4:

 Dick crouches low, avoiding the spinning kick and using the momentum, he concentrates his center of gravity forward and shoves the heel of his palm against your chest. The thump of the impact is loud and palpable. It feels exactly like hitting at post after miscalculating the trajectory of your grappling hook.  Your limbs go ice electric cold. Your vision goes white from pain and your hearing rings.

 You go down hard, your head replete with freeze frames of the fight. Where you could have aimed a kick, what angle you could have landed a punch when you could have just driven Dick's face into a wall.

 Whoever this new Nightwing character is, he packs a punch, you think, picking yourself back up and letting out a shuddering gasp. 

 Dick winces a little. He may have gotten carried away. An apology burns on the back of Dick's throat but then, you clutch your chest and lower into another fighting stance, shaking the pain out of your body. His tongue prickles with the taste of exhilaration. His entire body thrums with excitement.

 You put your hands up in a boxer's stance, rolling your shoulders. Dick perks up. He licks his lips in anticipation and mirrors your posture. 

 You make a slow stride to the side, circling him. It's strange. It's cautious but not the same kind of careful he's used to. You've always treated him like a nuisance before but this caution is for a threat. That's ... surprising. Maybe it's the new suit. 

 "You look a little traught, (Y/n)." 

 Your shoulders drop. "The fuck?" You breathe. You squint at him and your face opens up piece by piece with the realization. "Robin?" Your eyes flicker to search his face and you hiss another expletive. You look him up and down for any sign of robin-ness. Now that you look, you can see it. 

 It's the same smarmy little bastard but taller? This fucking brat. 

 Dick makes the first move, throwing wingdings your way. 

 You duck and weave, launching yourself at him. 

 "The hell?" You hiss, elbowing him. Your face is flushing something awful right now. You can feel it. 

 "The heck do you mean the hell?" He says catching you by the wrist. 

 You scowl at him and grab his shoulder, using it as leverage to pull yourself up and wrap your legs around his neck. "I thought you were dead." 

 "Isn't that a good thing?" Dick asks, falling back to try and shake you off. 

 You tighten your thighs around his neck in response. "Fuck, buddy, everyone thought you were dead. They thought I did it. Jesus." There’s a little bit of heat behind the words, almost enough to cover the strange sense of relief you feel. 

 Dick hears you rambling on but he can't quite bring himself to pay attention. He's ... Well, he's a little distracted. He swears it's by the lack of oxygen and not the fact that he's between your thighs. Fuck, they're very firm though. Dick's face flushes under the domino. 

 Wally may have been on to something. 

 It's a little embarrassing when Dick passes out, his vision blotchy and his limbs numb. 

 You huff, feeling him go limp between your legs, slapping him lightly to check. He could be playing dead or he could actually be dead and you have no fucking clue which would present more problems. You have time to mull it over as you drag him away to somewhere safe and hidden from your colleagues. 

 When you crouch over him, you smile a little. It's fond and soft and fleeting. You wipe it off the moment you hear someone approaching. 

 "Welcome back, birdy." 

+1: 

 It's a flurry of limbs and steel, blood and the bitter taste of adrenaline. Deathstroke smashes the hilt of his sword into the side of your head and does it with such force that it sends you careening through a stack of crates containing God knows what and into the concrete wall. The sound of your skull crashing into the hard surface piercing through the air. 

 "It's not the time to throw a fucking tantrum, kid," Deathstroke says, sheathing the blade. 

 You turn your head blearily to the kids huddled at the far end of the port. They look so small. The twisting pain in your chest overcomes the possibly serious concussion you have and you spit your reply, in a jagged collection of syllables. 

 You draw yourself up and crouch low, ready to fight. Flexing your right hand, you wince feeling the dull throb of fire-scorched skin on your right hand.  This wasn't how you'd planned your grand betrayal. It wasn't honestly supposed to be a grandstanding sort of even but maybe Robin— Nightwing— Dick Fucking Grayson has rubbed off on you.

 Deathstroke clucks his tongue and rolls his shoulders. Shoulders tensing, you feel your fight-or-flight instincts go into overdrive but it only takes a second glance to your side, your eyes catching on the bruises on the kid's faces and hell, now you've really screwed the pooch. 

 Wiping the blood off your lip, you grin wolfish at the man. "C'mon old man, you didn't think I'd play lackey forever, did you?"  You sweep low, the motion beautifully smooth but Slade knows how you operate so he knees in the face. He grabs you by the hair and slams your face to the ground. 

 The pain comes in waves, overwhelming your neurons. It's tempting to pass out from it. Fuck that. You grab for one of the knives strapped to his leg, driving it into his arm right where the nerve should be. 

 He draws back with a gasp and you fall to the floor with a laugh. It's wet and sticky from the blood in your mouth but it feels so much like a release. 

 You brush your hair back and brandish your carnivorous smile, none of that acrid fear on the back of your tongue showing on your face. You can see it irks him maybe even more than the fact you've just inconvenienced him by damaging a nerve. Good. 

 You scowl and the kids seem to get the hint because they book it somewhere else, maybe somewhere a certain terrible influence is. There's a voice in the back of your head that reminds you that you've never won a fight with Deathstroke.  There is no chance in hell you're leaving this fight alive. 

 Well, you think, at least there's no chance he is leaving this fight with his dignity intact. His dignity for your life? Seems like a fair enough bargain given the situation. 

 His dignity and the kids' futures, a voice, so very Grayson-like, whispers in the back of your head. You make a disgusted snort.  On the off chance, you make it out of this alive, you're going to kill him. 

 The next few seconds are a blur of movement. Falling back on instinct as you fight down the urge to run. You throw all your weight into your blows but it still feels distinctly like punching concrete. Just like always, you fight raw. You are teeth and fire and blood as you scrape together whatever semblance of fight you have left.

 The old man is having more trouble than he's willing to admit. You land blows in quick succession and pull dirty tricks you've learned from friend, foe, and people in between. There is nothing more dangerous than someone with nothing left to lose. 

 Still, it's not enough. 

 You're tired from taking down the others and your head is still spinning from the concussion. Both you and Slade can see that. You both know how this fight is going to end. 

 Dick has a different point of view though.

 Dick enters by landing a perfectly executed flying kick to the side of Slade's face. 

 Naturally. 

 There's a look of awe on your face and Dick, the showman that he is, can't help but wink at. You dart your eyes away from his face. If Dick were less inclined to memorize your gestures, he would have dismissed it as you simply refocusing on Slade but he is inclined and the smugness that wells up in him is golden. 

 Months of flirting with you and goading reactions was in fact worth it just to see those little signs of returned affection. 

 "I hope you don't mind me cutting in," Dick chirps. 

 You let out an incredulous breath but you smile at him. See, Dick isn't one for puppy love (lies) but that small smile sends him up the air. "Missed me?" He asks, the giddiness pulsing through him loosening his tongue. 

 "Sure," you say, shaking your head. You turn your attention back to Slade who looks livid but briefly you glance at Dick. "This is all your fault by the way." But before Dick can wring a clarification out of you, you launch yourself at Slade. 

 Dick huffs, running ahead of you. It occurs to you that you've never seen these two fight. Slade swings at him, his fist like lead, but Nightwing dodges beautifully, an impressive arc of his body into a backflip that he uses to kick the underside of Slade's jaw. 

 You slide underneath the whole thing and make a grab for one of his other knives. The old man hadn't been stupid enough to leave one of them embedded in your body. He's old but not senile. 

 Unfortunately for him, you're not stupid either. 

 You stab him in the side then withdraw the blade, kicking his back once Dick is out of the way. *If* you had the energy, you would gut him just to slow him down. It's not like it would kill him. Still, you're running low and even with Dick's help, you know you need to end this quickly. 

 You regroup and Dick flicks his eyes towards the crumbling ceiling a few meters away. That would work. Dick slips you one of his wingdings. You take his hands, spinning and flinging Dick towards Slade. 

 This wasn't the best plan. Admittedly, it was a terrible plan but it's all you had at the moment.

 Dick lands flawlessly on Slade's face, using it as a springboard for a flip that lands his heel on top of the man’s head. 

 There's a tiny bit of hope in you, springing from how much of a joy Nightwing is to witness in a fight. 

 But there are too many unknowns and too few knowns. 

 It really was a stupid plan. It relied on Slade being stupid and he certainly isn't that. He sees what you two are going for, lowering his center of gravity and raising his sword above his head. Dick is still midkick, careening towards the path of the blade. What you do next comes to you in quick snapshots. 

 Your pivot, pushing the full weight of your body forward, knocking Slade out of his stance. 

 Cold metal tears through flesh. Hot, searing pain cleaves through your shoulder as you both fall to the concrete floor. Tears. Your eyes are leaking from the pain of it. No time for that. You scramble to get up and pin him down, the blade still sawing through your flesh. Your expression as you look down at him is manic with fear. Looks like you were gonna end up dead after all. Good effort, Nightwing, you think.

 Slade grabs your face and slams it to the ground. He pushes himself up ready for the killing blow when Dick steps behind him, electrified escrima sticks pressed to Slade's temple. 

 There's a loud thud near you and in your splotchy vision, you think you see Slade go down. 

 Huh. 

 You won. 

"What the actual fuck, Wing?"

 You side-eye Dick 'they'll be fine with it' Grayson. He ignores you in favor of trying to salvage the situation. You wish him the best of luck because Tigress is not having any of it. It’s impressive that she has a rebuttal for every single one of Dick’s bullshit. Must have had a lot of practice. 

 You look blearily at the team of heroes surrounding you and wonder how it took them this long to notice you. 

 “We can trust her.” “Wing, for the last time, we can’t trust her and we absolutely can’t take her with us back to HQ.”

 For the last time.

You are now confused, lost in the middle of a conversation you'd just stumbled upon even though you feel like you'd been part of it longer. That. It's a strange, invasive feeling that makes you irritable and that wasn't ideal when you had multiple flavors of discomfort already whirling around in your head.

 “Well, we can’t just leave her to the Light,” Dick bites out.

 You reach out and brush your hand lightly on Dick's gauntleted hand. The movement causes everyone to shift into a defensive stance including Dick who steps just a little in front of you. "Dick, it's ok, I get it. I'll just mosey on." 

 Your face is scuffed up and the skin of your right hand is singed. You can't see it but you can feel the blood leaking down your arm soaking into the fabric of your uniform. It's fine. It's fine. You just very badly want to pass out in a room that isn't a cell. That's all you need.

 Everyone stares at you. 

 You shrink a little under the weight of their attention. 

 "You know his secret identity and haven't shared it with anyone else?" Connor asks slowly  with a brow pitched up almost to his hairline. 

 There's a tickle of memory there, a vague recollection that it was supposed to be a something. What’s the word?  "Yeah," you pause, trying to figure out why this was suddenly so important. "I've known for a little bit..." You give up on trying to guess.  "Uh, anyway I can go ..."

 There is a palpable shift in the air. 

 "You're injured," M'gann says slowly, the first to lower her defenses. The others follow suit, still weary but not ready to attack. You tense with the change in the atmosphere but Dick being in your corner puts you a little at ease. 

 "I'm serious. It's fine. I can—"

 "What," Dick says sharply, "are you gonna call an Uber from 10 thousand feet over the Atlantic?"

 You wrap your arm around yourself in a gesture that is too vulnerable not to look like you're hugging yourself. 

 "When we land then," you amend, "I'll—" What can you do? You've just betrayed the biggest crime organization in the world with no plan for the fallout whatsoever. You're scared but you can't find yourself regretting it. Not when you're so sure the kids you rescued are going somewhere safe. "I have a few safe houses," you lie. You try to wrack your brain for any country to disappear to. The concussion is making that very difficult. 

 "You have one in Bludhaven, right?" Dick suggests, very pointedly. 

 You nod. 

 "That's settled," he says, clapping his hand on your shoulder. "If you'll excuse us, (Y/n) is still very much bleeding." 

 He drags you off to the medbay before anyone can formulate any reasonable argument against it. 

You shift uncomfortably like the ground beneath your feet would collapse and given you're on an alien ship the assertion isn't wrong. The sheer discomfort you display in a place Dick would consider safe, and oh God is that rare, feels so wrong. 

 "Safe houses, huh?"

 You wince. "I was a little overwhelmed," you sigh. The heat of embarrassment flourishes over your body. 

 Dick snorts, "Let's get you whelmed then, yeah?" 

 "Weirdo," you mutter under your breath but you take the hint and sit down. 

 It surprises Dick that you don't fight him on treating your wounds like you usually do. Maybe, he reasons, you've had enough fighting for today. What does surprise him is that you know exactly what to do before he instructs you to do it. 

 "You know how to do this?" He prompts but really he's asking, "Has this happened before?"

 "Not him. I—" Breathe. "— Don't worry about it. It's the cost of training ..." You shrink a little knowing how that sounds but you know following it up with "It's ok. My healing factor always keeps me from dying" would only start another argument. A very long, very stale argument that you two have had before. 

 He was Robin back then. It was weird getting lectured by someone a foot shorter than you. 

 The conversation turns to silence because neither of you know what to say to make things ok. Not at the moment. You fix your gaze on the door and soak it up.

 "I have some safe houses in Bludhaven you can stay in," Dick says, bandaging up your hand. He squeezes your wrist gently to assure you this is a genuine offer. 

 Your throat is tight. You glance towards him, not his face but more his chest. "You know if I turn out to be what they think I am, you're shit out of luck."

 He does this easy one-shouldered shrug.  "Lucky, you're not then."

  You make an exasperated noise in the back of your throat. "God, you're an idiot." 

 "Say that to my face," he says and the grin in his voice is so clear and crisp that you feel just a little bit of petty energy flow into your veins.  Getting in his personal space, your foreheads pressed together and your lips barely touching. "You're—"

 Well, Dick tried. 

 He really did. He swears by that. Maybe he didn't try that hard but he tried.  He leans in, closing the gap, his lips touching yours, taking in the heat of your skin before quickly pulling away.

 You gape at him, tripping over thoughts that come too fast for your mouth to shape them into words. 

 He can't wipe the grin stretching from ear to ear off his face. That time, he can admit, he didn't actually try at all. 

 "You were saying?"

 You bluster and protest about a concussion. Dick is listening but he is definitely glowing in his smugness. "About those safe houses."

 You gape at his nonchalance but you're tired and you have never in your life won an argument against Dick. "Fine. Only for a few weeks. Just til I get my feet under me again."

 "Alright," he flicks his gaze towards you, "You know they would trust you more if you told them you were our informant."

 Your face falls a little. Right. You forgot about that card. You hitch your working shoulder. "Need to know basis."

 "Like my name?"

 "How do they know I wasn't just calling you a dick?"

 Dick hums a little. "You would do that huh."

 You smile again. It's that little thing that only lives in the corner of your lips because stretching it more might make it break.  "You know me so well."

[afraidofchange]

unfogged​:

“Strays often invite themselves, don’t though? It’s simply a matter of taking them in.” She looks at Ana, truly looks at her now, as Ana does the same with her. Her hair grey, wrinkles on her face, around her mouth and eye. Ana has only seemed to look better with age, which is a feat within itself. Her tan skin flushed with wine is something that Moira never wants to forget, and she commits the image to memory.

“I may just be,” she jokes, smile widening. “It has all been a ploy, the monsoon, you getting caught, all to lead you here.” People often said Moira can’t make a joke, she begs to differ. Her pulse quickens at the touch and she wonders if Ana can feel it, knows Ana can. But the touch is brief, as Ana’s fingers thread with Moira’s with an ease that makes it seems they’ve been doing it for decades.

Her fingers press around the other woman’s, Moira not realizing just how much she’s been longing for a touch like this. “No, I don’t think I would.” Without letting go of Ana’s hand, Moira extricates herself from the sofa, pulling Ana to her feet. She takes the glass from Ana’s other hand and places it on the living room table, coaster be damned. “You want to dance, then let’s dance.” She leads her to an emptier space in the room, other arm coming to snake around her waist, pulling Ana close but letting a small amount of space between them.

They’re closer than they have been in a long time, and even that it was during fights and spars. Standing together, there’s a few inches between the two and Moira smiles down at her. “Reinhardt used to say you could dance well. Prove him right.”

  “I don’t doubt you would be clever enough to make it happen,” Ana quips in return playfully, another raspy laugh gracing the exchange. The wine is certainly making her feel a little more loose, a little more comfortable than just a cup of tea and oversized pajamas do on their own. Her grasp on Moira’s long, spindly fingers remains firm, thumb so casually brushing against the back of her hand too. 

  Taking her partly joking proposition to heart, as it were, Moira rises to her feet and Ana goes with her willingly, taking care of her glass and everything. That now free hand gives a quick tug to the rolled up waistband of her borrowed pants, making sure to keep her feet free from tripping over the excess length as they pad around the couch to the open space of the living room. Already drawn close together, Ana tilts her head back to look up at Moira - she doesn’t remember feeling this short compared to the doctor, but time hasn’t been kind to her joints, either. 

  Grinning, Ana reaches back to Moira’s hand on her waist, and instead, guides it to rest atop her shoulder, offering the other for Moira to take. “He’s quite right,” Ana muses, thinking of too many holiday parties and dances under the influence that she would share with him. “But if we’re dancing, I’ll lead,” She asserts and then rests her left hand on the small curve of Moira’s slim waist, drawing her just that tiny bit closer, under her guidance. The music is just loud enough to give her the rhythm, an instrumental piece she can’t quite name, taking the first step to the side without breaking her intent gaze upward at her newfound dance partner.

[sxfik]

Hey hey, I'm here with a chayenzo ask! Could you possibly write vincenzo kissing cha young to stop her from teasing him about the mafia (like she did in the ep when she found out)? Thanks in advance!!

her lips are like the galaxy's edge (her kiss, the color of a constellation)

read on ao3 • masterlist

summary: “If I don’t what, Mr. Mafia?” she cut him off, smirking up at him, challenging him to push back. But he did something unexpected.

a/n: thank you so much for requesting this anon! i combined this with another idea i had so i really hope this turned out well! my head was really full with this idea so i literally speed ran my essay so i could write this. as always, i hope you enjoy :D

“Vincenzo Quasano: Mafia Lawyer!” Cha-young exclaims as she skips down the pavement, the sunny and infectious weather fueling her weightless laughter. She tilted her head towards Vincenzo, her charming and ever-cool partner, and paused, waiting for him to catch up. Fighting Babel was a constant weight on their shoulders, but Cha-young knew her incessant remarks and teasing would spur the handsome lawyer into pushing off his plotting and spar with her. Cha-young didn’t know about him, but the less she thought about Babel, the less the guilt hung over her shoulders. Not to mention, the more she sparred with him, the more her body thrummed with an energy to keep testing how far she could push.

Vincenzo’s carefully constructed expression stayed neutral as ever, but the crease between his eyebrows and the slight pursing of his lips told everything she needed to know. He also dealt her his classic glare, but she paid it no attention. Pushing people’s buttons is always fun, but Vincenzo ignited a fuel in her to press every single one at once, like a kid in an elevator.

“Ah, how lucky I am to have a cutthroat mafia lawyer in my life!” Cha-young sang, as she shimmied and sashayed her way forward, Vincenzo right by her side. Right at that moment, some kid shot her a dirty look as he walked the opposite way, popsicle in hand. The audacity of this kid. On an impulse, she stuck her tongue out at him as he passed by. That ought to show him. She smirked as the kid skewed his path to stay as far away as possible. Victory! As she turned her head towards Vincenzo, she noticed the incredulous look on his face.

“Kids these days. So disrespectful.” she tutted, grinning at him like she did nothing wrong. He, in classic cool guy fashion huffed at her antics, but she saw the smile on his face. That can’t do at all.

“Ah is Mr. Mafia afraid of being embarrassed by me? Aren’t mafia men brave? Surely, they aren’t swayed so easily, are they?” she quipped, increasing her volume with each passing word.

“Ms. Hong, please-” he gritted out, his face hardening into annoyance. There it is.

“Please?” she taunted back pushing her face closer, finally getting the reaction she really wanted.

“Ms. Hong if you don’t-”

“If I don’t what, Mr. Mafia?” she cut him off, smirking up at him, challenging him to push back. But he did something unexpected. He paused in his path, his hand closing into a fist and his eyes squeezing shut. Cha-young pivoted to face him, but before she could ask why, his hand shot out and pulled her wrist towards him as he walked into the alleyway.

She stumbled behind him into the alleyway, and Vincenzo started muttering something under his breath. How could he insult me when I can’t even hear what he’s saying! As his incessant muttering became louder, he started pacing back and forth, his hand gestures getting more exaggerated. That was certainly not Korean. It was Italian. Admittedly, Vincenzo speaking to her in Italian got her blood racing but it also irked her to no end.

Cha-young crossed her arms as she stood, her back facing the grimey walls of the small corridor he stuffed them into. She could barely breathe without smelling his intoxicating cologne, the smell that engulfed her whenever she embraced him. The scent that followed her into her dreams.

“Hong Cha-Young, you-” he spun to face her, pausing his pacing and shaking his finger at her before he delved into incoherent italian.

Cha-young sighed, schooling her face into a bored expression that she hoped would goad him into coming closer and closer. “What did I do Mr. Cassano? Aw, is the mafia lawyer agitated?” she taunted further, tilting her head mockingly.

He spun towards her. And then froze.

“Come puoi essere la donna più intrigante e al tempo stesso più esasperante che abbia mai incontrato? Hong Cha-Young, mia cara, hai idea di quanto mi fai impazzire?” he asked, as he stepped closer to her, slow like a predator stalking his prey.

“È tutta colpa tua. Il tipo di sogni con cui sono stato tormentato da quando ti ho incontrato,” his voice dropped lower, “Essere impigliato con te è qualcosa che non posso permettermi. Eppure, le tue labbra. Le tue dannate labbra rosse perseguitano ogni mio pensiero al risveglio.” By the end of his cursings, his face neared hers. All she fixated on was his burning anger and proximity and how deliciously intoxicating it was. Her body itched to step back, to calm her racing heart, but she wouldn’t let him win so easily.

She stepped closer, tilting her face up until she looked directly into his molton brown eyes. But as she opens her mouth to push him further, Vincenzo crashes into her as he tangles his hand into her hair and pulls her into a kiss. His lips are soft when they meet hers, just as she had dreamt, but his mouth demands more, more, more. He backs her against the wall, one hand threaded through her hair cushioning her head as the other settles on her waist.

Cha-young tugs against his tie, pulling him closer until his body is fully pressed and she can feel the heat of his body against hers. Her other hand roams his torso and his back, attempting to memorize the feel of his body.

They continue, their mouths moving in tandem with one another, each other’s fire threatening to engulf the other. As she breaks away for a breath, he pulls her back into an even more bruising kiss. Cha-young felt her whole body burn for him as his tongue brushed across her bottom lip, teasing her into kissing harder, giving more.

His hand tugs on her hair as he breaks away from her lips, tilting her head to expose her neck, and moving his attention towards her jaw and the soft skin of her neck. Cha-young gasps as he nibbles and kisses down her throat, each one more bruising than the next. Her every sense, every thought was flooded with how his body felt, how his warmth spread against hers, how intoxicating he smelled and how each groan he let out drove her insane with need.

“If I knew this was all it took to shut you up, I would have done it a long time ago.” he taunted her, his voice just a whisper. He pulled away from her, leaving her breathless against the wall and looking at his smirking face. His eyes were still dark, the fire still burning within them, but as her gaze dropped down to his lips and back up, there was something new in his eyes. Something soft. Something... more terrifying.

But as quickly as it appeared, she watched it vanish off his eyes, and his face hardened back into the mask. He steps away from her as if it hurt to look at her, his hands smoothening his shirt and fixing his tie.  Without sparing her another glance, Cha-young watches as Vincenzo walks away from her, and back into the pavement. Is it so easy for him to walk away from me, even after what we’ve done?

Her thoughts are scrambled, replying the moment before as she pushes the hurt away. He’s just a momentary distraction. People have walked away from her before, and he’s no different. She shuts her eyes, in a futile attempt to center herself, before she walks away from the haven the alleyway offered.

a/n: here are the italian translations:

“How can you be the most intriguing yet the most infuriating woman i've ever met? Hong Cha-Young, my dear, do you have any idea how crazy you drive me?”

“It's all your fault. The kinds of dreams i've been plagued with since i've met you.”

“Being tangled up with you is something I can't afford. And yet, your lips. Your damned red lips haunt my every waking thought.”

[lucenties]

Oooh I see your fav is Joseph and I've been so soft for him lately so I'd like to drop a request! Fic or headcanons, idc, whatever comes to ya! And female or neutral reader, if that matters? Reader has been subject to wearing the training mask, just like Joseph, but is handling it horribly. And Joseph finds them hiding somewhere to stress cry, because they don't want anyone to think they're weak? 🥺 (but now they're double embarrassed cuz their crush caught them crying?)

— training woes

such a cute concept I love it!

battle tendency!joseph x gn!reader

⤷ fluff, slight angst (lack of self confidence)

⤷ 1.2k words

You always knew becoming a hamon master would mean you would have to endure hellish training. Every day you took blow after blow that was thrown at you, putting every single bit of your skill on the table so that Lisa Lisa could finally see that you were ready to go out and battle on your own. It was painful, yet the years worth of bruises and sore muscles were nothing compared to the tightening growing in your chest when Caesar emerged from the oil-slick hellhole, shortly followed by Joseph.

It just wasn’t fair.

You always expected Caesar to finish his trial long before you; he was already growing proficient in his Hamon training upon your arrival on Air Supplena Island. Although you’ve always worked your butt off, it was thanks to his support that Lisa Lisa even considered giving you the training mask. He never turned down your request to be a sparring partner, even if he went easy on you most of the time, and despite his own training, he always gave you pointers on how to improve.

Joseph, however, was a prodigy. In the short time that he spent on the island, he managed to conquer the very pillar that took the lives of many previous hamon users. He never seemed to let anything get him down; even when things didn’t go his way and his sharp tongue got the best of him, his wit and skill managed to get him out of any situation. Conquering the Hell Climb Pillar was only his most recent accomplishment. This was only the beginning. His skill was impressive and he was so cool in your eyes; he was everything you only dreamed of being. 

He confused you. On one side, you couldn’t help but feel intimidated and slightly jealous of his abilities and his knack for quick learning. On the other hand, that same skill and resiliency is what led you to look up to him and strive to become better. Although Caesar was your go-to for help with training, with Loggins and Messina assisting here and there, you couldn't bring yourself to ask Joseph for help. Feeling too weak in comparison, shame always seemed to overcome you and pulled you away from even asking for his help. You not only looked up to him, Joseph had you head over heels and wrapped around his finger without even realizing it. However, the attraction you felt towards him and the fear of disappointing him were too great to allow yourself to get too close to him.

"You have to move faster if you want to gain the upper hand against the Pillar Men, [Y/N]." Despite Lisa Lisa's corrections, the balls of hamon launched your way were only narrowly being avoided, if not crashed into you entirely. 

Stamina training was harsh, especially with the mask latched on your face restricting your air flow. You managed to redirect some of the energy away from yourself in an effort to catch your breath, yet the orbs kept coming, each leaving aches in your body that were sure to be felt tomorrow. 

"You have to push yourself!" your mentor shouted, taking note of the slight improvement in your form. The stinging, wet feeling in your eyes only grew stronger the more her corrections were thrown at you. Despite the pain, you did your best to step out of the way and focused what little energy you had left on dodging the attacks.

"You're doing pretty great, [Y/N]!"

Just like that, the single thread of motivation you were hanging on ripped. Joseph's voice was meant to be encouraging, but the thought of your crush seeing you in such a weak state, not being able to overcome such a simple task, hindered your concentration. A last concentrated bit of hamon rammed against your leg, knocking you over. With a sigh and sympathy in her eyes, Lisa Lisa reached out a hand to help you stand up.

Without even waiting for her dismissal and with a quick mutter of gratitude, you scurried off towards the center of the island and turned the nearest corner. Making sure you were alone, you slid down the wall, the tears finally spilling as you wallow in despair.

You were never going to reach the end of your training. What felt like an eternity spent learning how to channel hamon, practicing how to wield it, and surpassing the stamina techniques was beginning to seem like a waste. It was a waste of Lisa Lisa's time and it was a waste of potential on your part. Now that a new trainee had arrived, far better in every aspect, you began to feel as though there was no point in continuing your trials. Between your blubbering cries muffled in between your legs and the ringing in your ears from exhaustion, you failed to notice the figure closing in on you. 

"There you are. Lisa Lisa was concerned when you ran off like— hey, why are you crying?" Again, Joseph's voice only acted as a trigger for your panic. Your head shot up in surprise and mild disbelief. Every single attempt on your part to avoid him seeing you in such a weak state proved to be not enough. It was almost certain his opinion of you shattered in the instant he looked into your sore, bloodshot eyes.

And yet, he slid down on the wall beside you and laid a hand on your shoulder. 

"You did pretty good back there," he looked away, still keeping his hold on you. It was firm but not tight, a silent assurance. "The way you held yourself against Lisa Lisa was pretty impressive."

"Yeah right." A mix between a scoff and a squeak leaves your throat. Rolling your eyes, you feel the heat in your cheeks rising at the thought of being pitied. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"I'm serious!" This time, Joseph opts for placing your hands in between his and lifting them up towards him. "Even though you weren't able to avoid her attacks, you took each hit like a champ, and there were a lot of hits," he teases. "Lisa Lisa wasn't holding back, either. I saw fire in your eyes that shook me to my core."

At his praise, you finally look up to meet his gaze and you feel a twinkle in your eyes. The heat on your cheeks doubles, and this time it is because you realize this is the closest you've ever been to him. Joseph lets a hand go to reach it up to his head, scratching at it awkwardly. "Don't stare at me like that, it's kinda weird…" he chuckles jokingly.

Wiping away the tears from your face, the tightness in your chest subsides. Joseph stands up and extends an arm to help you up. Without a second thought, you engulf him in a hug that holds all the things you wish you could tell him. His chest rumbles with a hearty laugh and you feel his arms tightly wrap around your smaller frame, offering a sense of peace you haven't felt in a long time.

"Thank you." It's muffled in his shirt. You find comfort in his smell, sharp and sweet but not overwhelming.

For now, it'll have to do.

[amillionsmiles]

in your bedroom after the war (Dick/Artemis)

Title: in your bedroom after the war Summary: As far as coping mechanisms go, Artemis could be doing worse. At least her method has a gymnast’s ass. / Post-Invasion, pre-Outsiders. Rated M.  A/N: I have one (1) agenda and that is messy grieving fuck buddies who are each other’s ride-or-dies. if you are not into fic that sits squarely in sad feral horny territory, then this is probably not your speed.

[Read and review here] or continue under the cut.  

| GOTHAM

| JANUARY 14, 2017; 12:05 AM EST

Artemis is a bit heavier than she was in her teenage years, but her feet land lightly on the fire escape by the window. An hour ago, she’d called her mom from Metropolis, promising she’d be home by midnight. Ever since her daughter faked her death a year ago, Paula Nguyen has become even more of a worrywart, and Artemis knows that the five minutes she’s running late are going to cause her to receive an earful.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back in this neck of the woods.” A familiar figure drops from the roof above onto the rung below her.

“Nightwing.”

She’s not surprised that he’s been keeping tabs. Officially, he’s been on a leave of absence for the past six months, but Dick, like her, is vigilant in his grief.

She’d come back to Gotham because it put her closer to Metropolis and Beta Squad’s continued investigation of LexCorp, but the truth is that she could have Zeta-tubed from Palo Alto easily. Their—her—apartment had been no good though, not without Wally. So she’d left most of her things in storage to figure out later and moved back in with her mom. On days when Artemis can’t muster the energy to get out of bed, Paula wheels determinedly around the kitchen, ready to whip up some mì xào  or a warm bowl of  mì gói.  They play card games and laugh about how bad Wally was at tiến lên the first time Paula tried to teach him. Your boy has no patience, he always wants to play his strongest cards right away, her mom had teased, and Wally had protested, I make it a rule to always put my best foot forward! and Artemis had loved him even more then.

Loved. Loves. She hates the past tense.

“I mean, were you ever going to ask me to grab coffee?”

She can see the bits of Wally in his cracks. In a room together, it was always easy to tell they were best friends from the way they riffed off each other. The acrobat and the speedster: all verbal gymnastics and fast-moving quips. But unlike Wally, who liked poking fun because he liked getting attention, Dick is at his wittiest when trying to avoid talking about himself.

Artemis reaches out and pulls him to sit down beside her. She makes a show of looking at her watch.

“How’s… 12:15 AM this Saturday?”

Dick pretends to check it against his mental schedule. If his is anything like hers, it probably goes: Wake up. Exercise (beating up bad guys counts). Mourn.

“Yeah, seems like I can swing it.”

“Perfect,” says Artemis, sliding up the glass panes to let them into her childhood bedroom. “I’ve got just the stuff.” 

*

In the kitchen, Brucely stirs briefly from his dog bed to sniff the air and  yip, then curls back asleep. Paula hands Dick a mug, waiting for him to take a sip before saying, “So you were the one who had the brilliant plan to have my daughter fake her death.” 

Dick splutters; from the table, Artemis rises to his defense. “Mom,” she says. “Leave him be.”

Setting his cup down, Dick leans against the cabinets, bending his head slightly and rubbing the back of his neck. He does a good job of appearing chastised, and Artemis wants to roll her eyes, if only because she’s heard from Bette and Raquel that this pose is far too effective at convincing women to want to forgive him or try again.

“I’m not leading much of anything these days, if that’s at all a comfort to you.”

“Hmph.” Paula sniffs. “You live alone?”

“Yeah.” Dick shoots Artemis a questioning look over her mom’s head. Artemis shrugs.

“What do you do to fill the time?”

“A lot of reading. Gotham’s library system actually has a pretty good selection, believe it or not. I’ve also gotten really into meditating.”

“And you don’t sleep.”

Dick stiffens. For the first time, he looks exposed, a boy with too much guilt and too much time on his hands.

“I do. Tonight I was just… restless.”

Paula nods and backs up her wheelchair so she can sit by Artemis, curling her fingers over Artemis’s hand and squeezing. She raises her drink, Artemis and Dick following suit, the three of them toasting to invisible losses.

“Aren’t we all.”

*

Later, back on the fire escape, Dick taps his fingers against the railing, jittery. “I feel like I need to start doing jumping jacks. What was in that stuff?”

Artemis bites back a smile. “Yeah, Vietnamese coffee packs a hit. That’s my bad. Probably should have given you something non-caffeinated at this hour.”

“It’s fine. I’ll jog it out, or something.” He turns to go, but Artemis stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, listen—it was good seeing you tonight. And if you need someone to talk to…” What she really means is: it’d be nice to be around someone who’s hurting as much as I am. Not to say that the rest of the team wasn’t as torn up over Wally’s death, but she and Dick had been ground zero. Closest to the blast.

After a pause, Dick nods. “Yeah… I could use a sparring partner, actually. I’ll send you an address.”

“Okay.” Satisfied, Artemis withdraws her hand, curling her fingers into her palm.

It feels like a start.

*

Dick’s directions lead Artemis to Wayne Manor; from there he takes her to the Bat Cave.

“I thought you were striking out on your own,” Artemis says, using her forearms to deflect a kick to her face. Dick grunts and recovers, throwing a punch to her stomach; she dances out of the way.

“I am. I just pop in here from time to time because Bruce has better equipment. Plus there’s less of a chance of me disturbing the neighbors.” He gestures to the eerily blue-lit stone walls around them.

Artemis feints and goes low, ducking under Dick’s guard. Two quick hits to Dick’s sternum pushes him back, before he gets a hand on her wrist and twists her around so that her back is pressed against his chest.

“Weren’t we supposed to be talking?”

Kicking his shin, Artemis breaks free. “All right, fine. I’ll start.”  Jab.  “I keep wanting a scapegoat.”  Kick.  “Like, one person to blame, instead of something as big as the Reach. But it’s not some giant revenge thing, and I know Wally wouldn’t want me to go down that sort of all-consuming rabbit hole even if it was, and that pisses. Me. Off.” On those last words, she manages to use Dick’s momentum against him and flips him over her shoulder.

For a minute, it’s so quiet between them she can hear the faint plip of water dripping from a stalactite into the water below the sparring dais. Still lying on the floor, Dick confesses, “I keep hearing him.”

“I make a joke to myself and he’s there, in my ear, with the punchline. And then…” He passes a hand over his face.  “And then I realize that the real punchline is him being gone.”

Slowly, Artemis approaches him. She feels like she did when they were undercover at Haly’s circus so many years ago, that brief moment of hangtime before their hands connected in the air. She means to sit down next to him, pat his shoulder, she doesn’t know what, but instead Dick sweeps her legs out from under her and she goes down hard, the air whooshing out of her chest as she falls flat on her back.

“Agh!” The release sets something loose inside her. Next thing she knows, she’s yelling again, louder, just because.

Dick catches on and then it’s just the two of them shouting, their voices echoing through the cavern, threading around and piling atop each other like a flock of birds. After they’re done, Dick rolls so that they’re lying side by side.

“You know, when we were starting out—when we first became friends—I used to make fun of Wally that if he kept talking so much while running he was bound to swallow more bugs, or something. And he’d just shoot back like, ‘Nah dude, you think I’m not fast enough to see them and dodge them in the air?’ But you know how he was always so hungry after missions? One time I was so mad at him I put a bug in his sandwich. I’ve never forgotten the look on his face after he bit into it and I said, dodge that.”

“You didn’t.” Artemis gasps and covers her mouth, horrified, but she can see it so vividly: the colors draining from Wally’s face, making his freckles pop even more against his skin, the same greenish tint his cheeks took the time they went to Vietnam and he got food poisoning. He’d spent two days feverishly glaring up at the mosquito netting, and Artemis had draped cold hand towels over his forehead and promised she wasn’t going to leave him for the very obliging boy who kept bringing them ice.

“I did.” Dick is gleeful. “Really put the ‘rank’ in prank.”  

Artemis snorts; the snort turns into a full-blown guffaw. Dick turns toward her, laughing too. His hair is matted with sweat but still soft; it brushes against her forehead.

It feels so good to be close to someone again, to be able to flip on a dime from sadness to frustration to anger to laughter and not have to explain herself. She can’t remember the last time she smiled and didn’t feel guilty about it, and she means it more affectionately than anything when she reaches over and brings Dick’s mouth to hers, like if she inhales whatever they’ve temporarily managed to create here between them, it’ll be enough to tide her over for the next few months. For a second, he’s warm and responsive, before his lips stiffen and he pulls back.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

Shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t.  Shouldn’t beat yourself up about it, shouldn’t blame yourself for getting back in the game.  Artemis is sick of people telling her how to deal, how it’s supposed to go.  It’ll get better and then it doesn’t. People talk like there are guidebooks for this kind of shit, like it’s a marathon she just needs to pace herself through. And it’s the stupidest thing, but she misses being held.

She sits up and crosses her arms, resisting the urge to curl in on herself. “You didn’t do anything. I’ll go.”

“No, Artemis, wait, I don’t think you should go, I just want to understand what’s going on—”

“I want you to touch me, okay?” she explodes. “I want you to touch me because he’s never going to again and I know you loved him too and—and maybe if it’s you, I won’t feel so desperately alone.”

Dick looks stricken, and then, hesitantly, he reaches for her. His eyes are so blue, the kind of crushed eggshell you’d use to make a paint. “You’re not alone.”

“Prove it,” she says, vision blurring with tears—wanting, needing him closer, and then his hairline is up against hers again and his nose is at her cheek, his mouth at her jaw, soft but with a willingness to bruise. Don’t ask me what we’re about to do, Artemis silently begs, and Dick doesn’t.

 *

 Wally had been a restless lover. Always turning them over, switching positions. Artemis had taken it as a challenge, part of the ongoing competition that defined their relationship. Deep down, she’d known that Wally would be just as content if the rest of their sex life consisted solely of spooning gently on Sundays, which, if anything, was why she’d been so eager to experiment—because it felt like an easy gift she could give, not something she had to master to “maintain excitement” or make him stay.

She’s not sure what she expected from Dick. Maybe that’s a comfort—that she wasn’t fantasizing before they happened, wondering about all the mechanics of how it would go. Dick lets her call the shots, lets her ride him into the ground, the grip of his fingers around her thighs the only reminder she isn’t just angling toward oblivion. When he presses his thumb between her legs, it’s a weird sort of anchor—like hearing a voice pick up on a line you thought was dead. She has a body, and here’s someone on the other end of it, caring about her release. As soon as that thought hits, the relief shudders through her; she keeps rocking long enough to feel Dick follow, a stutter and a grunt, before she collapses boneless over him, the sweat of his skin a comforting stickiness against her cheek.

Internally, she apologizes to Bruce for desecrating his training space. Then again, they’re hardly the first of the Justice League to get handsy in less than appropriate places. She’s seen how Black Canary and Green Arrow act around each other.

Below her, Dick catches his breath. The rush of blood—his or hers—is loud in her ears.

“I didn’t think you’d be so…”  Giving, she means to say, but it gets lost on her tongue. “I mean, Zatanna…” she trails off again.

If Dick’s embarrassed at the prospect of his ex-girlfriend having blabbed about the details of their sex life to Artemis, he doesn’t show it. His fingers find a snag in her hair; gently, he works it loose. The air smells hedonistic. He keeps combing. Nice is the only word she can think to describe it, and that makes her want to cry again, so she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his chest.

Dick pauses his ministrations. He flattens his palm against the base of her neck and just—holds her there.

“Don’t mention it.”  

When she goes home that afternoon to shower, she runs the water on full blast for a long time.

 *

 Armed with Chinese food, she visits Dick’s place the next day intent on making amends. Dick doesn’t even act surprised; he just points to the glass coffee table where she can set the bag of chopsticks, napkins, and takeout.

“I’m trying to decide what to watch.”

There’s really no need for him to stand in front of the TV the way he does, one hand propped on his hip as he clicks through options with the remote. Artemis lets herself ogle, a bit. The surest way to blow past what happened between them yesterday is to be honest with herself, right? And as far as coping mechanisms go, Artemis could have done worse. At least her method has a gymnast’s ass.

“Any preferences?”

“Between what?” asks Artemis, cracking open the carton of lo mein and settling back against the cushions. The Netflix suggestion algorithm onscreen paints a condemning picture of Dick’s tastes. “True crime or… true crime?”

Wally had been really into nature documentaries. One time during freshman year, when they were still living on Stanford’s campus, they’d gotten high in Wally’s dorm room and watched Blue Planet. Wally had cried when the seal got flung apart by killer whales.

“I’ll Be Gone in the Dark it is, then,” says Dick. He settles next to her on the couch, peeling back one of the orders and sniffing its contents. “What’s this one?”

“Salt and pepper ribs. They were today’s special.”

“Artemis.” Dick beams. “You really do care about me.”

 *

 Ten minutes into the episode begs a single question: “Isn’t it sort of depressing that you spend so much of your day fighting crime, and then you go home to unwind and just watch… more of it?”

Dick shrugs. “It keeps me sharp. And it’s nice seeing other people solve problems.”

“Well, if you ever feel like branching out, there’s a short film about Rubik’s cubes you might like.” Artemis nudges his side. “Remember when you were a scrawny math geek?”

Bringing both hands behind his head, Dick smirks. “Still a math geek. Just not scrawny.”

Artemis stares. That was just a bit of friendly showboating, right? Or was it a flirt? Not trusting herself, she whips her gaze back toward the TV. What feels like eons later, the credits roll.

“Artemis,” Dick says, too soft for having just finished a show about murder. He taps the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got some food stuck.”

She wipes with the back of her hand; a breaded piece of orange chicken emerges as the culprit. Without thinking, she flicks it off, sending it flying somewhere onto Dick’s carpet.

“Oops.”

Chuckling, Dick shakes his head. “I need to vacuum tomorrow, anyways.”

The mention of tomorrow stirs her. “Right. I should head out.”

“Yeah.” Dick rises to help her clean up their mess, holding open the plastic bag so she can toss in the soiled napkins and other bits of trash. “Or—”

He hesitates, but the hesitation’s enough. It might as well be a hand on her wrist, with how it stops her in her tracks. All night, despite what she told herself, she’s been looking for proof: proof that his aloneness fits the shape of hers, that he needs her, too. This time, Dick makes the first move—cups her face in both hands and kisses her, slow and deep and full of heat. Some pepper from the food they ate still lingers on his lips, making her mouth tingle, and Artemis is dizzy and flat on her back on the couch before she knows it, giving in.

Not scrawny at all, she thinks, admiring the solidness of Dick’s knees on either side of her, the weight of his frame as they grind together. The sheer mechanics of it feel very horny-teenager-after-prom, but the way Dick sucks her bottom lip and swallows her breath down with it is decidedly adult.  These days, Artemis practically lives in her sports bra, which doesn’t exactly grant easy access, but when Dick’s fingertips skim over the cotton covering her breasts the sensation zings all the way down her spine.

“Need… off…”

“Yeah,” Dick murmurs, humming as he moves down the column of her neck. “Gimme a sec, I’m working on it.”

She’d worn sweats because she figured their bagginess would keep her from sparring again and any potential… situations that could arise from that. Instead, all it means is Dick unties the drawstrings easily, sliding her pants down her legs. Cool air brushes across her as he shifts positions; she wants to sob in relief. His teeth graze her hip and then catch the edge of her panties and—oh. Fuck. The moan tears out of her and she scrabbles at the armrest, hips rising of their own accord. Next time, she is handcuffing Dick to a bed, because what he’s doing with his tongue and fingers should be illegal. She can feel him grinning, the bastard, and the only thing keeping her from crushing his head to a pulp between her thighs is the maneuver he pulls where he hooks her knees over his shoulders, so he can change the angle and plunge in deeper. Artemis shoves the edge of her T-shirt into her mouth at the last minute, only barely managing to muffle her cry.

Dick surfaces from his solo mission looking entirely too satisfied, mouth glistening. Trembling, still, from her orgasm, Artemis squints at him, possessed by some combination of unbridled lust and rage.

“Dick.”

“You calling, or asking?”

“Shut up,” she hisses. She feels like a newborn foal, after what he just did to her, but the urge to dismantle him just as thoroughly sends her surging upward and pushing him back. Dick welcomes their reversed positions by peeling off his shirt and tossing it over his shoulder, all while Artemis works furiously at his belt. It shouldn’t feel so good, to hear the metal clink against his button and watch the leather slide through the loops. To see the shadows the light of the TV casts on him—the lashes on his cheeks, the hollow of his throat. Artemis hadn’t paid much attention the first time, too desperate and caught up a bit in self-loathing, but now she’s actually enjoying this, savoring the flex of Dick’s abs as he pushes up to meet her, his skin pebbling at her touch.

“I’m going to take you apart,” she purrs.

Dick groans and bucks. The sensation sends a sharp spike of pleasure through her, and she clamps down on him tighter, refusing to yield.

“Try me, Tigress,” he rasps, pushing himself up on one arm so he can mouth at her collarbone. With his other hand, he pulls off her hairtie so her hair comes free of her ponytail, and this is going to be a thing with him, isn’t it, him wanting to fuck her while her hair swings loose around her face. She indulges him for a few minutes, claws his back and bites his shoulder for good measure, but then she’s pushing him back down and stretching out her body as languidly as possible to remind him who’s boss. Their pace slows. Dick keeps a hand fisted in her hair, so he can tug her head back in order to keep her neck exposed to his wanton mouth, but his grip gets less sure the closer she pushes him to the edge.

“Art—” says Dick, the single syllable like a painting pinned to the wall, fraught with desire, and then he just lets it drop, the tresses of her hair falling through his fingers. She wants to tell him that he’s beautiful, that he does look like a boy wonder, right then, in the midst of coming undone, chest flushed and hair mussed and pupils blown nearly wide enough to overtake the blue.

She doesn’t, but she stays the night, and that’s close enough.

 *

  High-functioning, Artemis’s therapist had called her, before Artemis moved back to Gotham. And it does feel like a high—the sneaking around, the after-hours meet-ups, the back-and-forth. There’s no one really keeping tabs on her, though Artemis has plenty of cover stories if anyone asks (new intel, side reconnaissance, etcetera, etcetera). Her mom eyes her and says, “As long as you’re not planning on staging your own death again, because I will find out and I will kill you this time,” and that’s that. Artemis nearly laughs. If anything, what she’s doing is the opposite, a small resurrection. An entire month and a half passes this way: day trips and dinners and movie nights and Dick and her in a bathtub, in the shower, against a wall. She even wears a gown and heels once, not because they have an actual event to attend, but because Dick has a fantasy that involves taking her from behind in the Wayne Manor library.

They’re in his apartment on a Sunday morning bathing in the afterglow, sheets tangled around their waists. Thank god Dick is one of those assholes that splurged on not only a nice mattress but also a solid bed frame. Artemis reaches over to push the hair out of his eyes. The black tuft on the back of his head that she likes grabbing is fluffed up like a duck's tail, and under the sunlight slanting through the windows, he looks angelic.

“Are you falling back asleep?”

Yawning, Dick snags her around the waist, dragging her to him. She should not delight this much in being manhandled.

“You wore me out,” he complains, tucking his chin over her shoulder.

“They just don’t make them like they used to,” Artemis sighs. Dick growls a little at the dig, fingers tightening against her hip.

Well. If he’s going to nap, she is, too. Comfortably spooned, she snuggles back against him, prepared to drift off.

“Do you think Wally would have wanted…” Dick doesn’t finish the thought.

Artemis turns in his arms. Dick has long eyelashes, and he’s looking at her through them almost bashfully. She places a hand on his chest. Feels his heartbeat thump once, twice.

“I think he would want us to be happy.”

“Are you?” Dick’s voice fades out and he has to swallow hard to clear his throat. “Happy?”

“I’m not… miserable.” 

Dick runs his hand up her bare arm, over her shoulder. “Me neither.”

“You know, Wally and I thought…” She bites her lip, remembering a whoosh of air, Wally speeding to her side to kiss her and interrupting her report on the disabled Paris MFD.  I know we promised each other we’d get out of this game, but maybe we can have our life together and play hero, too.  “We thought we’d have everything.”

Dick’s response isn’t mournful; it’s matter-of-fact. “After my parents died, I never really convinced myself that I could have it all.”

“That sounds like something Batman would say.”

“Does it?”

“A little.”

Once upon a time, Artemis had stood before the team ready to lay bare her darkest secret, waiting to be kicked out. And Dick had shown his hand: he’d known from the beginning and hadn’t cared.  You aren’t your family. You’re one of us. She knows he’s second-guessed himself over the years, wondering how fit he actually is to play leader. But for her, trust has always been the easiest thing about the two of them. It was why she’d said yes so easily to his deep cover mission—because she knew that he wouldn’t quit until he’d brought all of them home, that he would do whatever he could to keep them safe.

Taking his face in both her hands, she looks deep into his eyes. “You deserve good things, Dick Grayson.”

“Mm.” Dick smiles into her kiss, hooks his ankle over hers. “Keep telling me that. I’ll start to believe it.”

 *

 Jade abandons Will and Lian on a Tuesday, and Artemis’s carefully crafted equilibrium falls apart. At least this time she’s not the one directly being left, unlike when she was a teenager. Her expectations of her older sister had hardly been high, but if she’d plotted them on a graph they’d have trended upward. Now they’ve tanked.

“Did she leave any hint of where she was going?” Dick asks over the whir of his juicer. He’s gotten really into squeezing oranges lately; Artemis can’t complain because he always gives her the first glass.

“It’s Jade. She never wants to be found, and I hardly think she’s about to try an  Eat Pray Love type thing.”

“Eat Slash Steal, maybe?” Dick offers, dropping two ice cubes into a drink and setting it in front of her.

Artemis sips, balling up a napkin and throwing it at him at the same time. “Watch it, that’s still my family you’re talking about.”

“I’m sorry. How’s Will taking it?”

“As well as any dad trying to raise a two-year-old by himself would.”

“So, poorly.” Dick taps his finger against the table. “Are they coming here?”

Artemis looks at him blankly. “Why?”

“I figured they might want to be closer to you and your mom now that Jade’s gone. Gotham’s not so bad—you and I turned out fine. And Will probably needs to look into preschools and a babysitter for Lian soon. If you move in with me, you can bring her over whenever.”

The last piece of information slips in so casually she thinks she’s misheard. “What?”

“If you move in with me, you can bring Lian over whenever,” repeats Dick. “This place is as good as yours. You’re over here all the time anyway.”

Suddenly, she can’t breathe. “You’re serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She can’t meet his eyes. “W—Will’s home is in Star City. He’s not going to move.”

Slowly, Dick says, “Okay. But my offer doesn’t really depend on Will.”

Her stuff is still in boxes. She’s still paying for a storage unit almost 3,000 miles away. And Dick is waiting on her so intently it makes her chest hurt.

Artemis stands up. “We’re not doing this.”

Dick’s eyebrows rise. Annoyance, or maybe anger, flickers across his face. “You wanna fill me in on what exactly it is we’re doing, according to you?”

“We’re not going to fight about this like we’re…”  In a relationship. In love. In anything other than a messy configuration started by shared grief. She doesn’t say any of it out loud, but she doesn’t need to—Dick’s always been great at reading people, and he’s known all her tells from the start.

“Right.”  The single syllable comes out as cold and pointed as an icicle. He pushes his chair back from the table and stands up. The clouds are rolling in, throwing shadows across his features. Even now, Artemis wants to kiss him, wants to be the one to smooth the furrow between his eyebrows away.

“Dick…”

“Do me a favor, will you?” Dick grabs his jacket from the hook by his door, shrugging it on. He pauses, briefly, in the doorway. “Lock my door on the way out.”  

That night, she lies alone in her bedroom next to the picture of her, Wally, and Brucely. Brucely snuffles at the foot of her bed and then leaps onto the covers, and this time she doesn’t shoo him off. Neither does she fall asleep.

 *

 There was a song Jade had liked to sing, passed down from their mother: a Vietnamese lullaby about a yellow butterfly, to the tune of “Frère Jacques.” The butterfly flies all over the sky. Come and see. Come and see. When it became clear that Artemis’s hair would grow in blond, not black, Jade started pulling it, making her giggle. You’re the yellow butterfly, see?

The taxicab she calls for the airport is bright yellow in the morning light. Plain old civilian travel for plain old civilian business. You don’t need to be a superhero to fly across the country and move in with your brother-in-law and your niece. She’ll sing silly little songs and wash Lian’s hair, and they’ll be a family same as anyone else’s: clumsy, incomplete.

“Artemis.” Dick coalesces out of the fog. They haven’t seen or spoken to each other in a week, and she should be mad that he’s here because it probably means he’s been monitoring her web traffic and caught wind she’d bought plane tickets. Still, all she feels is relief.

Jade had laughed when Artemis had let slip what she was doing during one rare sisterly bonding moment. “Oh, darling sister, your thing with your little bird boy isn’t about moving on. You’re using him as a holding pattern. Try not to damage him too much, hm?” Rankled, Artemis had hung up the phone—what did Jade know about anything, besides shoving it under the rug and pretending it didn’t matter? Now, though, Artemis sees things more clearly. Jade did know something about bodies and what they could and couldn’t fix; after all, isn’t that why she ran?

She worries with the strap of her duffel bag, letting Dick approach.

“If this were a romcom, you would have waited until I got to the airport and then run through security.”

“If this were a romcom,” says Dick, stopping in front of her and shoving his hands in his pockets, “I’d be trying to make you stay.”

She thinks he might be the one person left on this planet who knows her best. She thinks they could save each other, if they’d let themselves try. But they each have work to do on their own, first.

Setting down her bag, she tucks her face into the crook of his neck and breathes him in. Wherever else she goes, this spot will always feel like forgiveness. Nose buried in her hair, Dick squeezes her back.

The taxi driver rolls down his window. “Is this guy coming with us or not?”

Artemis pulls back, and there’s so much sky in Dick’s eyes.

“You know where to find me,” she says.

 *

 | STAR CITY

| JULY 29, 2018; 7:30 AM PST

 “Who are you here to recruit this time?” Will asks, leaning against the doorframe, but Artemis doesn’t need an answer, doesn’t need any details but the black hair she can see just over Will’s shoulder, Dick’s voice at the end of a line.

He jumps, and she jumps with him. They’ll figure out everything else as they go.

Before Dick can respond, she says: “I’m in.”