#aside from when i was a literal toddler and i thought he was black and they laughed at me so i was like well i guess im wrong

[shakestheclown]

also im like really tempted to do my own ancestry thing cause i wanna know my exact statistics ya know obviously dna disperses differently so like im so curious now... but that shit's expensive AND they'd have my dna on file? idk man

[xoxoladyaz]

AU-gust, Day 8: Robots and Androids

WARNING: THIS IS A CROSSOVER WITH FNAF. (Listen, I told you things were about to get weird so please fasten your seatbelts, it's gonna be a wild ride 🩷)

“This might be the stupidest job we’ve ever had.”

“Are you kidding?” Robin yelled from across their homey two-bedroom. “These outfits are so much better than Scoops!”

“First of all, that’s saying literally nothing, and second of all, you’re not the one wearing safety cone orange!” Stevie yelled back as she examined her reflection in the mirror. Her new work uniform consisted of a long-sleeved bright-orange shirt with the Fazbear Entertainment logo in bright blue on her front breast pocket, paired with fitted black trousers that had bright orange piping running up and down the edge.

(Whomever worked in the staff uniform design department of Fazbear Entertainment definitely had it out for her.)

“Oh shut up, that color looks great on you,” Robin retorted as she strolled into Stevie’s bedroom. She was dressed in the Roxanne Wolf version of her outfit – lilac and lime green which was so, so much cuter in Stevie’s opinion. “Besides, you have those lightning bolt earrings from our Bowie party that match perfectly.”

Stevie sighed and started flipping through her jewelry box. “Ugh, I guess. I still don’t know why we took this gig though.”

“You mean aside from the fact that Argyle got us these jobs in a literal day?”

“Uh, yeah, Robin! We’re working at the robot capital of the world and you hate robots.”

“Okay, first of all the Glamrocks aren’t robots, they’re animatronics,” Robin started numbering off on her fingers. “Secondly, Roxanne Wolf is a lesbian icon to whom I owe my allegiance and I see that eye-roll Stephanie Harrington, don’t give me that sass, and thirdly we’re working in the gift shop, we’ll, like, never see them in person.”

“Famous last words,” Stevie muttered, but Robin was already speeding into the hallway.

“Now stop stalling, dingus, it’s time to hit the Pizzaplex!”

/////

Stevie had to begrudgingly admit that working at Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex wasn’t the worst job in the entire world. She got to spend all day with Robin (and make faces with her behind the backs of the really crazy parents) while staying warm, dry and ice-cream free. Which, speaking of, they also got free food with every shift which meant lunch and/or dinner breaks with Argyle (who worked in Chica’s Pizzaria and loved it, the maniac) and that was awesome.

(It was really hard to keep track of everyone now that they’d all been relocated from Hawkins and spread across the state of California; if Stevie thought about it too much, she’d get emotional, so she tried not to think about it.

Or about the fact that Eddie hadn’t texted her in a few weeks.)

Stevie even got to pick-up a few overtime shifts in the daycare on her off days which, hey, the faster she makes money, the faster she can get to cosmetology school.

(Did she have problems with the fact she was sharing babysitting duties with a glorified robot? Not really.

Did she understand how the toddlers weren’t scared by Eclipse when he was in his Moon phase? No, not even a little bit, that fucker was creepy.)

That didn’t mean there weren’t drawbacks to her job, of course. She and Robin averaged about twenty upset and entitled parental encounters daily combined, not to mention all of the crying children who were either upset that they weren’t getting exactly what they wanted or were upset that they weren’t getting what they wanted fast enough. Their all-time high of screaming kids was 41 and they drank a fuck ton of wine that night.

But the biggest problem about working at Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex? Those goddamn animatronics. And not because Stevie was scared of them, oh no, no, it was because Robin was full of shit. Anytime one of the Glamrocks came within twenty feet of the gift shop she ducked for cover, and if it was Roxy? She was useless for a solid fifteen minutes afterwards every single time.

(“I think this officially qualifies you as a furry,” Stevie said after one particularly close encounter. Roxy had stopped to take pictures in front of the doorway and Robin had catapulted herself through the Montgomery Gator sweatshirt rack and crashed into Roxy’s plushie display and got absolutely buried.

“It really shouldn’t be that big of a surprise, Robs, this is how you always act when a pretty girl comes around - ”

“Stevie? Shut. Up.”)

It wouldn’t have been a problem if Robin and Stevie had remained posted at the gift shop, but no, the gods forever frowned upon Stephanie Harrington.

/////

“Harrington!” Her manager Roger barked as he power-walked past her, three weeks into her tenure at the Pizzaplex. “We’re running low on Freddy plushies out front, so I’m going to need you to go and get the next shipment from storage. Here,” he said, tossing her a new keycard that she (barely) managed to catch. “Second floor storage area behind Fazer Blast. There should be a dolly there for you to use. Thanks!” Roger hollered, and then he was off running after a mop-bot that was spreading paint around in the main atrium.

Stevie turned to look at Robin who was already shaking her head. “Nope, no way.”

“Aww c’mon Robin, please? I always go with you when we walk around the Pizzaplex.”

Robin rolled her eyes and was about to reply when the melodic voice of Roxanne Wolf echoed throughout the plaza. “Thank you, I am the best,” the Glamrock crooned, and Robin flushed bright red and threw herself into the gift shop.

Welp. Looks like Stevie was going to have to handle this solo.

/////

Question, why was Stevie handling this solo again? Because she’d passed about twenty janitorial bots on her way to the storage area, all of whom were just scooting around with nothing to do. 

Whatever.

There was a dolly back in the (dark and creepy) storage room, so she loaded up a brand new box of Freddy Fazbear plushies and made her way to the main elevator bank.

“Sorry, excuse me, pardon me,” she said on repeat as she walked past scores of rowdy children and their stressed parents. As she rounded the corner, she saw the elevator doors begin to close and she moved faster.

“Please hold!” She yelled, and the elevator doors stopped shutting. “Shit, thank you,” Stevie gasped as she rolled the cart in and wiped her eyes.

“No problem, superstar!”

Fuck.

Stevie whipped around to look at the other occupant of the elevator and – yep, it was the man (err, orange bear) himself, all 6’3” of animatronic rockstar Freddy Fazbear gazed down at her, his signature smile on his perfectly polished face.

Stevie barely noticed the elevator doors slide shut behind them, barely heard the tinny elevator music play as they started their descent.

“You’re - ”

“I’m Freddy Fazbear, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the animatronic intoned.

“Hi, yeah. I’m - ”

“Stephanie Harrington,” he interrupted, his eyes scanning her form with a bluish light. “You work in the gift shop.”

“How did you - ”

“I have access to the Pizzaplex’s employee directory. For security concerns.”

“Oh. Cool.”

She stood and stared at the bear, who stood and stared back at her. And then wiggled his ears.

(It was kind of cute.)

“Well, I - ”

The elevator suddenly screeched to a halt and Stevie barely managed to stop herself from tumbling to the ground – mainly because a pair of oversized orange paws gently caught her.

“We’re sorry,” an automated voice spoke over the elevator intercom, “but it appears that our elevators are experiencing a technical difficulty. Please remain calm and our staff will be with you shortly.”

Stevie groaned, slumping back against those orange paws. “Oh, great.”

“Not to worry, superstar!” Freddy said, and Stevie barely suppressed her flinch at his booming voice. “Our staff is highly qualified and perfectly capable of fixing any and all technical issues that may take place at the Pizzaplex. We will be out of here in no time!”

(Stevie had seen how long it took the staffbots to fix the soda fountain when it exploded; she didn’t share Freddy’s faith in this at all.)

“Good, glad to hear it,” she replied drily. She stood up and waved Freddy’s hands away (or, err, paws. His paws. Paws that followed her to make sure she wouldn’t fall again which wasn’t sweet, for fuck’s sake!)

“Well, Stephanie, how about we play a game?” Freddy asked as she Stevie slumped against the far wall. (No way she was going to stand for this.)

“Sure, Freddy. What game do you wanna play?”

Freddy’s ears wiggled again as he hummed (or made a humming sound; he couldn’t actually hum, could he?) “How about we play the Question Game? I always like to learn more about my friends!”

Aww, he thought they were friends. (Or he was programmed to say that, or think they were friends? Just how intelligent were these things? She should text Dustin later on and ask what he knew about Fazbear Entertainment.)

Still, Freddy continued to smile as he waited for her reply and yeah, okay, that was cute. “Sure, Freddy,” Stevie sighed, but she made sure to smile back at him. “Let’s play the Question Game.”

/////

They were in the elevator for a total of forty-five minutes, which gave Freddy and Stevie plenty of time to play the Question Game. Stevie learned all about Freddy’s favorite things to do at the Pizzaplex (play music with his friends, try to beat his old high score in Fazer Blast, dance at DJ Music Man’s shows whenever he had the chance), his best friend (Bonnie, who had been banged up pretty badly and was getting fixed somewhere offsite), his other best friend (Chica, they liked to do Jazzercise together), and his favorite thing to do in his free time (which was read, apparently? She wasn’t sure how the animatronic bear got his hands on copies of “the classics” and honestly wouldn’t have pegged him as a Dostoevsky fan but hey, apparently even orange animatronic bears can have depth?)

In turn, Stevie told him about her favorite things to do at the Pizzaplex (visit Argyle at Chica’s Pizzaria, laugh at Robin when she hid from Roxy), her best friend (Robin, who worked with her in the gift shop), her other best friends (Argyle and Nancy and Eddie and Jonathan and Chrissy), her family (well, Dustin and the Hopper-Byers’ at least), and her favorite thing to do in her free time (watch movies with Robin, which then led into a long conversation about what movies she’d seen and would recommend because while Freddy knows about movies he hasn’t seen a whole lot of them).

He also asked her questions about the world outside the Pizzaplex: where she was born (Hawkins), why she moved from Hawkins (an earthquake, which was the official cover story), what her dream job was (being a hairdresser, at which point Freddy said she should talk to Roxy and start training at her salon which was, again, very cute), and all about the places she’d seen and where she wanted to go next.

(“Probably down to Malibu,” she’d said, lost in thought. “I’d like to see those beaches. What about you, is there somewhere you’d like to go?”

“I – well.” Freddy paused, and for the first time, he appeared troubled. “I cannot leave the Pizzaplex.”

“Oh,” Stevie murmured and wow, that really fucking sucked, didn’t it? Sure, she was talking to a robot bear who was literally built to be children’s entertainment but he wasn’t really feeling like just a robot bear anymore, especially the more they talked and played the Question Game. And this might have been one really, really long con or programming thing but – what if it wasn’t? What if he was fully intelligent and he was really stuck here?

Like El and the lab, she thought, and then she was barely able to stop herself from tearing up.

“But if I could go somewhere else,” Freddy continued, unaware of Stevie’s inner turmoil, “I would also probably choose to go to the beach. I would like to see the sun on the water,” he finished quietly.)

Stevie didn’t know what to say, but thankfully the elevator started up again, so she was spared any sort of deeper introspection.

“See?” Freddy said, no trace of sadness in his voice at all, like it had never been there. “Good as new.”

“Yeah, you were right about that,” Stevie said, pushing herself to her feet. It was a little tricky to do so while the elevator was moving, but Freddy held out his hand and she grabbed hold without a second thought. “Thanks, Freddy.”

“You’re welcome, superstar,” Freddy replied with an ear wiggle. “Can I assist you with transporting your cart to the gift shop?”

Stevie grinned. “You know what, Freddy? That would be great.”

/////

“EVIL,” Robin hissed from behind the sales counter, her white knuckles gripping onto the laminated wood for dear life. “You are evil.”

“Hmm, what was that?” Stevie asked as she watched Freddy unbox (and gently stack) the plushies on the main console table. “I can’t hear you, Robin.”

Robin hissed an unintelligible reply but Stevie ignored her, watching instead as Freddy stepped back and clapped his hands together. “Perfect!” He turned and alighted that bright electronic smile towards Stevie. “Thank you for letting me help, superstar.”

“No, thank you for helping, Freddy. Come back and visit any time, you hear?”

“Absolutely.”

Stevie waited for Freddy to leave, but he didn’t; he just stood there and stared at her, letting the seconds pass them by.

“Uh, Freddy, sir?” An acne-riddled teen with “Benny” on his nametag cleared his throat. “We need you in Superstar Row for some Meet and Greets.”

“Oh, yes,” Freddy replied, like he wasn’t thinking, like he’d forgotten.

(He was still looking at Stevie.)

“It was nice talking with you, Stephanie,” he finally said, and with one final wave he thundered out of the gift shop, Benny at his heels.

Stevie turned to look at Robin, who was looking at her with confusion. “Huh.”

“Huh,” Stevie repeated, and she could practically feel herself blush the longer that Robin looked at her. Robin who, of course, sensed a perfect opportunity for revenge.

Robin who suddenly had a shit-eating grin on her face. “You know, I think that officially qualifies you as a furry, dingus.”

“Oh, fuck off, Robin.”

[bokettochild]

About Legend having insane leg strenght: what if the reason he never brags about that is because he's embarassed about it? He thinks that pulverizing a boulder with a kick is either something everyone can do or too similar to a bunny. One day he and Four get dumped into a monster camp without their items or weapons and Legend takes desperate measures to ensure they don't die: anihilating the entire camp with only his legs. He is unironically and literally capable of killing someone with his /1

This ask references this post btw, so, check it out if you need context!

Honestly, I loved this so much! THANK YOU!!! But I am half asleep, so the cool stuff I saw in my head is being stinky and not comng out. I'm sorry, hope you like my half-asleep drabbl of Legend being weak as shit while simultaneously having the strongest kick out of the whole Chain XD

Legend hates being at Ordon.

It’s not that he hates the people; he’s used to country folk, he was raised around them, heck, his grandparents have the same strong twang in their voices that everyone in Twi’s village does! He loves the fresh air and the sounds of animals and the sight of growing things everywhere he looks.

But he hates looking around and seeing Twilight’s entire village (even the freaking kids!) wander around lifting things that probably equal his entire body weight!

Seriously, Malo (that was the terrifying toddler’s name, right? That’s what Twilight said when he introduced them all, right?) could lift up a small goat with ease, and he was an actual toddler!

What was Uli feeding her children that they turned out this strong? Were all the village women using it? How on earth was every person in all of Ordon fully capable of throwing Legend over their shoulder?

It hadn’t happened yet, but Legend was on guard because it was only so much time before someone figured out it was possible, and it wasn’t as if he could fight them off.

He wasn’t jealous, definitely not. Not even when he saw Twilight carrying a mother goat across the village with an easy stride as he brought the nanny back to her pen. When he buried his face in his arms and sighed it wasn’t because he was remembering how much he had to tug and pull to move a basket of apples, no, it was just because the mere thought of carrying goats for the foreseeable future made him tired. Definitely.

But this strength was just an Ordon thing, right? It was totally just something that was common in Ordon, and Legend took comfort in that as he sat on the front porch of Uli and Rusl’s house and helped with the mending.

Even their blankets were heavy, what the heck?

But then Sky walked past.

And Sky was carrying a barrel, an entire barrel. One that swished and clunked with the sounds of grain filling it, and if the small trail of spilled seed that followed after the hero meant anything, then that thing was full.

Okay, so Skyloftians were strong too, no big deal.

Big deal.

Their entire visit to Ordon, helping to hide away animals and supplies before a local monster band stole them, was spent with Legend trying desperately to not be jealous as he watched everyone from Wind to Time lift and carry things that he couldn’t even knock over if he pushed against them.

It wasn’t even that most of thing things were heavy, it was just... he was weak.

Uli’s gaze when she’d figured out the truth had been surprised, eyes blown wide with shock as she watched as Legend, who’d opted to help indoors since he knew working outside would lead to him being more a burden than an aid, struggled to lift buckets of water to fill the wash basin. Dark brown eyes had followed him as he’s left the bucket outdoors and stomped inside, hissing and wheezing under his breath as he moved his attention to his bag and grabbed one of his power bracelets.

“Hun,” Uli’s soft country twang caught his attention as the woman drew close, concern filling her warm gaze. “Are ya’ feelin’ alright?”

And reputation or no, Legend’s Gran would have his hide on a hitching-post if he even so much as dropped his manners. There was something about country folk that was so inherently polite and welcoming, that even the salty vet couldn’t help but return with the same manners that his Gran had pounded into his head since childhood.

“Yes, ma’am.” Crimson trailed up his neck to blossom across his cheeks and shoot up his ears. He tried to ignore that Uli had a baby on one hip and a bushel of food on the other, breath contained and relaxes as she stood there, no hint of strain in her face or body language. His fingers trailed along the clasp of his power bracelet, shame building inside as he shuffled his feet.

You just can’t walk away when lady’s talking to you, especially if she’s being all polite like and just makin’ sure you’re okay.

“Are you injured?” The farm-wife pressed. “You were huffy something huge with that there bucket.”

And Legend would like nothing more than to sink into the earth as he glances over the full bucket of water that no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t lift. “I’m just not much of a farm-hand is all, ma’am. I’ll be right as rain in a tick, just needed to grab something I forgot.”

And while the look Uli gives him is a bright smile, he knows worry when he sees it peeking out of someone’s gaze. He tries to ignore that, instead turning back to the chores he’d been assigned and trying his hardest to ignore ethe fact that no one else was wearing power bracelets when they all came back for dinner that evening.

He’s not strong. So what? He can lift his sword well enough, and he can do most other things too when he wears the power bracelets.

Yes, he knows that Ravio warned him about not developing muscles if he relied on objects so much, but he’s never had time to work out or build any muscle mass, so when he needs it it’s a bit more important to just get his work done rather than hope he’ll develop it. He’s paying for that, and he knows it, but he can’t really help that he doesn’t have the time or space to really do anything about it.

Oh well, at least the others haven’t caught on.

Warriors hefts a huge rock over his shoulder and throws it, chuckling deep and loud as he smirks at the rancher. “Beat that!”

They’re clearing a road where an avalanche swept through and blocked off the main entrance to a local town. They’ve been at it for hours, and while Legend tries his hardest to be discreet by sticking to things he can actually lift, even if it does require his bracelets, the others have devolved into a contest to see who can throw stuff the furthest.

There’s nothing on the other side of the road except for the edge of a swamp, and even Legend has to admit that it’s ridiculously satisfying to hear each of the heavy stones go ‘plop’ as they land in the marsh.

Twilight smirks at the captain, all his sharp teeth on display as he hefts a rock that’s the size of Wild and easily bigger than half of the rest of the heroes. “Watch and learn, city boy.” Twilight grunts (well at least it took some effort) before throwing the boulder and watching with the rest of them as it soars through the air and lands with a dramatic ‘splosh’ in the middle of the swamp. Cheers erupt from the younger heroes, and a few even drop their own burdens to give a brief round of applause.

Warriors humphs shrewdly, gaze thin as he looks over at Twi, who only cocks a brow in challenge. “Anyone think they can beat that?”

Legend finds his gaze meeting Four’s swirling hazel, and they both quickly look away from the captain, both well aware that the biggest rocks they’ve lifted are maybe the sizes of their heads, and no where near the horrific loads that the taller heroes are tossing left and right.

“I’ll try!” Wild’s eyes are flashing as the kid clambers over the rock slide, eyes darting to and fro until they land on what has to be the biggest, most horrifically sized piece of rubble Legend has ever seen. The Champion beams, rolling his shoulders and cracking his knuckles briefly before taking the stone in both hands and lifting it over his head and throwing it.

The swam erupts in goop and several of their group yelp and have to dark back as smelly water sprinkles the edge of the path. Wild beams down from his perch on top of the pile, hands on his hips as he looks down at them. “Who dares challenge my strength?”

“How about you, Vet?” Warriors nudges him lightly, chuckling with a cocked brow. The man is just teasing, and he doesn’t mean any harm, but Legend finds himself irritated anyways. He doesn’t know what it is about Warriors, but the man gets under his skin entirely too easily.

“No thanks.” He grunts, hefting his own stone (so small in comparison) a bit higher and adjusting his grip as he walks over to the swamp.

Wild scrabbles around above, knocking stones aside and sending them rolling down towards the vet. Legend rolls his eyes, dodging quickly around a few and kicking some of the larger ones in the direction of the swamp.

He smiles to himself at the satisfying ‘plonk’ as each one hits the surface.

Four’s head aches and the next time they see Warriors they’re going to kick him in the shins.

The captain is good at planning, usually, but if his planning means that Four is waking up to stare around a vast room where people in red and black PJ suits are eating bananas because said plan went wrong, then they think they’re a bit justified in wanting to kick the captain.

They’d reach to rub their head, to adjust the headband that’s riding too low and letting their hair all hang in their eyes, but their hands are bound behind them, and they’re left huffing their breath and scrunching their nose in an effort to relive their irritation. Their mind is too wild to shake their head, but they let their eyes wander.

Legend’s violet gaze meets theirs, sharp fury bubbling below the surface as Legend sits across from them, hands bound behind him, a rope leading from his wrists to a hook in the wall that is definitely higher than either of the two of them can reach.

As unkind as it is, they breathe a sigh of relief to know they aren’t alone (even if being four people in one body technically means that they’re never alone as is). It’s...nice, having Legend around. They don’t know what it is, but the taller boy feels safe and that’s something that they, especially Red, fond comfort in.

But the fact that two of them are here means that Wars is getting both his shins kicked, fair is fair.

Legend squeaks in that harsh way he does when he’s angry, a poor and rather adorable attempt at a growl, but apparently, he’s unable to make any sort of guttural noise, so the squeak is the best he can do. “I am going to strangle Wars when we get back. Yiga? Seriously?”

They raise a brow. “Weren’t we fighting moblins?”

“And a Talus. Unless these guys have transformative rings, then someone messed up.” The vet grates out, but before he can try and unravel their situation any more, a masked face is shoved into the vets own, one of the pajama clad banana eater’s apparently trying to leer over the vet, breath strong and rank even behind his mask.

“So! The friends of the hero awake! You will call me Astorah! Leader of the Yiga and supreme priestess to Lord Ganon!”

“I’ll call you annoying and maybe alive if you let us go.” legend drawls, unimpressed. “Seriously lady, get your face of mine or I’ll knock it in.”

They smirk. Legend is as polite and well-mannered as can be around the country villages, but the minute he’s away from thick mountain drawls and country twang, the Vet becomes a sour and salty speaker who’s as likely to threaten you as o smile at you. It would almost be funny if they weren’t being held captive.

Astorah makes an indignant sound, hand shooting out to smack Legend across the face. The vet can’t do anything to stop it, and the blow sends his head swinging to the side, a faint grunt escaping as the self-declared priestess stands to her full height (she’s taller than either of them at any rate) and promptly orders her subordinates to see to it that the prisoners be brought to ‘the mountain’.

“The hero will be looking for his friends,” The pajama clad leader declares excitedly, hands rubbing together like a villain in a bad stage play. “So, let's help him out, shall we?”

The vet and smithy exchange a glance, each somewhat surprised at how... pathetic their opponent seems to be.

“Their screams should do the trick; all heroes listen to cries of help after all.” There’s a mad waver in her voice and the pitching is all wrong.

She’s delusional. Vio whispers, and the rest of them are inclined to agree.

Across from them, legend scowls as another red and black clad weirdo comes to grasp his binds, unhooking them from above as yet another does the same to Four.

Ideally, they would try and escape now, but legend only follows along slowly as Astorah leads them through the endless halls and up step after step, murmuring, laughing and shrieking loudly as she goes, hands fluttering and gestures erratic as Legend’s scowl grows more and more each minute.

It all seems rather pathetic, all thing considered, until another, larger, more intimidating individual stops them, voice harsh as it grates out something in a language neither hero can understand. Astorah protests and shrieks at the figure, but they disregard her and instead turn to the heroes.

“Put them back, screams echo within a cave far better than on a mountain top.”

Four’s stomach sinks. Being outside means being closer to escape, means finding the others easier and kicking Wars for landing the in a battle where two of their own had been captured by the enemy.

Legend seems to be of the same idea, his eyes flashing as he pulls at his bonds, tugging away from the guard holding onto him.

The oddly garbed enemy slaps him again, but Legend doesn’t seem to be affected, only pushing harder and biting towards the next hand that swings his way. Astorah pulls away with a light sob, shrieking when Legend’s teeth keep hold of her hand while the enemies around them erupt into action.

Fours unsure of what happens next, their head is still spinning, and quite honestly, they’re sure Hyrule will declare him concussed when they get back, but he does see blows being thrown Legend's way, blades being drawn as shouts echo around them.

There’s a dark of movement, and one of the enemies falls. Four stares in shock for half of a moment before turning their gaze to Legend, who, for all intents and purposes, looks half feral.

Blood stains the Vet’s bucked teeth and his hair swirls as he spins and ducks beneath blows. His hands are still bound tightly behind him, a rope trailing on the ground as Legend evades contact, yet somehow still manages to down another enemy.

Four would try and help, but their mind is spinning, their brain not yet up to date with what their eyes are seeing, that and they’re still bound themself, their arms are fastened behind them and they’re not even sure how Legend is managing to get blows in.

And the he sees.

The vet’s boot swings up to make contact with one of the jaws of the enemy.

Yiga. Wild had told them about them, the Yiga clan, people out for the hero’s blood. The word only comes to mind now, but they’d had to tune out of the battle for a brief moment to remember it. They’re brought back to it as the sound of an agonized scream breaks through the air, accompanied by the harsh snapping sound that Four knows too well from having broken their own bones.

Legend fights with his hands behind his back, kicking out like an angered horse and injuring any who step near. It’s impressive honestly, watching how blood spurts and bones crumple from the force of the vet’s blows, and all that without having use of his hands.

The Yiga back away, eventually leaving the room entirely as Legend squeaks out an angry Legend sound after them, before turning his attention to Four. Four says nothing, and it appear Legend thinks that that’s okay, because he darts towards the door they had been headed too, leading Four with nervous glances being thrown back over his shoulder every few minutes.

The mountain top they emerge onto is higher than Four expected, and they want nothing more than to snuggle down in the cozy parka Legend once leant him, but they have none of their items, and they’re lucky to even be out in one piece.

It takes a lot of work to climb down a mountain with their hands tied, but their fingers are too cold to make any good of the knots, and they manage in the end to climb down. They’re in the last legs when Four notices what looks like a small group of travelers below, and they can almost hear the singing of the Four Sword from them.

They’d dropped their blade in their battle, the very reason they were caught in the first blade. They’re not happy someone else touched it, but they are glad they didn’t leave it behind.

“Four,” Legend’s voice breaks them from their thoughts, and as they turn to face him, they find that Legend’s face is flushed, ears twitching nervously as he avoids their gaze. “Could you...not tell the others about all that?”

“About what?” They clamber down another stone, Legend still within sight as he trails down beside them.

“The...kicking.” Legend flushes. “I know you guys- most of them anyway- could have it handled better. I just, Wars is bad enough as is, I don’t need him bring up my lack of strength next time he decides he needs ammo to mess with me.” There’s a scowl on the vets features as he hops down and across and small hold in the mountain side. “I get it, I’m weak in comparison, they could probably have beheaded those guys with their bare hands, but mine fingers are shit o a good day and-”

Four doesn’t know if they actually figure something out or randomly spew words, but Legend’s eyes turn to them in surprise when the smithy stares down at him. “You do know most Hylia’s can’t do anything by kicking each other, right? I’m planning on kicking Wars when we get back, and the most it’ll do is bruise him.” Their voice is flat, but they let Viol take over, he always had the best endurance out of them when it came to rocky places anyways. “You kicked a man’s ribs in, Legend.”

And it’s not funny, it really isn’t, but they giggle, watching as Legend flushes before their eyes, and when the others trail up towards them, gazes curious and concerned, Four is laughing hysterically.

It could be the head wound, it could be Legend’s face, but the thought that Legend was able to kick a man's ribs in and hadn’t done so to any of them yet was both surprising and highly relieving for whatever reason, and it’s hilarious listening to Legend try and explain himself as the vet protests and struggles against the fact that apparently Hylian’s don’t usually have enough leg strength to kill people with.

Yes, people died back there. Yes, Four just watched them die. Maybe it’s Shadow’s influence, but Four can’t find that they're overly bothered. They are tired and injured and cold, and if they can laugh about something as ridiculous as Legend’s strange strength imbalance, then Hylia danggit they’re going to!

They never do kick Wars’ shins in, they giggle to hard at the thought that Legend doing so could actually break them, so they topple over before they can lift their feet.

[haik-choo]

what the holidays look like with the haikyuu boys

oikawa.

they look like sandy beaches, late sunsets, and tanned skin. festive red and green lights illuminate the bar you sit at with oikawa, the colors bouncing off his face as he looks at the menu. his skin is warm, heated from the setting sun; his arms and shoulders are tan, his pale chest peaking through his loose sleeveless shirt. “it’s strange for december to be so warm,” he murmurs as your finger traces circles on his open palm. “only to you. for everyone else here it’s just another day.” he makes a face and nods, flipping to the next page of the menu. “don’t you miss your home, tooru? japan must be nice and chilly outside right now.” he laughs, finally closing the menu and looking up at you, eyes shimmering. “it’s more than chilly. the roads must have iced over by now. but...” you lean in, anticipating his next words, “but...?” “...but, I am home. I’m here with you.” shy, you scoff, brushing his hand away and rolling your eyes. “oh, shut up.” you look at the beach in front of the restaurant for a while, heart pounding too hard to look back at your grinning boyfriend. from outside your peripheral vision his hand reaches to grab yours again and brings it up to his lips, gently kissing the back of your palm. “I mean it, though,” he whispers, “you really are my home.” the words tickle the hairs on your hand, heating up your ears and cheeks. you look back at him, taking in his glowing demeanor and loving touch, eyes soft. “I know. and you’re mine, tooru.” 

tsukishima.

they look like messy hair even in the evening, neither one of you bothering to comb it when you woke up. there’s no fireplace, instead, there’s kei’s laptop on the coffee table, a video of fire playing, gentle wooden crackles filling the warm silence. the lights are off, save for the lamp that barely glows bright enough to be able to read under it. but, it still works. kei’s long legs are outstretched towards the coffee table, feet clad in red fuzzy socks you got him last year. in his left hand is a small book, some stupid small-font history book he’s reading for work; in his right hand a cup of hot chocolate made with hot water, marshmallows floating on top. you sit next to him, hands in lap, legs outstretched across the rest of the couch, eyes closed, only listening to the faux fire sizzling in front of you. “look at you, Mr. Studious Nerd,” you impishly joke, eyes opening to turn and look at his reaction. “shut up or you’ll get coal for christmas.” you pout, “I thought I got a promise ring?” a resolute sigh leaves his lips, eye closing for just a second, “I knew you’d sneak a look at your gift early.” you smile widely, shrugging. smugly, tsukshima goes back to reading, “good thing I got you something else to actually surprise you.” gasping, you latch onto his shoulder, eyes wide. “what?! really? I thought I checked all of the gift-hiding spots, though?” the sound of a page turning followed by a sigh and the closing of a leather-backed book resonates throughout the room. suddenly, you become warmer when a pair of lips brushes against your forehead. an arm wraps around your shoulder to pull you in, closer. a soft, “I love you so much, you dweeb,” rings like merry bells in your ear. under your breath, shy yet curious, you grumble, smile creeping on your face, “you dodged my question, idiot.” 

kageyama.

they look like his toned legs extended out on the green couch you bought together, ice packs on each of his thighs and around his shoulders. his sniffle can be heard across the living room, red nose under attack from his cold. you smile, porridge in hand in a little festive bowl that has menorahs painted on the sides. “happy holidays, tobio. hope this helps you feel better.” the black-haired setter scoffs, “the only thing that would make me feel better is for this stupid cold to go away.” “I told you not to practice outside with wet hair. now your muscles hurt and you’re sick. you are simply reaping your consequences,” you reason, snobbish look on your face before it breaks with the roll of his eyes. laughing, you move his legs and sit next to him, spoon in hand. you raise your brows when he pouts and looks away, brows drawn close together. “I know you aren’t acting like a literal toddler right now.” “I don’t need you to feed me!” rolling your eyes, you sigh and place the porridge across the coffee table and stand up. “fine. feed yourself you nimrod.” not even two steps out the room you hear a low grumble come from the couch. turning around, you see kageyama with his head low, mouth barely moving. “can you feed me?” you give him a look, “...please?” smiling, you walk back over. his deep navy blue eyes contrast with the light red of his nose and around his eyes; your heart jumps as you feed him, his eyes trained on you. moments pass, silence covers the room in a safe, secure blanket. when he’s done eating, you place the bowl on the table before shoving kageyama aside to lay next to him. “you’ll get sick,” he says, but his arm is already wrapped around you, “maybe.” another second passes before he speaks again, “I really appreciate you, ya know.” you smile, turning on the tv to the sports channel, “yeah, I know.” 

akaashi.

they look like batter-splattered countertops, green and red sprinkles dusting the floor and dangerously close to the stovetop. a warm vanilla scent exudes from the oven, the timer counting down from twelve minutes. akaashi is bent over the burners, stirring beige eggnog with a wooden spoon. unfortunately, it looks lumpy and burned on the edges, somehow. with a sigh of defeat, the wavy-haired man puts a lid on the pot and moves across the galley-way kitchen, leaning on the white counters. you look over from the fridge, amused. “chef’s special doing downhill?” he chuckles weakly, nodding, “you have no idea. I think I burnt it...somehow.” you laugh, closing the refrigerator door with your hip, two glasses of eggnog in your hand, “that’s why I bought these, big man.” he takes the glasses, quirking a brow, “good thinking.” it’s quiet as you lean next to him, both watching the clock tick down closer and closer to zero. in this time you decide to stare at the love of your life, his nose with a slight bump in the middle, his eyelashes grow outward like grass, his tired yet loving eyes, staring straight at you. oh. you blink, turning away. “sorry. got caught in the moment.” akaashi hums from beside you, not missing a beat as his hand comes up, picking something from your hair. he rolls it in his fingers, “looks like dandruff,” he jokes, making you groan and push him away. “I’m just kidding,” you can hear the grin in his voice, you can see it too once he moves to the front line of your sight, forehead coming to rest against yours. gently, he brushes his nose with your own, eyes open only a sliver. “I am so in love with you.” he whispers, voice fragile and warm. heart swelling, you gaze up at him, “I love you, too, keiji.” in the background, the timer beeps thrice, but neither of you really rush to take them out of the oven, you bought extra cookies just in case, anyway. 

kenma.

they look like warm fuzzy blankets layered on his full sized bed, the low glow of the led lights on his ceiling shining down on you both. the sound of clicking buttons and occasional ending screen of a failed level play behind you; your own nose buried in your phone, scrolling past posts of friends out and about. kenma’s sock-clad feet rub against each other in lieu of more warmth as his head shrinks back under the protection of the white blanket on top of him. “I’m still cold,” he mutters before scoffing as he fails the same level again for what must be the thousandth time. he tosses the nintendo aside, shifting closer to you. “get another blanket then,” you muse, eyes still trained on your phone. “hmm, don’t wanna,” you feel his cold nose dig into the back of your neck, his arms encircling your waist; a warm breath fans across your nape, and you twitch. laughing, you try to elbow him away, but he whines at your resistance and holds onto you tighter. amused, you click off your phone and shove it under your pillow, turning towards him. you’re met with glowing 24 karat-gold-eyes and messy hair. he stares unblinking at you, and shyness overcomes you as he shamelessly lands his gaze at your lips. nothing can compare to the image of kenma slowly leaning towards you, sunny eyes closing in anticipation of a sweet kiss. a few beats pass with his lips on yours, and he’s in no rush when he pulls away, still staring at you. “you taste like apple fritter.” shy, you place a hand on his chest, “don’t you have a stream in like an hour or something?” “that can wait,” he whispers, body snuggling into yours. 

sugawara.

they look like ribbon and tissue paper strewn across the floor of a shared apartment. glitter spilled on the table, scissors open wide in an unsafe position peaking out from under the couch (that has an obscene amount of pillows with different holidays listed on them), tubes of wrapping paper scattered in random corners. you sit opposite of the gray-haired beauty, sticking labels on newly-wrapped presents, each of them addressed to a kid at the orphanage down the street. sugawara’s tongue pokes out of his mouth, nimble thumbs placing tape of the edges of the festive wrapping paper. “you know, koushi, not all of the kids celebrate christmas,” the former setter looks at you quickly, shrugging, “I know! I just wanted to get each of them a gift anyway! wouldn’t you be bummed if I got light up cinderella shoes but you got nothing?” you laugh, shaking your head. it’s silent for a few minutes more, the last few wraps being the most complicated ones, spheres and cylinders. you sit, waiting, gazing at the ugly sweater his kindergarten kids had gotten him (they all chipped in a few dollars (or their parents did)) that was a size too small and incredibly itchy, but he still wore anyway. “hmm, whatcha starin’ at?” his voice broke you from your trance. you stay quiet a few seconds more muttering, “you’ve got such a beautiful heart, koushi.” a blush erupts on your boyfriend’s face, his hands stilling before he smiles softly and continues his job. “only because you’re here by my side. you make me a better person each day.” you bite your lip and play with the nametags in your hand, feeling bad because you know you have the best gift out of all of the kids, and he’s sitting right across from you, failing at wrapping a soccer ball. 

tendou. 

they look like empty streets in the earliest hours of the morning, a time so early yet late that the birds are asleep, yet twitching in anticipation to be awake. the snow falls gently on the salted sidewalk, fresh and fluffy. a loud laugh breaks through the silence of the neighborhood street, the crunching of snow following suit. red hair dashes from piles of snow to behind lampposts, garbage cans, mailboxes. you wind your arm up, a heftily packed ball of (almost) ice ready in your palm for ammunition. a giggle leaves your lips as tendou grabs his own ball of snow, cheeks bitten pink by the harsh cold. ‘he’s fast, but not fast enough’ you think as you launch the snowball. it flies through the air, hitting the lanky chocolatier in the face with a satisfying crunch. tendou stills, nose red and wet from melted snow as you laugh so hard you almost fall over. a smile slowly climbs his now-numbing face and he walks towards you. your laughter only stops when he’s right in front of you, gazing down at your gleeful figure with love swimming in his eyes like marshmallows in gourmet hot chocolate. the snow rests on top of his buzzed red hair like white icing to red velvet cake. warmth radiates off him, penetrating deep in your heart. “you’re so beautiful,” he mutters, embracing you. you melt in his arms, but the feeling of wet coldness slapping into your back and the sound of crunching snow tell you of his crime. you can only laugh and call his name, “tendou satori, get back here!” and chase his nimble figure down the road back home, where he’ll hug you -- for real, this time. 

[bouncyirwin]

So after reading Knock Knock, Let the Devil in again (I can’t praise you enough with how good that story is ♥️) and I’m so invested in the the dynamic between Shikamaru, Sakura, and Kakashi!

And because I have a question (and I hope I’m not bothering you by asking this 😭) how do you think Kakashi and Shikamaru would react if Sakura either came back from a mission seriously injured or if they found her seriously injured from a mission?

Hiii, thank you so much for this ask, I’m always so ready to gush about these three!

When I read this ask, inspiration quite literally slammed into me and I churned this out in a sprint session. Oops.

Word Count: 2,126 words

I present to you a one-shot in the knock knock-verse.

It was too early in the day to function, yet Shikamaru was in the Hokage’s office bustling about, feeling only half-human as he guzzled on his third coffee. “Fuckin’ paperwork,” he muttered disdainfully at the sight of an ungodly pile marked with his name.

That had to violate some natural law. How this became Shikamaru’s routine was beyond him.

Once upon a time, he professed that his deepest wish was to lead a mediocre life. And here he was.

Tsunade showed up ten minutes late, visibly drunk and doing very little to conceal it. “Morning,” she tossed over her shoulder and made a beeline for the coffee machine.

“Hokage-sama,” Shikamaru said, studying the dark circles under her eyes and her ashen pallor. “You look …”

He clamped his mouth shut. Was it worth getting assigned a D-rank to let her know she looked like shit? Probably not.

“Save it kid, I know,” she waved a casual hand and slumped in her chair. “Couldn’t care less with the night I pulled.”

“Drinking again, Hokage-sama?” he inquired with polite interest.

“Ha,” she said. “I wish.”

When he raised an eyebrow, she elaborated, slumping even further in her chair. “Sakura,” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “They brought her back yesterday.”

Shikamaru’s heart sank. “Brought her back?”

“Yes, there was an ambush and she was badly injured—cracked every one of her ribs, that idiot. And the hospital was out of B-positive blood so Shizune had to sit the healing session out to donate blood. Nearly ran myself dry trying to keep her breathing…” Tsunade was scrubbing at her face but Shikamaru wasn’t listening anymore—he could barely hear her over the deafening roar of his heartbeat.

“Is she alive?” he demanded once he found his voice. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Yes, but she’s going to need plenty of rest—” the rest of her sentence remained a mystery for Shikamaru tore out of the room with a single-minded focus.

In the space between heartbeats, rationality was tossed out of the window. It left behind a desperate and half-crazed person—he needed to see her, to hear her heartbeat, to see the lively green of her eyes and he wasn’t going to rest until it happened.

He burst through the hospital doors undoubtedly looking like he’d escaped an asylum. The nurse he cornered shot him a bewildered look. “Sir, are you—” she began to say when he cut her off.

“Haruno Sakura,” he demanded breathlessly. “Her room. Where can I find her?”

“Sir,” she attempted again, sounding a little exasperated. “Haruno-san just underwent extensive surgery, she’s not allowed visitors, only family members can see her.”

Shikamaru pinned her with a no-nonsense look. “Akane-san,” he read off her name tag. “By order of the Hokage, I’m here to see Haruno Sakura.”

Akane shuffled nervously. “Do you have an official slip?”

He arched an eyebrow at her, as if to say ‘really?’.

“I-I might get in trouble,” her eyes shifted unsurely. “I need to put you down as a relative and you’re… what would I mark you down as, sir?”

It occurred to him a second later that he was being a total ass. But rationality had already fled. He was now a mess of frayed nerves.

The toddler bawling in the background wasn’t helping his case, and neither was the frantic husband demanding to see his wife at the reception, babbling about … oh.

Shikamaru turned back to the nurse, and before he realised what he was saying, he blurted. “Her husband. Mark me down as her husband.”

Akane blinked. “Oh.”

Shikamaru stared her down, daring her to argue with him. But she simply nodded and scribbled something on her chart. “Right. Of course. Follow me.”

As they stalked through clinical hallways, Shikamaru’s heart rose in a crescendo, worry and nervousness swirling in his chest in a toxic mix. What would he see upon reaching her room? Was she in pain? Was she even lucid? Gods, what if she was in a coma? What if she’d hurt herself so irreparably that it cost her career?

His mind raced with sickly thoughts until his stomach roiled and his face tinged green.

Akane stopped at room 217 and there she was.

“Oh gods,” Shikamaru whispered.

She was hooked to so many wires. Oxygen tubes and an IV and a heart monitor and tubes he didn’t even recognise. She looked frail and broken, too small amidst white sheets and beeping monitors.

He heard Akane quietly slip out of the room and was glad for it because his knees nearly buckled.

Sakura wasn’t awake. Hell, she didn’t even look alive, her face so pale where it wasn’t bruised blue and purple.

Numbly, his feet carried him to her side, his breath a short and rapid thing that barely saturated his lungs.

There was blood caked beneath her fingernails and in the cracks of her lips. His eyes stung faintly as they slid over to the heart monitor.

It was too slow.

“Oh god,” he said again, every cell in his body congested with fear.

He was afraid to even reach out and touch her, lest she broke apart under his fingertips. Delicately, ever so delicately and with trembling fingers, he ghosted a light stroke across the apple of her cheek.

“Sakura…” he said feebly, wishing her eyes would just open.

Except they didn’t. And her heart monitor droned on sluggishly in the background, crawling heartbeats that served more in adding to his anxiety than diminishing it.

It was beating. But it wasn't beating enough. What if it stopped beating?

Shikamaru wasn’t prepared. She wasn’t allowed to die. Not yet. Not ever. He didn’t care what laws governed this cursed world, this was Sakura, she was spring incarnated, and she wasn’t allowed to die.

His fingers curled around her hand, and he wished for the first time in his life that he could heal. That he could bleed strength into her the way she did to him.

It was getting difficult to breathe. What if she died?

What then?

Fuck, he hadn’t even told her he loved her.

His vision swam, rendering the room a splash of colours and pink. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t breathe.

In the muddled daze of anxieties and fears, Shikamaru wished he had the foresight to grab Kakashi.

He’d never needed an anchor more than he did in that second.

*

Kakashi was having an incredibly shitty day.

His coffee machine broke down, he spilled tea over his mission report and he mixed a black shirt with his coloured laundry and now half of his clothes were beyond repair.

“Dammit,” he sighed, tossing his book aside. He couldn’t even read, busy as he was dwelling on his ruined laundry.

He took one dispassionate look at his soggy report and groaned. “What a mess,” he’d actually attempted to do this one on time. Served him right for breaking his routine.

Kakashi grabbed his weapons holster and stepped out for some much needed air. Maybe he should just turn in a tea-flavoured report—perhaps if he offered Tsuande a bottle of sake she’d make an exception and accept it.

He made a beeline to her office, remembering he was due for a debrief. But what he found upon his arrival wasn’t what he expected.

Tsunade was shouting to Shizune, clearly exasperated: “—and he just upped and left! I’m his Hokage, and he upped and left!”

“Maah…” Kakashi began unsurely.

Tsunade’s gaze cut to him. “Hatake, there you are,” she huffed. “I’m too fucking hungover for this. We’re one man down, I need someone to look over these reports.”

Kakashi frowned, finally noticing how empty her office looked. “Where’s Shikamaru…?”

“The idiot left,” Tsunade growled, raising goosebumps on his arms. “I told him I spent all night healing her, what did he think, that I’d leave her to die? Fucking hell.”

“Leave who to die?” Kakashi said, confused. “What happened?”

“Sakura happened,” Tsunade ranted tiredly. “They brought her back almost half dead, I’ve been patching her up for the better part of eight hours and this is how I’m rewarded.”

But Kakashi had stopped listening after ‘half dead’. Half dead? “Half … dead?” he echoed, his mouth dry.

No. This wasn’t happening.

This wasn’t happening.

“Yes,” Tsunade sighed. “But I operated on her and she’s going to be fine.”

Kakashi barely heard the words. His brain was a string of very adamant denial. No, no, no, no.

He didn’t want it to be true—all those years he had been certain, was so sure that it was him, that he was the reason the people he loved always died. That he was a curse to those he cared about.

Every person he loved came back in a body bag.

Fuck.

Kakashi turned tail, a sudden manic urge to see her rising unbearably in his chest. What if Tsunade was lying, what if Sakura wasn’t fine? What if she was fine, but she died anyway?

Fear pumped through his veins, rendering him dizzy. This was his worst nightmare come to life—how could he have forgotten that people, even those that could mend bones and heal what was broken, were so damn breakable?

His legs couldn’t carry him quickly enough.

He didn’t waste time interrogating the nurses for her whereabouts, he knew her scent like she was a part of him. It led him to her now, her unique sweetness tainted with blood and antiseptic.

Gods, he was going to be sick.

He nearly ripped the door off its hinges in his haste to get to her.

Shikamaru was already there, looking wrecked, looking worse than Kakashi had ever seen him. “Is she—”

He couldn’t even say it.

“They … they said they don’t know when she’ll wake up,” Shikamaru whispered hollowly.

Kakashi felt the ground crumbling beneath his feet. “No,” he whispered, leaning back against the wall when he teetered off balance.

His hip jarred against the doorknob but Kakashi barely registered the sting. Barely anything registered beyond the fear-terror-fear coursing through his veins like poison. “Please, no,” he said.

This couldn’t be happening again.

His father and Obito and Rin and Minato-sensei—hadn’t they been enough? Was Sakura going to be another name on the too long list of losses that haunted him?

He really was going to be sick. He clenched his jaw against the reflex, forcing his brain out of the dizzying tornado of anxieties. His gaze focused on Shikamaru, the only other person that mattered as much.

He didn’t look good at all, pale and shaking and appearing ready to fall apart.

The sight of him was strangely grounding.

Kakashi found his elusive strength, located his knees under him and was at his side in the next second.

“Shikamaru,” he rasped, clutching the other man’s arm.

“She looks dead,” Shikamaru whispered. “I … I …”

Words eluded him.

Kakashi tugged at his arm, drawing Shikamaru against him. He went without a fight, slumping against Kakashi’s chest like a puppet whose strings were cut.

“It’s going to be okay,” Kakashi lied, surprised by how much conviction he could bleed into it when it was for someone else’s benefit. “She’s going to be fine.”

Shikamaru shook in his hold, his shoulders minutely trembling. But just as suddenly, his body calmed down and he gripped tightly onto Kakashi’s middle. “What if she isn’t?”

“She will be,” Kakashi stressed because … anything else was not an option. “It’s Sakura. She punched a goddess in the face.”

Shikamaru let out a short, pained laugh against him. “Gods, don’t remind me; what a reckless idiot.”

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Kakashi confessed in a soft murmur against Shikamaru’s hair. He tightened his hold on him, drawing strength from the warmth of his body. “As beautiful as the two of you together.”

Lean fingers dug in his back. “I’m glad you’re here,” Shikamaru said sincerely. “I’m glad you came. Fuck, I think I’m gonna cry.”

“You can cry,” Kakashi soothed, sinking his fingers in lush, dark hair. “Hell, I might cry.”

Shikamaru let out a wet chuckle. “Yeah.”

Kakashi’s face bowed, nuzzling the side of his head as he took a shuddering breath. He clutched Shikamaru closely, his breath shallow and his heart a warbling mess in his chest.

He couldn’t think about if she died. He would die, then, if not from sorrow then from a broken psyche. It was easier to focus on the beeping machines and Shikamaru’s sure, thudding heart. Kakashi tuned in on every shuddering breath, his palm mapping his expanding ribs.

His focus narrowed down to his senses, to Shikamaru, to Sakura’s fighting, beating heart and prayed like he never had before.

She was going to be alright.

She had to be.

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

fought on your side long before you were born

Fandom: Kamen Rider, Batman, Kamen Rider W Characters: Hongo Takeshi, Tachibana Tobei, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Hidari Shoutaro, Philip, Damian Wayne Song: "Father to Son," Queen (playlist here)

1977

Tachibana’s got a shop now, something he can use to support his family now that he isn’t traveling, and the first thing that greets Takeshi as he walks in is the thick smell of motor oil. There’s a bike in pieces at one end of the shop floor around which several young men are clustered, arguing cheerfully. Another young man is sitting in a corner near them, inexplicably playing acoustic guitar and responding briefly whenever he’s addressed. It’s new, but it feels like home, and Takeshi can feel his shoulders instinctively relaxing.

“Hongo!” Tachibana himself emerges from the shop office, beaming. “When’d you get back to Japan?”

“Just now, I came right here.”

“Damn right you did.” There’s some hugging and back-slapping and general affectionate ribbing, and then Tachibana says, “So what do you think? Nice place, right?”

“It’s wonderful. How’s your son?”

“Healthy as a horse, running me and Mari ragged.” Tachibana gestures to the huddle of young men at the other end of the room. “Plenty of help around here, though.”

Takeshi grins. “I can see that. Who’s the one with the guitar?”

“Oh, him? American kid. Funny story, really, I’m closing up one day when this young guy just materializes—no, not literally, he’s just real quiet—and asks, am I Tachibana Tobei? Only Dr. Jin in Madrid says I’m the best in the world and will I teach him about motorcycles! And he hands me a letter of introduction from Keisuke!” Tachibana sounds like he’s holding back laughter. “So he’s renting our spare room at the house and working here for a few months. Quick study, too. Shiro taught him guitar, he’s in town for a bit and they hit it off. Here, come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

They head over to the disassembled motorcycle, and the young men fall all over themselves to be introduced, which Takeshi bears with good cheer. They’re young, of course they’re enthusiasts.

The American boy is last, and Takeshi is shocked to realize that he is a boy, no more than eighteen or nineteen, a pale youth with blue eyes and a lonely look that reminds Takeshi of Shiro. No wonder they get along. He sets his guitar aside and bows, stiff and solemn, and says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hongo. Mr. Tachibana talks about you a lot.”

“That I do! Hongo, this is Bruce Wayne, he’s the summer guest I was telling you about.”

“Good to meet you, Wayne. Your accent is excellent.” The boy’s got a firm handshake. “What brings you to Japan?”

“Study, sir,” but the boy’s tone says that’s not all of it. “I’m trying to learn all I can. Maybe I could ask you a few things later, if you don’t mind.”

Takeshi blinks. “Not sure what you’d want to ask, but I don’t see why not.”

--

He eats dinner at Tachibana’s house that evening, because of course Tachibana isn’t going to let him get away unfed his first night back in town. Mari greets him at the door, Joji in her arms, beaming.

He’s intially surprised to see that the American boy is there too, until he remembers, of course he is—Wayne’s renting the spare room. And he’s barely noticeable for most of the meal, silent, although he’s clearly listening to everything that’s said. After dinner he also helps Mari with the dishes, entirely unprompted, which Takeshi approves of, and then spends some time gently entertaining the toddler.

Later, Tachibana and Mari step away for a moment to get their son to bed, and Takeshi looks at the silent young man sitting in the corner and says, “So. Wayne.”

“Yes, Mr. Hongo?”

“You said you had something you wanted to ask me, and we’ve got a few minutes now. What can I help you with?”

Wayne remains quiet for a long moment, and then fixes those piercing eyes on Takeshi and says, “Mr. Tachibana says you’re the strongest person he knows. What does it mean to be strong?”

Not what Takeshi had been expecting. Granted, what he wasexpecting, he doesn’t know, but…not that. He thinks about it, frowning. “I’d say…kindness.”

Wayne’s forehead wrinkles. “What do you mean?”

“Look, Wayne, you can get as powerful as you want in life, but it’s only strength if you can use it to be kind. Otherwise it’s just tyranny.” Takeshi leans forward and holds out his hand, as if to shake. “Anyone, any fool on Earth can take their hand and make it into a fist. To reach out to someone when they need help, that’s strength.”

Slow nodding, and Wayne reaches out to him in return, clasps his hand for a brief moment, and says, “Thank you. That’s a valuable insight.”

Takeshi nods. “Ask Tachibana that question, too, and Shiro. It’s a good thing to ask. Tells you a lot about the person answering.” He considers it for a moment. “Of course, there will always be some people you won’t be able to help, we share this world with monsters. But you must always try to be kind. That’s strength.”

--

2017

Bruce checks his watch as he walks up to the restaurant, satisfied to be a precise fifteen minutes early, and then looks up and is surprised to realize that for once Dick’s beaten him there. Not only is he there, too, he’s talking to someone Bruce doesn’t recognize.

The stranger seems to be about Dick’s own age, a man in a black fedora and slightly old-fashioned dress clothes from a minor Japanese fashion label. His tone suggests an awkward tourist, but his stance says he’s a fighter, and the way he watches his surroundings indicates that he’s memorizing as many details as possible. He’s got a guidebook in one hand, and a notebook sticking out of his pocket, and he’s speaking Japanese, which is not one of Dick’s stronger languages. Bruce steps forward, thinking he might need to translate, but Dick replies to the other man in English, which is met with a thoughtful nod. So—they’re about the same level in each other’s languages. Better at hearing than speaking. Convenient for them.

“—so if you’re looking for something in his field, the natural history museum is great. If you want somewhere more romantic,though, the Thorndike is amazing, and there’s this restaurant right near it, I forget the name—oh, hey, Bruce! You’re here! What’s the name of that restaurant across the street from the Thorndike Museum?”

“San Sebastian Jatetxe.”

“That’s the one! Thank you!” Dick beams at him, then turns to his companion. “I’ll write it down for you.”

“<Thank you, I’d appreciate that.>”

“Of course! This is my foster father, by the way, Shoutaro-san.Bruce Wayne. Bruce, this is Shoutaro Hidari, he’s visting Gotham for a couple of weeks.” To Shoutaro again, “Bruce’s Japanese is much better than mine.”

Bruce nods. “<What brings you to Gotham, Mr. Hidari?>”

Shoutaro relaxes visibly at the question; it’s likely the only new voice he’s heard speaking his mother tongue in days. “<My partner is attending a conference here, so we decided we’d make it a vacation.>”

“<Aha. Curators and archivists?>”

“<How did you guess?>”

“<A friend of Dick’s and mine is also attending, she mentioned that international registrations are up significantly this year.>” Bruce pauses. “<If you’re looking for date spots, the Thorndike is excellent, as Dick said, but the Botanical Gardens are also very nice this time of year.>”

Shoutaro blushes warmly. “<Thank you very much for the recommendation.>”

--

He doesn’t think much more about Dick’s tourist friend until that night, when he and Damian are out on patrol. It’s a quiet night, so they’re stopping a mugging as gently as possible when the mugger—a repeat offender and sometime informant, Bruce makes a note to check in on him at home out of suit—says, “So, uh, Bats. Who’s the new guy?”

Bruce frowns. No one new should be operating here.“Which one?”

“You know, the bug guy. My buddy texted about him, said he was speaking some other language. Well, he said it was a bug ninja who spoke Japanese, but he watches a lotta anime and he gets real excited, so I ain’t sure he’s right.”

“A bug. What color?”

“Oh, it changes, it’s cool as hell.” He shows Bruce and Damian a picture on his phone. “He a friend’a yours?”

“Yes. He’s visiting.” Bruce peers at the photo and then hands his informant two hundred dollars. “Buy dinner and go home, Nathan. Tell your aunt I say hello.”

“Yo, sure thing. Thanks, Bats!”

They’ve only been searching a few minutes when their earpieces crackle and Babs says, “Roof of GPL Central Branch. Someone I don’t recognize, they just took out some Joker goons who were robbing a jewelry store at the corner of High and 26th. Dick’s on his way too.”

They touch down at one end of the Gotham Public Library’s roof as Dick’s landing at the other and survey their guest, who’s looking between the three of them with something that’s likely surprise, although given that their face is entirely concealed it’s not certain. The insectoid red eyes and sharp antennae on the helmet and the white scarf drifting in the air from the back of the right shoulder send a shock of recognition down Bruce’s spine. He considers speaking first, but then nods to Dick instead. For better or for worse, Dick is good at putting people at ease.

“Hi there.” Dick waves to the stranger, tone cheery but guarded. “We haven’t seen you around before, mind telling us what you’re doing in Gotham?”

The stranger cocks their head to the left for a moment before saying, haltingly, “We. Ah. We are…tourists? We did not mean to…um…” The left eye of the helmet flashes as they’re speaking. A beat, and then the righteye begins to flash, and they say, in an entirely different voice that’s noticeably accented but much more fluent, “I’ll handle this part if you don’t mind, partner. Good evening, we’re Kamen Rider W. Our apologies, we didn’t mean to intrude on your territory. Are we addressing the famed Batman and his companions?”

Bruce says, slowly, “That’s correct. You’re a Rider?”

“Oh, you’re familiar with the term! That’s wonderful. Yes, that’s correct. We’ve been in operation as such since late 2008, although of course primarily in Japan.”

“Tt.” Damian scowls. “<If you mostly work in Japan, what are you doing running around here?>”

The left eye on the helmet begins to flash again as W responds in the first voice, in Japanese now. “<It wasn’t exactly the plan, a man in clown makeup waved a gun at me and tried to take my wallet and once I’d knocked him out I noticed that there were about five more clowns breaking into a jewelry store down the street. I couldn’t just leave them to it.>”

Dick is also frowning now. “I—have we met before? I recognize your voice. The, uh, left-hand one.”

“<I don’t think so?>” says the left-hand voice, and then the right-hand one breaks in with, “Actually, based on his memory of your speech patterns, I believe you and my partner met earlier today, you recommended a couple of date locations and a Basque restaurant I’m eager to visit.”

Bruce can see Dick’s eyes going wide from halfway across the roof. He’s visibly biting back the urge to address their guest by name, which would be discourteous, to say the least, with everyone in costume, so Bruce cuts in with, “Is my understanding correct that we’re speaking to two people currently?”

“That’s correct!” says the right-hand voice, sounding delighted. “We two are a single Kamen Rider.”

Dick blinks. “Is this like a Firestorm thing? Are you fused?”

“Not unlike, but no. My physical body is currently unconscious in our hotel room, which is certainly much more comfortable than some of the other places in which I’ve passed out. Although as my partner wasoriginally going out to get us something to eat when he was accosted, I ambecoming concerned about my caloric intake.” And the left-hand voice says, “<Yeah, I was thinking I’d be able to get us something decent at the Seven-Eleven, but the ones here are different from the ones at home.>”

“I think,” Bruce says, “this conversation would be better continued elsewhere.”

--

Twenty minutes later they’re all out of suit and seated around a table at an all-night diner, and Shoutaro’s partner, introduced only as Philip, is inspecting the menu with interest. “This is intimidatingly lengthy, do you have recommendations?”

Dick grins. “Get one of the meat-lovers omelettes. And then if you still have room get some baklava, the owner’s mother makes it and it’s amazing.”

Bruce, meanwhile, is turning Shoutaro’s business card over in his hands. “<You’re a detective?>”

“<I am! Mostly lost pets and infidelity, but sometimes there’s an interesting case. Philip works with me, although he’s pretty busy with the museum nowadays.>”

“<I’ve heard of the Fuuto Museum, they hosted an intriguing exhibit on Mesopotamian artifacts last year.>”

“<You heard about Nitoh’s exhibit here? That’s amazing, I’ll have to let him know.>”

“<Please tell him I was very impressed with his thesis.>”

Damian’s been scowling silently into his milkshake, but suddenly he slaps the table and everyone jumps. “I knew I recognized that name!” Then, to Shoutaro, “<I read your novel.>”

“<I—you did? Really? It hasn’t had any translations, how did you hear about it?>”

“<My, uh.>” Damian shifts awkwardly. “<My mother gave it to me, I like detective stories. I enjoyed it. Although that copy was lost.>”

“<Oh, I’ll send you a new one if you like, I don’t imagine it’d be easy to get here.>”

The waitress comes by, and her eyebrows slowly rise as everyone orders, presumably at the quantity of food on request. When she’s left again, Philip turns to Bruce and says, brightly, “I also take it that you’re the sponsor Ms. Gordon mentioned, we had a very stimulating chat at the conference earlier today.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised to hear that you met her.”

“Coincidence and fate figure largely in our lives, Mr. Wayne.” Philip smiles like a cat; it’s oddly charming. “We’re superheroes, after all. Here,” to Damian, “Dick mentioned to me that you like animals, would you like to see a picture of my cat? He used to be a supervillain.”

After they consume a truly astonishing amount of diner food it’s time to part ways, and Bruce shakes hands with Shoutaro and Philip and says, “<It was good to meet you both.>”

Philip beams. “<Likewise, thank you, it’s been a pleasure. And I’m looking forward to seeing more of Gotham.>”

Shoutaro looks up at him for a moment. “<It’s been good talking to you, Mr. Wayne. You…remind me of someone I used to know.>”

“<I could say the same of the two of you.>” Bruce turns to go, but then turns back. “<I have one last question for both of you.>”

They nod, precisely in sync, and Philip says, “<Yes?>”

“<What does it mean to be strong?>”

Silence for a moment, Shoutaro and Philip glancing at each other while Dick and Damian wait in puzzled silence, and then Shoutaro says, “<Kindness,>” and Philip says, “<Love.>” Another shared glance before Shoutaro continues. “<Anyone can hurt someone else. Helping them, that’s strength.>”

Bruce nods. “<Somehow that’s what I knew you’d say.>”

[dewykth]

SWEET SEPTEMBER.

a @periminkle​​​ and @dewykth​​​ collaboration.

synopsis. for many, september symbolizes new beginnings. but for namjoon, this month never fails to send him back into the past. though this time, something seems different.

pairing. kim namjoon | female reader contains. fluff, angst, slice of life au, ballet instructor!reader, single dad!nj  word count. 7.5k+  warnings. death mentions, mature audience

dae’s note. surprise !!! this fic is dedicated to my favourite virgo karla @guklvr​​​​ !! happy birthday bae i hope you enjoy this lil thing me n vira whipped up for u!! (i stress wrote a lot of this ha.) also sry for lying & keeping you up but hopefully this makes u forgive me. but i hope ur day goes amazing ILYSM DUDE !!! <333 and a huge thank you to vira for hopping on board for this idea bc i cld not have done this without her !!! pls give her all the love !!!

vira’s note. KARLAAAA!!! i always gotta scream ur name it’s mandatory to start with a good scream ykno? bUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL 🥳  i already told u this too many times today but ILYSM !! like that full day without saying a single word to u felt so weird and i kept going into our chat and rereading our mssgs and wishing I was talking to u??? which is weird to admit?? but that literally how much i missed u idk how but im addicted to u so if you leave me I will literally die :))) aNYWAY have the bestestestest day ever and i hope u love the fic bc I ignored all my uni work to finish this !!! (also i feel reallyreallyreally bad about last night sO IM SORRY AGAIN BUT I HOPE THIS IS WORTH IT) 💖

Despite the papers carelessly stuffed into his leather briefcase, the dark coffee stain on his black slacks, and his unkempt locks resembling that of a bird’s nest, Namjoon’s become accustomed to the hectic nature of his mornings.

The kitchen table is practically buried under stacks of files, yet he brushes them aside to allow one corner of the glass surface to peek through. He plops the toddler in his arms onto a high chair before racing to the counter and sloppily pouring some honey nut cheerios into a small bowl, handing it off to his daughter. 

“Daddy?” her voice squeaks, a patient smile stretching across her lips. Her brown strands are tied up into pigtails at the crown of her head with pink ribbons that flutter with the movement of her tiny head. 

“Yes, angel?” He scurries around to their bedroom, peeling the stained fabric off his body and threading one leg through another pair of slacks fresh from the laundry. 

With Namjoon’s focus pinned on checking off the mental to-do list in his head, he misses the gentle, reassuring smile that stretches across her rosy lips. The adoration for her father is clear in her gaze. “You forgot to pour the milk.”

At the reminder, he squawks and hops back to the kitchen on one foot as he maneuvers his other leg through the pant hole. Swinging the fridge door open, he grabs the carton and sloppily pours the milk into her bowl—white droplets leaping out with their newfound freedom and forming perfect domes on the glass tabletop.

Cleaning the mess falls to the bottom of his priorities at the moment, and so he speeds off to the bathroom to ensure that his appearance is presentable for work while Dasom reaches over to pluck a tissue from the box, swiping the milky beads away before diving into her breakfast. She shoves as many cheerios into her small mouth as she can, rushing because she refuses to finish her meal in the car with their wild driver behind the wheel. 

Despite her mere four years of age, she knows from experience that a bowl of cereal and a shaky vehicle is a recipe for disaster.

Namjoon races over to his briefcase with most of his hair sleeked back, only the locks of his bangs hanging out to frame his forehead. As he slips his dark blazer on to complete his form-fitting suit, Dasom scoops the last few brown rings into her mouth and slurps the remainder of the liquid.

“Did you finish your milk?” he questions while cramming the edges of the loose leaves that peek past the seam of his briefcase, hurriedly zipping it up and turning to face her.

Dasom flips the edge of the bowl up to display its empty contents, gulping the last of her breakfast down her throat. As per routine, she scans her father for any inconsistencies in his attire, landing on his odd fitting bottoms.

“Daddy, your pants are on backwards.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, glancing down to affirm that the pockets at his sides are no longer at the front of his hips. Hastily, he shimmies out of his slacks once more and twists the fabric around to the proper orientation. 

Dasom hops off her chair, her bowl and wet kleenex in hand as she waddles over to the sink and waits for him to deposit the dirty dish into the sink and the sullied tissue into the trash. Although her short arms couldn’t reach over the countertop just yet, she’ll diligently drink every last drop of her milk in hopes of growing tall enough to take some of the load off of her father’s back.

He hoists Dasom up at the sight of the red car pulling up to the driveway, squeezing into the back seat. Namjoon doesn’t have to tell the driver to book it, as the calm man in front has learned to keep his foot pressed on the pedal. The car weaves through the morning traffic with concerning speed, snaking through the other vehicles littering the road as if they were no more than stationary pylons, simply there for practice.

Dasom remains on her father’s lap with his arms looped protectively around the seatbelt over her torso. She sinks into his embrace, fiddling around with his long, slender fingers as she watches the blurs of colour speeding past the window.

“Did you put your ballet shoes into your backpack, angel?” Namjoon loosens his grip on her, unhooking one hand to rummage through his own briefcase in order to confirm that he had indeed slid his laptop within the chaos inside. To keep her entertained, he playfully extends his digits out of her reach.

“Of course!” she chirps, a wide grin revealing the gaps between her teeth. The pads of her fingertips brush against his palm and tickle the sensitive skin there when she realizes that her arms lack the length required to latch onto his hand. “I can’t wait for class, we’ve got a new teacher coming in today!”

Humming absentmindedly, he sighs in relief at the sight of the silver device and packs the crumpled papers back in. “What happened to Ms. Kim?”

“She’s teaching the older class now.” The pout on her lips can be heard within the muffled lilt of her voice when she continues, “I asked her to stay until my birthday next week b-but she didn’t.”

Namjoon’s breath hitches at the reminder, but attempts to compose himself for his daughter’s sake. “It’s out of her control, angel, plus she’ll probably swing by anyway.”

His mind starts to fog up with the emotions he thought he buried last year–they swarm his every thought and nibble away at his sanity. He knows better than to believe that they would ever disappear. September will always be an insurmountable month for him.

“I might be a bit late to pick you up later, just sit tight and wait for Daddy, okay?”

She eagerly nods in response, noticing the dull red bricks of her school coming into view. “Okay, bye Daddy!”

Namjoon unlocks the seatbelt, wistfully watching his toddler bounce out of his arms and onto the asphalt below. No matter how many times he drops her off, it’s always difficult to be separated from her bright smile, but he reminds himself that it’s all for her; it makes things a little easier to bear.

“Have a good day at school.” He reciprocates her frantic waving through the window, craning his neck to watch her adorable form become smaller and smaller with the increased distance. Her full cheeks and crinkled eyes are engraved into the back of his mind.

Before long, Namjoon finds himself rushing into his office after an earful from his surly boss about everything from the late hour to the long list of meetings scheduled to all the work he’s got piled up. With his lips pursed and his head bowed, he somehow manages to make it past another lively morning.

Namjoon has a habit of overthinking. He figures it’s normal when you have a stressful job and a four year old full of energy to balance all by yourself. Not that overthinking about his daughter does him any good, because that is far from the reality. If anything, it just makes him, what you’d call, a bit... overprotective (over worrisome if you asked Jin). But it’s something he can’t really help. Even when she had just entered his life, so small and so blissfully unaware of the awful and evil things in the world, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and shield her from it all as long as he could.

Though he’s very aware of the fact that it won’t be much longer, that won’t stop him from going over every single little thing that could go wrong in the meantime.

So, of course, when Namjoon’s asshole of a boss makes him stay two hours over his shift, all Namjoon can think about is Dasom. Is she okay? Has she eaten anything? Did she drink enough water today? She’s always dehydrated after her classes too. He usually calls Ms. Kim to check up on her, but his calls went straight to voicemail, which definitely wasn’t helping his hectic mind. Perhaps something had happened to her?

Oh god, maybe someone broke in and had injured Dasom?

The doors are thrown open, the sound of the doorknob hitting the wall reverberating through the room. The receptionist wearing her usual polka-dot dress jumps in her seat, eyes lifting from the intense scene on her phone to the entrance of the building. An unsure smile stretches across her ruby red lips at the familiar figure, though a bit disheveled and breathless. But before the customary ‘hello’ can even form on her tongue, the figure is rushing past her, leaving only a gust of air in his wake. The papers on her desk fall to the ground, and she sighs.

Namjoon is prepared to fight the (fictional) person who thinks breaking into a toddler ballet class is a good idea, but the scene in front of him once he pushes past the doors of the studio is one he is wholly unprepared for.

He sees Dasom first, and the relief that fills his body is indescribable. It’s far from the usual sight he’s greeted with when he picks her up late. She’s not sitting on one of the chairs in the far corner of the room. His heart doesn’t feel heavy, which comes with seeing his daughter so glum. This time it’s her laughter that greets him, not one provoked by him but by the figure standing in the middle of the room with her.

Dasom doesn’t seem to be aware of the presence of her dad yet, but the figure twirling her around turns, and her eyes land on Namjoon.

The reaction is immediate. The carefree smile that had been on your face slips off, a look of embarrassment and surprise overcoming your features. Namjoon only catches a glimpse, and somehow finds himself wishing that won’t be the last time he sees it. You let go of Dasom’s hand, quickly making your way to the stereo on the other side of the room. And that’s when-

“Daddy!”

Dasom wastes no time running into her father’s open arms, and Namjoon suddenly can’t remember why he was so worried in the first place. “Hi, angel.” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. She pulls back. “I’m so sorry for getting here so late. I promise i won’t do it again.”

But of course, Dasom holds nothing but forgiveness in her heart for her hard-working father. She does love teasing him, though. “Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to her.” she giggles, pointing behind her and Namjoon furrows his brow until he remembers they’re not the only ones in the room.

His eyes immediately move to where you stand awkwardly near the stereo, eyes moving around the room as if you hadn’t been watching the whole exchange. Namjoon sighs, realizing he definitely can’t avoid talking to you now. He stands straight, holding onto Dasom’s hand as he makes his way over to you. You only seem to grow more nervous as he nears, and Namjoon distantly recalls Jin telling him he came off as intimidating to most people. Something about his ‘beefy’ arms, in his own words. (“And that stupid and unfairly attractive face!”) He goes for a smile because it's not like he can control his physique.

“Hi, I’m so sorry about…”

Namjoon stops.

Maybe it was the overwhelming distress before, or the really shitty lighting of the studio, but he hadn’t realized how pretty you were before. But now he’s standing right in front of you and he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. Pretty can’t be the right word. He realizes how creepy he probably looks, running in here like a madman and then downright staring at the (very beautiful) woman who looked after his daughter? Not cool, man.

You clear your throat, before extending a hand to him. “Hi, I’m ____, the new ballet instructor.”

Your voice sounds just like honey.

Namjoon stares at your hand dumbly, before the sound of Dasom snickering (very discreetly) behind him snaps him out of it. But instead of introducing himself, or apologizing, or just taking your fucking hand, he says-

“What happened to Ms. Kim?”

He mentally face-palms.

Not. Cool. Man.

Your face falls, and Namjoon has never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole more than he does now. “Uh, she’s instructing the teen class now.” you chuckle awkwardly, dropping your hand.

“Oh-”

“Daaaad,” Dasom's voice sounds annoyed, and perhaps it’s a bit silly of Namjoon to feel like he’s being scolded, but that is exactly how he feels right now. “I told you this. In the morning. Remember?”

He doesn’t. “Ah, right of course,” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. It wasn’t like he meant to forget, he had just been too busy thinking about the other things every September would bring. “Sorry, I’m Kim Namjoon. Dasom’s dad.”

This time he offers his hand, and he thanks the skies above that you don’t seem to hate him because you fit your hand against his. Warm, like honey. How long had it been since he last made a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl?

Too long.

“I’m terribly sorry for arriving so late it’s just that my boss, who’s a huge-” Namjoon glances at Dasom, who is now in her own world, singing some song she learned in school, “jerk, decided to assign these reports last minute and the printer would just not work and then traffic hour-”

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, but Namjoon can see the amusement bubbling in your eyes. He flushes a deep red, eyes falling to the floor, realizing he started ranting.

“It’s okay. Really.”

When he looks back up, there’s a smile on your face. Not like the one before, this one was more reserved, but genuine, reassuring. And just like that, he’s sure you don’t hate him.

Namjoon’s not sure he likes this feeling though.

“Straighten your arms out, girls!” you belt over the classical music that floods the studio’s walls, scanning your army of toddlers in tutus whose arms immediately tense at your command. Making your way through the row, you poke and prod everywhere from their shoulders to their ankles. “Arch your back more, Somin.”

Their muscles violently tremble in response to the strenuous routine you’ve introduced, facial features scrunched in concentration and a resolute will to uphold their positions despite the hyperextension of their limbs. A mix of pity and pride swells in your chest at their effort. “Keep your chins up, the annual recital is only a couple of days away.”

Cheers erupt throughout the small room, disrupting the focus and spoiling their perfect form, yet you refuse to quiet excitement because of the renewed vigour buzzing throughout the room. The next hour depletes all of their built-up energy with demi-piles, pirouettes and sautés.

A glance at the analog clock in the corner informs you of the five minutes remaining before the end of class, so you pause the speakers and instruct the girls to stretch themselves out as they wait for their guardians to trickle in. They collectively sigh in relief before dropping to the floor like flies.

You snort at their dramatics with an amused smile playing at your lips. “I said to stretch, not to lay down and nap.”

“Can’t we nap and stretch at the same time?”

Strolling over to the source of the voice, you cluck your tongue at her limp form sprawled across the wooden floor and cross your arms, struggling to keep your giggles from breaking your angered facade. “And how do you suppose we do that, little Miss Dasom?”

She flashes her toothless grin up at you. “Like this!” With one leg bent over the other and her hands looping around to hold her twisted limbs to her torso, she shuts her eyes and exaggerates her snores.

At this point, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your snickers, and the rest of the class joins in your laughter. You pick up on Dasom’s tinkling giggles between each of her heavy breaths. The lighthearted jokes continue as kids are signed out with bright grins on each of their faces.

You wait for the rest of the toddlers to file out one by one, waving goodbye and checking them off your list until, as usual, Dasom is the only toddler left. Her tiny feet still clad in her faded ballet shoes waddle up to you, tugging on your blouse.

“Your pirouette was a bit wobbly today, do you want to go over—”

“‘M tired,” she interrupts, slouching her shoulders with an adorable frown marring her lips. Her exhaustion is justified, since the routine is rather exhausting, and with their recital right around the corner, you worked them to the bone today.

The odd timing of the switch between you and Ms. Kim left you with a little under a week to tweak and perfect their current choreography. A sloppy routine is not the way you want to present your skills to their parents for the first time, thus you were stricter with the kids than normal.

Your sympathy wins out, and so you gather Dasom’s lithe figure into your arms as you head to the closest wall. With your back supported, you spread out your legs and place her in your lap.

“My birthday is this Thursday.”

“Mhm,” you hum, bobbing your head to signal for her to continue her train of thought.

Her back faces you, but when her head tips down to stare at her hands, you know she’s contemplating her words carefully. Rather than encouraging her to speak freely, you wait for her to feel comfortable enough to reveal her thoughts; and surely enough, her shell cracks open just enough for you to peep through. “Do you wanna come?”

“I would be honoured.” A giddy smile splits across your lips. “Is Daddy picking you up again today?”

She flips around in your hold, wrapping her arms around your waist and snuggling her head to your chest. Her words are muffled into the fabric of your thin shirt, but her tone indicates her affirmation.

Suddenly self-conscious of your heartbeat—that Dasom can definitely hear with her ear pressed up against you—picking up pace at the mention of her father, you suppress your thoughts with a guilty conscience. You internally chide yourself for harbouring feelings for the charming, taken, man, defying arguably one of the most important fundamental rules of becoming an instructor.

Do not develop silly crushes on your student’s parents.

“Ms. ____?” her faint question snaps you out of your reverie, attention brought back to the present moment. While preoccupied, your hand took on a mind of its own, gingerly patting the space between the little girl’s shoulder blades at a slow rhythm.

She gazes up at you when you halt your rhythmic movements, sharp eyes boring into yours. “Are you gonna ask Daddy to come see me dance?”

The edges of your lips flip up in what you hope to be an encouraging smile as you nod your head. Subconsciously, you begin to stress over another encounter with Namjoon, formulating a script to hopefully avoid the stiff, tense atmosphere that lingered throughout all your previous interactions.

“Daddy’s always really busy,” she slurs, drowsiness coating her words and weighing down on her lids. Grumbling under her breath about her numb legs, Dasom crawls onto the floor beside you with her head resting on your thigh. “He’s always working hard for me.”

Your eyes soften at the fetal position she’s taken up on the ground; not only was Dasom lucky to have such a dedicated father, but Namjoon was also blessed with a caring daughter. “You don’t think he can make it?”

“It’s okay,” she whispers and you have to crane your ears to listen. You stroke the strands littering her forehead, gingerly caressing the crown of her head. “It’s okay if Daddy can’t come. I know him, he’s trying to do it all because Mommy’s not with us anymore, but it’s okay. I still love him even if I can’t see him lots.”

A knot forms between your eyebrows, a bittersweet ache forming within the creases of your heart. The painful constriction of your chest ebbs and flows with your shallow breaths that can’t seem to make it past your throat. You bite your lip to subdue the plentiful liquid gathering at your waterline.

No more than a croak escapes your lips before the door to the studio flies open, meeting the adjacent wall with a bang!

“I’m so sorry, my meeting ran late and I couldn’t—” the rest of his speech gets stuck in his windpipe at the sight of you, eyes rimmed red and sniffling, with Dasom, ostensibly dead asleep, on your thigh. “Did she…?”

You blink away your incoming tears, although your dignity has been completely thrown out the window, seeing as he believes that his four-year-old kid made a grown woman, who just so happens to be her ballet teacher, bawl her eyes out.

As you go to gently shake Dasom awake, she sluggishly lifts her head off of your lap and starts to scale your torso like a koala on a tree. Your confusion is vocalized through the high-pitched hum in your throat, but your efforts to pry off her limbs, tightly wound around the small of your waist, are futile.

“Uh, Dasom? It’s time to go home now, angel.” Despite his firm words, Namjoon’s tone is unsure and shaky; he can feel cold sweat build up in the lines of his palms. He knows his daughter, and she can be periodically stubborn and insistent the way children are at her age, thus even as you come to stand, she’s stuck to you like glue. “Would you, uh, did you need a ride?”

You mimic the sheepish smile on his face, hoping the flaming blush you feel on your cheeks isn’t as visible as it seems. “Sure.”

With Dasom latched onto you, both of you make your way to the red car outside after you lock up the studio. Namjoon courteously opens the car door for you, what with your arms supporting his clingy toddler; although, with the brute force he uses, you worry for the state of the hinges. Thankfully, they stay intact and he’s able to slip into the backseat after you.

Before an awkward silence can settle, you clear your throat and prepare to ask him about his day, but you’re interjected by Namjoon’s sudden stammering, “D-driving’s such a hassle for me so Jin drives us everywhere. Jin knows how to drive though, so, don’t worry.” He finishes with a deep chuckle that dies off nearly as quickly as it began. Oh, that’s unexpected.

“You don’t to drive yourself?” Rather than being processed in your brain and logically thought through, the question immediately enters your mouth without any prior scanning for dumbass-content. You instantly regret it, feeling as though it’s much too invasive. “You don’t have to answer that, I—”

The hearty laughter that meets your ears is “No, I do. Sometimes. But its easier raising this one like this.” His tone turns sweet at the mention of Dasom as he reaches over to pat her head, and you’re overcome with an intense desire to prod more into his personal life. Why does he have to work so much? Which shirt in his closet is his favourite? How does he like his eggs in the morning?

“I’m not sure if you already knew about the annual recital on Saturday, but Dasom’s been practicing really hard for weeks and the kids are all really talented, so it would definitely be worth your time...”

As he’s gazing at his daughter, galaxies of devotion and longing swirl within his cocoa irises. The cool light of the moon shines through the windows of the car, illuminating his sharp jawline and strong brows. You’re absolutely mesmerized by the sight in front of you. “You must be really busy, huh?”

“More than I’d like to be.”

You rip your entranced gaze away from Namjoon, willing yourself to steady your frantic breaths.

The remainder of the ride still drips with awkward tension, although with a definite lighter tone than before. Jin pulls up to your apartment with your direction and you dislodge a sleepy Dasom from your torso, which is much easier now that her limbs have gone slack with sleep. Handing her off to Namjoon, who practically engulfs her tiny form with his broad chest, you rush out of the vehicle with a quick, “See you!”

You slam the door closed before he can say anything, racing into the comfort of your home with your heart in your throat.

The last thing you had expected to do on a Thursday evening was to go to a birthday dinner. Thursdays are your days off, your in-days. The ones you spend lounging on your couch with a face mask and some wine. And yet, here you are.

When you received a text this morning, the last person you had expected it to be was Namjoon. Much less Namjoon asking you to come over for Dasom’s birthday. You weren’t going to say yes, hell, you had thought of downright ignoring it. It was weird, wasn’t it? But Dasom had quickly carved a toddler-shaped hole into your heart. Truly, you had said yes before the message was even typed out.

And so now you stare at the tall apartment building in front of you, definitely feeling more nervous than before. You knew that Namjoon had to be well-off to afford a weekday chauffeur, but damn did you not expect him to be this well-off.

It seemed today was the day to expect absolutely anything.

You enter the opulent building, signing in at the front desk before entering the large, mirrored elevator. The beating of your heart picks up the more floors you pass, and you can’t help but fidget with your appearance. Namjoon had said it would only be you three, which you guessed was supposed to calm your nerves but really, it did anything but that. The mere thought of eating dinner with Namjoon was nerve-wracking. But now you were about to eat dinner and enter his home; you had no fucking clue what you were getting yourself into.

The doors slide open, and you step into the hallway. A single door could be seen at the end of the hallway, so you quickly make your way over. You stop right in front, taking a deep breath in before pushing the doorbell. A beat, a crash, another beat, then-

The door swings open, and your breath catches in your throat.

Namjoon looks heavenly as always, but seeing him in clothes other than his usual black slacks makes your heart do a cartwheel. God, this is dangerous.

“Ms. ____!”

Before Namjoon can form a hello, Dasom is running past him and wrapping her small arms around your legs. “You came! See daddy! I told you she’d come.” her tongue pokes out of her mouth, aimed straight at her father and you stifle a laugh.

“Did he think I wouldn’t?” you ask, eyebrow arched as you glance at Namjoon, who seems to have a permanent pink hue on his face.

“He said you wouldn’t!”

“Oh, really? What else did he say?”

“He said I had to help him clean either way!”

“Alright, Dasom. That’s enough.” He says firmly, clearing his throat and trying to act as unaffected as possible. His eyes shift to meet yours. “Why don’t you come inside?”

As much as this day really sucked for Namjoon, today had been… different. Not all too much. Of course, getting up was the hardest part, but he had decided to make Dasom her favourite breakfast meal instead of her usual cereal. He had also made sure to get her all the toys she had been wanting, and planned their day out to do Dasom’s favourite things. Namjoon just wanted this day to be special for her. That was all he cared about.

But when Dasom had asked him to invite you, he had hesitated.

Dasom had never spent her birthdays with anyone else but Namjoon. Not that it was intentional, but Namjoon liked to have this day just for the both of them. Because that’s how it’s always been. He didn’t know what it was about you that made his daughter talk about you all the time. Or why she wanted to spend a birthday with you. But how could he deny her? And so, the text was sent.

And now, as Namjoon puts away the dishes while you sit on his couch, he realizes he hadn’t thought of her today. Not as much as the years before. Dinner had been so... nice. It felt nice to have someone else around. Namjoon loves Dasom, but he hadn’t realized how distant he had gotten from everything that had once seemed to be the centre of his life.

Namjoon closes the dishwasher, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the living room. He places the two glasses on the table before pouring the dark red liquid.

“I hope you like Merlot.”

“Oh, please. Anything’s fine.”

You take the wine glass, sending him a thank you before taking a drink. “So,” you lean back, “remind me how to play this again.”

“Ms.____ I told you. You have to take a block without knocking the tower over,” Dasom shows you by pushing a middle wooden block out, “then you have to place it on top, like this.'' She places the same block on top of the tower.

“Ah, right! I just need to make sure if I want to win.”

“You can’t! I’m the best!”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you turn, brow raised and eyes playful.

“Pshh,” he scoffs, leaning forward. “Who do you think she takes after?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever lost a game so quickly.

Namjoon watches as you close Dasom’s door quietly from the hallway before you make your way back to the family room. “She’s out like a light. I guess all that tower building got to her.”

Namjoon snorts. He feels oddly disappointed as he watches you gather your things to go. Was it weird that he wanted you to stay? “Do you need me to get you a ride? I can call Jin to drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine! Really! I already ordered an Uber anyway.” You grab your coat near the door. Before Namjoon can unlock the door, you touch his shoulder. “Listen, thank you for inviting me today. I know you probably wanted to spend this day together instead, but I... “ you inhale, because you aren’t sure of what you want to actually say “thank you.”

Would it be weird to say how much better you made today? Probably. “You don’t… have to thank me. I think I should be the one doing the thanking. I really wanted this day to be special for Dasom and you… you definitely helped. So, thank you.”

The door opens, and the light of the hallway fills his dim flat. “Guess we’re even then.” you smile before turning, making your way to the elevator. Namjoon shuts the door once the sight of you is gone, but the smile on his face remains

“Guess we are.” he whispers wistfully

Perhaps stopping at a flower vendor when you’re already running late was a bad idea, but Namjoon wasn’t thinking about time. He had seen the bouquet of flowers and imagined the huge smile that would stretch across Dasom’s face, and that was all he needed to swerve into the left lane.

Now, though, as he anxiously watches the cars in front of him move a foot forward after thirty minutes, he’s sure he should have just left the fucking flowers alone.

Namjoon doesn’t know how long he’s been shifting his eyes from the traffic to the watch ticking around his wrist, but by a miracle, the cars start moving. Slowly, then he’s speeding down the highway, praying to the skies above he’ll make it in time. Even if he arrives in the midst of the dance, he can’t miss this recital. He won’t.

He sighs in relief when he sees the familiar glass building, though it’s cut short when he sees the parking lot. No available place in sight. Fuck. Namjoon is sure he looks insane right now, swerving around the parking lot in search for an empty spot, or really just any fucking spot that looks like it could fit his monster of a car.

Then the clouds seem to open up, and right near the entrance is a vacant spot. Namjoon swears his mouth almost waters at the sight. Quickly speeding around the lot, he parks, but not before flipping off the angry parent who tries to beat him to it. Namjoon exits his car, quickly grabbing his coat and the large bouquets of flowers from the backseat. He runs to the entrance, practically throwing the shriveled paper at the ticket clerk.

Namjoon slows as he nears the theatre doors, taking a deep breath before calmly opening it. He had completely forgotten to book seats in advance, so he’s not surprised to see the velvet seats filled to the brim. When he looks to the stage, he’s relieved to see that there’s still time until Dasom comes on.

Now, Namjoon knows he’s not the most… balanced person. It’s common knowledge that he trips over his feet and knocks things over sometimes. (Oh, but definitely more than the average person.) Now, if you were to ask Namjoon if he pays attention to his surroundings, he'd say yes.

But if you were to ask Namjoon what he tripped over, he wouldn’t know. It doesn’t matter, because now there’s a furious mother with a horrendous bob cut glaring at him, and what he thinks to be a broken camcorder on the floor. The only thing he can manage is an awkward smile and an even more awkward apology. Namjoon offers to give her the cost for repairs, hell, even offers to buy her a new one. The woman snatches the bills from his hands but she doesn’t go back to minding her business like he thought she would. No, instead she starts to argue with him, in the middle of her child’s recital, no less!

Namjoon can’t do anything but stare at her as she blabbers on about how horrible he is for throwing her camcorder on the floor. (Not like it had much life left, that thing looked like it was from 2007.) She’s damn near spitting on his face, and causing other parents to turn around and glare at them. As if it was his fault. Who knew she had such an attachment to the damn thing!

A hand lands on his shoulder, and for a second he’s sure it’s security ready to escort him out of the building. But when he turns, he’s surprised to see it’s you. Like an angel had ascended from the clouds to save Namjoon from the wrath of a ballet mom. And just like that, you’re leading him away, taking a seat two rows before the stage. Namjoon’s eyes widen at the sight of the empty seat beside you.

It’s that feeling again, and Namjoon’s palms start to get sweaty as he takes a seat. “Jesus, thank you for that,” he whispers, relishing your quiet laughter that follows.

“Of course. She was probably a blink away from going full-blown Karen on you.” you tease.

“Oh, and that wasn’t?”

“Oh, Joon, you haven’t seen how angry ballet moms can get.” you both laugh, huddled together as if you’re sharing a special secret. It seems so natural. As if this is where he’s supposed to be. So much that Namjoon almost doesn’t catch the nickname, but how could he miss it when you say it just like she used to?

The stage lights darken, and Namjoon is grateful for the excuse to look elsewhere. He’s sure if he would have stared at you for just a bit longer, he would have done something completely and utterly stupid. “This is her.” you whisper, and Namjoon buries the thought away.

A blue hue shines across the stage before the soft melody begins to play, filling the room with the sounds of strings and keys. One by one, tiny swans begin to come into view, prancing around the stage. Namjoon catches sight of Dasom, looking adorable in her white tutu and he can’t help the proud smile that makes its way onto his face. He watches with adoration as she does her pirouettes, and maybe there’s some water overflowing in his eyes as they finish their dance, bowing towards the audience.

You both stand, clapping and cheering the loudest, uncaring of the stares from the snobby rich parents because you’re both too damn proud of Dasom to care. For a moment, Namjoon pretends that it’s different, simpler. That it’s not only his child on stage but yours. Ours. He thinks he likes the sound of that too much.

Once the show ends, you lead Namjoon backstage where the buzz of dozens of girls talking fills the air. You tell him that you need to check in on the other kids and disappear through a hallway. He spots Dasom quickly, or rather, she spots him.

“Daddy! You came!”

Namjoon lifts Dasom with his free arm, twirling her around before placing a big kiss on her forehead. Her giggles fill him with delight, and he doesn’t care that his cheeks hurt from how hard he’s been smiling. “Of course I came, angel. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He places her on the ground before he grabs the bouquet of sunflowers from his other arm. The sight of her favourite flower makes Dasom jump with joy. She takes the flowers, and Namjoon silently coos at how much smaller they make her look. Then she spots the other bouquet of flowers in his arm. She scrunches her brows together, about to ask who those are for before her eyes catch something behind Namjoon.

“Ms. ____!”

“Dasom!”

Dasom jumps into your arms, and you laugh at her enthusiasm. “You did so well! I’m so proud of that pirouette!” You twirl her around once her feet hit the ground, smiling as you watch her stumble slightly. Namjoon can’t help but smile too.

“Look what daddy got me, Ms. ____! Look!” Dasom lifts the flowers up, almost shoving them into your face.

“Wow, these are very beautiful, Dasom!”

“Look! He got you some too!” she giggles, and you look at her confusedly then at Namjoon. He sighs, looking pointedly at Dasom despite the cherry hue making its way across his cheeks. She giggles once again before running to her friends. “Dasom!” but it's futile.

If it weren’t for the consistent chatter, Namjoon’s sure there would be an agonizing silence to fill the space between you. You walk closer to him, looking down at your shoes bashfully. “Ah, these-” he takes the bouquet from his arm, “these are for you.”

You looked surprised to say the least. Eyes wide and glassy, your mouth falling ajar. “Wow, uh, really?” you ask, glancing up from the bouquet. He nods shyly.

Listen, he had only planned to buy Dasom her favourite flowers. But then he caught sight of these beautiful yellow roses, tips painted a light amber orange. Somehow they reminded him of you. And the way you had left him with his heart feeling lighter for the first time in years the other night. Maybe it was a way of saying thank you. He’ll admit, he didn’t think it all the way through, but the way you’re smiling at him right now makes him think it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

There’s a moment where it seems to just be you and him, despite the tons of parents and children running around. He’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes drop to his lips, if only for a millisecond. Namjoon wants to say it. God, he wants to say it so badly. “Listen I… I’ve been meaning to ask you,” his voice fades away as his eyes catch yours. Hopeful. Beautiful. Glimmering.

Just like hers.

“Do you, uh, need a ride home?”

And the bubble bursts.

You step away, looking at anything but him and he hates it. He despises it. He wants you to look at him like that again. He wants nothing more than to pull you back and kiss you senselessly, like his mind is screaming for him to do. But he can’t. He can’t do it for some fucking reason and he almost wants to cry in frustration because why can’t this just be easier? Why is it so hard to move on? You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than what he can offer you. And that thought keeps him still.

“Uh, sure.”

Quiet.

Say something, idiot! Tell her what you’ve been dying to say! Just fucking say it!

Namjoon hates himself for the next words that tumble out of his mouth.

“Let’s find Dasom.”

The drive to your house is just like it was before, except this time there’s no chatter to fill the emptiness. Dasom is sound asleep in the backseat. You've never seemed more distant than now, facing the window, body pressed against the door. You had almost begged to go in the back with Dasom, and Namjoon doesn’t know why he didn’t just let you.

How did it come to this? This wasn’t what he wanted. This night wasn’t supposed to go like this. Everything should have gone differently.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever fix this. If things will go back to normal. If he completely ruined it. But he’s too afraid to ask. Too afraid to know.

Namjoon has never hated the quiet more.

The sight of your apartment complex fills him with dread. All he can think about is all he wants to say, all he should have said, all he wants to take back. God, Namjoon wishes he could take it back. If only there was a way to turn back the time. Why had he been so afraid to make a move? Why did it hurt so much? But he knows going back wouldn’t help. Not when he doesn’t know if he would have done it differently.

His car comes to a stop, and the doors unlock. He faintly catches the small thank you before the passenger door slams shut. Namjoon watches as you make your way up the pathway, feet moving briskly and it feels like he’s watching you walk away from him.

You’re shuffling through your bag, looking for your key. And fuck, is he really just going to this go?  Is he that stubborn that he can’t see past himself? He can’t. He can’t let you go. Not like this.

Well do something, dumbass!

The door of his car is thrown open, and before he can overthink it-

“____!”

You still. You turn.

Namjoon shuts the door. He walks up the steps and stops a few feet away from you, but he feels like he’s miles away. You look up at him, questioning. Your eyes aren’t the same ones. Not like you looked at him before. Yet they’re still warm. Inviting. Namjoon is tongue-tied, and all those words he wanted to say are gone now.

“Are we… good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I just…” he scratches the back of his neck. “That moment back at the recital. I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you say, simply. When he looks at you, he can’t tell what you’re feeling. You’ve blocked him off. “Namjoon, really. It’s fine.”

But is it really? He wants to ask. But he doesn’t. It’s quiet again, this time the sound of the wind rustling the browning leaves above filling the space. Still.

“I… god, I don’t know why this is so hard. Ever since, you know,” you don’t. “I… I didn’t think I'd ever get an opportunity to…” he inhales, unsure of what he wants to say first.

“I just feel like I ruined it so carelessly.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments. You only stare at him, really stare at him. Like you can see through his mirage, through the walls he’s spent so long building up. You’re taking it all, but there’s nothing he can take back from you.

“You didn’t.” you whisper it so quietly, Namjoon would have thought his mind had taken pity on him. But a smile slips onto your face. Unlike the other ones. It doesn’t fill him with joy. It doesn’t give him butterflies. This one hurts.

And he knows you’re telling the truth.

“This… It might take a while.”

The wind picks up. The leaves rustle. The cold, biting.

“That’s ok. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Your lips are bittersweet on his tongue.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN TO KARLA !! ILYYYY <3

[merakilyy]

Lan Qiren is Not a Completely Terrible Parent + Bonus Headcanon

Some disorganized thoughts on Lan Qiren!

A lot of my thoughts on Lan Qiren come from a bilibili article breaking down what it means be be righteous (雅正) in accordance to the Lan Sect’s motto. The article is in Chinese so I’ll just sum up some of the major ideas first:

***

~It fundamentally refutes the idea of Lan Wangji as the “black sheep” in the Lan Sect 

~It assumes Cloud Recesses has a highly collective intrasect environment. Children are raised not just by the parents, but by the entire Sect. 

~The Elders raised Wangji and saw him grew up and didn’t have the heart to hurt Wangji, even after he escaped with Wei Wuxian into the cave. Western fandom especially tends to see the elders as strict, conservative disciplinarians who are rigid in their beliefs to the point of hypocrisy. This meta refutes that. It’s unreasonable that Wangji, no matter how strong his cultivation, would be able to stand on his own against 33 seasoned cultivators. So, contrary to popular belief, the elders allowed Wangji to injure them so they would not have to harm a child of the Sect.

~Lan Sect rules are not about what is literally written, but the spirit of the rules. This also makes sense given that when you have 4000+ rules, some rules are bound to contradict one another. And, many rules are quite vague. Eg. “sneering for no reason is prohibited.” Where is the line that justifies sneering? There is none because the idea is not “don’t sneer for no reason,” the idea is “don’t be unnecessarily rude.” In many of the rules, there is room for interpretation and it is this process of interpretation that is valued over the literal inscription of the rules. 

~Basically, they are not good people because of the rules. They are good people because they are good people. The rules guide them to make good judgement, but good judgement does not comes from following the rules to a T.

~So the function of 雅正 (to be righteous) is internal, not performative.

~It is this internal clarity that makes Gusu Lan “innocent” (the word used is 纯真; 纯/chun = pure, clarity, genuine, practised and 真/zhen = true, real, genuine, clear)

~There is also a long history of Lans being deviant and rebellious. In CQL, there is Lan Yi who invents guqin battle techniques. They are also the only Clan to have been led by a female cultivator. Qingheng-jun clearly went against orthodoxy by marrying a murderer, but still remained in Cloud Recesses. We’re going to set aside consent here because is a total other separate conversation, but his punishment is self-imposed, not enforced by the Sect. So there are a lot of rules, but they aren’t pedantic. There is leeway, as seen in Lan Yi, but only within reason, as demonstrated by Qingheng-jun.

~Like his ancestors, Wangji also deviated from the straightforward path but his sect accepted his unrepentant love for Wei Wuxian in the end.

~In the end, Wangji gets what he wants: to live with Wei Wuxian in Cloud Recess. But he only gets this because the elders and Lan Qiren allow him to.

~To allow Wei Wuxian to exist in Cloud Recesses, the Lan Sect has to be more inclusive than we typically see them as.

~Despite everything, Lan Wangji still wants to return to Cloud Recesses because it is home to him.

~This is also my favourite explanation of Jingyi’s Jingyi-ness. Rather than Wangji (and possibly Xichen) singlehandedly creating a space for Jingyi, that space already existed. Jingyi isn’t as much of a black sheep as people portray him as because you don’t grow into a Jingyi if everyone is constantly yelling at you to follow rules. CQL Jingyi is plenty sassy, even in front of Lan Qiren, and Jingyi isn’t stupid! He was born and raised in Cloud Recesses, he knows when he is pushing several of the rules and he knows that he has the leeway to do so, and that Lan Qiren will not stop him (within reason).

~”Be righteous” is how the Lan motto is translated in English, but it’s….not exactly what it is in Chinese.

~In modern Chinese, it’s  雅正.  雅/ya = elegance, graceful and 正/zheng = positive, correct, straight, just. 

~Notice how the two parts of the motto contrast one another. Ya is outward, something that dictates how you act. Zheng is internal, determined by your actions and attitudes. Zheng is the foundation of Ya.

~As a related aside, the literary meaning of 雅正 is slightly different; it means to be correct and honest, and to welcome corrections to one’s shortcomings. The literary 雅 is to be proper。

~The meta ends with this beautiful line: 所谓的“雅正”，家族交出来，体雅是表象，心正才是更本。Now to ruin it in translation: “Each configuration of “righteousness,” as taught by the Sect, is outward physical elegance built on the foundation of a moral heart.”

~TLDR: Rebelliousness is a function of Gusu Lan, not an anomaly.

***

Onto some fun headcanons!

~Lan Qiren has personal issues with Wei Wuxian because of his mother, but he is more horrified by Wei Wuxian because Wei Wuxian has all this potential and then uses it to go down the heretial path?? Blaphemous. All that ability, all that work, only to throw it all away? Wei Wuxian is incredibly competent and Lan Qiren begrudgingly respects that competence. What he can’t stand is Wei Wuxian’s lackadaisical attitude towards his cultivation.

~In novel canon, Lan Qiren accepts Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s marriage. He definitely still has issues with Wei Wuxian for being a mass murderer, a demonic cultivator, for desecrating the dead, etc. Also for his general Wei Wuxian-ness. But Wei Wuxian is nothing is not incredibly competent and Lan Qiren eventually softens towards Wei Wuxian because of that competence. Once Wei Wuxian starts using that competence to be useful to the Sect and not just to be as annoying as possible, he gets Lan Qiren’s approval. 

~Secretly, of course. Lan Qiren would qi deviate before saying nice about Wei Wuxian to his face.

~I totally wrote a fic on Lan Qiren publicly defending Wei Wuxian heheh

~Cloud Recesses is only so big and Lan Qiren can’t avoid Wei Wuxian, even if he is never trying to seek him out. Plus, Wei Wuxian has this way of being in the most inconvenient place at the most inconvenient time.

~We all agree Wei Wuxian is a terrible cook. But, is he a bad cook because he adds too much spice, or he is a bad cook because he’s a bad cook? He did manage to cook congee for the ducklings in Yi Cheng without any fatalities. so I’m inclined to believe the former.

~Lan Qiren definitely thinks Wei Wuxian is a terrible cook, especially after hearing about how Wei Wuxian burned a hole in a pot.

~But Wei Wuxian is Wei Wuxian and even if he can’t be trusted with spices (or anything remotely resembling seasoning), he can make plain congee just fine....after some practice 

~Lan Qiren eats this congee and it’s a perfectly good congee. Ideal thickness, light taste, no spices, slides down the throat smoothly and pairs perfectly with his dried zhacai (pickled mustard; a super common Chinese side dish). He asks who made the congee, expecting it to be Sizhui. He chokes when he is told Wei Wuxian is the cook.

~Lan Qiren knows how to be a good parent in theory. He’s just terrible at putting it to practice.

~Jingyi’s parents, when he was still a terrible toddler wreaking havoc everywhere, went to Lan Qiren for desperate advice like “why is our child such a terrible Lan???”

~But Jingyi isn’t actually Lan Qiren’s kid so he actually gives good advice. “Give him a toy, he’ll tire himself out for his nap,” “Let him crawl around, just cover sharp objects and table corners,” and “give him a crushed peach as a reward for walking across the room”

~But he doesn’t know how to talk to Xichen or Wangji as family. He loves them both dearly – obviously he raised them, but they’re also good nephews!! Questionable taste in men aside, they are excellent nephews! He just doesn’t know how to talk to them outside of official sect business.

~Especially with Wangji, He kind of did declare Wangji’s husband a heretic, a traitor, was extra hard on Wei Wuxian as a student, Wangji for visiting Wei Wuxian. And there’s that whole discipline whip thing.

~Which, to be fair, did end up saving Wangji’s life. Raising his sword against Sect Elders and one’s own family is an act of treason punishable by execution. But Lan Qiren can’t just execute his own nephew….he has a heart, even if no one believes it

~33 discipline lashes from the discipline whip is very harsh and Lan Qiren won’t pretend otherwise. But he could gamble that Wangji’s core is strong enough to pull him through. Because the odds of a living, resentful Wangji is better than a dead Wangji.

~They never talk about this. There are a lot of things they don’t talk about.

~Even before, Lan Qiren isn’t a bad parent. He just has no idea how to put his ideas of parenting into practice. He knows what a good parent looks like, he just doesn’t know how to be one.

~So he hides behind the rules because the rules can’t go that wrong, right? Right???

~Lan Qiren is lowkey jealous of Wei Wuxian for knowing how to be affectionate. He definitely thinks Wei Wuxian is too open with his emotions, but he is envious that Wei Wuxian and Wangji are open to each other in a way that Lan Qiren never established with either nephew. They are loyal in the filial manner of juniors to their elders, but Lan Qiren isn’t exactly close to his nephews. 

~In his ongoing attempt to be a better uncle, he ends up getting advice from Wei Wuxian about emotions.

~It’s not like he can go to anyone else. And, well. That congee was really good.

~Turns out Wei Wuxian can brew the perfect pot of tea, too.

~Offensive. That Wei Wuxian is so competent and the least emotionally repressed person in all of Cloud Recesses.

~Eventually, Lan Qiren begins to understand why Wangji is so attached to Wei Wuxian, even if he still can’t stand to be in the same room as Wei Wuxian for longer than 15 minutes. 

~No matter how much he might no longer hate Wei Wuxian, he prefers their interactions in small doses and spaced out.

~But he does learn to bond with Wei Wuxian over cultivation theory. Annoyingly, Wei Wuxian is just too useful to continue to despise. 

[wholesomemendes]

Father’s Day

Dad Shawn Au

Summary: Shawn’s away on tour for the first time on Father’s Day, so you plan a little surprise for him to show him how much you and your son love him.

Author’s Note: This is just a little cute blurb for Father’s Day. So much fluff, literally all fluff because when is it not. Happy Father’s Day to everyone that is celebrating today and please tell me what you think!

“He shouldn’t be up for another two hours or so and then we typically all meet up in my room to talk about the day. It’s number 924 just down the hall so when you’re all finished you can meet us in there.” You listened as Andrew talked you through the rest of the plan, holding your sleeping 3 year old son in his arms. This was Shawn’s first time touring since Raul was born and with Father’s Day landing the day before one of his concerts, you knew that you had to pull a few strings to make sure he didn’t miss it.

“Thank you, Andrew. It means the world that you helped me coordinate this.”

“No worries, it was the least I could do. The poor boy has been missing the two of you like crazy since the moment he left.” You smiled to yourself at the thought of your husband thinking about the two of you just as much as you had of him and you waved goodbye to Andrew for the time being before moving to use the key card he had given you for Shawn’s room. Opening the door carefully, you peaked around the corner to check that you could see a lump of blankets on the bed, signalling that he was still fast asleep. You propped open the hotel door, lifting up all of the boxes of decorations off the floor of the hallway to bring them into the small table in what one would call the living room. The boxes were full of balloons, confetti, streamers, some drawings and cards you and Raul had made together, along with a container of his favorite cookies that you had made before you had flown out and you made quick work to decorate the room to your liking. You made sure you were quiet enough not to wake him, allowing yourself to sneak glances at the outline of his body under the blankets from behind the wall that separated the two areas to make sure he hadn’t moved. Once you felt you had made the room as decorative as you possibly could, you let yourself move past the wall to take a full glance at your husband in person for the first time in almost three months. The two of you had gone much longer apart from one other, but having him to yourself for almost four years besides some small appearances here and there made you forget just how hard it was to be away from him. His hair was a mess over his face, his curls that were identical to Raul’s so fluffy on top of his head that you wished that you could just run your fingers through them. His cheeks were a light pink as they always were when he was asleep and the comforter was slung loosely across his hips, allowing you to admire the strong muscles that were visible on his bare back. Against your better judgement you walked to his side of the bed, letting your fingers trace ever so softly over his cheek and jawline. He let out a little content sigh, but made no move to wake up and you took the opportunity to press the lightest of kisses to his forehead. Your lips lingered for a moment, wanting to take in the moment of being able to just be able to touch your husband again before you reluctantly moved away.

“Baby?” Shawn breathed out in his sleep, causing you to back away quickly from the bed and out of view, “I miss you.” Your heart was racing, worried that your carelessness had ruined the surprise, but all he did was squeeze his pillow tighter and drift further into a deep sleep. You let out a breath of relief, taking one last glance at the man you love as you made your way out of his room and went back to see your son. 

______________

That morning Shawn woke up as he always did, rolling off the covers and immediately checking his phone in hopes of seeing a message or two from you. With a three year old toddler running around the house, you almost always were up before him which meant you usually texted him first right when you woke up. He couldn’t lie and say his heart didn’t break a little when his phone screen turned up bare of any messages from you, but he knew that it wasn’t easy taking care of your son on your own and simply tried to push the feeling aside, trying to convince himself that you were just extra busy this morning. What hurt him the most was that he had just woken up from what one could only call the most amazing dream: he had woken up back home with his little family to celebrate Father’s Day just spending time with the two most important people in his life. It all felt so real, he swore he could smell your famous homemade waffles and it was almost as though he could feel your touch on his cheek. Waking up to none of that on one of his favorite days of the year stung to say the least and he wanted nothing more than to leave tour for just one day to take the next flight out to Toronto. Shawn sighed, dragging himself out of bed towards his luggage in hopes of curing the hunger that was slowly taking over his stomach.

Just as he went to grab a clean pair of black skinny jeans, a hint of blue caught his eye causing him to turn his full attention to the living space of his hotel room. “What the-” he smiled, eyes raking over all of the decorations spaced out perfectly on the table. Tears started prickling in his eyes as he picked up a picture of his little family that was obviously hand drawn by his beloved son with the words “Happy Father’s Day” scrawled out at the top and a messily signed Raul in the corner. His eyes lit up when he saw the box of home baked goods that you had left him and he wondered if he should just skip breakfast with his team in favor of eating the delicious cookies you had blessed him with. Even though he had no idea how any of this had gotten there, he knew his beautiful wife had something to do with it, wishing that he could be home to give you and Raul a million thank you kisses. A tear ran down his cheek as he read the card you left him, but he quickly wiped it away in favor of snapping a picture of the incredible array of decorations to send to you.

To Love of My Life:

Attached: 1 Image

I don’t know how you did it, but I know it was you somehow. Thank you for making me a father, baby. I love you so much and I can’t wait to hold the two of you in my arms again. Can we try to FaceTime later?

To Rockstar:

I’m glad you liked it! I love you too, bubs. We both miss you so much! Things are a little hectic today, but I promise you’ll be able to see our faces.

Shawn smiled to himself, sending you another I love you text before changing into some fresh clothes and heading towards Andrew’s room with a little more pep in his step than before. ______________

“Shawn just texted me,” you announced to the room, “Do you think he’s headed over soon?”

“If he’s awake, he’ll be over here in a few minutes no doubt about it. That boy always wants to eat the second he gets up,” Brian joked from where he was playing cars with Raul on the floor.

Andrew moved the giant cardboard box into the middle of the room right where Shawn would see it the moment he walked in, “Why don’t you and Raul just stand inside the box and when Shawn knocks we can just quickly close you in?”

“Perfect,” you agreed, grabbing your little boy off the floor to hold him in your arms. Minutes after the two of you were safely inside, there was a series of knocks on the door, followed by Shawn’s unmistakable voice. You squatted down inside of the box quickly, holding Raul to your chest as Connor and Brian helped to secure the top. Raul looked at you a little confused even though you had already told him what was happening just moments ago and you placed a finger to your lips to keep him quiet, which he immediately nodded his head to with a big smile on his face. The sound of the door opening made you snap your attention to the top of the box, waiting for the moment it would open and you could see your handsome husband again.

“Hey man, happy father’s day!” you heard Andrew say, which resulted in a thankful chuckle from Shawn.

“Thank you, did you guys set up that stuff in my room?”

“Yeah, Y/n sent us everything and told us how she wanted it set up, so it was really all her doing.”

“Well, thank you anyways, it means a-” his voice stopped when he noticed the large box sitting on the ground in front of him, tied up with a huge blue bow, “What’s this?”

“Oh, this is another present Y/n sent us, but it’s so big we didn’t know how to get it in your room without you noticing,” Connor explained, trying hard to keep the smile off his face, “Why don’t you pull the bow string and open it?”

“Ok…” Shawn lightly pulled the end of the bow, letting it unravel as the box sprung open, revealing you and Raul with the biggest smiles on your faces.

“Happy Father’s Day, Shawn!”

“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!”

Shawn’s mouth opened wide in shock, his eyebrows almost hitting his forehead as he stood in his place, unable to comprehend what was happening. Raul immediately began to reach for his dad, mumbling his name over and over again as Shawn took him in his arms, holding him tight to his chest. “How are you- What? How are you here?”

You laughed as you struggled lightly to get out of the box, but once you did you quickly made your way over to your husband so that he could wrap his arm around you as well, “You didn’t really think I was going to let you miss Father’s Day, did you?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t think you’d be able to fly out.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll always make sure that we can see you, no matter what it is.”

“I love you both so much,” he whispered as he kissed Raul’s head and pulled you tighter into him, causing Raul to let out a content giggle and push his little fingers into his father’s hair.

“We love you too,” you sighed into his mouth when he finally connected his lips to yours, Raul wanting to join in and pressing a slobbery kiss to Shawn’s cheek, “Happy Father’s Day.”

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Hi I dont know if you want jercy requests at the moment but i had an idea for one :

Dark percy murdering calligula as a revenge for jason

Hello angel! Whew this request was willldddddd and I had soo much fun with it. There isn't any jercy per se (in fact Annabeth and Percy are together in this) but Percy is furrrrrious about Jason and he exacts a very twisted sort of revenge for his friend's honour. Basically this was an excuse to write dark!percy and by gods I hope I delivered!

CW: revenge driven, grief, graphic depictions of violence

Burning Maze Spoilers

he used to be nice.

He used to be nice.

Percy had been digging around the weapons room when his name had been shrieked like a dying animal. He had been looking for protective gear to give to little demigods in his sword-fighting class, when a scream like broken bones cracked through his body. He had been starting another calm, routine-controlled day at camp half-blood when he heard the news that made him snap.

*Two hours earlier*

“Jackson,” Annabeth knocks at his cabin door. He hears her voice carry through the open windows, and over the continuous sound of the ocean. “Pers, we have breakfast in half an hour and you have a sword class to teach today.”

The event had been printed on her wall of “to-dos” so that neither of their adhd brains would have the chance to forget. But he groans at the reminder, not wanting to escape his warm bed, or the duvet that wraps around him like a hug, or the pillows that hold his head as if he is a god. Sometimes he wishes he was a Hypnos kid. Their whole thing is sleeping . The knock sounds again.

“Seaweed Brain, come on,” His girlfriend sighs, “You promised we’d talk to Chiron about the—"

The loud and obnoxious cry of a harpy sounds somewhere in the distance and whatever she says next is drowned out completely. He knows though. Knows what she’s going to say and what they have to do. So he drags himself out of bed, like the last sack of potatoes on the crate. Heavy and bruised and discarded for the most desperate of the lot.

“I’m up,” He manages to rasp. He doesn’t like talking to people till he’s brushed his teeth, and eaten something, and spent at least half an hour staring at an empty coffee cup. A New Yorker through and through he supposes.

“Okay,” He hears Annabeth call, “I’ll see you at the dining hall then.”

He makes a sound half way between a grunt and a yawn and hopes she understands because that’s the best she’s getting out of him. The morning routine is quick, even done at the speed of a stubborn toddler. Soon he is sitting at the Poseidon table, scarfing down eggs and toast, and washing it done with a second cup of coffee. The buzzing in his veins is completely normal. And he’s definitely not speaking at a thousand miles an hour. This is how he always talks. Why on earth they allow coffee in a camp full of adhd kids, he’ll never understand. But it works in his favour so he isn’t going to complain.

By the time him and Annabeth are done talking to Chiron about introducing therapy to the camp, he feels like his eyes are moving faster than his sensory receptors can process and his thoughts are moving faster than his ability to process at all. So when his girlfriend, smiling at him about something, stops outside their training room he looks at her with furrowed brows and asks, “What are we doing here? Are we training for something?”

She frowns, “How much coffee did you have this morning?”

“Only three cups.” He shrugs, and clenches his hands in his pockets as if she can see through the fabric to the shaking body underneath.

Her grey eyes widen as if she’s about to scold him, a petulant child being chided by their ever tired caregiver. It makes the part of him still attempting to function slightly wild. He squishes that part down with the force of a thousand ships. Someone calls Annabeth’s name so with a quick peck to the cheek she leaves him in front of the training room and jogs towards the middle of camp and out of sight.

He stares at the room, trying to get his brain to stop focusing on things he doesn’t need to focus on right now, like the three lines of a song he heard at the grocery store a week ago that he hasn’t been able to get out of his head.

He used to be nice.

Entering the training room he scans the schedule and sees he’s teaching a class of small people, campers younger than ten who are just learning the ropes but should disaster ever strike will be ushered to the Cabin 9 bunkers to wait out the storm. It is a rule that no-one under the age of twelve be subject to war if they need not be. And he will make damn sure the need never ever surfaces.

He gathers swords of various shapes and sizes, along with a few daggers, and the straw dummies that have seen better days. It boggles his mind that they’re at a camp for children of literal greek gods but somehow there’s no funding for basic necessities like extra cots in the Hermes cabin, and better dummies to stab.

Muttering to himself he moves aside metal and stacks of straw, trying to find protective gear in the pile dumped at the corner of the training room. When he doesn’t see any he lets out a long suffering sigh... he has to go to the weapons room, which is more of a broom closet with deadly devices than anything else.

The room smelt musty, and the reek of rust slams into his nostrils at dizzying speeds. It reminds him of blood, and it made his skin itch with the need to get out. But still he bends down and searches through the mess of celestial bronze, and gold and—

The scream cauterizes his happiness. He is panic and pain and death and everything brutal in a single awful instant.

“PERCY!” His name has never sounded so full of agony, each syllable holds the stages of grief.

He is running towards the anguish before he’s even fully realises what’s going on. But what he sees when he crests the hill is enough to make the warmth of his heart run burning cold.

Annabeth is curled on the ground, tears like rivers of woe streaming down her cheeks and a purple flag clutched tightly in her fists.

“What happened?” His voice is soft. If he hears himself too loudly he’s going to shatter.

Annabeth cries harder, her whole body shuddering. Grief is overwhelming. Grief is all consuming. Grief will make itself known like thorns in your thumb or bullets in your heart.

“What happened?” He repeats.

And someone, far away, right next to his ear, inside his head, says, “It’s Jason, Jason Grace. He’s dead.”

He used to be nice.

It takes him three days. Three days of non-stop travelling, by foot, and air, and sea, to reach Caligula’s home. A palace. A grave. It is three days too long. Too long for a murderer to be walking free as if there are no consequences to his vile actions. But still he is here now and he will see the fall of a great, and watch how he bleeds just like everyone else. Not gold, the colour of the emperor’s one true love, but red, the colour of his victims.

Percy's eyes are almost black with violence, green so dark it reflects the night sky. His hands clench and unfurl as if practicing to wrap around a throat and squeeze till the symphony of breathing plays its last note. His body is strung taut, a bow string waiting to release. He is murder. He is nothing. He is your worst nightmare.

“Caligula.” He scrapes. It is the exact sound of a sword sparking against stone. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Nothing but scared silence greets him. He can feel the fear coating the walls of this burial ground like a fresh coat of paint. He will make a playground of the blood he spills, will invite all manner of creatures to use it as a park. He will revel in the slaughter he is about to participate in.

“Caligula!” His voice is the sharp edge of a small knife. Unassuming but deadly. ‘“It is no use hiding. There is no place you could go where I couldn't find you.” He feels the earth sway underneath him, and he grins. Oh this is going to be fun.

“Fine Emperor, if this is how you want to do it.”

With a shrug, he flings out an arm and turns three columns to dust. He watches the stone crumble, feels the sand on his palm as if he was crumbling the columns in his hands like soft cheese. With a small stomp of his foot a crack rivaling the river Thames splits the marble floor in half. The entire structure shudders, creaks right above him. His grin only gets wider, more dangerous.

“I will level this place to the ground. I will erase it from history as if it had never been. You will not exist Caligula, because you will go with it. Will be crushed under the weight of your own wealth.”

“You’re a fool,” A voice, reedy and nasalled in a way that has his soul curdling, shouts from somewhere on the far side of the room. “You will crush us both."

Percy laughs. He laughs and the sound widens the cracks in the floor. It is deep, and wild, but in the way a wild thing is caged: snapping at it’s bars, hissing to be free. He laughs.

“You are a fool Caligula. A fool if you think i am not willing to die if it means you suffer. A bigger fool still if you think it will not give me great pleasure to spend my last moments watching the life leave your eyes,”

The distant sound of bubbling starts to fill the room. Percy wonders if he can make blood boil. His mother has certainly said so enough times.

“Leave now half-blood,” The Emperor spits. There is still something of arrogant, misplaced bravery in his voice. It amuses Percy. “Leave now and you will not face the consequences.”

“And pray tell,” He contemplates, “Who you think will deliver your consequences if i leave?”

A scoff that echoes into the pathways of his brain comes from the back of the room. “I do not need consequences dealt. I have done nothing to deserve them.”

The sound of bubbling is getting louder. He looks curiously at the cracks still spidering around the room. “Ah Emperor,” He tuts, “That is where you are wrong. People who deserve consequences hardly ever get them. It is those who don’t think they deserve them that become the unlucky bearers.”

“What are you going on about, boy?” He snarls.

The bubbling is loud enough now that Percy almost checks to see if a small brook has carved its way through the floor. There is nothing there except ever growing cracks, turning to rifts and canyons before his eyes.

He used to be nice.

“We can do this one of two ways Caligula.” He starts, honey bees with a sting a little too sharp to be defence. “You can apologise and I’ll kill you quickly, or…” His smile is sickening. “And this is my preferred method, I could watch you die slowly, watch the life drain from your body and into the soil of blood-crops that will grow here, and your dying words will be the mercy you will inevitably beg for.”

The bubbling spills over the cracks, leaking salty water onto the dying marble floor.

“Better choose soon oh dear Emperor,” He giggles, “I am the only thing holding this room together. As soon as I let go the floor will split like your loyalties. You will be crushed to death by your own greed. And if that doesn't happen you will surely drown.” To emphasise his point water starts gushing from the floor, no longer a bubbling stream but a raging river. His laughter is carried along the ripples that hit the walls, already leaking with the all encompassing ocean. “Wouldn’t it be a pity Caligula? To drown in your own home, surrounded by all the things you killed for, watching as they drown with you?”

“Shut up half-blood,” He screeches, “You do not have the power it takes to kill me. You are nothing compared to the centuries I have been alive.”

“Do you know who i am honouring Caligula?” He asks softly, a stark and terrifying contrast to his smile a moment before. “In all your centuries can you remember but one demigod, a dear friend of mine, but just another victim of yours?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, “They are all the same in the end. All bleed, and cry, and piss, and die the same.”

The grin Percy lets loose starts hurricanes. It is the absolute wrong thing to say. ‘“If it is all the same to you Emperor,” He becomes terror. “Then i think i’ll spill your blood at his altar.”

And before the doomed emperor could react an invisible hand wraps around his throat and he was being dragged to the middle of the room. His eyes wide, popping out of his head; hands clawing at his neck as if trying to remove the grip they cannot feel; feet flopping helplessly underneath him.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.” It is a command.

Caligula glares, attempting to spit at his feet.

Percy tilts his head and with a single crook of his finger he slams the emperor into the wall. The crack is deafening. It makes him grin.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.”

Caligula produces an ancient roman gesture, passed through time as if centuries cannot dismantle the insults of humans.

Percy twists his wrist and the emperor’s body contorts into something unrecognizable, bones snapping and shattering to fit their new mold.

“Apologise for killing my friend.”

“Fuck you,” He manages to choke out.

A wave of ocean water alarming in its beauty rises behind him. He is its god. And with a wink he shoves all of it down the emperor’s throat. The column of that pale neck bobs as if attempting to take the water down. He can see the body trying to retch it all up, unable to handle the sheer amount, the salt that comes with it.

“Watch Caligula,” He motions to the palace sinking under the weight of his ocean, “Watch as everything you have ever cared to love drowns.”

Percy grabs a shard of mirror, uncaring of the gash it sweeps across his palm. He holds it up to the ancient powerful Emperor, who is convulsing into nothing. “Watch.”

He used to be nice.

Sometime later when Percy Jackson walks up a hill, and into the fading sun there is nothing but content mania lining his features, and behind him where a grand home once stood, is a trickling river and a single spear carved with the words, “Neo Helios”. The only sign that Caligula, Emperor and murderer, ever existed,

He used to be nice.

Until someone killed his friends.

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

[image id: printed text that reads, "I used to be nice." end id]

[221bshrlocked]

Follow Your Heart

Pairing: Ardeth Bay x Reader

Words: 12,609. Please do not hate me. I put markers to where you can stop and continue later

Warnings: Some pining. Little bit of angst. Definitely some fluff. And as you should know by now, smut. Unusual dirty talk in the sense that it is more romantic than dirty. Hopefully it gets you going though.

A/N: I have not written anything in so long and I apologize that this is not what you expected (aka Bucky or Steve) after the on/off hiatus. I am genuinely surprised considering this is the longest story I have written. I’m trying my hand at something completely different and since there are a few of us out there thirsting for Ardeth Bae Bay, I hope you like this. And shout out to @mss4msu for literally handing me the Middle Egyptian and Hieratic on a platter because Lord knows I still suck at this and she is a genius. Also, Happy Birthday friend, you know who you are. Lastly, refer to this for an in depth disclaimer for this fic.

~I~

It was a quiet day, one of the few since you’ve arrived with Evy on the site. You weren’t one to tag along with her or her husband, but you couldn’t pass a chance to visit a place like Luxor, not when it was your professor’s favorite city. Being one of Sir Gaston Maspero’s students, you’ve heard all about the temple, this side of the Nile even, and you’d always wanted to come to it, not just for research purposes but to enjoy the magic that was Egypt. 

You always envied Evy for living in this place for so long, even wished you were favored by the librarians and professors like her, but she was much more charming, beautiful even. You were the cousin no one paid mind to, apart from the Professor of course. He had always favored you amongst the others and you didn’t mind it, not when you were learning about the greatest civilization in the world. You had always wished to be more connected to this land but sadly, you weren’t. Your only connection was the knowledge of the languages and the culture, not a parent you could always speak of during parties and galas. 

Looking up from your notebook, you placed it aside and sipped from your afternoon tea, eyes searching the landscape in front of you, hoping the sands and waves would tell you something, anything about the place you were in. It has been years since you’ve spoken with your Professor, wishing he was here with you, telling you all the secrets whispered to him by the stones. He always had a sense of things around him, and he once told you that you had that same instinct but you brushed it off. If you did, it hasn’t made itself visible yet. You’ve been here for months now, without a new find or anything to write about back home. 

But like Evy, you weren’t one to give up so easily, constantly searching for the impossible. A breeze flew through your hair, your skin shivering for the first time in a long time. The summer was close to ending and while it was unbearably hot during the day, the night could be even deadlier. You drank the rest of your tea and were collecting your notebooks when a few papers flew away. Immediately, you ran after them before they fell in the water, managing to catch all but one. You were about to jump in the water when a hand flew and grasped your wrist, pulling you back before you stepped any further.

“Wha-”

“The waters are not safe in these parts of the country.” Your eyes shifted back and forth between the man’s own dark orbs and his hand. He finally let go, staring at you as he passed and went into the water to collect your page. You hoped it was soaked enough that he wouldn’t see what was in it, sighing in relief when he came back out with what used to be a sketch.

“You must be careful. We do not need anymore incidents around here.” He threw the wet paper in your hands before walking away from the hill, yelling something to the men working around the temple before getting on his horse and leaving. You sighed before throwing the page away, hating how you somehow always made a fool out of yourself in his presence. You had not expected to see him today. Rick and Evy weren’t around so he had no reason to be here, or so you thought. You walked back to your tent to wash up before dinner, telling the men it was time for them to go home. 

"في أي وقت تريدننا أن نأتي غدا يا انسة؟" 

Miss, is there any specific time you wish us to come tomorrow?

One of the men yelled out to you, wiping the sweat from his forehead and waiting for your response. Your Arabic was that of a child’s and although you loved practicing it with the men and the people in the village, you hated how it came out like that of a toddler’s, sometimes grammatically incorrect and other times completely wrong. But you struggled through a response anyway, smiling at them before replying to the leader of the workmen.

"يمكنكم الراحة غدا وسأخبركم لاحقًا."

You can rest tomorrow and I will let you know later when you can come in.

They put their tools near your tent and left, thanking you and bidding you a good night. You were aware of the position you were in and at times, truly disliked it. You thought of maybe giving them a week or two break but you weren’t sure how that would go with your superiors back in Oxford. Once everyone had left, you brought food and water to your guards and asked them to take the night off. Both of them turned to each other and thanked you for the opportunity but told you they would remain nearby. When you realized they would still do whatever they wanted, you thanked them and left back to your tent.

You left them chatting about some wedding coming up and went back to your tent, shutting all sides before stripping down and showering. You were thankful for the men’s expertise on setting up this tent. They left you a place near one of the palm trees, closed from all sides so you could wash up quickly if you needed to. It was your favorite part of the day, standing in the middle of the desert and surrounded by the ancient air. Finishing up quickly, you left your hair down to dry naturally, wrapping yourself in a night robe before walking out of the little room. As soon as you looked up, you almost squealed, hand clasping at your chest for air. 

“You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Your words were a mix of anger and fear, body refusing to budge from its place until the figure in front of you said something. When he continued to stare at you, you cleared your throat and moved to pour some wine for yourself. “I thought you had left.” You turned around and saw he was still staring at you, his eyes following the droplets of water falling on your shoulders. 

When he continued to remain silent, you sipped from your glass and sat opposite of him. “I’m assuming Rick and Evy are coming soon then?” 

“What makes you say that?” His response was laced with sarcasm and you hated how he sounded, how he always treated you. Perhaps it was the heat finally getting to your head or the long hours in the field, maybe even the wine, but you’ve had enough.

“Seeing as you are never around unless they are, I thought they would be coming. We both know you are not here out of interest…” Your words trailed off and you looked up, surprised to see his demeanor change, however, not for the better. Without any hesitation, his frowning expression followed you as he stood, walking towards your chair and leaning down enough for you to feel the heat radiating off of his body.

“Never ask your guards to leave.” His eyes darted to your lips but for a moment, watching the wine stain them a dark red before he pulled away and growled something in Arabic you didn’t quite catch, walking through the little opening in the tent and leaving you a mess. You downed the rest of your drink and crawled under your covers, finding it impossible to sleep now that you were so close to him. The man did things to you ever since you met him and you hated it. Somehow, you were always like a dog in heat whenever he was around. You weren’t sure what it was that was attractive about him; between his nearly black eyes and plump lips, and his dominant yet kind personality, you were sure there would never be another that would catch your attention. 

But it was just your luck that he absolutely despised you, constantly calling you out whenever Evy and Rick were around or, when they weren’t, ordering you around like you were a child who couldn’t care for herself. You wished you could know what it was that made him regularly angry with you but you opted to thinking it was because you were a complete outsider that, like her cousin, dug around in places where she didn’t belong. You chose to fall for a man that couldn’t stand you, a man that had every reason to not like you or your family, a man who could have any woman in his bed should he ask, a man whose sole purpose was to keep Egypt's secrets hidden from the curious eyes of the world. 

A man who went by the name of Ardeth Bay.

~II~

It had never occurred to you that the day would come when you could speak with a living being who belonged to an ancient tribe. While the modern Egyptians you interacted with were descendants of the ancients, whether of the Coptic or Muslim traditions, it amazed you that one of the least known tribesmen were among you to this day. In any text you read, administrative and personal, you could always find hints of the Medjay’s presence. In the royal letters, they were those who protected the deserts of Seth, the Pharaoh himself, and sometimes even the borders of the country. In the personal ones, although rarely mentioned, they were described as ones who never carried out much interaction with the population, always keeping to themselves or helping out wherever they were needed in a village before leaving. They patrolled the lands at times, making sure there were no Hittite or Akkadian spies seeking to destroy Pharaoh. 

Now, the chieftain of the Medjay was another story. He was constantly mentioned in any type of literary texts. Most of the times, he was mentioned by name and on behalf of his people. He was the most important of the Medjay for obvious purposes. You continued scribbling absentmindedly in your notebook, not paying attention to what it was you were writing down. You fell out of your haze when you heard a commotion in front of your tent. Looking at your watch, you jumped out of your bed when you realized you’ve been idle for an hour, quickly putting on your robe before exiting the tent.

“Is everything alright?” You saw the two guards arguing with a few women from the village, immediately walking up to them to see what was wrong.

“There is nothing to concern yourself with Miss.”

“Please, tell me.” You saw the two men look at each other before nodding at the women. 

"يريدونك ان تحضر حفلة زفاف صديقتهن الليلة."

They want you to attend their friend’s wedding tonight.

The women stood there in silence until you decided and although you wished to go, you weren’t sure you would be welcomed, especially if the bride and the groom did not know. You struggled with what you wanted to say and hoped you would make sense to them. 

"انا اتشرف لكن هل تعرف العروس أنكم طلبتن مني؟" 

It would be my honor, but does the bride know you came and asked me?

They smiled at your broken Arabic and nodded in unison before telling you that she was the one who asked them to come and invite you. They told you she would have come herself but she was preparing for the wedding in a few hours. You told them you would be more than happy to come and laughed when one of the younger girls jumped and hugged you before kissing both of your cheeks. The men did not look pleased at your decision but said nothing, telling you that one of them would stay on site while the other accompanied you to the wedding. And when you tried to tell them there was no reason to do so, they told you it was non-negotiable. 

So you left back to your tent to dress more properly before making the regular morning rounds, grabbing your notebook and heading to the other side of the temple where you have yet to excavate. You had asked permission from the townspeople first, and although you thought they would not grant you access since the mosque built on the site was still in use, they surprisingly agreed as long as you didn’t damage any part of the prayer house. You found a bolder near the mosque and sat on it, sketching the grounds first before going anywhere near the mosque. 

You stayed there for hours, losing all sense of time when your thoughts strayed away from the place to something, or rather, someone else. Flipping through the pages, you stopped and looked at the page you were invested in during the morning hours, shaking your head at how pathetic you were. Near the portrait you sketched of him instead of the one which fell in the Nile were hieroglyphs. You never knew that day dreaming would include writing in a dead language and you laughed a little, not because of what was on the page but because of how clever your mind was even when it was idle. 

                                                      𓇯𓂠𓍑𓇌 𓏥

“ḥry mḏꜢw.” You whispered to the monuments, tracing the lines of his features and wishing you had a better understanding of the man that was Ardeth. He was a living marvel in every sense of the word. And although you were attracted to him because of his intelligence and past, you couldn’t deny how handsome he was, probably the most beautiful of men you’d ever had the pleasure of looking at. You’ve only ever seen his face and hands, and as much as you hated to admit it, they were the fuel of your evening activities far too many times. And whenever he haunted your dreams, you always woke up heaving and sweating, knowing very well what your dreams were about. 

So busy continuing your sketch of him, you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching you until it was too late. For the third time in less than twenty four hours, Ardeth crept up on you, standing a few feet away behind you and ignoring your obvious distress before approaching you.

“You have got to stop doing that.” You said humorously but stopped smiling when you realized he was in a foul mood once more.

“Why are you going to the wedding?” He ignored your previous comment, crossing his arms and waiting for you to reply.

“I thought it would be rude to decline the invitation. I have never gone to an Egyptian wedding before and I have a feeling I will not get a second chance again.” Your tone came out more aggressive than you intended but you didn’t care. 

“And the guards? Had I not told you last night to never ask them to leave.” Ardeth took a step forward and part of you felt a twist in your stomach at his proximity, not because he would hurt you. No, he would never do that. But because you were barely over what transpired the night prior. 

“Last time I checked, I was the boss around here, not you. Now, I understand your position and hold great respect for it, but if you think you can walk around ordering me simply because I am a woman then it is best you don’t come around unless Rick or Evy are here. I don’t need to listen to you and you know this very well. If you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare for a wedding.” You stood up and took one step forward, not seeing the giant rock in front of you. You prepared to hit the ground but no such thing happened. Instead, you felt a pair of arms wrapped tightly around your waist, holding your body against a solid chest. Looking back, you felt Ardeth’s hands tighten around you as soon as you made eye contact with him. His eyes were dilated, the beautiful brown barely visible, jaws clenching when he saw your parted lips. He let go instantly, looking away and leaning down to pick up your notebook before you asked him not to.

As soon as he flipped the notebook to dust the sand off, he saw his portrait and the hieroglyphs written at the bottom, blinking confusingly a few times before handing you back the notebook and excusing himself. You wished the Nile could just flood and take you away from here. Not sure what to make of his reaction, you went back to your tent, aggressively opening the flap and throwing your things on the bed. You noticed something on the chair and picked it up, looking around to see who could have possibly come in here.

Walking outside, you saw the two guards drinking tea under a tree. Approaching them, you asked if they saw anyone go into your tent. When they told you that one of the women came back with clothes for you to wear, they accompanied her to your tent to make sure she placed it inside and took nothing. You thanked the two of them and walked back, studying the familiar gown you saw everyone wear in the village. You were glad they had given you one, not because you had nothing to wear but because you were afraid you dress might offend them. Quickly washing up, you put your hair up and put the long silky black gown on, twirling around in front of the mirror before putting your heels on and leaving. 

It was around five in the afternoon by the time you finished. You walked out and made your way to the guards to let them know you were ready. But when you got there, you saw them talking to Ardeth, bowing their heads to him when they saw you standing there and leaving. For a second, you thought he was going to argue with you and ask you to stay but as he approached you, you saw the almost reserved gaze he held. 

“Both men will stay here tonight and I will escort you to the wedding.” He said calmly and although you preferred this side of him, you couldn’t trust his sudden change of demeanor. 

“Are you serious?” Ardeth looked up at your question and you could pinpoint the moment he felt guilty but you chose to ignore it. “You do not wish to be in my company.” He said, more as a statement than a question and you hated how you denied him immediately.

“No no, that’s not what I said. Nevermind, we should probably leave. I don’t want to miss anything.” You turned around and refused to look back until you had reached the streets of the village. You realized you didn’t know where the wedding would be held but you saw some families walking towards the main church and thought to follow them. As soon as you arrived, you saw the girls from the morning standing outside. You smiled when one of them saw you and ran to welcome you in but as soon as she saw Ardeth, her eyes widened and she said something in Arabic that you did not recognize. 

And then something you’ve never seen before happened, absolutely taking your breath away and causing you to swallow the lump in your throat before approaching the other guests. Ardeth smiled at the young woman and asked her to not tell the elder of the village that he was here. You watched as he interacted with her and waved to her friends, telling her that he would rather enjoy the evening with everyone than have the attention on him. She smiled at him, telling him she will make sure no one will tell any of the administration that he was here before leaving to join her friends. 

You wished you could ask him why he said this but you thought it best to leave him alone. No need to start arguing from now. The night was young and you wanted to enjoy every moment of it. 

~III~

The ceremony was longer than you thought but you didn’t mind it. You enjoyed the hymns they sang, surprising Ardeth when you had picked up one of the books and followed along with the Coptic. You could tell he was staring at you but you ignored him, wanting to commit this to memory. When they finished and the priest announced them as man and wife, all the women began ululating and although it took you by surprise, you were glad to be a part of this. They were all so joyful, following the newly wed outside to the street as they walked to the giant tent and stage in the middle of the town. 

Not thirty minutes later, everyone was dancing and singing along with the couple. You watched as musicians played and danced around the woman and her husband, laughing when he picked her up and twirled her around. You forgot Ardeth was there and continued to watch everyone celebrate the two, but Ardeth was very much aware of your presence. 

Unbeknownst to you, he has spent months in Luxor, watching you and making sure nothing out of the ordinary took place but more importantly, making sure you were safe. He begrudgingly listened to Evy when she told him she knew his secret. He had tried to lie but Evy was clever, telling him that there was no shame in admitting the feelings he had for you. Ardeth told Evy that he could never be with you because you did not think of him the way he thought of you and up until a few hours ago, he thought Evy was lying to him when she told him that he was mistaken. 

When he saw the sketch you had of him, along with the hieroglyphs of his name and his title, he changed his mind. Maybe, just maybe, the feelings were mutual, but even then, he has been nothing but rude and condescending ever since he met you. Perhaps this was more out of curiosity than anything else, because in his mind, no woman as intelligent and beautiful as you would think of him that way. He was not from the ordinary population. This was even excluding where he came from; surely you would want to marry someone who held the same customs and traditions, perhaps even faith, as you. Why would you look at him, a man who was living proof of an ancient people, whose culture was completely different from yours, who might not give you everything you would wish for?

Ardeth was brought back to reality when he saw you standing up and leaving. He was about to follow you when he saw who it was you were approaching, sitting back down in the back along with a few others and watching as you went to the bride and the groom. 

When the young woman saw you, she tapped her husband on the shoulder to get his attention. The man thanked you for coming and told you that his wife aspired to be as kind as you one day. You were taken aback by the response, thanking the two of them and taking a small bag out of your purse. 

You told her you didn’t know what was proper to be given as a gift. She had declined it at first but when you opened it and showed it to her, both of them were surprised and asked you if you were sure. You didn’t know how to convey why you were giving it to her so you looked around to see if anyone who understood English could help you. As soon as you looked towards the back, you saw Ardeth staring right back at you. Swallowing your pride, you motioned for him to come, clasping your hands together to tell him you truly needed his help. He was next to you within moments, asking you what it was you needed.

“Could you please tell them that, as I understand, the blue scarab brings luck and keeps the evil eye away. And I wish for their marriage to always be happy and that they never struggle in anything.” You watched as he took the golden necklace, his eyes holding your gaze before he turned to the bride and told her what you said. She was surprised and said something back, her husband agreeing with her. 

“They are telling you that you are right but they could not possibly accept this.” Ardeth smiled at the couple and translated to you, watching as your expression frown in confusion. He thought it the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.  

“Why not?”

“It is made of gold and lapis lazuli Y/N, this would be the most expensive thing they own and they couldn’t take something as precious from you as this.” You almost gasped when he called you by your name, and you stopped yourself from asking him to say it again, knowing this was not the time or place for such a confrontation. 

“I know. But I want them to have it. Please, try to tell them again.” You placed your hand on his hand to turn it their way and Ardeth couldn’t help the blush that crept on his cheeks. He asked them again, telling them you knew very well what it was and that you really wanted them to have it. The couple looked at each other and back to you before taking the necklace and thanking you for it. The young woman hugged you tightly and kissed your cheeks, thanking you once more before asking her husband to put it on for her. 

You went back to your seat and sat down, waiting until a few moments passed before thanking Ardeth for helping you.

“It was nothing.” Ardeth replied, smiling again and watching as you timidly looked away, busying yourself with something other than the handsome man next to you. In that moment, everything clicked in his mind. The bickering, the shy demeanor, the quietness whenever he was around. You didn’t do these because you disliked him but because you thought of him the way he thought of you. Maybe not completely in the same way because he thought of you in such a manner that wasn’t allowed for him. Not unless you were his own to do such things with. 

You saw some of the workmen dancing around, one of them stopping when he saw you sitting next to Ardeth. He approached you and asked you if you would join him, to which you declined insistently, telling him you would only make a fool out of yourself. When he asked again and saw the way Ardeth clenched his jaws, he stopped, knowing it was unwise to anger a Medjay. You followed his gaze and saw the way Ardeth was staring at him, your heart fluttering for a moment at the thought of him being jealous. But no, that wasn’t possible. 

“Perhaps it is best if you take a week off?” You asked the man and he looked at you strangely, asking you if he understood you correctly. 

“Yes, a week. Don’t worry, you will be paid.” You smiled when he jumped and kissed your cheek before running to the other men and telling them they had a week off. You turned to look at Ardeth but he was nowhere to be found. Looking around, you didn’t find him anywhere, mind reeling back to see if you had said anything to offend him. You waited around for another hour and when he never returned, you excused yourself, bidding the couple a good night before walking back to your tent. But you were stopped by one of the girls, telling you that it was custom in their village for everyone to sit, even for a minute, with the palm reader on weddings. You never believed in these matters but thought why not, following the girl until she brought you to the older woman. 

“Sit down my dear.” The woman took your hand and pulled you down until you sat across from her. 

“You speak English?” You hadn’t meant to sound surprised but you have never met someone her age that could speak English.

“A little. I learn quickly.” She winked at you, opening the palm of your hands and drawing patterns across the lines. She remained quiet for a long time before putting your hands down and looking at you. “You have a long life ahead of you, a bright one too.” She said nothing else and you didn’t know what came over you but you asked her anyway.

“Is there love in this life?”

“There could be.”

“What do you mean?” Before you finished your question, the woman was bringing out a small piece of paper, handing it to you to see your reaction. When you opened it, you read the few lines written in Coptic and turned to look at her once more. You knew what it was. You had seen something similar at your time in Oxford when Professor Maspero brought you his findings and although you didn’t believe in such things, you were not one to tempt your luck. “Thank you, but I think it is best if I leave.” You handed the paper back to her, watching as she smiled and nodded your way.

“To be wise at such a young age. May Allah bless you and keep you safe my child. And to answer your question, there is. And you will not need such charms to make it so, for the one you seek has always had his eyes set on you and no one else.” You didn’t have time to say anything before the woman was standing up and walking away, leaving you more confused than before. Silently leaving the festivities, you made you way back to the excavation grounds, your legs leading you to the shores of the river rather than your tent. There was no way you could sleep after hearing the old woman’s words.

~IV~

You returned to the same spot you always sat in to watch the sunset every day, looking up at the sky and marveling at the many stars and constellations so visible at night. But your mind quickly returned to the old woman’s fortune; did she mean what you thought she meant? It couldn’t have been possible that she knew your feelings, let alone Ardeth’s. But she was so sure of herself.

You dug into your purse and pulled out your notebook, returning to the familiar page once more and passing your fingers over his name.

“You know, I never thought of how my name could mean something else.” You turned around when you heard Ardeth call behind you, not bothering to tell him that he almost made you drop your notebook again. When you said nothing, he continued.

“May I join you?” He asked and you could tell he was fully expecting you to tell him off. But when you nodded and motioned for him to sit next to you, he did so quietly. 

“What do you mean?” You asked him, not bothering to hide the page from him anymore. He silently asked if he could see your notebook and pencil, and you handed them over. He traced his callous fingers over his name in hieroglyphs, reading them out loud and smiling at you.

𓄿𓂋𓌗 𓂞𓇌𓏏𓏛 𓃀𓇋𓄿𓎡𓅄𓅆

“Ꜣr dı͗t bı͗k…”

“The one who makes the driving away from the falcon.” You repeated after him, watching as his smile brightened even more so than before. Then you saw him scribbling something down right next to the last part of his name. 

𓃀𓇋𓄿𓈅𓏤𓈐

“bı͗Ꜣ? As in path?” You asked him, trying to see what his name would mean now.

“The one who makes the driving away from the path,” he whispered, then pointed to the tattoo on his forehead and his cheeks. He watched as the meaning of his name dawned on you.

“The one who makes the driving away from the path of the netherworld through maat.” You responded, smiling when he nodded at you and told you he preferred your interpretation better.

“Why?” “As I see it, it was our role to protect Pharaoh who was the manifestation of Horus on earth. It makes sense that my name parallels the old ‘job description’...to drive away Horus from his demise and being taken into the underworld.” He handed you back your notebook and looked towards the river, watching as the waters softly hit the shores.

“Do all the Medjay have those as well?” You asked, hoping he found no offense in your curiosity. 

“No, just the chieftain. But all of us hold names that correspond to an element of our past lives.” He continued, turning to look at you once again and hoping he could find it in himself to apologize for all the times he disrespected you. You met his gaze before looking away immediately. It was hard to maintain eye contact with him, his eyes making you feel as if he was staring into your soul. Then you felt his hand rest on your own in the sand, looking down and seeing his fingers clasping yours harshly. Your heart was beating against your chest and you hoped he couldn’t hear it. 

When you turned to face him again, he was already staring at your lips, and you couldn’t help it, licking them and mirroring his actions before leaning in towards him. Ardeth didn’t want to move, afraid he would break this trance between the two of you, but when he saw you moving towards him, something completely otherworldly took over. 

He let go of your hand and cupped your cheeks, pulling you towards him and taking your lips aggressively in a hungry kiss. You gasped into the sudden motions, hands fisting in his clothes to hold onto him so you didn’t fall over. Ardeth took this as a sign of submission, pushing you down on the sand and cornering you between his arms. When you moaned against him, he snuck his tongue past your lips, exploring your skin like it was a new oasis. His hands crept into your hair before rolling down your form, holding onto your waist and squeezing you against him to feel every inch of you. 

You didn’t know what to do, torn between pushing him away to ask him about the sudden change of heart and begging him to take you to your tent and have his way with you. When he felt your nails dig into his shoulders, he pulled away, his breath fanning over your cheeks and his eyes memorizing your blissed out facial expression. When you finally opened your eyes, you had already regulated your breathing, pulling your hands away and keeping them to yourself. You hoped he would understand and move away, and when he didn’t, you looked anywhere but him.

Ardeth finally understood what you were silently asking him, moving away and sitting up slowly. Before he could say anything else, you were standing up and running away to your place. He knew calling after you wouldn’t do him any good so he sat by himself for a while. When the night air turned colder, he stood up and was about to go to the other guards when he saw your notebook lying on the ground. 

Picking it up, he dusted the sand off and made his way to your tent. The Medjay saw him approaching and stood up, greeting him before returning to their posts. 

“wḏi.” The command passed his lips angrily, and the two subordinates knew not to question him. They stood up and walked back to the village, leaving Ardeth standing outside your tent. He had spent hours committing to memory the pass of your tongue against his, every smooth touch of your skin against his rough fingers. Without thinking much of it, he walked into your tent to place your notebook on the nightstand, telling himself to not look at you even for a moment. 

But his self control flew with the breeze, his eyes turning back and seeing your naked figure under the thin covers. He could tell you were naked, for your entire back was exposed to his gaze. Gently, he reached over and rolled the cover until you were shielded from his eyes. You looked so beautiful in your sleep, hair forming a halo on the pillow. He knew this was wrong but he couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. Slowly, he traced the blush on your cheeks up to your hair, brushing the few strands aside to take a closer look at you.

“A-ardeth…” His name spilling from your lips pushed him back to reality, pulling away and exiting the tent immediately out of fear of himself. He bit his tongue to distract himself from the familiar ache creeping into his groin whenever you were around. It was much worse now however, because he knew what his name sounded like when you moaned it in your sleep. Sitting near the fire, Ardeth removed his knife and picked up a large tree branch, cutting away to distract himself from the sleeping figure not twenty feet away from him. 

Unbeknownst to him, you were very much awake when he entered your tent. For a moment, you were afraid it was not him but when leaned over to cover your body, you could smell his scent, one that you were more familiar with now more than before. You knew he would not try to force himself on you and when he brushed your hair, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your throat in the form of his name. He was gone a moment later, leaving you a mess beneath your covers. You wished you could bring him back to your bed, tell him you ran away because you were afraid of offending him by asking him to do something that may not be acceptable in his culture and not because you were refusing him. 

You slept knowing the old woman was truthful in everything she had told you, and Ardeth laid awake through the night thinking you ran away because you did not want him. 

~V~

You woke up earlier than usual, making yourself exceptionally presentable before exiting the tent. You walked out prepared to face Ardeth and try to make small talk so he doesn’t feel awkward but he was nowhere to be found. You hated when he did that and he seemed to do that a lot around you. You saw the two guards, who you now knew were Medjay, standing around and talking. When they saw you, they bowed their heads before returning to their conversation. 

You didn’t bother to look for him, going about your day as you normally would have and hoping you could be productive instead of thinking about him. You continued recording mounds of interest in your notebook, walking around the area near the mosque and straying away from the major area to the west of the temple. You never came to this part of the grounds, knowing Professor Maspero had already discovered the Chapel of the goddess Mut. There was no way he would’ve missed anything, he was a thorough man. But in your attempt to not topple over the rocks, you skipped a step and fell on your face on top of what used to be a column in the hypostyle hall of the temple. 

“For god’s sake,” you whispered to yourself, looking for your pencil and dusting off your pants. You cursed under your breath when you saw your pants have ripped at the knee. Resting on the column, your eyes passed through a relief that seemed oddly familiar. Ignoring the pain in your legs, you tried to wipe the sand as much as possible from the relief, eyes widening in surprise when you realized what the relief was.

Frantically standing up, you picked up your notebook to mark where you were on the site before discarding it again, kneeling down and dusting off as much as you could without damaging the column. 

There, engraved in large letters, was a Coptic inscription surrounding a cross that was most likely carved over a hieroglyphs. You almost screamed at the sheer luck, marking the area before running to your tent to grab your tools. The guards saw you running around frantically and were about to ask you when they saw you jumping out of your tent with your small kit. They knew not to disturb you when you were working. 

You returned to the column and brushed away from the column before grabbing a shovel and removing the rubble from around the column. You’ve never had to do this much work in your years of excavations but you didn’t care, this was far more rewarding than anything. You looked like a wild woman by the time you cleared the column, sitting down to sketch as many of the reliefs as you could. The Coptic would have to wait, you had no energy for this today. 

When you returned to your tent, the two guards saw the state of you and asked if anything happened to you. You explained what took place and told them that dinner was on you, giving one of them money to fetch food from the village. The men thanked you and told you they would tell you when the food was here. 

You went back in to bathe, knowing you looked like an absolute mess of a woman and that you should not be in their company in such a manner. You were about to unbutton your shirt when someone walked into the tent.

“That was quick. You must’ve been truly hungry to-” The words died in your throat when you turned around and saw Ardeth standing at the entrance. You said nothing, silently kicking yourself for not returning sooner and cleaning up. The last thing you needed was to look filthy in front of him. But none of this compared to the way he was looking at you, like a predator ready to devour his prey. 

His eyes softened, however, when he saw you the state of your knees and the dried blood on the beige pants. Without thinking much of it, he stepped towards you, kneeling down to inspect your skin.

“What happened?”

“I- there was a…” You couldn’t think of a coherent sentence, the feeling of his warm hands wrapped around your legs too distracting. “I was just walking around and quite literally fell upon a new discovery. Did you know there was an old church built in this temple?” Ardeth ignored your rambling, asking you to sit down on the chair while he fetched a clean cloth and some water. You didn’t dare argue with him, silently taking a seat and rolling up your pants for him. He came back with a small amphora filled with cold water and a cloth. His blood thrummed in his ears as soon as he saw your skin. And although he tried to hide himself, you couldn’t help but smile at the blush that crept across his cheeks. 

Gently, he sat down and held your calves, cursing himself for thinking he could do this without making a fool out of himself. 

“You should be more careful Y/N.” There it was again, your name whispered so softly and causing you shake. Ardeth felt goosebumps erupting on your skin, barely holding back the smile of pride at being the cause of such a reaction. You nodded, not trusting your voice just yet. He was tender in every touch, slowly dabbing the wet cloth around the inflamed area before treating the other knee in a similar fashion. Like the previous night, something took over him and he couldn’t hold himself back, leaning down and kissing your knees, telling you to watch the wounds when you washed.

When Ardeth looked up, he saw the frenzy swimming in your eyes, and he could only smile at you when your lips parted to attempt and thank him. 

“I will wash this for you.” He raised the blood stained cloth and you tried to stop him but he insisted, telling you it was nothing. When he left your tent, you were sure your heart was close to jumping out of your chest. It was such a minor touch but it boiled your blood, knowing what his lips felt like on your skin yet again. Shaking your head, you went to the corner of the tent to wash up quickly, your heart already leaping at the thought of seeing him again. 

But then something broke your trance. God you could not never have the heart to refuse this man if he asked you to have him, but you also couldn’t bear it if you were to tempt him to do something that went against his culture, even religion. Come to think of it, your knowledge of the Medjay’s religious beliefs was minimal. You had spent a long time with them when you were with Evy and Rick, seeing many of them walking into the mosque in their village during the day to pray. But you also saw your two guards walking out of Mass on Sunday morning numerous times, singing some of their hymns as they walked back to their post. 

Either way, you could not possibly be the cause that Ardeth strayed from his beliefs. You had respected him far too much to tempt him or place him in an unpleasant situation with whatever religious leader he knew. You were very much aware of your position, not just as a stranger to the culture and religions but also as a woman that did not care for the rules revolving around physical relationships. It was one of the things that had many men and women of your social circle angry and whisper about. You only had one or two affairs with men but you still valued yourself, just not in the same way that women of your society did. You did not care for the limiting rules set upon you by the Catholic church or English culture. Thankfully, neither did your parents, always telling you to follow your heart and not care for what anyone thought of you. You were only Catholic by name after all, not by belief.  

But you couldn’t apply this advice now. You cared what Ardeth thought of you and you did not want him to think you were “easy,” neither did you want him to see you as a prude. So you reeled back all thoughts of approaching him, wanting to give the two of you some time to test the waters. You took your time in the bath, slowly washing yourself to make sure the wound did not bleed again. It was an hour later when you emerged from the water, wrapping a towel around yourself before rubbing another around your hair. 

But when you emerged from behind the wooden screen, you saw Ardeth walking in to place the urn and cloth near your bed. When he turned around, his body went tense, hands shaking at the sight of you and eyes blinking slowly. Neither of you moved for a few moments. You waited to see what he would do, chest rising and falling when you saw the way his eyes took you in. You saw his adam’s apple bob up before resting back in its place and you thought, ‘20 seconds of courage.’

Throwing the hair towel away, you walked up to him, standing a few inches away from his rigid torso. 

“You are treading on dangerous grounds Y/N.” Ardeth whispered, his nose flaring when the scent of lavender hit his senses. He was losing every ounce of control coursing through his veins and he wished you would step away before he did something he might regret. Slowly, you reached your hands towards him to cup his cheeks, watching as he shut his eyes to control himself. You saw his jaws clenched tightly, fists cracking from how harshly he was holding himself back. Leaning forward, you brushed your lips against his own before pulling back.

“Tell them to leave.” That was all Ardeth needed for confirmation, setting the animal loose and wrapping his arms around you before devouring your lips. His hands fisted in your damp hair, pulling your neck back so he could lay kisses all over your skin. You moaned loudly against him, causing him to clamp his hand on your mouth in fear of the men hearing you. Reluctantly pulling away, Ardeth told you to remain in your spot until he got rid of the two guards. You barely held yourself up when he left you to walk out of the tent. 

You could hear him ordering the two men, and telling them to not return unless they saw Horus. Both men responded their agreement and left, and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed because they probably knew why their chieftain ordered them so aggressively to leave. 

Ardeth walked back in and tied the knots of the entrance, walking around all sides of the tent to make sure there were no visible windows or holes or even entrances for anyone to disturb the two of you. When he came back to you, he saw you looking at the ground, arms set at your sides shyly.

“You do not owe me anything Y/N, certainly not your body. I can leave now if you wish me to.” It broke his heart to tell you such things but he never wanted to force you to do anything you did not wish to do. When you looked up at him and blinked, he knew your answer. 

And before he could do anything, you were loosening the knot of the towel, letting it fall to the floor to leave you naked to his eyes. Ardeth was having a hard time, in more ways than one, maintaining his nerves. His heart skipped a beat at seeing you bare in front of him and he knew there was no holding back anymore when you looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"يا اللة."

My god.

~VI~

As soon as he whispered those two words, you were on him like the water clinging to your skin, not caring about any consequences to your actions. Ardeth embraced you with as much passion, swallowing your cries when his hands got bolder with every pass over your skin. He was a much more aggressive lover than you thought and perhaps it was due to the sexual tension between the two of you in the past few weeks. 

He pulled away and you noticed that he held a direct gaze, not a playful expression in sight. You whined at the loss of his lips and if he were any other man, Ardeth would have smiled and felt a sense of pride for having this much of an effect on you. But he wasn’t another man. He was a starved man and you were exactly what he yearned for in decades. Ardeth couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this strongly to another woman. The last time he was in a relationship, be it physical or emotional, was so long ago that he couldn’t remember who it was. He was a young boy who thought being with a woman would make him a man but he knew soon after it was not this simple.

His lips sucked at the juncture of your neck and noticed you biting your lips to prevent any sound from escaping past them. His fingers squeezed your waist and brought you closer to him harshly, a part of him knowing he should slow down and cherish every inch of you in a perhaps gentler manner. But you were finally in his arms, and he couldn’t bring himself to hold back, not when you were so responsive to his mean and quick touches. He bit down a little harshly on your clavicle and a part of him wished it was to hear your noises and not to mark you as his, but he would dwell on that later. When you finally moaned against him, he eased the hold he had on your hips and pulled away to take you in. “Do not silence yourself Y/N, your sounds belong to me,” he gasped when you visibly shuddered against him, his hands shaking when he felt your nails dig into his arms. “Sweet music to my ears…”

You didn’t know what came over you but no sooner than his hoarse request were your moans loud enough to be heard from the river. He continued his assault on your flushed skin, nipping and licking every inch of you until you surrendered yourself to his hands. You tugged at his shoulder, fisting your fingers in his robes before reaching for his turban. Loosening the scarves away from his head, you watched as his hair fell down past his cheeks and framed his handsome features. Ardeth looked up and saw the way your eyes gazed at him and he felt relief wash over him because he was not the only one who felt this unbearable need.

You leaned forward and Ardeth thought you were going to kiss him but then you pulled his hair and exposed his neck for you, sucking on his adam’s apple and feeling his shaking hands wrap around your entire body. “My heart aches for you Y/N-” Ardeth couldn’t help the growl that flew past his vocal cords, his hands shaking violently when you continued to bite his throat time and again. He wasn’t sure if he was this sensitive because it has been decades since he was touched in such a manner or if it was because you were the one claiming his body. “It yearns for you when the sun rises each morning and- ahhh by the gods woman...and craves you when it sets past the Nile.”

If it were any other woman, Ardeth was sure she would be turned off by his words. They weren’t seductive in any way, but he knew you. He knew your preferences, your likes and dislikes, perhaps already understood what you desired after even though he has not been an hour in your bed. Somehow, however, he sensed your appreciation for the sensual and romantic words he uttered and he continued to test both his resolve and yours with every affection he emoted. And he was right to think so because within minutes, he had your body willing and ready for him. You should have expected him to have such a sinful tongue and you rubbed your thighs when Ardeth moaned shamelessly at your equally-aggressive hands. He was more vocal than any of your previous lovers and you found that you enjoyed it immensely.  

“Ardeth, please just...take these off. I need to feel your skin. I want to touch you, kiss you, look at every inch of you.” Ardeth smiled at your lack of patience, not warning you as he leaned down and carried you to the bed. He laid you down gently before standing over you, shaking his head when he saw the way you grabbed at your breasts to seduce him.

“You are a vixen, the most beautiful my eyes have seen.” Ardeth licked his lips as he looked you over, undoing his robes slowly to fill his mind’s eye with you. You arched your back and moaned when you saw his bare skin through the robes, not caring that you were being forward when you grabbed his robes and pulled him towards you. Ardeth stepped confusingly towards you, hissing when he felt your hands palm him through the black material.

“Y/N, I- I thought your hand would calm this heat I feel for you, but- oh gods, ahhh you- you have done little to quench this fire.” His words went straight to your core and you began to pull at the clothes until they pooled at his feet. Before he could step out of them, you were leaning forward and kissing his hard member, hands kneading and teasing the base until he was panting mess above you.

“Ahhh gods, my love you’re- you are truly talented.” Ardeth tries his hardest to focus on your blissed-out expression but he fails as soon as he feels the palm of your hand close around the tip of his erection. He manages to open his eyes and look down just in time to see you lick the protruding vein ending right below the head and he almost loses himself right then and there. As much as it pains him, he fists his hand in your hair and pulls you off of him before pushing you down on your bed and standing once more. He holds a dangerous and warning gaze and you understand why he silently asks you to not touch him again. You shamelessly look at him as he moves around, watching the way his muscles flex whenever he pulls an article of clothing off aggressively. 

You almost giggle at how quick he is but you hold back, afraid of making him think you are laughing at him. His mind freezes when he stands up and turns to you, unable to look away from where your fingers are. Ardeth raises a curious eyebrow, slowly kneeling down on the bed before approaching you like a lion waiting to devour his prey at the proper time. He is almost angry at the way your eyes challenge him but he chooses to think past the brave aura, gently parting your thighs wider so he could take a better look at the motion of your fingers. He growls, silently chuckling when he sees your legs shake at the sound. You stop your actions altogether and suddenly realize just how dry your mouth is.

“Do not stop on my account Y/N,” Ardeth’s voice is deeper than normal and you whine at his self-control. You had thought he would take you as soon as his guards left but he proved to be a more patient man than you thought. “Ardeth please, please-” You stop breathing when he leans down between your parted thighs, licking your navel and blowing air on the wet skin until you reach for him. Slowly descending down your body, Ardeth holds your gaze and squeezes your buttocks before whispering against your heat, “unless you want me to stop, you will be patient. Remove your hands.” You obey him instantly, letting go of his shoulders before pulling on the bed sheets violently to have some semblance of control.

He hums in approval and returns to the task at hand. A part of him wished he would be gentleman-like with you, but his mind was losing the last bit of control and he couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. Shutting his eyes, he leaned down and licked your core once, twice to open you up for him. As soon as you threw your head back in pleasure, he did what his mind dreamed of doing to you for months, years even. Not caring for how filthy it must have looked, let alone sounded, Ardeth poked your wet lips with his nose and took a long whiff of your scent, groaning when the sweet smell swept straight to his groin. Your eyes shot open and glanced down at him immediately, gasping at the obscenity of his actions. Ardeth was afraid he scared you but when he turned his attention back to your heat, he saw proof of your arousal leaking down your thighs.

He smiled and glanced back at you, maintaining eye contact as he licked you dry. You were embarrassed but for a moment, moaning his name over and over again as he pleasured you until you could no longer feel anything but him. 

“Ardeth, ahhh pl-please Ardeth I-” he didn’t let you finish, sucking on your wet core vigorously before pushing down on your lower abdomen to keep you still for him. As soon as you felt his fingers part your sensitive core, your hands fisted in his long locks and pulled on it. You had expected him to cease his actions or ask you to be patient again but the opposite occurred. Ardeth coated his fingers with your pleasure before pushing them against you, exploring your body with his quick digits while he continued to nip and lick at the protruding bundle of nerves. He was slowly driving you mad with his ministrations and you managed to keep whatever control remained because the last thing you needed was for the whole village to know what is transpiring in your tent. 

But then he curled his fingers inside you and increased pressure once, twice, three times until he felt your back arch off the bed. You couldn’t hold back anymore, clenching around his fingers as he brought you to the utmost pleasure and when you begged him to stop, he refused, wanting to coax another petite mort out of you before he pulled away. Ardeth raised himself just in time to see you let go once more, his eyes taking in your features before slowly descending down your body. Your skin was glistening with sweat, chest rising and falling rapidly with every breath you took and Ardeth almost lost his mind when he saw how perky and flushed your breasts were. When he saw how spent you looked, he pushed his fingers inside you one last time before taking them out and rubbing your thighs to soothe you. You fell back onto the bed, hair disheveled and lips parted from how hard you were breathing. As soon as you managed to look at him, Ardeth took this chance and licked his fingers dry before slowly ascending your body.

He left a trail of kisses on your skin, occasionally nipping an area he found desirable and you smiled when he came face to face with your breasts. You couldn’t hold back the scandalous moan that emanated when he leaned down and took a pert nipple between his teeth, fondling the other until you felt pleasure from the pain of his touches. 

“I- I’m sensitive there Ardeth,” your attempt at warning him did little to nothing, only edging him further in his actions until you were a mess beneath him again. “All the more reason to devour you Y/N. You torment me with your moans. Your whispers of my name...in the name of the ogdoad, forgive me. Do not reproach me for losing myself in your beauty. If you choose to deny me this, then send me away this instance for I cannot...will not hold back any longer.” You were overcome with warmth at the intensity of his words, knowing it must be hard for him to say such words given the nature of his quiet personality, let alone the position he was in. “You fill me with desire from head to foot Y/N. My love shall never be veiled again.” He continued his assault on your breasts and you continued praying his name when you felt his shaft leaking on your belly. You weren’t sure what you wanted anymore, but you were absolutely certain of one thing: Ardeth was the last man you would allow in your bed because you knew in your heart that no one else was capable of loving you as much as he does, not just physically, but emotionally. 

“I have wanted you for so long, and I- ahhh god your tongue drips of sin, and I pleasured myself at night, imagining how you would touch me, h-how your skin would feel against mine, how rough you would be when you lose control, and-” you took a deep breath, holding back what you wanted to say for fear of making him think you were ill-mannered. But he has not once held back from you this night. As a matter of fact, Ardeth has done the opposite, voicing his desires proudly before stealing orgasm after another from you. You found courage through his actions and whispered to him what you have wanted for so long. “And I dreamed of feeling you so deep inside me, giving you pleasure with avidity until you stilled my torments.” You wrapped your legs around him, not giving him a chance to contemplate on your actions before gyrating your hips into his verge until you felt him rub against your damp core. 

Ardeth shuddered in your arms, his surprise turning into firm touches as he wrapped one arm around your back while the other hand smoothed down your hips. He leaned down and captured your lips in a hungry kiss, his hand pushing your lower back into him to control the motion of your hips. He could feel himself nestled between your thighs, moaning and sucking on your tongue when he sensed how dripping wet you were for him.

“You drive me mad woman,” Ardeth smiled against your mouth before reaching up and pulling on your hair to get more access to your neck. He bit down wherever he could as he felt your desire drench his thighs. You would tell him later that you preferred nothing more than feeling his chest slide against yours, not because of how toned and muscular it was but because of how rough it was to the touch. The friction his chest hair caused was painful yet it ignited a fire within you instantaneously. 

“Please, please just-”

“What do you need Y/N, I will give you anything.” Ardeth was breathing just as harshly as you, if not more. He gazed into your eyes, watching the brewing storm erupt as he rolled his hips against you. You dug your nails into his back, the other holding onto his hair when you couldn’t take it any longer.

“I need you, Ardeth, I need you now. Please, I- I burn for you… need to embrace you,” and for good measure, you stretched your hand between your bodies, grabbing his painfully hard member and rubbing it between your parted lips. “Let me embrace you, let me quench this radiating fire.” You pronounced each word with a rough pass over your core and Ardeth prayed your name until he couldn’t take it anymore.

He grabbed your wrist aggressively, slamming it above your head and pushing you down until he felt your submission and before you could whine again, he was spitting in his hand, proud of the response he received from you at the sudden and audacious action. He stroked himself a few times before lining himself up against you, slowly pushing past your slit into your heat until he felt completely engulfed by your silky walls. You ceased to breathe as you felt the intrusion reach deeper, refusing to tell him to stop because even though he was filling you to the hilt, you still craved him. 

Ardeth could barely hold himself above you, his arms threatening to give out beneath him from the immense pleasure. He wasn’t sure if you were purposely clenching violently around him or not, but all he knew was that he has never felt such satisfaction in his life. And he silently cursed you for feeling so tight and inviting because he knew very well no other woman would compare to you. Neither in your intellect and wittiness, nor your beauty and perfection. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought because he never thought he would have the neural capacity to applaud your brilliance when he was this deep inside you. 

You didn’t know why he was laughing and you hoped it wasn’t because you didn’t live up to his expectations. You loosened your hold on him and he noticed, gazing down at you and seeing the inquisitive expression you held. Brushing your hair aside, he refused to look anywhere but your doe-like orbs as he soothed the slight hint of panic away from your skin.

“You have, without a doubt, utterly ruined all women for me Y/N,” Ardeth claimed shamelessly before pulling himself out, and refusing to move until he made sure you were content. When he saw you release your breath and throw your head back, he thrust back in a little vigorously than intended. Before he could apologize for his lack of patience, he heard you faintly whispering for him.

“Ardeth, d-don’t hold back. Take your pleasure, please. I- I want you to ruin me...ahh god, want you to brand my soul.” You pulled him down to you, kissing the corner of his mouth and licking his jaw, enticing him until he lost all self-control and took from you what you dreamed of giving him ever since you laid eyes on him in the desert long ago. At your request, Ardeth lost himself, moving in and out between your thighs without remorse. He hummed against the juncture of your neck, the grip he held on your hair getting tighter with every passing minute. You turned your head to the side, sighing and moaning his name as he roughly drove himself into you. 

You bit his wrist, causing him to lose his balance for a moment before growling and thrusting into you. “If- ahhh gods, if one time will not suffice to quench your fire, I shall do it again to satisfy you. You have bewitched me body and soul Y/N, m nb pt I surrender myself to you.” You felt a sudden flare of lightning strike across your abdomen as soon as he spoke in his native tongue, unintentionally clenching harder around him and causing him to scream into the night air. Even though he spoke little in his language, you couldn’t help but imagine him continue to do so as he brought you to the utmost pleasure. Ardeth noticed your responsiveness to his words and he felt pride deep in his lungs at the thought of knowing he was the cause of such a reaction. 

His pace began to falter, knowing very well he could not last any longer because of how perfect and velvety you felt around him. He set a punishing pace nonetheless, wanting to feel you fall over the edge with him. Taking hold of your chin, he turned you to face him before claiming your mouth again, not caring that he might draw some blood from his aggressive actions. The only sounds heard in the tent were your moans, and his skin slapping against your own. It drove him mad hearing your arousal seep down your thighs with every pass of his verge past your slit. 

“sttyt nṯr ꜥꜣ, come with me, please Y/N, come for me. Now!” For god knows what time that night, Ardeth bit down on your skin, somehow managing to thrust into you harder than before until you couldn’t control your own body. He felt your orgasm before you had the chance to tell him, shuddering against you as he released himself deep inside you. You arched your back against him as waves of pleasure coursed through your body, the intensity of your gratification terrifying your heart. You never realized you were capable of feeling such things and yet here you were, in the arms of the man you never thought you could get close to until a few hours ago.

As you opened your eyes, you saw dilated pupils staring right back at you. It seemed comical that you felt naked under his potent gaze and actually attempted to cover yourself. His grip on you hardened, silently telling you to never attempt such a thing again.

“What have you done to me woman? Not even I had any control over myself.” He whispered before smiling and leaning down to kiss you passionately. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you, feeling the muscles of his back shift under your touch as he moved to pull himself out of you. Ardeth fell to the side, reaching for the covers before bringing you to him. You laid beneath his neck, pushing your thighs around his legs and chuckling when he warned you with a huff. Ardeth tried his hardest to think of anything but your hard nipples teasing his chest and he realized he could never be able to not think of you as long as you were in his embrace.

~VII~

“This is not the time, and perhaps I should have inquired before...this...but I wanted to apologize if I caused you to do or say anything against your ways.” There was no other manner you could state what you wanted to tell him and you hoped he wouldn’t be offended by your boldness. You sighed when you heard him chuckle for a second, turning your gaze to him to study his facial expression.

“The chieftain of the Medjay is seldom a follower of any religion besides the old one. As far as I know, he can only belong to the old traditions and it is not our custom to hold such things as taboo before marriage. If anything, it is I who should apologize for being incapable of stopping this before it escalated.” He played with your hair, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the seriousness of his voice. 

“Why?”

“You often wear a cross around your neck and I could only assume you are Christian.”

“I was raised one but never believed in any of it. There are too many similarities between the Ancient Religion and Christianity, and do not tell my family any of this, but I genuinely believe Christianity stole its stories and beliefs from your religion. If I were to ever follow a tradition, it would be the Ancient Egyptian one. Horus knows I swear by his name all the time.” You never expected to hear Ardeth laugh this loudly but he did so and you couldn’t look away from the beautiful expression he held. The sound was so pure you almost begged him to do it again. Both of you remained quiet for a few minutes, and he occasionally smiled when you continued to draw patterns on his chest. 

After a while, Ardeth broke the silence and surprised you yet again. “I have spent many nights imagining what it would feel like to have you naked and willing in my arms, and now that I am here, I cannot fathom how divine you are.” You blushed under his gaze and Ardeth knew he would do everything in his power to see that blush creep down your breasts once more.

“bı͗ꜣyt.ı͗, my heart belongs to you.” You continued to stare at him, and he sighed in relief when you graced him with a shy smile. Slowly, you sat up and cupped his cheek, tracing the hieroglyphs on his handsome features before touching each one with your lips. You could feel him smiling against your neck and sighed when his grip tightened around your waist. 

“And mine is yours, wbnnı͗.ı͗.” Ardeth couldn’t help himself, grabbing your neck and pushing you down to kiss you before wrapping his arms around you to keep you as close to him as possible. You laid your head back on his chest and shut your eyes, the feeling of tranquility slowly washing over you as you focused on the beat of his heart. Finally, since decades, Ardeth felt content, knowing he would never allow himself to embrace another woman and would fight an entire army before he lets another man touch you. You remained in each other’s arms for the duration of the night, letting the sounds of the Nile lull you into a deep sleep, knowing that everything was, at long last, as it should be. 

Tagging some people who expressed excitement at the idea of this fic:

@feelmyroarrrr @thorodinsvn @oplunket16 @vvigilantes @the-rookie-97  @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @buckylokihoes @redqueen1221 @kuronekotsiigan @sai-kida134 @wonderwolfstrash @commissioner23 @valeks-princess @libbymouse @taliaalghuldeservesbetter @ruby-white-rabbit​ @jamdropx35​ @dramadreamer14​ @tnupsweetpie​ @jessicahoppes @la--petit--croissant @kandomeresbitch​ @pleasantdreamqueen​

[kayparker20]

To Honor Sensei - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Dinner at Kurenai’s

FFN | AO3

It’s been a couple years now. Kakashi mostly had the parenting thing down, with his  quirks and oddities mixed in of course. Naruto was almost always a happy child, excited to do just about anything. He was good friends with Shikamaru and Choji, and even their friend Ino. Obviously he made friends with all three being as those clans are so close. 

At this moment, Kakashi was lounging in his bed, reading one of Jiraiya’s books. He figured since now the profit from them paid for a lot of his life, he might as well read them as a thanks. However, it was never mentioned by Jiraiya that his series was smutty. But it was also witty and humorous, and had a decent plot line aside from the porn. None of that stopped Kurenai from glaring at him when he had them public though.

Naruto had been in his bed, playing with some stuffed fox that Kakashi got him. He couldn’t help getting him fox things, most of them were adorable. Might not be the only reason.

“Kashi!” Naruto called out from his bed.

The white haired nin smiled softly before meandering over to Naruto’s bedside. “What’s up, kiddo?”

He watched Naruto as he beamed in his little fox onesie. The irony wasn’t lost on Kakashi, it was the whole reason he bought it. He was happy when Choza found it just as humorous. 

“Hungry.” Naruto stated blunty. “Noodles?”

The toddler bounced on the bed, propelled with his excitement at the mere thought of ramen. He watched Kakashi with big wide eyes that were the colour of the sky.

Kakashi watched him with interest before shaking his head and laughing softly.

He brought home Ichiraku one time, and now no other food exists to his little brother. “Naruto, you do know there is food besides ramen, right?” 

Naruto frowned and huffed. “Chouji likes red food.”

“You mean barbeque, right?” Kakashi chuckled once more before swooping him up in his arms. “Besides, your Aunt Kurenai is making dinner and inviting everyone over to eat.”

Naruto’s blue eyes brightened. “Kurkur!” 

“Yes, Kurkur. Now let’s get you dressed, huh? Wouldn’t want to be late, now would we?”

As if they weren’t already. 

He set the voracious boy down. “Go use the bathroom first, remember? Always go before we leave.”

Naruto toddled into the bathroom and proceeded to use his little kid toilet.

Kakashi gathered up a set of clothes. A yellow shirt with the Uzumaki emblem on the front in red, and the Hatake fields on the back in black. A pair of black pants and sandals. Naruto came out of the bathroom and sat on his bed eagerly. 

“Kashi?”

The nin hummed in response at the child’s inquiry as he began redressing him, which was a struggle being as Naruto never wanted to stay still. It had become a silent game(or struggle) the two began to play over the years. “One of these days, very, very soon, you’re gonna learn to dress yourself. He grumbled softly under his breath.

“Choji and Shika be there?”

Kakashi shrugged. “I’m not sure, but maybe.” He slid his shirt over his head and shimmied his pants onto his legs. “Now come on, get your shoes on.”

Naruto gladly put on his shoes and ran for the door. Kakashi silently followed him and down the stairs of the apartment complex. Once they got outside, Naruto stopped and looked up at Kakashi. His eyes were less vibrant now, uncertainty and even fear lying in them.

Seeing those emotions cross his usually cheery little brother always brought a discomfort to him, but he couldn’t do much to stop it besides comforting him. 

Kakashi held out his hand and Naruto grabbed it tightly. He stayed close to Kakashi’s leg as they walked through the village. Kakashi hated how as soon as they left home, his enthusiasm seemed to dull. At least until they reach the destination, like Choza’s or Kurenai’s.

Despite the hokage making it clear Naruto was a hero, and should be remembered as such, of course the villagers couldn’t see it that way. As Naruto got old enough, the Hokage put out an order to not talk about the fox attack in relation to Naruto, as well as a young child being the Fourth’s son. It was done to protect Naruto, from inside and outside of the village.

It angered Kakashi, but now it was different. Naruto could see how people kept their distance from them. The glares, the fear, all that judgement. He didn’t understand it, but it hurt him. The words people dared to throw in the direction of a two year old, who literally doesn’t know anything about the why. Who is literally just an innocent, bubbly little kid. Who isn’t at fault for the circumstances he had at his birth.

“Demon!” A trader.

“Stay away from that child, Ayame!” A mother.

“Don’t come near me!” Another trader.

People shamelessly shying away from them, avoiding them blatantly. Glares, looks of disgust, of fear.

It continues.

Kakashi openly scowled at every single person who dared vocalize their judgements. He felt a burning anger in his chest, taking everything in him to not retaliate back with his own thoughts of their character.

“Naruto!” A cheerful tone.

Kakashi looked towards the noise, before raising his eyebrows. He was pretty sure he had never seen someone who had naturally pink hair, and this was a toddler, so it almost had to be natural. He hadn’t recognized her, but he knew the blonde girl holding her hand was none other than Ino Yamanaka. Obviously Naruto knew her from his time at the Akimichi’s house, just like he knew Shikamaru Nara for the same reason.

“Sakura! Ino!” Naruto’s eyes were excited and he instantly let go of Kakashi's hand to run towards the pair of girls.

Kakashi grinned under his mask. Of course the girl with pink hair is named Sakura. It’s almost too cliche. She sported a red bow tied in her hair. 

Kakashi followed, easily keeping up with him and waved at Inoichi. “Yo.” 

Inoichi nodded with a small smile. “We’re headed to Kurenai’s. Choza said to make sure I brought friends for Naruto.”

Kakashi gave an eye crease towards the clan head. “Of course he did. I’m glad.”

Kakashi watched the three little kids as they talked and chatted as best they could. “Who’s the one with the pink hair?”

Inoichi shrugged. “Ino just met her at the park a couple months ago and they made quick friends.” 

The group continued walking on to Kurenai’s. 

Kakashi and his friends were all about 15-16 now. Kurenai just got her own place and makes a fuss about her friends coming over every so often. She makes a point to have a little mini family out of their few friends.

“Naruto, you’re goofy!” Sakura giggled and held his hand lightly.

Naruto just smiled and kept walking until he recognized Kurenai’s house. “Kurkur!”

She was standing outside, and knelt down as Naruto ran towards her and she swept him up in her arms. “Hi, Naruto! How are you doing?”

He bounced in her arms and kissed her face before hugging her back tightly. “I’m doing good!” He never once lost hold of him, not only being a ninja, but very accustomed to Naruto’s rambunctious nature.

“That’s good!” She pinched his cheek. She looked at Kakashi, and then to Inoichi with the two girls.

  She nodded towards her door. “Choji and Shikamaru are here with Choza-sensei and Shikaku. Plenty of food for everyone!”

Inoichi motioned for the girls to run inside as Kurenai set Naruto down to follow them. Once the kids were out of ear shot, Inoichi looked to Kakashi.

“The villagers. They still don’t accept them, don’t they?”

Kakashi stiffened at the question before Kurenai sighed.

“That explains why you seem to be scowling. What happened?”

The silver haired ninja scoffed. “The usual. Calling him a demon, mothers shuffling their children away. Except now, he understands it. Well, somewhat. Enough for me to see the hurt look on his face.”

Inoichi nodded sadly. “I saw you guys before Sakura spotted you. He clings to you so tightly. At least he has you.”

Kakashi’s expression softened. “He has more than me.” As if on queue, he heard the children squeal with excitement, giggling of all kinds following. 

Inoichi smiled as he laughed softly. “I was just dropping the girls off. Ibiki needs me for Intelligence. Choza will take them back home.” 

Kurenai and Kakashi walked into the house to the site of toy ninja warfare. Kakashi’s eyes widened as he saw the little rubber kunai and shuriken being thrown and dodged about the living room. One bounced off Naruto's forehead and landed on the floor, just for him to pick up the now unclaimed piece of rubber.

“Kashi! It’s like yours!” Naruto held up a kunai, beaming with joy before throwing it, horribly incorrect, at Shikamaru.

Shikaku just laughed at his lazy boy who grumbled in response.

“Shika, get up! Play with us!” Ino stamped her foot at the young Nara.

Kakashi watched the little group of children playing together, and how not one of them was told to stay away from Naruto. Not one of them shying away from him. All of them just being kids, well. As much as kids could be such as ninjas. It was only a matter of time before they would be going to the academy, and sometimes he wondered if he should send Naruto.

Gai was next to him before he knew it, distracted by the sight of the children. “Just what you always hoped for Naruto, isn’t it, Kakashi?” He patted him on the back. “He’ll always have you. But he has them now too, he’ll never be alone.” He smiled way too bright in Kakashi’s opinion but he just nodded softly.

Kurenai started getting plates out to start portioning out the rice and chicken she had made. “Put the kids at the table.”

Kakashi helped set the table up for the kids. “Mini nins, food is ready!”

Asuma came inside with a bag in each hand, smelling of smoke before smiling. “I have fresh squeezed lemonade!”

“Cool!” Choji said as he ran up to be the first to sit at the table. 

All the kids sat at the table together and blew on their food as they ate. Asuma poured them small glasses of lemonade to give to each kid. “There you go!” He ruffled Naruto’s hair affectionately.

As the kids sat in the kitchen everyone sat in the living room to eat their portion.

Kakashi was brimming with happiness, true and full emotion. Ever since he took in his sensei’s son, he’d felt a little happier. But seeing this, feeling like they were at a family gathering, hearing him giggle and laugh and chatter with other kids, warmed his heart. The thing he thought both he and Naruto had lost the night he was born, it was right here in front of them.

“This… This is what Sensei would have wanted for him.” He said softly as his eyes were glued to the children at the table.

Shikaku and Choza nodded softly. “You’re doing well, Kakashi. We’re proud of you, and he would be too.” The elder Nara said.

He knew it meant something, that Nara didn’t put out compliments and comfort very often. He could be a bit of the rougher kind. He always wanted to think he was doing well, because he did his best to take care of Naruto every single day. Even when the little boy acted like such a brat, he just reminded himself that Minato took care of him. And Kakashi knew he was far from easy.

“Won’t be long before those little ones are at the academy. This upcoming generation is something. Every clan has a kid that will be in the same class, plus a few.” Choza mused.

“You know it’s going to us that will be their sensei.” Kurenai said softly. “Wouldn’t it be funny if they put Naruto on your team?”

Kakashi shrugged. “It’s not like I won’t be training him at home, right?” His exposed eye creased in response. “Speaking of, I need to know where those toys came from.”

Shikaku laughed. “I found them at the weapons district. I thought it was funny but those kids sure love them.”

“Kashi!” Naruto called from the table. 

Kakashi looked towards his brother, who had the brightest little smile on his face. He held the fork in his hand, a piece of chicken on the prongs. His eyes were filled with so much joy. It was one of the happiest moments for Kakashi.

“What is it, Naruto?” He inquired from his spot on the floor.

“Dinner is good!” Naruto giggled before turning back to continue eating.

Kurenai smiled and Kakashi just shook his head amiably. “Tell Kurenai that, she cooked it, kiddo.”

Kurenai got up from her spot and placed a kiss on Naruto’s forehead. “I’m glad you like it hon.”

Soon after the kids finished eating and found their way back to the living room. 

Another rubber ninja war started between them. Kakashi tried to show Naruto how to handle a kunai correctly, but his little brother just throwing it like a ball. Kakashi shook his head with a small laugh as one of the rubber toys bounced off his head.

“I’m sorry, Kakashi!” Ino squeaked softly. 

He ruffled the girls hair. “You’re okay, Ino. It was a decent shot.”

They sat around the floor, all laying against Kakashi. Clearly, it was definitely nap time. He laid on the floor as Naruto nestled into his side. The other followed, all clinging to the copy nin in some form. As soon as their snores started, his own followed not too long after. 

Kurenai took a picture, promising Shikamaru and Choza to get copies for them and Inoichi as well. She fetched a blanket to drape over them all and sat on the couch next to Asuma, very pleased.

“It’s just like a little family. If anyone would nap with the children, of course it would be Kakashi, huh?” Asuma shrugged and laughed quietly.

Choza smiled kindly before it turned sad. “It’s a shame that the majority of the village still continues to treat Naruto poorly. He is the very reason we even survived that night.”

Shikaku shook his head. “People will forever judge what they fear, and they fear what they don’t understand.” He looked down, seeing how Ino, Choji, and Shikamaru cuddled on one side of Kakashi, while Naruto and Sakura were on the other.  “I’ll bet he’ll be one hell of a ninja, one day, all of them will. Especially with your generation training them.” He grinned.

A knock sounded on the door and Kurenai looked in it’s direction curiously. “I didn’t think anyone else was coming. Maybe it’s Genma?” The chocolate haired women got up from her seat and went to open the door. 

A red lined face with a lecherous smile greeted her happily. “The Third told me if Kakashi wasn’t home, it was likely he was here.”

“Jiraiya ,it’s been a long time.” Shikaku spoke from the couch as he heard the familiar voice.

Kurenai smiled and opened the door. “He’s here, currently napping with a clan full of children!” 

She led him into her house and into the living room, showcasing the scene of a napping Kakashi with a bunch of toddlers curled up to him. 

Jiraiya smiled softly, before shaking his head. “I just wanted to check in on Naruto. He’s gotten so big!” 

Kurenai nodded softly. “There’s some chicken and rice in the kitchen if you would like some.” 

Jiraiya nodded as he got himself some food. “You know, I have a picture of Minato somewhere napping just like that with his team…” Jiraiya spoke softly. “When he had first got Kakashi, Obito, and Rin. Except Kakashi isn’t exactly cuddling but he refused any sort of physical contact.” The elder nin chuckled softly.

He sat down and ate his serving. “How is Kakashi, himself?” 

He turned his gaze towards his friends. 

“Kakashi is so much better. He takes Naruto to clean Rin and Obito’s graves. And to the fourth’s grave.” Gai gushed. “It’s terribly saddening to Kakashi that Naruto can’t know the fourth was his father, but he tells Naruto everyday how much his parents love him.” His eyes were tearing up with passion.

Asuma sighed before looking at Jiraiya. “He’s doing pretty good, considering. I’d actually say he shows more emotions now than before,” The young Sarutobi laughed. “He adores Naruto.”

Kurenai nodded in affirmation of the first two’s words. She looked at Choza and Shikaku. “He really started to get better once Naruto got some friends, starting Choji, which obviously led to Ino and Shikamaru as well.”

Jiraiya smiled. “Of course Kakashi started with Choza.” He laughed softly. “You’re probably the least intimidating leader of the clans.”

“Choza-sensei is wonderful and kind hearted, and he would have never turned Naruto away!” Gai proclaimed, causing his sensei to laugh.

Kakashi slowly opened his eyes, and began to carefully extract himself from the future ninjas around him. He rubbed his exposed eye bleary, before seeing Jiraiya. His eyes widened in surprise before he gave an eye crease.

“Yo.” He waved softly before standing up. “Did you know they make rubber kunai toys?”

Jiraiya looked at the teen before shaking his head and laughing obnoxiously. “I did, most ninja families buy them for their kids.”

“Naruto refuses to even try throwing it correctly.” Kakashi sighed. 

He looked down at Naruto, or rather all of the children as a warmth filled his heart. “They’re all just so…”

“Innocent.” Shikaku finished with a smile. “They haven’t seen anything cruel this world has to offer, like we have.”

Kakashi sighed softly before looking at Jiraiya. “Is something up? You don’t usually visit without a purpose.”

  “Actually, nothing is wrong now. I just wanted to see the kiddo, and check on you.”

Kakashi nodded softly. Looking down at Naruto, made him wish for Minato at this moment. How it should be him and Kushina enjoying moments like this, not him. Jiraiya checks on them, not him. Naruto probably would be at the Uchiha’s clan’s house right now, because Kushina and Mikoto were such good friends. Sometimes he wondered if he should reach out to them, but then he remembered they all have a distrust for him. That some of them think he stole Obito’s eyes…

“What’s with the sudden forlorn look?” Shikaku asked.

Kakashi sighed softly before shaking his head. “Nothing, just… It’s nothing.” 

Kakashi gently picked up Naruto. The toddler grumbled softly in his sleep but did not wake up. “It was nice coming over dinner and watching him play with his friends. Thank you, everyone.” He paused before giving an eye crease and walking out of Naruto’s house.

Kurenai paused before sighing softly. “There’s moments like this, where he checks out for a second, and then leaves… They aren’t often, and I think it’s something specific.”

Jiraiya smiled sadly. “I think I know what it is…” He soon followed the young ninja back home. 

[fletchphoenix]

Hold You Through The Night

:)) literally all of these were started during my break and edited now - I really kinda like this one. Its decent i guess so i hope you enjoy :)

Also, its good to be back to writing.

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

After such a long day, Hugo was..unbelievably excited to finally settle down. They’d been travelling and sleeping rough for what felt like days, his legs beginning to take the toll and aching constantly as though he’d aged twenty years in a week. Is this what Donella felt like? Was that why she was always in a mood? It made a lot of sense - after years of chasing after Hugo as a child, it had finally come to bite him in the ass in the form of the unbelievably energetic Yong. The kid seriously had no off switch and it drove him insane.

At last they approached the inn, a wooden sign above it swinging slowly in the wind and bringing back painful memories. Briefly, he glanced at his prosthetic arm, flexing the fingers and allowing himself to, once again, think about his mother and how much she’d helped him get back on his feet. Looking back on it, even though she had her tough love kind of methods, she could still be compassionate (like when she paid to get him his goggles - it being a big big deal if Donella went out of her way to pay for something) even if she didn’t show it through the most conventional methods.

“Hugo? You coming?” Varian’s voice brought him back to reality, a stupidly pretty smile on his face that had Hugo nodding frantically and walking inside before his suave persona slipped. Truth be told, he had a huge crush on the smaller man. He really didn’t know how it came about to be honest, the feelings less like a slow build and more like someone had thrown a brick straight at Hugo’s face and proceeded to beat him with it. It just came as fast as feelings could, and it scared him more than anything else in the world. 

The room they were in was quite small, small enough that he could probably make his way across the room in five steps if it weren’t for the counter pressed against the wall. To either side of him there was a door, one of them leading to a dining area and, presumably, a bar and the other directly to a staircase where the rooms were. The ambience was kind of nice, the interior decorated as though it were a log cabin in a desolate area, which fit nicely with the frozen exterior of the town. Behind the counter was a woman with short, blue hair and a soft smile playing on her lips as she talked with Nuru, though Hugo looked away in favour of looking at a certain black haired, blue streak, staff wielding alchemist.

Hugo stood awkwardly, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms as he waited for Nuru to stop negotiating about rooms with the woman, all the while his eyes staying fixed on Varian as he fixed his hands on Yong’s shoulders. He really didn’t get what he saw in the other - I mean, only a few weeks ago he’d reveled in being the most annoying man in the other’s life, but now he wanted to be the best man in his life and give him the world. It was draining as well, his brain in overdrive whenever he so much as looked in Varian’s direction. It was driving him insane in the best way possible.

“Okay good news is they have rooms. Bad news is there’s only three so Varian, Hugo, you’ve gotta share.” Nuru declared, extending her hand to Hugo who stared at it for a second before taking the key from the princess. He didn’t even bother with complaining like Varian did, already walking through the doorway on the left and making his way up the stairs, the wood moaning under his weight which...was not comforting at all. Quietly, he headed down the hallway, opting to ignore the various paintings on the wall and unlock the door, having to shove it open before walking into the room.

Oh no.

The room was rather nice, a desk against the wall which Hugo promptly placed his bag on, and a window on the right wall. It still fit with the general ‘log-cabin-in-the-winter’ vibe that the inn had going on, though there was one really really REALLY big problem that would certainly make his predicament with Varian way more difficult. 

There was only one bed.

“Hey Hugo, I tried to meet a compromise with Nuru about having different rooms, but no can do.” Varian commented as he opened the door, his eyes meeting the blond who was frozen in place in the middle of the room. “What are you looking at-oh.” His voice died out as he noticed the problem. “Well uh, if you want, I can sleep on the floor.”

“No need. We can make a pillow wall.” Hugo replied quickly, moving to his side of the room and changing into his pyjamas, Varian following suit. So this was really happening, huh? He had to share a bed with Varian and it was going to be the most awkward thing in the world. Hugo strolled across the room to lay down on the bed, leaving room for Varian to slip in before setting up the pillow wall. “Okay, here we go. That’s your side, this is my side. Stay there.”

“You have more room than me.” Varian whined as he shuffled upwards and glanced over the top to look down on Hugo. He had that little pout that made Hugo want to give him what he wanted, but this time the blond relented and narrowed his eyes. 

“I’m bigger than you and need more room. It’s not my fault you’re the size of a toddler. Quit complaining and go to bed, child.” He replied snarkily, turning his back to the raven haired boy and suppressing the chuckle that threatened to sound out as Varian grumbled like a two-year-old. He wasn’t sure when, but he fell asleep.

A harsh kick to the leg woke him up, grumbling and turning over to see Ruddiger chittering nervously. “The fuck do you want-” he began to say to the raccoon, before turning his head and taking in the sight before him. The raccoon’s owner looked to be in the middle of a nightmare, tossing, turning and thrashing before sitting up and waking up with a loud gasp, gasping for breath with tears rolling down his cheeks. “V, are you alright?” Hugo asked nervously, Varian jolting before his teary eyes looked at him.

“Hey uh-go back to sleep. I’m sorry.” He whispered in hushed apologies, before Hugo took the other man’s hand and pulled him into an (admittedly awkward and stiff) embrace, his fingers threading through raven locks as carefully as he could, his prosthetic sitting aside on the desk while the stump lay limply beside him. Varian welcomed this new embrace, his head resting on Hugo’s chest as he mumbled.

Hugo thought for a moment, racking his brain to try and think of something to calm Varian down. Slowly, Hugo began to sing a little tune, his lips ghosting against the other man’s forehead as he kept his voice gentle, all the while his fingers continued to dance through his hair. After a while, he heard a hushed snoring against his chest before he decided to stop singing and began to slowly fall asleep, Varian’s fat bastard of a raccoon coming to sit on the pillow beside his head as his eyes closed.

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

Sun rays blazed in through the window, the fabric of the curtains doing nothing to block it out. A slither made its way directly onto Hugo’s face, the glare making it almost impossible for him to ignore as he grumbled and groaned. His eyes opened slowly as he attempted to raise himself, though a heavy weight on his chest stopped him. Glancing down, the head of his favourite alchemist kept him in place and the sound of Varian’s snores echoed through their tiny room. 

Almost uncharacteristically, he pressed his lips against the top of the other’s head and shuffled his way out of bed to attach his prosthetic and change into his day clothes, and walked out of the room to head to the inn’s dining room for breakfast. 

Neither boy bothered to mention the cuddling session from last night, graciously sparing each other from teasing off Nuru and Yong, though Varian would be lying if he said he didn’t want it to happen again. And so, even if he did lie when paying for rooms,  Hugo never seemed to mind. Varian would even dare to say that Hugo liked it as much as he did. He could tell he was growing on the blond.

On the other hand, Hugo never mentioned the gentle kiss he pressed to the forehead of the other man or the way his touches began to linger, craving more contact with the alchemist before the inevitable betrayal. A gentle sigh left his lips at the thought. He wasn’t even sure he could betray them anymore. Over their time together, Hugo was starting to get more and more attached to the gang, and even though he loved Donella, he really wasn’t sure if he could risk hurting the other teens. 

Only time would tell, he guessed.

[jeannereames]

How do you think Philip felt about his other children? Arridhaios and the girls? I imagine he didn't bother much with the latter, but if he took Kynane to war with him, he must have had some respect for her?

Do you think the last time Olympias saw Kleopatra was at the wedding? It's sad enough that she didn't see Alexander for the last twelve years of his life, but she must have been so lonely if she couldn't see her daughter!

Philip would almost certainly have been embarrassed by Arrhidaios. In fact, that may be one reason behind the accusations that Olympias poisoned the boy; he wasn’t born that way.

Common assumption in antiquity held that children’s nature was formed by the father’s seed (literally: semen is Greek for seed). I’ve mentioned before that (male) medical writers didn’t really understand internal anatomy, especially female. I wouldn’t be surprised if midwives knew more, but they weren’t writing, or at least, it wasn’t preserved. The ancients tended to view making babies like farming. So the male contributes the semen, and the woman is the field. A good field produces healthy plants…but a good field doesn’t determine what will grow: e.g, if the semen (seed) is winter wheat, one won’t get barley. But one might get weak winter wheat if the soil is poor. (This is one excuse for girls: they’re grown in poor soil, so don’t fully mature—e.g., become male.)

Another funny thing, they didn’t understand where semen came from, thought it was derived from all parts of the body. Although they did understand that removing or (more often) smashing the testicles resulted in a eunuch unable to reproduce. You’d think they’d “get it,” but no. This notion is also behind their belief that babies could inherit what we’d consider non-genetic characteristics of a parent. There’s some mention of babies being born with scars that looked like a father’s, etc. It’s really quite odd, to the modern mind, but it made sense to them. They were trying to make sense of inheritance with no concept of genes.

Understanding all that is important to understanding Philip’s likely attitude towards Arrhidaios, and why he might want to blame Olympias. According to Plutarch, Arrhidaios was supposedly born normal, and only developed some sort of mental issue as a toddler (e.g., after about a year old). Poison (pharmakos) is blamed. Pharmakos is used both for medicine/pharmacology, but also for magic/poison, especially when used by women. These accusations of Olympias as a witch led me to make her a midwife and herbalist in the novels.

Such a rumor, whether or not true, would remove the onus from Philip for possible weak seed. But there may still have been suspicion, especially as he only had one other son (Alexander). The next two children he fathered were girls, and his first was a girl. Then he didn’t father any for some years (or none that were legitimate and that we know of). Once more, Greek medical thought had found a way to blame the mother for it, but there seems to have been double-think, as men still strutted a lot at fathering boys and were ashamed of fathering (too many) girls.

That probably led Philip to forget Arrhidaios as much as possible, until/unless he could be useful, as with the marriage proposal to Pixodaros. This is how I depict it in the novel, and why. As king, enormous pressure would have been on him not just to produce children, but healthy boys. Not doing so left him open to censure. Lots of connections were made between the physical and mental. Inability to produce healthy boys was a black mark on his virility, and thus, a possible indication of weakness as a king.

Many of these assumptions are still around, very deeply embedded in “Western” thought at a knee-jerk level. Consider how even modern men get about fathering a son…

As for the girls, they would have been tagged from day one for marriage alliances. Daughters were reflections on the honor of a family, not just in terms of her virginity, but in general. Notice that Philip’s last two daughters were named to glorify his own victories: Thessaloniki (Victory in Thessaly) and Europa ([victory] in Europe). Kleopatra means, literally, Glory of Her Father. Fathers wanted pretty girls with good weaving skills who didn’t talk much, or have opinions. I had a little fun with that in the novel, with Kleopatra. She’s three of the four: pretty, excellent at weaving, and doesn’t talk much. But notice what she does in book 2 Rise, how she perfectly undercuts Kleopatra (the new wife), and embarrasses Philip in the process, leading him to conclude that she was “her mother’s daughter.”

In any case, back to history, Philip probably just didn’t see his daughters much, Kynanne aside.

As for Kleopatra and Olympias seeing each other after the wedding: remember that she and Alexander of Epiros were still in Aigai when Philip was killed. Alexander of E. was walking right next to Alexander of M, in front of Philip, when the latter was stabbed. I quite doubt Alexander of E. went back home any time soon, so she’d still have been in Aigai, then Pella, at least a month and maybe more. After that, they’d have seen one another periodically. They even, later, switched places, with Kleopatra coming back to Pella while her mother went to Epiros. Alexander remarked his mother had got the better end of that deal, as she knew the Macedonians wouldn’t accept rule by a woman (whereas the Epirotes would, and in fact, Kleopatra had been acting as regent for her son). So they were in fairly frequent contact, and almost certainly saw each other sometimes.

Then again, like Alexander, Kleopatra might have preferred to keep a little distance. LOL.

[maybe-im-dark]

We meet Toy Santa

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

How was the meeting?" Bernard asked while Santa followed him and Curtis into the workshop.

Santa had hardly come out of the door when the little elf had already taken possession of him.  Bernard didn't believe in telling their boss about the half-baked idea right away.  Surely he was tired now and needed to rest.  However, they were running out of time.

 The pantograph was the heart of the workshop.  The machine consisted of a large, glass column on which a huge ball was enthroned.  Countless colorful buttons framed the colossus made of glass and steel.  Two conveyer belts transport the toys in and out.  It was the perfect amalgamation of technology and magic.

 Santa sighed.  “Well, I had to tell them about my dilemma.  That thing with Charlie was quite a shock for everyone.  But they agree with me on one thing: I cannot be in two places at the same time. "

 "Maybe you can!" Said Curtis, looking out from behind the pantograph control panel.

 Then he turned to the other elves in the room.  "Hey guys.  Can i have the room for myself?  Take a cocoa break.  Relax, take your time. "

 The elves willingly left the room and the large doors closed behind them.  Bernard had to stifle a growl.  He didn't like the way Curtis was ordering the elves around like the job was already his.

  "I want to show Santa some improvements on the pantograph," said Curtis.

 Bernard threw up his hands in frustration.  So the disaster took its course.

 "I tripled the RAM and added a fuzzy little circuit."

 Santa and Bernard followed Curtis, who was walking excitedly across the room.  As usual, Bernard had his hands clasped behind his back.  A gesture that not only gave him respect, but also kept him from nervously playing with his fingers or wrapping them around Curtis' neck and squeezing tight.

 "Did you expose the power source because of the electromagnetic energy?" Asked Santa, pointing to something.

 

 Bernard didn't understand a word.  Like all elves, he was also gifted with being crafty, but he preferred simple technology.  Pulley blocks, steam engines, there was nothing wrong with that.  But when he thought of the discovery of electricity and the dangers involved, he shuddered.  Unfortunately, he was unable to prevent modern technology from finding its way into the North Pole.

  "No, I only did that because it looks cool," said Curtis, with a decidedly indifferent look, and fiddled with a few switches.

 Santa crossed his arms in appreciation and nodded.  Then he frowned.  "Wait ... you've tripled the RAM ... I know what you're getting at!  I won't go in there! "

 Bernard leaned down to Curtis.  "Right," he said, as if teaching a toddler, "and besides, a copy of Santa won't solve our problem! It would be a toy!"

 "But this would be a special toy!" Argued the younger one.

 "Let's hear, Curtis," demanded Santa.

 Curtis was now in his element.  “I added an extra circuit.  The doppelganger looks and thinks just like you. While you're with Charlie and looking for a wife ... "

 "My doppelganger will melt in front of my fire place," interrupted Santa resignedly.

 Curtis raised his index finger.  "No, the toy Santa will deal with business up here!"

  "I can deal with business up here!", Bernard answered and stepped up to the boss.

 Why did everyone seem to forget him?  Exactly for such a case there was the role of the head elf!  And who would be more competent than he himself?  Curtis certainly not.

 Almost urgently, he was talking to Santa.  "Santa, if the elves find out we made a switch," he gasped theatrically and clapped his hands over his mouth, "No, no! This machine is not the answer!"

  Curtis grinned arrogantly, sure of his victory.  Then he looked down.  A mouse had crawled onto the conveyer belt and started the mechanism.

 "Hey, you, you, shoo!" The elf tried in vain to scare it away.

 But too late.  The little rodent literally ran into the machine.

 "No no no!"

 All three hurried to the other side.  It flashed and hissed as two beams of light moved up and down.  It reminded Bernard of one of those laser copiers Charlie had shown him at home.

  Smoke billowed out and the mouse ran down the conveyor belt, squeaking but unharmed.  Its toy copy followed it, mimicking the movement.  Bernard and Curtis got on their knees and watched the spectacle with fascination.

 "You can’t get much better!" Curtis triumphed.  "I promise it won't hurt a bit."

  "I'm going in," Santa decided spontaneously.

 "I can't watch this" Bernard squeaked in anguish and stood at the front of stained glass. He had turned his back to them, his hand pressed over his eyes.

 Images were scrolling in his mind's eye, each worse than the other.  Santa, burned beyond recognition, Santa having a heart attack in the machine.

 Curtis pressed a few buttons while Santa climbed onto the conveyor belt.  Now Bernard dared to look.  Immediately his stomach turned and he immediately turned away again.  Santa was rolled into the machine.  Electricity gathered around the globe above them and discharged in blinding flashes.  Screams rang out from within.  Bernard pressed another hand over his mouth.  His fears seemed to come true and he felt like vomiting.

 The smoke cleared and the shape of Santa was blurred.  A crooked grin formed on Curtis' face.

 "It’s perfect!"

 "That's because it's me, Einstein," said Santa sarcastically.

The grin was wiped off Curtis' face.  Immediately he and Bernard hurried to Santa's side.  The upper elf cursed his heel for slowing him down.

 "Santa, are you okay?  Is everything alright? ”He asked concerned.

 “I got a shock in there. Is there supposed to be a shock?"

 The next moment Bernard was screeching in a pitch not unlike a female elf.  The toy Santa was stark naked.  Stark naked and anatomically correct, which meant that the poor elf got to see more than he wanted to.

 "He's naked!" Shouted Bernard and Curtis at the same time.

 "Throw something over him!" Ordered Santa.

 "It's incredible!" Curtis was beaming like the sun itself.

 "Indeed," agreed Santa as he put a blanket around the shoulders of his doppelganger.

 "Can he speak?"

 Curtis shrugged and nodded to him as a sign that he should give it a try.

  "Hello?"

 The toy Santa stammered something unintelligible before opening his eyes and repeating the greeting.

 Bernard couldn't help but stare at the scenario with his mouth open.  He would have nightmares of naked Santas for a long time.

 "Ho, ho, ho!", Santa tried.

 His doppelganger repeated this, too, albeit a little lame.

 "Not bad!" Said the boss.

 „Not bad yourself," replied the other.

 "I can't put my finger on it yet, but there is something I like about you." Santa smiled.

 “Watch him for a moment.  I'll be right back, ”he instructed Curtis.

 "He'll be right back!" The toy called stupidly and made the young elf laugh.

 Santa quickly took Bernard aside.  "Bernard, I need your help here."

 "What do you mean?" Asked the head elf, croaking, not knowing anything good.

 "I have to check on Charlie and I want you to convince the elves that Toy Santa is me."

  Bernard's black brows almost disappeared under the brim of his beret.  "Hm, have you seen that thing?"

 "Yeah, and I think it can work if you keep the elves at a distance and tell them I've changed my look."

 "But ... but ... I won’t lie to all the elves!"

 Lying was the second thing against the elven code, just after cursing.  Surely Santa couldn't really expect him to lie to everyone!  He was the leader, he was trusted.  He was not allowed to abuse this trust!  This was worse than anything he'd imagined.  But in Santa's gaze he saw clearly that he had no other choice.

[desnayy]

I have finally decided to get all the thoughts and ideas down for the Dream SMP Soul Eater au I have. Most of these ideas are from a convo I had with @bargledblocks back in January, but some ideas I have come up with myself since then. Also, because I said I would, @myketheartista, here is that au I mentioned during one of Shep’s streams...

Also, I am open to not only talking about other ideas involving the Dream SMP members here, but also Hermitcraft, Yogscast, and Team Crafted members, if anyone wants

Pretty much canon divergent from the original Soul Eater plot. Treaty with Witches where the only Witch souls allowed to be taken are those who are actively harming people, peaceful Witches can live and do work anywhere, including DWMA. Also, fuck canon, Witches can be any gender. Kishins are pretty much the same as in the series. Minecraft non-boss hostile mobs exist as monsters summoned by Kishins and evil Witches. DWMA as a school has up to traditionally college aged students/classes, and has a few elementary age students/classes, mostly Weapons learning control.

-Death Family-

Philza: The God of Death. Physically in his early 30s while in human form, thousands of years old in reality. Only uses his God form when acting as Lord Death, otherwise prefers his human form. Principle of DWMA. 5'11 in human form and 10' in God form.

Kristen: An immortal crow Witch. Married to Philza. No one quite knows how Kristen gained her immortality. Often encourages pranks. Vice principle of DWMA.

Dream: Phil's first biological son. The first Kishin with a literal cult following. Physically in his early twenties, is actually about a thousand years old. Barely escaped being sealed with major injuries, went into hiding for a long while. Can shift minor parts of his appearance as well as his physical age. Resurfaces several years before the story pretending to be an orphan, adopted by Puffy. Posing as a meister.

Ranboo: Phil’s second biological son. 15-16. Hair is half black and half white due to being a Grim Reaper. Is also heterochromatic, with his right eye being green and his left eye being red. Has memory problems and blacking out episodes from an unknown source Dream. Used to occasionally wield Techno and Wilbur, until circumstances involving Dream caused Tommy to no longer be able to resonate with Tubbo, which causes Ranboo to become Tubbo’s meister later on. 6'6.

Technoblade: Adopted by Phil as a toddler alongside his twin, Wilbur. Older by two minutes. An axe weapon, but usually prefers to wield Wilbur. Sometimes lets Ranboo act as a meister to him and Wilbur. Early twenties. Naturally pink really long hair in a braid. Needs glasses to read. Sleeps a lot. History and English nerd. A very skilled meister.

Wilbur: Adopted by Phil as a toddler alongside his twin, Technoblade. Younger by two minutes. An axe weapon, usually wielded by Techno. Can temporarily match wavelengths with anyone. Early twenties. Knows how to braid hair. Natural pink hair, dyes it brown. Wears glasses because his vision is shit. Theater kid to the extreme. Grigori soul

Tommy: Adopted by Phil as an infant after being found in the ruins of a town attacked by a Witch. A chakram weapon. 15-16. Formally wielded by Tubbo until the incident involving Dream, is now partnered with Purpled. Very loud. Limited knowledge in how to self wield.

-Meisters-

Punz: Early twenties. Purpled's older sibling (he/they). Can temporarily match Soul Wavelengths with anyone, can't use Soul Resonance. Infected by Black Blood.

Purpled: 15-16. Punz's younger brother. Became Tommy's meister when Tommy was rescued from Dream. Stays in the dorms, even though Punz has an apartment.

Sam: Late 30s. Ponk's meister and husband. George's adoptive father. Combat teacher at DWMA, also head of the school's security. 7'4 for some reason. Almost got infected with Black Blood through Ponk, but managed to not get affected. 

Bad: Late 30s, assumingly. Skeppy's meister and husband. Sapnap's adoptive father. History teacher at DWMA, also part of the school's security. 9'6 because he isn't human. Infected with Black Blood.

Niki Nihachu: 17-18. Jack's meister. Sweet but deadly. Stays in an apartment with Jack. Dyed pink hair.

Karl Jacobs: Looks to be early twenties. Sapnap’s meister as well as boyfriend, along with Quackity. Sort of just, showed up one day, with no memories other than his name. Has multicolored purple and green eyes. Stays in an apartment with Sapnap and Quackity. Very good at writing stories, although they are unsettlingly close to actual historical events.

-Weapons-

Ponk: Late 30s. Giant garden shears weapon. Sam's partner and husband. George's other adoptive father. Second combat teacher at DWMA. Infected with Black Blood.

Skeppy: Late 30s. Scimitar weapon with a blue blade. Bad's partner and husband. Sapnap's other adoptive father. Natural bright blue hair. Infected with Black Blood through Bad.

Jack Manifold: 17-18. Rocket launcher weapon. Niki's partner. Right eye is blue and left eye is red. Wears 3D glasses. Stays in an apartment with Niki.

Schlatt: Late 30s. A bladed shepherd's crook weapon. North American Death Scythe, Phil’s personal weapon since 12 years before the story. For some reason, has ram horns. Secretly working with the Cult of Dream. Adopted Tubbo at the insistence of Phil, cares for Tubbo distantly, but not enough to not betray everyone later on.

Jordan Sparklez: Deceased. A trident weapon. Formerly the North American Death Scythe and Phil’s personal weapon. Tubbo’s biological father. Was considered too much of a threat to be alive, so was lured out on a solo mission and then vanished.

George: Early twenties. A greatsword weapon. Dream’s partner. Adoptive son of Sam and Ponk. Colorblind. Stays behind at first when Dream’s secret is discovered and he is forced to leave, but eventually leaves to join him.

Sapnap: Early twenties. Flamethrower weapon. Karl’s partner and boyfriend, along with Quackity. Adoptive son of Bad and Skeppy. Prone to arson. Stays in an apartment with Karl and Quackity. Used to be close friends with Dream, feels betrayed when Dream leaves. Likes pandas.

Tubbo: Adopted by Schlatt after the disappearance of his father when he was three. Half trident weapon. 15-16, is a few months older than the rest of the minors. Used to be Tommy's meister until the incident involving Dream, is now partnered with Ranboo. Natural brunet but dyes his hair blonde. Shortest of the minors. Feral. Grigori soul.

-Witches-

Puffy: Late 30s. Sheep witch. Adoptive mother to Dream, Foolish, and Michelle. Has rainbow colored hair, ram horns, and light green goat eyes. Works as a counselor/therapist in Death City.

Fundy: Late teens. Fox witch. Has fox ears and tail. Mostly just pulls pranks on students of DWMA and other Death City residents. For some reason, calls Phil ‘grandpa’ and somehow got Wilbur to act like his father. Used to have a crush on Dream.

Quackity: Early twenties. Duck witch. Has duck wings. Karl and Sapnap’s other boyfriend, lives in a Death City apartment with them. Has a scar on his face that goes over his left eye, rendering him blind in that eye. Tends to join Fundy in pulling pranks.

Antfrost: Early twenties?. Cat witch. Has cat ears and tail, as well as able to transform into a cat. Stays with Bad and Skeppy. Part of DWMA’s security team. Gets infected with Black Blood.

-Other-

Foolish: Seemingly early twenties. No one actually knows what he is, but he is a true god of life. Can manipulate his age and appearance aside from his bright emerald eyes and sharp teeth. Wanted to experience life like a mortal.

-Currently Unassigned-

Eret

Hannah

Connor

Hbomb

Callahan

Slimecicle/Charlie

Alyssa