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seyaryminamoto · 2 years

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Leap of Faith: Sokkla Saturdays 2022

Day 5: College AU

On FF.net//On AO3

A/N:

And now... a lighter and much more comedy-oriented entry for today. I really hope you guys enjoy it, I had so much fun writing this one!

"Look, I get where you're coming from, I do… but every time we try to recruit more people, no one wants to join us!"

"But that doesn't mean we can't ask again, Zuko. We should give it a try!"

"Well, be my guest, but I don't think there's much point to it. The three of us can pull off another campaign just fine together, can't we?"

Aang sighed: Zuko's stubbornness could have its perks in certain circumstances, but sometimes it grated on his nerves instead, no matter how patient he tried to be with his friend. He glanced at Sokka, who sat with arms crossed on the couch. Their party's dungeon master stroked his stubble, raising an eyebrow slowly before saying:

"There's a rather important proverb that we must abide by, in these situations…" Sokka stated. Zuko scoffed.

"Proverbs? Who'd you think you are, my uncle Iroh?"

"Do tell, do tell!" Aang said, excitedly. Sokka cleared his throat before making his big, insightful revelation.

"The more, the merrier!"

Zuko groaned, and Aang laughed while clapping approvingly. Sokka chuckled: Zuko's despair always amused him, even if Sokka suspected that the grumpiest among the three of them would win at this particular argument, in the end.

Sokka had met Aang and Zuko in college. At first, they were brought together by their career choices, then their bond tightened over their love for tabletop games: so far, they had played through four short adventures in which Sokka had served as dungeon master. Aang and Zuko would build up powerful characters who eventually prevailed against the forces of evil Sokka controlled… and it was fun. Their grasp on their games strengthened every time, and Sokka had so many stories in mind to tell in the future…

But Aang wasn't wrong to believe it would be more fun to tell them with more players in their party.

Just so, Zuko had a point as well: all their attempts to invite other people to join their Dungeons and Dragons sessions went to waste without fail.

Typically, their games were held in the house Sokka and Zuko had been roommates in for well over half their college careers – by now, however, Zuko's relationship with Suki had advanced enough that he spent more time at her place than at Sokka's. Sokka certainly didn't look forward to finding another roommate once Zuko inevitably moved out, but he'd have to look for one anyway… which was a problem to worry about on some other day. Right now, all he needed to think about was who to recruit for their next, full campaign… one he hoped would be a much longer campaign than the ones they'd done so far. He had so many ideas for it, ideas he hoped Aang and Zuko would enjoy, but it would be so much better if more people joined them…

"Well, I'm not going to make a public post on social media to call for new players," Zuko growled, shooting down Aang's latest idea, one he had put forward while Sokka wasn't paying attention. "That sounds awful."

"Then we should just ask people we know! Why not, right?" Aang said, glancing at Sokka. "We could ask Katara…"

"She always says she can't trust me as her DM," Sokka admitted, with an awkward smile. "She thinks I'm going to kill her character on the very first action sequence just to be a shithead of a brother…"

"Well, then, swear you won't do that and she'll join in!" Aang pouted. "Come on, and there's others who could join too…!"

"Well, I don't know if…" Zuko grunted, but his words were cut off abruptly when the doorbell rang.

He frowned before rising to his feet. The living room of the small house wasn't far away from the front door, allowing both Aang and Sokka to see glance in that direction as Zuko pulled the door open… and he groaned immediately at the sight of the woman standing right outside.

"What are you doing here?" he blurted out at once. Sokka glanced as best he could, only making out a few details past Zuko's silhouette… enough details to bring him to suspect the identity of this visitor even before hearing her teasing voice.

"Well, now, my parents raised me to greet people properly before asking questions… especially asking them so harshly. How uncivilized of you, Zuzu."

"Oh, please," Zuko huffed, stepping aside and allowing Azula to march into the house, a devious smirk upon her face.

Sokka's heart jolted lightly at the sight of her: he was an idiot, of course, for having any manner of crush on his roommate's sister. It was a strange trope he wasn't sure he should be trying to live out, but curses, she was pretty. She was clever and devious, and the way she teased Zuko never failed to make Sokka laugh. His lips instinctively curved into a smile as he waved like a fool in her direction.

"Ah, see? Sokka's much wiser than you," Azula smirked, nodding in Sokka's direction.

"Good to see you," Sokka grinned – happy tingles in his stomach urged him to talk to her more, to make the most of any opportunity to spend time with her…

"Hi, Azula!" Aang smiled too, waving at her, and Azula sighed happily.

"Ah, thank you. You all prove my point marvelously," she said, turning towards Zuko with her mischievous grin.

"They're not your brothers, and they don't realize you're only here because you want something," Zuko grumbled, glaring at her… and then allowing his eyes to drift down to the laptop bag she carried with her. "You broke your computer again?"

"I… did nothing. The updates are at fault here," Azula said, raising a finger pointedly in Zuko's direction.

"And now I have to backtrack them for you, as usual," Zuko huffed, shaking his head. "Well, I don't have my stuff here, if it's too serious I won't be able to fix it right now."

"Heh. I did go to Suki's place first, seeing as you've basically moved there, but she told me you were here," Azula said, with a shrug. "And I wasn't about to pretend that I could leave my laptop at your apartment without personally requesting that you fixed it, you were bound to ignore it if I wasn't there needling you about it the whole time, so…"

"You do realize me specializing in computer science doesn't mean I'm your go-to IT guy, don't you?" Zuko grunted. Azula huffed, shaking her head.

"You're my brother, and you picked your career as you pleased. How is it my fault that you wanted to be an IT guy?"

"I'm not an IT guy!" Zuko squealed, as Azula sank in the couch, right next to Sokka. He tried not to react, but yet again, his idiot heart fluttered over her closeness.

"If you were studying to be a mechanic, I'd come to you for car trouble," Azula continued, nonchalantly. "If you were studying to be a doctor, I'd ask you about every single potentially alarming health sign I find, if I found any. Therefore…"

"That's just…! Ugh, at the very least pay me for my efforts!" Zuko huffed. Azula gasped, affronted.

"That's… you've gone too far. You'd charge me for your services? Me, your own sister?" Azula said, dramatically. Zuko groaned, his hands on his head while he heard Aang and Sokka chuckling at Azula's wicked teasing. "Oh, but you're so cruel…"

"Okay, now, not to brag but I've beaten your brother at grades every semester," Sokka smiled, folding his arms over his chest. "If you really need that fixed, I can do it for you."

Azula blinked blankly, turning her head towards him with undisguised delight… and Sokka saw the spark of mischief in her beautiful golden eyes well before she spoke anew.

"Why… such a generous offer," she said, showing him what she no doubt believed was an angelical smile – the deviousness was nowhere near gone, however. "I couldn't possibly impose on you, though…! How much should I pay you for fixing it?"

"Oh, so you would pay Sokka but not me?!" Zuko squealed: Sokka covered his face with his hands as Azula smiled brightly, her latest stunt to irk her brother achieving the expected effect. "You're just…! Ugh!"

"You're my brother. Different rules apply there," Azula said, smirking. Sokka chuckled, shaking his head.

"I'm not charging you, Azula, so different rules don't have to apply at all," Sokka said. Azula's teasing intent dwindled then, as she eyed him with curiosity.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I have no idea how tricky this is…"

"Rolling back an update isn't a big deal, I can do it right away. I'll do that and throw in a few security checks too to make sure things are running smoothly," Sokka offered. Azula smiled and shrugged.

"Well… be my guest, if you're serious. Thank you," she said. Sokka grinned proudly, hoping he wasn't blushing like the idiot he felt he was…

"Wait, so you're going to focus on that now?" Zuko huffed. "We were talking about the campaign, it's the whole reason why I dropped by…"

"We can take a break for now," Aang said, with a shrug. "And we can use the break to brainstorm ideas for how to get new players to join us!"

"Campaign? Players?" Azula repeated, eyeing Aang and Zuko with a dismissive sneer. "Oh, goodness. Another of your, uh, Rooms and Roaches game, I suppose…"

"Dungeons and Dragons! Seriously, could you be more of a textbook annoying younger sister?" Zuko groaned, dropping on his seat as Azula smirked deviously, shaking her head.

"Ah, he just makes it too easy, doesn't he?" Azula said, nudging Sokka gently with her elbow. "I imagine your sister torments you as often as I torment Zuko and you don't whine about it half as much, do you?"

"Oh, yeah. I've accepted my fate as her favorite source of entertainment," Sokka admitted. "Though Katara's very easy to annoy right back, you know? We get even sometimes. Zuko, though…"

"Anything I say can and will be used against me," Zuko growled, glaring at Azula, who smiled brightly at him.

"You know your fundamental rights, at the very least. Good on you," Azula said, nodding sagely. "Anyway, I had no idea the three of you were playing Prisons and Penguins. Did Zuko scare away the rest of your team's players with his temper, or…?"

"The right term is 'party', and no. It's always been just the three of us," Zuko said, bluntly. Azula hummed.

"Aang and I thought we should get more people on board, but Zuko says it's not going to work… and after hearing you call Dungeons and Dragons literally anything other than Dungeons and Dragons, I can't say that I'm surprised by his refusal to look for more players anymore," Sokka smiled. Azula offered him a devious grin of her own.

"Well, you see, if Zuko could explain reasonably how the game works, perhaps I would be interested in it. But every single time I asked him, he started talking about stats or whatever number of sides a functioning dice can have, and how 'the dice tell the story', which happens to be a concept I still can't pretend to understand… he makes it sound as entertaining and appealing as a visit to the dentist, in short."

"I… that's not true!" Zuko huffed, though his cheeks lit up – he had definitely tried to teach Suki how to play, only for his girlfriend to decide to stick with her favorite videogames instead. While he knew Azula made a sport of making fun of him, perhaps she wasn't entirely off-base with that assessment…

"Well, then, maybe Aang and I can do better," Sokka chuckled. "It's a roleplaying game, Azula."

Her eyebrows rode surprisingly high upon hearing those words. She stared at Sokka with a slowly growing grin, and Sokka blinked blankly.

"What?" he said. She bit her lip before leaning closer, covering her mouth as she spoke into his ear.

"Roleplaying, as in… sexual stuff?"

Sokka nearly jumped out of his seat upon hearing that: his cheeks lit up fully, much as Azula blushed as well while laughing at his reaction. Sokka's jaw dropped, he gasped, and then he shook his head quickly.

"N-no. No. Absolutely not. RPGs… have you never heard of them? Really?" Sokka asked, still flustered as Azula laughed against the backrest of her couch. "You… you're trolling me too. Just like you troll your brother all the time. You're a menace… a wonderful menace, but a menace anyway."

"The look on your face…!" Azula chuckled, covering her face with her hands as Aang and Zuko reached their own conclusions regarding what Azula had just whispered into Sokka's ear.

"Well… romance can be a thing in Dungeons and Dragons?" Aang clarified, with an awkward smile. "If that's what you meant…"

"Azula, seriously…" Zuko grimaced, shaking his head as he rose back to his feet. "I suppose I take it as a victory that you're choosing to mess with someone other than me for once…"

"Don't worry, you'll do something silly for me to ridicule any moment now. I'll just be patient until you do," Azula smiled. Zuko sighed.

"Well, then, at least hold back the ridiculing until I finish ordering pizza. Or else I'm not asking for pepperoni just to annoy you," Zuko huffed, pulling up his phone. Azula gasped.

"You wouldn't dare!" she said, dramatically. Sokka, beside her, yelped as well.

"Seriously, don't you dare!" he said, far more seriously than Azula had.

"Make sure mine's got none…" Aang, the sole vegetarian in the house, smiled awkwardly.

As Zuko busied himself with picking a delivery option, with Aang glancing over his shoulder to make him choose his favorite pizza restaurant, Sokka took it upon himself to begin patching up Azula's laptop – he sighed at the blue screen error that greeted him moments after powering up the computer, but he took to repairing the software quickly with the expertise he had developed over three years of studies. And as he worked, unless he had to ask any questions about the computer, Sokka explained more about Dungeons and Dragons to a surprisingly receptive Azula.

"… So, basically I'm the Dungeon Master, I come up with the story, the non-playable characters, the setting, all that stuff. The rules can be the ones established by the original game, or you can come up with a few new ones depending on whatever you feel like doing," Sokka said. "Basically, Dungeons and Dragons' system is more of a means to tell a story, you see? The idea that the dice tell the story isn't completely wrong, but without further context it probably sounds pretty weird…"

"Zuko never bothered providing any context, but I think I understand better now," Azula said. "You, the so-called Dungeon Master, build an adventure, you help your players build their characters too, then you have to be ready to either improvise with whatever their choices are, or plan so extensively to be prepared for anything they choose to do…? It seems a rather complicated way to play a game, frankly. Almost sounds like the Dungeon Master doesn't have as much fun as everyone else does."

"Oh, don't worry, that's not the case at all. Not once you get to the fun stuff of being the DM," Sokka chuckled: the computer booted up again, and this time, everything flowed perfectly. "Alright! It's running now."

"Ah, so quickly, too. Zuko would've kept me waiting for three days," Azula sighed, shaking her head.

"You're his sister, that's his revenge for all your teasing," Sokka said. Azula groaned.

"I know, but he's just so easy to annoy…" she sighed, before smiling at him again. "Thank you for your work, though. As for what Aang said before, though… romance is allowed in these games too? Is that how broad their scope is, truly?"

"Oh, yeah. Some people even livestream their games, get huge fanbases, their fans fall in love with their characters and with the relationships between those characters…" Sokka explained, with an awkward smile. "I mean, sure, it's a little crazy to roleplay being in love with a friend, I imagine, but if you're doing it right, I'm sure it can be lots of fun."

"Huh. Has Aang ever fallen in love with Zuko, then?" Azula asked, amused. Sokka snorted.

"Well, no. Though I had to play Aang's wife in one of our first campaigns," Sokka chuckled. "But that's what I get for being the DM, always got to play every other character in our D&D world. Anyway, I think as long as the players and DM are in agreement about romance, it's doable."

"Hmm… if so, I don't see why it's so hard for you to get Suki to play with you, Zuko," Azula said, raising her voice so her brother, finished placing his order, would hear her.

"Say what?" Zuko raised an eyebrow.

"Sokka says romance is a thing. Tell her that, and that you're at risk of being romanced by Aang… might make her jealous enough to join in just to make sure she keeps you to herself," Azula smirked. Zuko scoffed.

"We're not teenagers, she doesn't think Aang's going to steal me away," Zuko huffed. Aang chuckled.

"The characters are the ones who tell the story, though. If you happen to build a character that my character finds appealing…" Aang said, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly: Zuko scoffed in disgust.

"Maybe mine won't find yours appealing, then," he said. Aang whimpered, a hand on his chest.

"Unrequited love? Oh, no! Whatever shall I do?"

"Are you three in league today to pick on me or something?" Zuko huffed, glaring at his two friends and his sister, who laughed at his irate reaction.

"Oh, lighten up, Zuzu," Azula chuckled, shaking her head. "Anyway, I think you really ought to try recruiting Suki. She likes videogames, I bet she'd enjoy this if she gets the hang of it eventually. If she's too difficult to coax into it, though… hmm. Maybe not Aang, then. Maybe you should invite Mai to join in, too."

"No. I… no!" Zuko whimpered, cheeks flushing. "You're not getting my ex entangled in this just to amuse yourself, damn it!"

"Well, it would be amusing, but I'm not just trying to tease you," Azula chuckled. "Seriously, the way Sokka puts it, he wants to tell a big story, right? The more…"

"The merrier! That's what I said!" Sokka exclaimed, beaming. Azula smiled at his reaction too.

"For that matter, instead of pushing other people to join in, maybe you should consider doing it yourself," Zuko huffed. "How about it, Azula? Want to play a game of Jails and J-… J-…"

"Jellyfish," Azula supplied, helpfully, and Zuko huffed in irritation at her response. "What? Perfectly valid animal…"

"It sounds like you have a set for every possible synonym and word you can use for this joke of yours…" Sokka smirked. Azula blinked blankly, a hand on her chest as she acted utterly shocked by his apparent accusation.

"What, innocent old me, coming up with a whole reservoir of names for Chambers and Chameleons? Vaults and Voles? Oubliettes and Owls?"

Sokka couldn't hold back the laughter anymore. Azula smiled with undisguised satisfaction as Zuko rolled his eyes at her.

"Anyway… sure," she said, with a shrug. "I will require some thorough coaching so I won't mess up, as well as a copy of this rulebook and whatnot, but…"

"Wait, what?" Zuko's dismissiveness froze… transformed now into sheer terror. Azula blinked blankly, gazing at him questioningly.

"What? You just said I should join in, and I said I'm perfectly happy to attempt it," Azula said. Zuko's face paled. "Oh? Is this not the outcome you were looking for?"

"Well… maybe Zuko wasn't, but Aang and I? Absolutely!" Sokka grinned, turning towards her in amazement. "Welcome to the party!"

"Heh. Sounds even more fun when you say it that way," Azula grinned in a rather devious way at Sokka. Zuko winced. "Have something to say now, Zuzu?"

Zuko's jaw had dropped in sheer horror: it was one thing for Azula to visit once in a while over computer trouble. It was a very different one for her to do so on a weekly basis for a Dungeons and Dragons campaign… especially with his two friends basically enabling her constantly, laughing at her jokes and encouraging her to poke fun at him left and right.

He couldn't refuse her now, though: she was bound to show up every week even if he did, and Sokka and Aang would welcome her without a hitch. No… what he needed was backup. Strength in numbers. More people to help him keep her in check…

Which was exactly what he hadn't wanted to do, but damn, Azula left him no choice.

"I… will convince Suki," Zuko grimaced. Aang gasped happily. "Sokka… get Katara too. And someone should get Toph. Maybe Jet…"

"I'll tell Mai and Ty Lee, then," Azula grinned. Zuko grimaced but sighed: at this point, he'd gladly endure the awkwardness of being around Mai if it meant Azula might have someone else to bicker with at some point or another.

"See? That's better payback for computer repairs than money," Sokka chuckled, smiling brightly at Azula. "You convinced him all on your own! I'll finally get the big party I was looking for…"

"You needn't mention it, though… I do need that rulebook, don't I?" Azula asked. Sokka chuckled.

"We'll get you one. You might need help with setting up your character, but I can give you a hand, maybe on videocall if that's easier for you than coming here," Sokka said. Azula huffed.

"It's not that hard, my own house is barely a few blocks away," Azula said. "Technically, I would have been staying in the same place as my brother if only Zuzu hadn't been so adamant about finding a roommate so he could have an excuse to stop living with his wicked sister…"

"Well, he's bound to move out sooner than later. He barely comes here anymore," Sokka said, with a shrug. "Anyway, if you'd rather drop by, that's fine by me. No idea if you have a lot of work to do for your classes, so…"

"My semester shouldn't be that heavy. I'll be able to spare a couple of evenings to come here, be it for building characters or whatever you need," Azula said. "Just let me know when you're available and I'll swing by."

"Awesome," Sokka smiled – he wasn't stupidly misunderstanding this as a date of some sort, was he? No one had dates over Dungeons and Dragons… but that she'd be willing to visit even if Zuko was absent was a surprisingly agreeable sign. One that, of course, didn't have to mean anything, but he'd always welcome spending more time with Azula and her delightfully devious wit.

After comparing schedules – both, it seemed, were rather oriented towards planning their schedules to the utmost detail, something rather convenient for people who would play Dungeons and Dragons –, they chose to hold their character-building session four days later. Azula asked many questions about the game that night, while also reiterating her gratitude towards Sokka after he finished all checkups of her computer, confirming it was functional and that it would stay that way – at least, until future updates crashed it. Her numerous queries about Dungeons and Dragons were hilarious, especially the ones she blurted out carelessly while they ate, and Zuko groaned in despair at every devious concept Azula ran by Aang and Sokka, who seemed to find her ideas hilarious instead of painful.

By the next day, the four of them contacted the rest of their potential party and confirmed that their player group would increase in size considerably. Jet even offered to bring his younger brother, a faithful Dungeons and Dragons enthusiast who, while still in high school, was as experienced a player as Aang, Sokka and Zuko were. The kid in question agreed to help his brother with building his character sheet, and Sokka took care of helping Katara and Azula while Aang handled Mai, Ty Lee and Toph. Zuko's sole assignment was Suki, who still hardly understood the point or how to play the game, but she agreed to join it if just for her boyfriend's peace of mind.

As much as preparing a big campaign was the greatest highlight of his career as a Dungeon Master, Sokka looked forward to building Azula's character more than anything else. He welcomed her in his house, offering her refreshments, making the most of the opportunity to talk about their respective careers – it was rather amusing that Azula's demeanor changed so starkly once Zuko wasn't around, for while she snuck in a few barbs here and there to tease him, it was nothing compared to how she acted when her brother was present. Her attention was on Sokka constantly, even helping him in the kitchen when she noticed he was struggling with their dinner, and they ate together while exchanging ideas on the very first character Azula had ever created for a tabletop roleplaying game:

"So… I've decided I shall be a tiefling," Azula declared, with a proud grin. Sokka bit his lip and shrugged.

"They're a pretty popular choice for players… unpopular in-world, though. You're sure?" he asked. Azula nodded sagely, and Sokka smiled. "Alright, then. You'll get some intelligence and charisma bonus which, I suppose, is quite fitting…"

"Is it, now?" Azula smirked. Sokka chuckled.

"Not going to pretend you're not smarter than everyone in any room you're in, are you?"

"Well… I mean, I'd love to say that, but you're in this room too and that makes it rather difficult to sustain such a claim," Azula said. Sokka blinked blankly and glanced at her in perplexity. "What? You're not going to pretend someone as competent as you, with such an ability to grasp this crazy game and build an entire, massive narrative the way you seemingly have, isn't basically a genius, are you?"

"I'm not…!" Sokka snorted, cheeks flushing as he shook his head. "No, no, no. I'm not a genius at all, Azula, I… I mean, it's flattering that you'd say so, but I'm not."

"Suit yourself…" Azula said, smirking as she focused on her character sheet, as well as the many notes she'd made about her plans, some of which she had already discussed with Sokka and discarded. "I've thought about it a lot… and the Draconic Bloodline Sorcerer sounds perfect for my character. Do you agree?"

"For someone who thrives in mocking the 'dragon' in Dungeons and Dragons, you sure seem to be a fan of them," Sokka smirked. Azula chuckled.

"Oh, that's just what my contract as a younger sibling entails, nothing more. I've always liked dragons. I've even wanted a tattoo of one, but I suppose maybe in the future…" she said, offhandedly. Sokka blinked blankly as Azula smirked at him. "What? Think it wouldn't suit me?"

"Might suit you too well, I'd say," Sokka smiled awkwardly. "Where…? Uh, where were we?"

No, he was not about to ask her where she wanted the tattoo, damn it. He had to focus.

"I'm a sorcerer," Azula repeated, smiling. "As for my personal storyline…"

They continued to discuss the details of her character, whom she named Fyrelith Krylla, the female tiefling who traveled the world on a quest to find a purpose in her life as an outsider to society. Once their main work was done, though, Azula continued asking questions about the campaign and, most of all, about Sokka's work as the Dungeon Master. He was surprised that she'd be so intrigued by it, but she wasn't secretive as to why:

"It's just… odd to me that it sounds like the Dungeon Master is the one who puts the most work into it while the rest of the players have lots of fun navigating the storyline you'd be creating," Azula said, raising her eyebrows. "Have you never wished to be a player instead?"

"Oh? Heh, I've done it and it's not as fun for me, honestly," Sokka laughed. "I mean, I'm not going to pretend I'm the greatest storyteller there was or so, but I love seeing the way people react to the twists and turns a story can take. I love improvising when things don't go as I planned… and honestly? My dice rolls are way better when I'm a DM. Or maybe I don't mind much when I roll poorly as a DM? Unless it's a big character, you know, by then it's unnerving to get lots of natural ones in a row, or so…"

"Well, then… I suppose I must ask you to forgive me for being judgmental, but this sounds like you're a bit of a control freak," Azula smirked. Sokka blinked blankly. "Not that it's too outrageous if you're one, I am one myself, but…"

"I wouldn't… say it's a matter of control, no," Sokka chuckled.

"Then you're just a self-sacrificial guy who wants his friends to have fun and doesn't care if he has to be the bad guy in order to help them do so?" Azula asked, her elbows on the table. She leaned in slightly, as if studying Sokka's true motives… and his heart raced far faster than it should have because of it. "It's very noble if that's how it is… but it feels unfair, too."

"Unfair because… what, you think I never win?" Sokka asked, amused, leaning slightly as well. Azula shrugged. "Zuko does say you're terribly ambitious and try to win at every game…"

"Suki's utterly frustrating in Mario Kart. I've probably only beaten her twice at it for as long as she's been dating Zuko," Azula said, an eyebrow twitching as Sokka chuckled at her confession. "But that's neither here nor there…"

"No, I'm sure it's not," Sokka said. Azula scoffed, though she smiled at his response.

"I'm just saying… it's very noble, but I wonder if I'm overthinking things," she said: her eyes wouldn't leave his, as if defying him, and Sokka refused to back down from the challenge she was offering him. "You deserve to live out your own epic story yourself, I'd say, rather than always building them for other people. Perhaps you're particularly good at that, but… aren't you curious about what might happen if you were a player instead?"

"I…" Sokka blinked blankly. Azula raised her eyebrows: she was trying to get at something that was absolutely going over his head… and that was her fault entirely.

She was so close. He was so close to her. The table was too big suddenly, no matter if they were that close indeed… he could push himself up slightly, lean in fully, catch her by surprise with a kiss, but would it even surprise her? The way she looked at him now, it was as though that was exactly what she wanted him to…

The sound of keys in the front door caused Sokka to gasp and jump to his feet, as if he had been caught by his mother or a schoolteacher doing something out of bounds. Oh, he was an idiot. A total idiot. His heart was racing and it wouldn't calm down – he hadn't really been about to kiss Azula, had he? And he hadn't just blown his first and only chance to do so, had he…?

"Guess it's Zuko?" Azula said as she pulled back too: Sokka's chest almost collapsed upon itself as he heard the front door swinging open.

"Sorry for barging in without warning," Zuko's voice echoed in the house, and Azula grimaced. Sokka smiled awkwardly as he stepped out of the kitchen: Zuko had a rucksack with him, and Sokka raised an eyebrow at the sight of it. "No, she didn't kick me out: she's spending a couple of days at her parents' place, and…"

"And you need someone to cook for you or else you'll order takeout for every meal?" Sokka asked, curtly. Zuko scoffed.

"I mean, if you don't want to cook enough for two…!"

"Three, actually," Azula announced: Zuko's face paled upon hearing her voice. Azula rose to her feet, stepping past the kitchen's threshold and smirking deviously at her brother. "How rude of you to interrupt us, Zuzu."

"I-interrupt… what?" Zuko said. Sokka's face flushed again and Zuko's paled just as much. "Sokka. Sokka. I don't… I don't want to be the Ross to your Chandler. So please tell me this isn't…"

"We were building her character for the campaign. That's all," Sokka said, with a dry grin, a hand on his face as Azula laughed deviously at her brother's utter horror.

"Azula!" Zuko roared, and she couldn't seem to stop laughing as she wrapped an arm around her stomach, bending over forward at his wild reaction.

Sokka couldn't help but smile as he watched her, no matter how flustered he was by her insinuation – it genuinely made him think he hadn't misread things at all before. Oh, he liked her a lot, and she was smart enough to realize it, Sokka guessed… he'd have to talk things over with Zuko if it looked like dating Azula was an actual possibility in his future. Zuko was bound to reject the notion completely, Sokka guessed… but Sokka couldn't help but be delighted by the sight of Azula's genuine laughter. She was beautiful when she smirked, of course… but her honest smiles were the best of them all.

Zuko wound up eating from the leftovers from their meal while Azula gathered her things, keeping all information about her character secret from her brother for the time being. Zuko seemed genuinely shocked that Azula would be taking the campaign so seriously, but he still eyed her warily constantly, until Sokka accompanied her to the front door while Zuko remained in the kitchen, eating to his heart's content.

"Is this it, then?" Azula asked, smiling at him as they stood at the front door. Sokka's heart was back to racing wildly just upon being alone with her. "I mean… I don't have to do anything else in preparation for the campaign?"

"Oh, uh, not really. I'll be painting the minis next week, but…"

"The… what?" Azula blinked blankly. Sokka smiled shyly.

"The stuff that makes us nerdier still, I guess. We make figures of our characters in Dungeons and Dragons, see? They help us keep up with what's going on during battle sequences. As the Dungeon Master, I place the minis on the maps where the fights are happening, that way I know how far anyone can move, the range of attacks and so on…"

"Ah… and you'll be painting my character?" Azula asked, amused. Sokka smiled.

"Everyone's characters, actually?" he said. "I'll ask for occasional input, send pictures to each of you of what it's looking like and what colors to pick, but…"

"Pictures? And how do I know you won't mess up Fyrelith by, I don't know, giving her a huge wart somewhere?" Azula asked. Sokka laughed, covering his face with his hands. "No, no, no. I can't trust you with this. You're too dangerous with all this power, Dungeon Master…"

"What are you saying? That you'll come by to help me?" Sokka chuckled.

Azula grinned.

Sokka's heart raced even faster.

He returned to the kitchen with wide eyes after Azula took off. Zuko continued eating, though he noticed Sokka's daze as his roommate sank in an empty seat. He bumped Sokka's knee with his own, grunting as though to make Sokka speak his mind.

"Zuko…" Sokka blinked blankly.

"The heck is the matter with you? Did she say something that drained all your happiness, or something?" Zuko asked. Sokka swallowed hard.

"I swear… there's nothing going on between me and your sister," he said. Zuko frowned. "But… would you kill me if I told you that I wish something was?"

Zuko stayed silent for a moment. He set down his fork after a moment. His face twisted slowly into a grimace… and then he dropped his head heavily on the table.

"My best friend and my sister…?"

The quote, spoken in an unusually soft, shrill voice for Zuko's standards, actually brought a burst of laughter from Sokka. He covered his face with his hands while Zuko groaned in frustration over the apparent, inevitable match that was bound to happen between Azula and Sokka…

A match that had another chance of cementing itself the next weekend: Azula was ready to exert her artistic chops and prove herself capable of painting minis along with Sokka. It was, without a doubt, the nerdiest thing she'd done, but she enjoyed herself thoroughly with it while Sokka's dumb, stupid heart continued to pound faster… she didn't really like him. She was just having fun, right? And that was great! He wanted her to have fun. But she couldn't possibly fancy him on any level, not necessarily because he thought himself lacking in appeal in any way… no, it was simply too lucky. He wasn't that lucky, was he? Unrequited love was typical, expected… he couldn't possibly have bottled up a crush on her since their very first encounter, when she had visited Zuko on campus once, only to discover years later that perhaps she felt the same way about him…

"Hmm… who's this?" Azula said, eyeing one of the characters she was painting with disapproving eyes. Sokka chuckled. "It looks like a plain, boring human…"

"That's Jet's character, actually. I won't go into details, though. You really shouldn't be here, you're getting spoiled, to a fault…" Sokka smirked. Azula raised her eyebrows.

"Really? Does this mean I, by some chance, am your favorite player already?" Azula asked. Sokka snorted. "It's quite alright to have some biases, I'd say. Better, even. As long as it means you favor me, of course, favor someone else and I'll decry it as utterly unfair…"

"Of course you would," Sokka chuckled, shaking his head. "You're the one who asked to be here, you said you couldn't stand letting me and my clumsy computer nerd hands handle your character, so…"

"Oh, I didn't say anything about your hands. They're not clumsy, I'm sure," Azula said. "As a computer nerd, I'm sure you have to work with some very… delicate parts, don't you?"

Her wording might not have been odd if it weren't for the inflection of her voice upon speaking them. Sokka didn't respond, eyeing her again as she smirked deviously.

"You… are really a menace," Sokka chuckled, and Azula laughed too. "Honestly…"

"Computer parts, of course! Goodness, Sokka, really… everything is an innuendo with you," she said, shaking her head. Sokka raised his eyebrows.

"Right. It's me. Of course it's me," he said, face red as Azula laughed again.

"Fine, fine, I'll stop if you're uncomfortable…"

"I'm… not that uncomfortable. But I admit it's kind of surprising that you'd poke fun at me with this sort of stuff," Sokka said. "I suppose Zuko will be grateful if you decide I'm your new target for teasing…"

"Oh, he'll never get out of being tormented by me. Sibling contract, remember? Lasts forever," Azula said, smirking. "But you're… fun to tease, in your own way, for sure. Still, it's just… I'm afraid my character is the prettiest of the bunch, you know?"

"Probably," Sokka admitted. Azula smirked at him.

"See? Of course she is. No wonder she's your favorite…"

"Yes, no wonder," Sokka chuckled: he'd do best to focus on the next figurine he had to work on, or else he'd never get anything done if he solely paid attention to Azula.

"Whereas the rest of them look lame," Azula sighed, shaking her head. "How could I possibly romance any of them?"

"Oh? That's the problem?" Sokka asked, amused. Azula nodded, feigning genuine consternation as she closed her eyes. "You might like their personalities, though…"

"Say that I don't…" Azula said, eyeing Sokka warily. "I suppose I'm just trying to set the record straight here… you play lots of NPCs, right? Non-playable characters?"

"I do," Sokka blinked blankly.

"Romance… isn't restricted to player characters, is it?" Azula asked, with a slowly growing grin.

Sokka's heart jolted. Azula raised her eyebrows, waiting for an answer as Sokka seemed to forget how to speak altogether. His lips parted, but no words came out as Azula chuckled, tilting her head to the side slightly.

"Oh, my: your blue eyes are flashing some weird code… it's a blue screen of death! Damn it. I guess I might need that USB stick to fix you, don't I? Where did you put it, I wonder…?"

"N-n-no need. I'm… here. Somehow. I think," Sokka swallowed hard. Azula chuckled, biting her lip as she eyed him questioningly.

"You played Aang's wife once, you said? Is it that much worse to come up with a character I could romance?" she asked. "A way prettier one than this lot, too…"

"Heh. I mean… I could, but, uh… probably not right away?" Sokka said, with an awkward smile. "I mean, I do have the whole campaign planned and all, so… might be better to save it for when we're close to the end, heh. T-that way… Fyrelith could even have a happy ending with someone. Right? Could be… that's the purpose she wants in life? Well, if we end up playing things and it feels right, of course…"

"Hmm," Azula said, frowning. "It's a little strange to plan the ending, though. I mean, you could, but I shouldn't be involved in preparing for that… no matter how much of a DM's pet I may be, right?"

"Uh, right," Sokka said, cheeks flushed as she pointed out he was being terribly unprofessional, quite accurately too. "You should roleplay, that's the point, heh. Just… roleplay with whatever feels right for your character."

"Whatever feels right?" Azula repeated. Sokka nodded promptly. "And… what about you? Would you set any boundaries, as a DM? You really should…"

"Well, if someone ever went out of line I'd definitely try to reel them back in," Sokka said. Azula hummed. "I don't think anything like that has ever happened… but I guess with so many new players, things might be different. Still… I think if anything makes me too uncomfortable I'd just say it, yeah."

"Hmm. I suppose that's how it is," Azula said, with a slow smile. "Well, then… I think my questions have been answered now. Fyrelith might be lucky, or perhaps not so much… we'll see depending on if you can come up with NPCs up to her standards, of course."

"That's not a lot of pressure, no…" Sokka chuckled, focusing on working on the minis once more now: his heart was still racing, but he felt slightly better now that Azula's curiosity appeared to be sated.

He really wasn't crazy for thinking there was a strange kind of energy between them, was he? It was an attraction he wasn't sure he had experienced in such a way ever before. Zuko nearly had a meltdown over the concept of Sokka and Azula dating, it was true, but he seemed to be over it by now – that was, as long as texting him links to the 'MY BEST FRIEND AND MY SISTER?' scene from Friends every two days meant he was over it – and his opposition to the concept appeared to be mostly over the realization that Azula would be the most obnoxious girlfriend to Sokka solely to make her brother uncomfortable… but that didn't mean this was a certain thing. Sokka liked her… he really did and he wasn't going to pretend otherwise. Sometimes, he couldn't help but imagine she felt the same way… but did she? Her satisfied smirk as she worked on Jet's character suggested she was up to something… and Sokka couldn't help but want to learn exactly what it was.

He didn't on that day, of course: before they could get too comfortable, before they could even hope to discuss whatever was going on between them, the doorbell rang and Sokka had to open the door to his sister, who was bringing a food parcel their parents had left her with… and upon finding Azula and Sokka were deep in the process of perfecting the minis, Katara rushed in to join them, delighted by the chance to work on her character as well. Thus, once again, their privacy was no more… but judging by Azula's pleasant mood that afternoon, she was genuinely unbothered by that. She and Katara had plenty of conversations about their expectations from the campaign, and Sokka laughed at their assumptions while clearing up his sister's questions and fielding off Azula's relentless, clever teasing.

By then, Sokka only had a few more preparations left before the campaign could begin, and he handled them as quickly as possible: the whole party agreed upon a regular schedule, and they would attempt to make their encounters a weekly appointment, if possible. Once Sokka was done with his final tweaks to the story, as well as with building the maps he expected he'd need, at least for the initial adventures, he texted the group chat to inform them of the date on which their campaign would begin, and he received full approval from everyone.

Thus, on the appointed day, Sokka's biggest campaign as a Dungeon Master was finally ready to begin.

Some introductions were in order, as several members of the group hadn't met before: Jet's little brother was adamant about being called The Duke, and he was entirely into his roleplaying from the moment he arrived. His character was a dwarven noble called Dain, an artificer with magical aptitudes. His brother, Jet, chose the most straightforward and simple character, a human fighter, only to irritate his brother by how utterly basic he was – and to top it off, he called the character Jet, too. Toph, on her part, chose to play as a male half-orc barbarian called Stout, and she warned everyone that she'd go all out with this game, seeing as it was finally a game where being blind wasn't much of a detriment, for she had Braille dice and she would be able to feel her rolls directly. Katara had chosen to be an elven wizard called Ilyrana, Ty Lee was a monk Air Genasi whom she had named, Aerya, Mai was a rogue aasimar with the name Andril, while Suki had chosen to be a gnome ranger called Selwyn. Aang's halfling druid was called Anrin, and Zuko had picked the name Ixuus for his dragonborn warlock.

Once everyone sat at the long table with their respective gear fully ready, the game finally began. Sokka weaved his storytelling wonders upon the group gradually, hoping to ease the process of introduction into the game for those who had never played Dungeons and Dragons before. He encouraged them to interact among themselves, Zuko and Aang helped him in teaching the others how to roleplay by example, though they hadn't needed to do so for the Duke, the only other experienced player at the table.

While things started slow, they picked up speed quickly: a set of missions gone wrong had caused all their characters, mercenaries attempting to make a living, to converge at a suspicious tavern that all leads had pointed them towards. A perfectly innocent innkeeper had provided them with no further information, though, as well as no means through which to investigate the inn's room where the suspicions were leading them.

"This guy's not going to crack easily, huh?" Jet said, raising an eyebrow.

"Not if we keep rolling so poorly," Aang groaned, glaring at the natural one on his dice tray.

"How about we just go upstairs, bust the door open and get this over with?" Toph growled, in-character, and the others shut her down immediately. "What? It'd make it way easier! Aren't we a bunch of scary mercenaries or whatever?"

"That doesn't mean we have to pick fights everywhere we go," Katara said, with a dry grin. "We could, uh, sneak in from the window, maybe? I don't know, I suppose Andril and Aerya might be able to do that…"

"What we require…" Azula cut in, her voice ringing with authority and a sultriness that Sokka shouldn't have found as appealing as he did… "Is a distraction, is it not?"

"A distraction?" Zuko replied. "Uh… okay? We're listening."

"If I can distract the innkeeper, you lot can, perhaps, find a spare key and head upstairs. Find whatever leads you can while I ensure the innkeeper is properly occupied…" Azula said, with a shrug. "And that way we'll finally make some progress."

"I think that sounds reasonable," The Duke said, firmly. "Let's listen to the tiefling, though I warn all of you, tieflings can be tricky, but…"

"Oh, please. What would I have to gain from tricking any of you?" Azula said, rolling her eyes. "I'm only in this for… uh, well, that's my business, isn't it?"

"That doesn't make you any more trustworthy, you know?" The Duke hissed. "But… we could use your abilities. So… do your best, tiefling."

"I have a name," Azula said. "But… to be entirely fair, I can't pretend I'd care if you use it. Anyway…"

She turned towards Sokka, smiling deviously. He chuckled and shrugged.

"You walk up to the innkeeper," Sokka said. Azula nodded.

"What does he look like?"

"Oh, uh… human, about mid-thirties? Dark hair, tan skin, not too bulky but not weak either, his duties at the inn keep him in alright shape," Sokka reasoned. Azula hummed.

"Good sir… may I ask for your name?" she smiled. Sokka slipped into character immediately and smiled.

"I'm Goldric, my lady. May I help you?" he said. Azula's smile widened.

"Oh, you may indeed," she said. Sokka raised an eyebrow.

"Is there, um, a drink I could bring you, or…?"

"Perhaps instead of bringing a drink here, you could, uh… bring me into your cellar instead? I have a good eye for the best wine vintages, you see," Azula said, with a wicked smile. "Perhaps we could even… share a bottle in private, if you would be so inclined?"

The whole table fell silent as Azula smirked at Sokka. He blinked once, then twice… then he cleared his throat, hoping not to blush too profusely.

"Okay, then… roll a d20 for persuasion?" Sokka blinked blankly – he had thought the innkeeper might have been a family man, with young children… but if that roll was too high, he'd scrap that notion immediately. Azula didn't need him to cause unnecessary drama for her character on the first time she had taken the initiative in the campaign, so…

Azula picked out the dice of twenty sides from her set, and she rolled into her dice tray. Aang, sitting beside her, gasped when the dice stopped…

"Natural twenty?!"

Sokka's jaw dropped. The entire table broke out in laughter as Azula stretched her arms out in a most arrogant gesture, clapping her hands as if to say her job was complete. Sokka, still shocked, blinked himself out of his amazement and smiled at Azula.

"Well, then. Heh. Okay," he said, swallowing hard before getting into character. "O-oh, uh… sure! That sounds lovely. I… gladly. Come, come. This way…"

"How very generous of you. I assure you, you shall be rewarded with sufficient generosity as well," Azula smirked. Sokka broke out of character with laughter as he shook his head.

"Congratulations: you seduced the innkeeper."

Azula raised a fist in the air in proud celebration while the others laughed at her unexpected solution for their predicament. Sokka chuckled too as he continued the story: the group took to rummaging through the innkeeper's things, found a master key and opened the door to their suspect's room. The man they were looking for was there… but not in good shape: a Shadow was sucking the life out of him, it seemed, and the party had to attempt to save the man in order to learn what his true purpose and intent were.

"Okay, so… roll for initiative! Roll your d20s and add your dexterity modifier," Sokka smiled. Azula frowned.

"Uh… this is to determine the order of combat, is it?" she asked. Sokka nodded. "I see."

"It is, so… why aren't you rolling?" Sokka asked, raising an eyebrow as the others began announcing their initiative numbers. Sokka ignored them, though, as Azula smirked at him.

"Because I'm not in combat, am I?"

"You… wait, what?" Sokka smiled awkwardly.

"A natural twenty means… a critical success, doesn't it?" Azula said, arms folded over her chest. "If I was that successful at persuading and seducing that guy… well, it's pretty obvious I'm going to be busy for at least the next, uh, fifteen minutes, give or take."

"Azula…?" Zuko blinked blankly, staring at her from across the table. Beside him, Suki snorted in amusement.

"You're actually fucking the innkeeper while the rest of us are in the middle of a fight?" she asked.

Azula's response was a perfectly shameless shrug: the whole room rang with laughter as she smirked proudly at an utterly flustered Sokka. His face probably had never been as red… for he had never allowed himself to picture, not truly, the notion of himself and Azula engaging in any manner of sexual activity. Nope. And he wasn't about to start thinking about it now. He wasn't going to. He wouldn't…

Oh, well. Why deny it? He'd pictured it now, and it was more than enough to send his brain into overdrive.

The combat scene was difficult to focus on, especially with the relentless teasing of the rest of the players, asking Azula to make performance rolls to find out just how well things were going for her and the innkeeper. Sokka told her not to bother – she still tried, scoring a 17 and a 15 on the first rounds, and Sokka's flustered face spoke for itself regarding what a successful result that was. Still, the battle against the Shadow resulted in victory for the party, Azula apparently was quite satisfied with her cellar adventures with the innkeeper, and their first session ended in utter triumph for the whole party.

"I know it caught you by surprise, but it was my very first idea on how to resolve the situation," Azula laughed that night as Sokka walked her to her car, parked right outside his house. "Did I go too far?"

"Well… I don't know. Depends on how you went about fucking the innkeeper, I suppose," Sokka said, with an awkward smile. Azula laughed, shaking her head.

"More like how he went about fucking me, I suppose, but…"

"Don't play coy now: your tiefling's got to be some sort of incredible dominatrix, accept the truth already," Sokka said, and Azula's laughter seemed to ring across the neighborhood at his accusations.

"Fine, then, fine," she smiled, pulling her car's door open. "You're sure it's okay, though?"

"It is," Sokka nodded, smiling at her. "I'll put my foot down if I change my mind, alright?"

"Sounds about right. I'll play nice if you do. And I'll keep playing naughty in the meantime," Azula smirked, winking at him before slipping into the driver's seat.

Sokka swallowed hard, struggling to suppress the shudder of delight that had rushed through his body over her words and gesture. Maybe he shouldn't be so thrilled about their next session merely for the sake of seeing Azula again, of being the target of her wicked teasing, as he had been today, but he couldn't quite help but look forward to it for that reason all the same…

On the next week, Sokka prepared himself as best he could for a wholly different adventure: the party's investigations into the previous session's events resulted in a journey that took them out of the city and into the wild forests beyond it. Sokka had a few plans for what they'd find… but first off, he wanted to cause some chaos by featuring a few surprise combat encounters along the way. The first ones weren't all that tricky to handle, but then he released his grand threat upon the party…

"Everyone: roll initiative!" Sokka declared, setting the large orc's mini on the map he'd prepared as everyone gaped at him in horror.

"Shit! I didn't think we'd get attacked by anything right before we got to the summit…" Katara winced, looking at Sokka in horror. "You're mean, Sokka! We're almost there, you said…!"

"Hey, it's the way the game works. Take it or leave it," Sokka smirked: everyone rolled, and everyone offered Sokka their respective initiative results as the battle against the terrifying orc began.

Of course, all was going well right until Azula's character stepped up to the orc Sokka had placed on the battlefield. The orc's turn came right after hers, he had already taken a few blows by the other players – ranged blows, mostly – and her choice to be in such proximity with the orc seemed a rather wild one to make…

"It's pretty unsafe to be in close quarters with this guy. He'll get an attack of opportunity…" Sokka pointed out, and Azula huffed, brushing through the rulebook.

"From what I understand, even if we leveled up to second level last week, I actually cannot use second-level spells yet?"

"Uh, you can't yet, no," Sokka said. Azula huffed, shaking her head.

"Well, that's too bad but I suppose Charm Person will do?"

Sokka's jaw dropped. The others let out a deep 'ooooh' while eyeing Sokka deviously, since that wasn't something he'd planned for at all. Azula smiled wickedly again, closing the book and shrugging.

"Mind making a wisdom saving throw for me, mighty orc?" she asked. Sokka huffed, shaking his head before rolling the dice.

"What's the DC?" he asked. Azula hummed before finding the right stat for Sokka to measure himself against.

"That would be a fourteen, yes," she said. The Duke, Aang and Zuko hummed at the surprisingly high number while at such a low level. "Indeed, my charisma is quite high. You're most unfortunate for that, my lovely orc."

"Well… the lovely orc has rolled a fifteen, so I'm afraid your spell didn't take hold," Sokka smiled. Azula gasped in horror as the table groaned.

"That's not fair," she said, huffing. Sokka shrugged. "And here I was thinking we could have so much fun…"

"Wait, what?" Jet snorted. "Again?"

"Are you slutshaming Fyrelith? Are you?" Azula asked, glaring at him playfully from over Aang's head. Jet cackled, covering his face with a hand as Ty Lee's jaw dropped.

"Azula! I didn't know you had this in you!" she said. Azula scoffed.

"Me? It's what Fyrelith wants, I'm only channeling what the character requires. Simple," Azula said, with a bright grin.

"Well, I'm afraid you're not going to bang an orc that's hellbent on trying to kill you for trespassing on his territory," Sokka said, with a sarcastic smile. Azula scoffed.

"I can still try again…"

"Don't waste all your spell slots on this nonsense!" Zuko squealed: Azula groaned, waving a dismissive hand at him. "Azula!"

The fight continued once her turn was over – and of course, Azula took damage from the orc once his turn arrived. He roared before delivering a sharp slap across her face: Azula dignified that with a whimper of pain… and then a devious smile.

"I see you like it rough, do you? How delightful…" she said, and the others laughed again as Sokka groaned, looking at her in disbelief.

"He attacked you! This is an unhealthy fixation you're developing with this guy!" Sokka said. "Don't try to bang people who hurt you, Azula!"

"Oh, now, I wouldn't! But Fyrelith is a whole other story, you see…"

"He's a hideous-looking orc! Look!" Sokka's voice cracked as he picked up the mini, showing it closely at Azula while the rest of the table roared with laughter. She tilted her head to the side, smirking and biting her lower lip.

"There's just this rugged handsomeness about him, though…"

"Holy crap, you're completely incorrigible," Sokka surrendered, setting the mini in place again as he smiled in disbelief at her. "I really hope you guys go to a temple soon. I feel like someone has to exorcize Fyrelith…"

"If only one of us were a cleric…" sighed The Duke, shooting a glare at his brother, who stuck a tongue out at him.

"Why should I be the cleric? You be the cleric…"

The sibling argument unfolded carelessly then as the fight carried forward: a full round was done, and the orc was not in the best of shapes once Azula's turn came around anew. Sokka shot her a wary look. She responded with a devious smirk. Sokka raised a menacing hand.

"Azula…"

"I… would like to persuade him," she said. Sokka's jaw dropped. "Regular, plain persuasion. No spells, or Zuzu won't let me live it down. So…"

"Right. Well, then. Go on and try!" Sokka said, with a disbelieving smirk. "Disadvantage, because you're talking to a dude who's bleeding pretty profusely after the rest of your party hacked away at him like nobody's business…"

"Disadvantage, then. I see," Azula nodded before breathing in and getting into character once again, eyeing Sokka luridly. "Please, now, we can resolve this in an agreeable way, can we not? A specimen as strong and sturdy as you… I'm sure I could heal your wounds from this fight and, I don't know, learn a thing or two about orc anatomy while we're at it?"

She wiggled her eyebrows and Sokka shot her a defiant glare. He gestured with his chin, and Azula picked up her twenty-sided dice: the first result was a fifteen… and the second, an eight.

"Well, then, disadvantage says you failed," Sokka smiled in relief… only for The Duke to hum, eyeing him questioningly.

"I'm not sure about that, you know? Because you probably should do an Insight check yourself," The Duke said. Sokka froze, glaring at one of the more experienced players at the table. "I mean, I don't know how smart you want to make this guy sound, but…"

"That's a good point. He doesn't sound all that smart to me," Aang laughed.

"This could work? You could actually seduce an orc with a roll as low as eight?" Mai asked, skeptical. Azula shrugged carelessly.

"I was about to accept my failure but if that sounds reasonable…" Azula said, smiling at Sokka again: his eyebrow twitched as he glared at Aang. "Oh, come on, it's an eight, isn't it? Hardly like you're bound to fail it."

"Well… the orc's wisdom modifier is minus two," Sokka revealed, and the whole table gasped in amazement. Azula blinked blankly, a slow smile spreading over her face. "And that's what affects insight. So… as long as I get ten or higher, sure, I'm fine, but… fuck."

He hadn't thought to do an insight check himself – it seemed to him that this orc could very well just be a violent asshole who was uninterested in a seductive tiefling. But it might be entertaining to roll against Azula's roll…

His d20 rolled in his dice tray before settling on a seven.

Sokka yelped. Azula gasped happily, even if she hadn't seen the number directly.

"Did it work?! Did it work?!" Ty Lee exclaimed: Sokka covered his face in his hands as a response…

And the entire table erupted in a spree of wild cheers. Azula laughed harder than anyone – she had assumed it wouldn't pay off, she seemed resigned to an adverse result… oh, but seeing her laugh that way was more than enough for Sokka. Even if it meant his orc was a smitten fool now, of course.

"U-uh, I, uh… What? What? You're, um… pretty," he said, roleplaying as the orc again. Azula laughed and nodded.

"Aren't I? That's wonderful of you to say. But now I'd very much like it if you would stop fighting my comrades?" Azula said, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. Sokka groaned.

"I… fight them. You're my snack for later," he decided, turning his focus on the others again: the whole table gasped at the way he had circumvented the situation, preventing a strange, diplomatic solution just when it seemed to be at hand.

"Wait, what?!" Suki gasped. "You can't just ignore her, she persuaded you!"

"She persuaded him of her value as a healer and as a snack, I suppose," Sokka smiled. "But you lot? You didn't persuade him of anything, he's not very bright, so he won't decide you're all harmless just because he thinks she is. See?"

"Let me at him, I'll tear that orc a new one…" Toph said, cracking her knuckles. "It's my turn after he's done with his, right? I'll finish him off…!"

"Wait… I have a bonus action, don't I?" Azula said, stopping Toph on her tracks.

"Sure…?" Sokka blinked blankly.

"I didn't really attack, so I'm not sure if this whole thing about offhand action is plausible?" Azula said. Sokka raised an eyebrow. "Can I bargain with you to make, uh, a manner of attack, I'd say?"

"A manner of attack?" Sokka asked. "What, you're going to smack the orc with your staff? Kind of a little too much if that's what you…"

"No, no, no… I'm going to flash him."

"You're…" Sokka started… then he froze on his tracks. His jaw dropped as the table fell utterly silent. Azula blinked blankly a few times, as if waiting for him to speak. "You're… going to flash him. Like… pull your corset open and…?"

"Exactly."

The table roared with laughter again at Sokka's utter perplexity. Azula shrugged, mimicking the potential action with one hand hovering by her chest.

"See, tugging the binding loose quickly isn't going to be that hard, then Fyrelith just has to push her chest out and…"

"Okay! That's a visual!" Sokka exclaimed, face red as he huffed, eyes wide in horror. Azula laughed, and even she was slightly flustered now.

"Too much for a bonus action? Damn. Guess Toph might have to finish him off, then," she chuckled.

"Azula… roll two d8s," Sokka sighed, shaking his head.

"Oh?" she asked.

"Yep. One for each breast," Sokka snorted: a gasp, and another spree of laughter overtook the table as Azula chuckled, rolling the two dice.

"What exactly is this roll supposed to even be?" Katara asked, eyeing her brother in utter confusion.

"If you must know… psychic damage," Sokka said, bluntly, and the others laughed again at his earnest answer. Azula chuckled.

"I wonder if you'd have picked a die with more sides if her rack was any bigger," Azula said. "I got a 12, by the way."

"Twelve?" Sokka asked, with a widening smirk as he eyed his creature's remaining ten hit points. "Azula… you did a great job! You killed a guy by flashing him!"

"What?!" Azula gasped, horrified as the others laughed and cheered her on. "B-but…no! I was trying to…!"

"You could definitely call it a killer rack now, I have to say…" Sokka smirked, as the others laughed even harder. "Nice move. Never knew it was a doable one, but hey! That was pretty damn clever of you. See how great roleplaying can be? You let the dice tell the story…!"

"Even if it results in death by tits," Toph smirked.

"Curses… this isn't over, DM," Azula hissed, raising a menacing finger in his direction. "One way or another… I will have my revenge."

"Well, be my guest and continue to attempt it," Sokka smirked, shaking his head. "You know, I thought your character was seeking a purpose in life…?"

"Apparently that purpose is banging every eligible individual in the realm," Mai said. Azula smiled deviously at her.

"Well, not every eligible one. As far as I can tell, you lot are single, ready to mingle and yet…"

She eyed everyone in the table with distaste and judgment, resulting in another spree of laughter by them all. She waved a hand dismissively in their direction as Jet, the more affronted of the group, cleared his throat.

"And what if I try to romance you?" he asked – Sokka scolded himself for feeling any manner of jealous pangs at the notion of Jet hitting on Azula, even if just her character. "I'm a human and, while my brother thinks that's the most boring thing in the world…"

"It is!"

"I'm perfectly handsome too," Jet grinned. "And, uh, I suppose technically my guy is still looking at your rack…"

"Oh, is he?" Sokka asked, raising an eyebrow. "Azula, roll another two d8…"

"Okay no! Okay, stop, I'm a decent guy! I'm not looking!" Jet squealed, as the table laughed again – it wasn't likely that he'd die over the result of that roll, but he wasn't willing to risk it.

"Ah, how unfortunate. How will I ever find anyone who can withstand looking at my chest without dying in the process?" Azula sighed dramatically, before nodding at Sokka. "And so, I tied up my corset again and my, uh, C-cups are properly hidden once more."

"Ah, and they're C-cups?" Katara asked, amused. Azula nodded sagely.

"You see, I'm theorizing that it'd be a d4 of psychic damage if it were an A-cup, a d6 if it's a B-cup so a d8 if it's a C-cup, I'm assuming, d10 for a D-cup, so…"

"Are you seriously coming up with homebrew rules for the psychic damage in terms of bra sizes?" Sokka asked, gawking at Azula in disbelief. She nodded sagely.

"Well, why not? The other girls might need to do this sometimes to get out of trouble, I'm just offering some helpful resources…"

"Yeah, you know what? I'm writing that down, definitely going to keep that damage chart handy for the future…" Suki declared, making notes of Azula's new ideas while Sokka struggled with his own laughter.

"This… is either the best campaign of all time or the worst. Still too soon to tell," he said. Azula chuckled, and Sokka was delighted to find her eyes seemed even sympathetic and slightly apologetic over the utter embarrassment she had subjected him to with her relentless teasing.

They talked matters over again afterwards, with Azula confessing she had worried that her latest idea was slightly too bold, but Sokka reassured her: this strange tug of war they were holding in the game was thoroughly entertaining for the two of them, as well as the rest of their friends.

So, after confirming yet again that no worrisome boundaries had been breached, their amusing clashing continued in the next sessions: every new character Sokka introduced was immediately a potential target for Azula's wicked ideas. Sometimes her checks succeeded, just as sometimes they failed: on occasion, Sokka would make up new, appealing characters on the fly just to mess with her whenever she was trying to have her way with another one, but sometimes Azula would improvise upon his choices, down to even having her character engage in a rather wild situation with a pair of elves, both too naïve to understand what she was up to as she dragged them into a private room. Her deviousness knew no boundaries, and the people at the table seemed to find her character's antics a grand highlight of each session: they'd even start placing their bets on which newly-introduced character Fyrelith might attempt to sleep with, while also even making their own attempts at bonding with each other as well as her character – Jet continued to attempt to flirt with her, and her deadpan responses caused everyone to roar with laughter as he continued to wonder what, exactly, was so unappealing about his human fighter.

It was a genuine miracle that their group managed to stick to their schedule almost flawlessly, and their campaign flowed quite successfully because of that. New friendships and bonds had been built between everyone, both within the story and outside it, and their genuine enjoyment of the campaign was palpable as their characters gained further strength, now having reached level seven and finally becoming a proper adventuring group, according to the more experienced players.

But something carried over from the first session until the fifteenth: Azula smirked in a telling way as soon as Sokka finished introducing a new character…

"Hey. Hey!" Sokka glared at her menacingly. "Careful where you tread, young lady!"

"What? I'm just thinking… a blacksmith? That's… interesting," Azula laughed as Sokka huffed, shaking his head.

"She's a married woman, damn it!" Sokka squeaked. "And besides… she's straight!"

"Oh, really? As if seeing a lady as hot as Fyrelith wouldn't cause her to question her sexuality at least a little bit…?" Azula said, smirking deviously at Sokka. He huffed. "Come on. Just let me roll for it. I swear I'll leave her alone if I fail."

"So… you're saying you don't mind that she's married?" Sokka asked. Azula shrugged.

"Well, I don't think Fyrelith would, no. She's terribly amoral, remember? Chaotic neutral," Azula grinned, with a careless shrug.

"If you become a homewrecker after this, you might actually be chaotic evil," Katara smirked. Azula rolled her eyes.

"Semantics…" she said, dismissively, and everyone at the table laughed. Sokka huffed, glaring at her meaningfully.

"You insist on giving it a shot?" he asked. Azula smirked.

"You do realize you're supposed to be the boss here? If you want to put your foot down and say this lady's days of experimentation are behind her, go for it. But if you think she'd be even slightly curious…"

Sokka held her gaze, and Azula's smirk didn't dwindle at all. He breathed deeply… before giving her his verdict:

"Roll for persuasion with disadvantage," he hissed. Azula laughed deviously.

"Oh, I don't know about this blacksmith but you, DM, have a soft spot for Fyrelith for sure…" Azula snickered, rolling two twenty-sided dice, as commanded…

Aang, beside her, gasped. Azula raised her eyebrows upon looking at the numbers on the pair of dice…

"What? What?!" Sokka whimpered. Azula smirked again, though there was a smidge of remorse as well.

"Natural twenty… and natural nineteen."

Sokka's eyes widened. His face paled. Azula couldn't muffle her laughter as the rest of the table broke out in laughter as well: Sokka groaned, shaking his head in horror before taking his own dice: he could do this, he could do this, if he rolled high enough he might counter her roll…

A nine, of course, wasn't going to be a high enough number to defeat her.

"Ugh. Fine. Fine. You win," Sokka groaned. Azula giggled wickedly.

"You could say I have a… weakness for strong arms. I'd never seen any quite so strong in a lady before, too," she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Mine are pretty strong, though!" Ty Lee exclaimed, beaming: Azula shot her a deadpan glare, like the ones she typically shot Jet. "I mean, I'm not saying I'm interested, but…"

"I… found a much better offer right here. A delightfully strong woman, right? Right?" Azula said, teasing Sokka into roleplaying. His tense smile spoke for itself.

"I… I must say, I don't really know what you mean…" he said, trying to sound as feminine as possible while everyone laughed. Azula chuckled, gazing at him with teasing affection.

"Now, now, don't be so modest… though if you'd truly like to know what I meant, dear, there's one rather interesting way of going about it," she said, biting her lip. "Mind introducing me to your… forge?"

"Uh… sure! You'd like to see it? Perfect!" Sokka grinned awkwardly before letting out a deep sigh. "And so, Fyrelith has gotten laid, officially, six times."

The table erupted in cheers as Azula cackled with deviousness, clapping as well at Sokka's declaration.

"Does that include the two elves?" asked Toph, smirking.

"Six times, seven partners. The distinction is worth pointing out, I suppose," Azula laughed. "Ah, it could be more, but you have been terribly stingy with some characters, Sokka. Like that wonderful orc. He might have been Fyrelith's soulmate and yet…"

"Fyrelith killed him herself, so don't guilt me about it," Sokka chuckled, shaking his head.

"Come to think of it, shouldn't you roll the damage against the blacksmith lady?" Mai smirked. "Probably against all the people who've seen your breasts by now, Fyrelith…"

"Oh, well, it's not a combat situation, so I don't think it'll be necessarily damaging then…" Sokka said. Azula let out a happy sigh.

"Ah, I did worry about that, but it's good to know that's your verdict, Sokka," she said.

"You should do some sort of performance check to make sure it doesn't do damage, though," chuckled The Duke. "I mean, the lady's never been with a female tiefling before, right?"

"So, you think… what, that a low roll would mean she'd faint as soon as I take off my clothes?" Azula scoffed. The Duke shrugged, and Sokka grinned.

"Hey! That's a good idea! Performance checks to find out how this tryst turned out!" he said. "Come on, Azula, it's a performance check…!"

"Well, I suppose at least performance works with the charisma modifier, better than athletics for someone like me…" Azula said, raising her eyebrows as she picked up her dice and rolled it… and she snorted, throwing her head back in amusement. "Why can't I roll this well for initiative calls? Got a sixteen, my charisma modifier is plus four, so…"

"Another twenty?" Sokka's eyebrow twitched. "Well… I got a fifteen here. So… ehem. You guys are just waiting for Fyrelith to be done with her business which, I suppose, means that you'll get all your equipment repairs for free since a performance check that high would get you that much of a discount…"

"Hell yeah!" The Duke laughed.

"Okay, Azula: you're banging the clerk of the potions shops next time," Zuko said, smirking. "I wouldn't be encouraging you to do this, normally, but…"

"Ah, finally accepting my life's choices, brother: thank you. I've always waited for this moment…" Azula responded, dramatically: even though he was usually quite irritated by Azula's antics, it seemed her primary focus on Sokka during these games had eased up Zuko's tension and irritable behavior at his sister.

"After about thirty minutes or so," Sokka continued. "You see Fyrelith is leaving the forge room, looking… eh, like she usually does. Meanwhile, the blacksmith is following her with lovestruck eyes and trembling hands…"

"Oh, no!" Katara snorted, covering her mouth with a hand as Azula's eyes widened. Sokka smiled deviously at Azula.

"Oh, my lady! T-that was incredible! Where did you learn such techniques? I… I am, uh, of course, talking about forging techniques, haha! Yes, yes, do not judge me, please…!" Sokka roleplayed, acting bashful and shameless all at once as the rest of the table broke into laughter while Azula, for once, dropped her face in her hand. "My lady, would you like to stay? For a day, maybe! The night! Surely you need a place to stay! My husband, oh, he'll be delighted to meet you as well…!"

"I… don't think so," Azula said, with a weak smile. "Goodness, if you're this thrilled about my performance, I sincerely doubt he's any good in bed himself…"

"Oh, he's not! But you, my lady…!" Sokka said, his voice as greedy as could be. Azula couldn't keep a straight face anymore as she closed her eyes in laughter. "I'm sure you could teach him so much if you stay and…!"

"We… have a journey to continue!" Zuko cut in, with a dry grin. Sokka scoffed at him. "I'm afraid we cannot stay any longer than we have."

"I can get you some food! Some drinks, too…!"

"Hell, yeah!" Toph roared.

"Toph!" the others rebuffed her, and she shrugged carelessly in their direction.

It was yet another victory for Azula, then, as the dice had favored her this time… but a week later, Sokka ensured to turn the tables. He knew Azula had boundaries of her own, there was no way that wouldn't be the case… and after leading the party into a large swamp, filled with festering corpses he introduced that day's main non-playable character…

"You come across a dark-haired, blue-eyed humanoid," Sokka said: Azula's knowing smile tickled him, as he knew what was going through her mind already… and he smirked before delivering the final blow that would freeze Azula on the spot. "He is eight-years-old."

A collective gasp by the entire party. Azula's smile dwindled at once. Sokka smirked at her, proudly.

"He is… a stable boy of some sort, going by the appearance of his filthy attire, but he may have gotten lost during his journey," he said "And just as it has happened with many people you've met, the child has been haunted by Shadows, pushed away from home. He's nervous, downcast… but he smiles at once when your group approaches."

Sokka cleared his throat, and he hitched his voice purposefully, for the sake of impressing further childishness into his upcoming act.

"G-good day…" he said, shyly. "Are you travelers? I… I'm lost. I don't know where I am, I don't know what happened, I…"

"Child," Katara said, offering Sokka a sympathetic smile. "Don't fret. We'll help you, for sure. Are you alone out here?"

"Uh-huh…" Sokka nodded, making his best impression of an innocent child. Azula grimaced, a hand on her face.

"Really? No friends, no family out here with you?" Ty Lee asked.

"How did you wind up here, then?" Suki said. Sokka shrugged.

"I… I don't know. T-these spooky things, t-they scared me and I just ran. And then I woke up… here," he said, glancing around himself warily. "P-please… I just want to go back to the farm…"

"The farm… owned by your parents?" Azula asked. Sokka's eyes narrowed.

"My parents died," he said, curtly, his voice no longer as emotional, though still as shrill. Azula's eyebrow twitched.

"How about… an older sibling?" Azula asked.

"I have no one," Sokka said, bluntly. "I'm alone. It's just little old me."

"Little… as in, how old are you?" Azula asked, swallowing hard. "J-just… to be sure. A human child, right? That's what you are…?"

"I'm a human child and I'm eight-years-old," Sokka repeated.

For the first time, Azula groaned and dropped heavily on the table in a sign of defeat: the entire group gasped in shock, as Sokka raised his head proudly.

"Fine! Fine! I get the picture! It's over!" Azula exclaimed, as everyone laughed at her surrender. "You win, I lose! I cannot seduce a character, or attempt to, on every single session! I accept your judgment!"

"I mean… you can certainly try next week, but not this time," Sokka chuckled, but Azula scoffed in his direction.

"Don't play innocent now. You knew exactly what you were setting me up for here… and I respect it. I accept it. I… will rethink my life choices. Fyrelith shall do the same. From here on out, I shall become the most reasonable, goal-oriented sorcerer you've met. Though… I have no idea what my goal is yet, but I suppose the immediate goal should be coming up with a greater goal, yes…"

"So, you're going to stop seducing everything we come across?" Suki smiled sadly. "I mean, everything eligible, I suppose…"

"I fear your days of entertainment over my conquests are now over," Azula said: the whole table groaned in disappointment, and as much as she seemed resolute about her decision, Azula couldn't help but laugh at their reaction.

"Well, come on, I just wanted to tease you into not doing it all the time…" Sokka said, but Azula huffed in his direction.

"I can acknowledge it when I've been beaten. So… I accept this fate you've bestowed upon me. Rethinking my life, right now," she said, shaking her head. "Do not try to break my resolve, for it will be futile…"

"Oh, really?" Sokka smirked.

The fact that her resolve was, indeed, unbreakable, took Sokka by surprise on the next session: a couple of characters were introduced, and Azula made no move to hit on them or flirt with them at all.

"Oh, wow. Looks like she meant it," Aang blinked blankly as Azula behaved aloofly, shaking her head dismissively at everyone's confused stares.

"I feel like I'm being judged more harshly over not being promiscuous anymore than I ever was over my promiscuity," she pointed out, prompting some of the others to laugh. "Truly…"

"Well, we're worried about you, Fyrelith!" Katara laughed, in character once more. "Are you sure you're okay? That guy was okay-looking…"

"Oh, he was… but I have to be more responsible," Azula said, shaking her head. "In all this time I've sought a purpose… and meaningless, careless romps with random people felt like one, for a time. I fear I may need something greater, though."

"A real relationship!" Ty Lee suggested. Azula's eyebrow twitched.

"Not with any of you lot, I don't," she said, and as ever, everyone laughed at her rejection.

"Well, then, how about friendship?" Aang suggested, with a careless smile. "That can be its own kind of fulfillment… you'll see!"

Azula sighed, but she shrugged and complied: Sokka eyed her with a raised eyebrow, and she stared back challengingly. Did she mean he had to try harder to appeal to her? Was that what she was getting at?

But where nothing could scare her away before, now it seemed nothing interested her, instead. She started taking her character building far more seriously, interacting more with the other player characters, and while Sokka thought the direction she was taking her character in would be nice, she still constantly dropped hints that she hadn't found the fulfillment she sought yet. Multiple sessions went by, and nothing Sokka did got a rise out of her… but the way she eyed him sometimes thoroughly convinced him that she wanted him to try harder. Maybe he was wrong… but what if he wasn't?

The campaign carried on, and the other characters got away with having fun antics of their own, amusing storylines that had everyone at the table laughing often. Their characters continued to seek the true source of the Shadows plaguing the realm, ever hoping to put an end to the threat that constantly appeared to rise with further strength. Their team, too, grew stronger and wiser, enough to finally investigate deeply enough to track down their final foe… as well as to defy him in the opulent castle ruins in which he dwelled.

"I raise my staff and say: who are you? And why are you here?" Zuko growled.

Sokka closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them again: he seemed to be fully in-character as the villainous entity they had been chasing for around half a year by now.

"Ixuus, the warlock," Sokka said, eyes drifting across the party members, one by one, in clockwise order starting with Zuko. "Selwyn, the ranger. Andril, the rogue. Ilyrana, the wizard. Stout, the barbarian. Dain, the artificer. Jet, the fighter. Aerya, the monk. Anrin, the druid. Fyrelith, the sorcerer. I see you have come to pay me a visit."

"We had something a little less friendly in mind," Jet said, with a smirk. "We don't know what you're trying to pull here, whoever you are… but the gig is up. We're here to take you down."

"Is that so?" Sokka said, his voice deep and menacing. "Just as you take down everything on your path, of course?"

"Hell, yeah!" Toph exclaimed, tossing a fist into the air.

Sokka sighed, shaking his head condescendingly. A few of the players eyed him skeptically as he relaxed on his chair, a strange air of authority and arrogance to him.

"You solely prove me correct in my choices. Every move you've made, every step forward into this violent world… made violent by your choices, not my own," Sokka said, a hint of mournfulness in his voice.

"Say what? You keep sending those Shadows to kill everything!" Suki scoffed.

"We've saved lots of people from them, you send them to kill us…" Katara said, shaking her head. "If anything, you're the one who's being violent! We were happy to be…!"

"Mercenaries. Murderers for hire," Sokka said, and the others froze. "You pretend to have morals, to fight for what's right and true… but what is right and true? It matters little to the likes of you, of course… to the likes of nature altogether. Of mortals, not solely your group of miscreants."

"Uh… I'm a little confused now," Aang said, smiling awkwardly at Sokka. "Are you trying to say that you hate us for being murderers? You hate… nature altogether?"

"When all began… the first speck of life was but a gift bestowed upon a world deemed beautiful, meant to be shared with others," Sokka sighed. "But as life thrived and grew, cruelty became the default choice by those whose hearts were conquered by greed, by hatred… by the need to covet more than they have earned. Satisfaction? It is beyond the likes of you… of all living, breathing beings across our world. It is not solely the sentient, for it's in the very instincts of all creatures in existence. The world is rotten. Life is rotten. It needs… to be purged."

"Well, I heard enough: let's wreck him!" Toph roared. Aang grimaced.

"But if we just fight him we'll prove him right, won't we? We should… go about it differently!" he said, nodding promptly. "Let's talk things over and convince him that life is worth fighting for."

"Uh, I don't think this was designed to be a situation where we can win through persuasion…" Zuko pointed out, and Aang pouted.

"It could be interesting if it were possible, though…" Azula said: the others eyed her skeptically. "What? I'm only saying, it's entirely possible to attempt it, though it probably will fail, but still…"

"Well, you're the one with the insanely high charisma stat… and a longer history of seduction than anyone else in this world, I presume," Mai smirked skeptically. "Hit on him. Maybe flash him, get that 2d8 damage…"

"You know, that's not a totally awful idea," Katara said, with a smile. "Technically, you were the one least inclined to pick fights because you preferred to sleep with everyone, so… how about it? You should totally talk this guy down!"

"I… am slightly out of practice," Azula said, raising her eyebrows and glancing at Sokka, who stared at her intently. "But I suppose it won't hurt to try?"

"I don't think I trust that guy… though I don't trust the tiefling much more than I trust him, honestly," The Duke said, with a grimace.

"She's pulled off some really incredible feats with her, uh, assets. I'm sure she can do something now," Jet grinned. "Go on, Fyrelith! Convince that guy that we don't just kill everything, we bed everything we can, too!"

"A respectable motto, yes," Azula agreed, nodding as the others laughed at Jet's words.

She breathed deeply then, turning towards Sokka. He stared her down defiantly, much as he had in the past.

"Well, I haven't done this in a while…" Azula said, biting her lip. "Yes, well, a few months, technically, but that's still a long time for me. At any rate… you have yet to answer our main question. Who are you?"

Sokka closed his eyes again, and he kept silent long enough to make them think he might not answer…

"I am Hessik. And I… am the mind from which this world first spawned."

Their jaws dropped. Everyone glanced among each other in confusion: a few non-playable clerics they'd met had mentioned Hessik's name here and there as some old entity, long-forgotten but recently rediscovered... even so, he had been revered as a deity, a god. An intangible, distant entity…

"This world… was my creation," he said. "And I have seen it grow corrupted with the cruelty in the hearts of all who cannot seem to stop reaching for more than they deserve. It is vile, it is vicious… and it is my wish to see it undone."

"Undone? You… intend to destroy this world, do you?" Azula asked. "And, perhaps, create a new one where such cruelty is needless? Yet… life is brittle, fragile. We cannot survive by doing nothing. By watching sunsets and sunrises, by breathing in flowers… for flowers, too, must drain water and nourishment from the earth. In doing so, they may overstep themselves, take more than they should, kill other flowers by stealing what the others need…"

"It is a flawed world, is it not?" Sokka said, bitterly. "I was young… I was foolish and I failed to predict an outcome that, after so many years, seems so obvious. But nothing will change for the better. There is nothing but cruelty and darkness awaiting… nothing but oblivion for the likes of your friends. But you…"

"Oh? What about me?" Azula blinked blankly: his eyes changed, softening slightly.

"You sought to resolve conflicts in unforeseen ways," he said. "I cannot say… that you sought to create life by doing so, no, certainly not… but you sought a higher purpose. Simple-minded mercenaries like your friends could never understand such a calling. You wanted more, did you not? So much more than traveling endlessly with buffoons who cannot appreciate your true qualities, your talents… your boundless wisdom."

"Boundless what? She flashed an orc!" Zuko squealed, as the rest of the table laughed at his intervention. Azula couldn't hold back a smile, though Sokka remained as serious as before. "That's wisdom?"

"Technically, it killed the orc, so…" Suki said, grabbing Zuko's hand reassuringly as he shook his head in disbelief.

"I… suppose my methods did not displease the creator of this world," Azula said, with a slow smirk. "However unethical as they may have been, at times."

"Unethical?" Sokka said, breathing deeply. "A young man in a tavern found his days monotonous and bleak… until you lured him into his cellar and provided him with a most delightful memory that sustains him to this day. An orc died… after you generously provided him, a creature with nothing but suffering and pain to sustain his existence, with the most beautiful vision he had ever seen: that of your bare breasts."

The fact that he managed to speak those words without breaking out into laughter certainly spoke well of his self-control: the rest of the table, of course, erupted in laughter at the surprising spin on Azula's choices.

"Two lonely elves had not known how to admit their affection for each other until you taught them how," Sokka continued. "As for the blacksmith… she enjoys a much more fulfilling life after you showed her the pleasures she had never experienced before. Her husband has learned from what she learned, too, and their marriage has improved vastly for it."

"Wow. See? Being promiscuous pays off!" Azula said at the rest of the table, who continued to laugh at the shocking outcome of the situation. She turned to Sokka again, a bright grin on her face. "Well, I had no idea I'd had such a positive impact on so many things, but I'm thrilled to learn as much…"

"What if he's lying?" The Duke asked.

"He's the creator of this world, so… one would think he has some level of omniscience?" asked Aang. "He knew all our names already, so…"

"I know more than enough. I know everything about everything… and in all the miserable years of being trapped within this world of my creation, a world I have sought to destroy so that I may finally set myself free by doing so, no one has ever impressed me in the way you have, Fyrelith Krylla."

"Wait… wait. Doesn't this mean that the persuasion idea actually might work?!" Suki gasped: the whole table stared at Sokka intently now, and he offered them a simple shrug in response.

"Holy shit," Zuko's eyes widened.

"Azula's going to bang a god!" Ty Lee laughed, clapping happily. "That's so wild!"

"I… might. But it depends on his willingness, of course," Azula said, smirking as she turned towards Sokka.

"Go on and convince me, why don't you?" Sokka smirked. Azula laughed and nodded.

"Well, then, Hessik, creator of this world… I have my own understanding of life and death, of cruelty and kindness, and I believe we may be better served by enlightening each other further in a more… private capacity. I cannot say for certain that I will be up to your standards… you are a deity, of course. But if this is our final attempt to resolve this matter without violence… then I give myself to you, creator. My body shall be yours to do with as you see fit."

"Fyrelith Krylla…" Sokka said, his voice deep and earnest. "Your body… is a generous offer. Perhaps I shall make, then, an offer of my own: the purpose you have sought, the unsatisfaction you have been ailed by all your life, will be quenched. I shall see to it."

Azula blinked blankly. She eyed Sokka skeptically for a moment, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Um… is this supposed to be some sort of mutual persuasion?" she asked. "Do I need to roll, or…?"

Sokka smiled before shaking his head. Everyone gasped as he spread his arms.

"Hessik… has always wanted to bang Fyrelith Krylla, so no persuasion roll was necessary," he announced: the entire table roared with cheers and laughter now as Azula threw her head back, covering her face with her hands. "And that's where tonight's session ends!"

"What?! Wait, no! You can't just leave it off there!" The Duke groaned, looking at Sokka hopelessly.

"He's right! How do we prepare for next week if we have no idea what's going to happen with them?" Toph asked, huffing.

"Well, you won't prepare much, I suppose," Sokka chuckled. "Let's just say, for the purposes of the game… the whole party gets a long rest now. Fyrelith and Hessik shall be alone for… I suppose, a day and a night in order to ensure she, too, gets a full rest, but…"

"Will she? I wonder if this horny god won't demand too much from her…" Azula sighed, shaking her head dramatically.

"He's a very generous god, he'll let her sleep sometimes. Sometimes," Sokka smirked. Azula chuckled, shaking her head – if she was flustered, she certainly was masking it perfectly through amusement.

Even if the rest of the party protested at first, it was getting late by then, and everyone had to go home. Laughter continued to spread in the group as everyone encouraged Azula to do her best and go all out with her performance once she slept with the dangerous deity they'd come across, and she thanked them for it every time. Little by little, the members of their group took off to their respective homes… yet Azula didn't get going as fast as everyone else. She lagged behind, staring at the minis on the table as Sokka began setting aside all his Dungeon Master tools.

"You have a mini of this god yet?" Azula asked. Sokka smiled and shrugged. "I'm just curious…"

"Want to know if he's Fyrelith's type?" Sokka asked. Azula chuckled. "Not sure what her type is, to be honest. I feel like she went for so many different kinds of characters so far that…"

"Ah, so you don't know for sure? And here I thought the creator god knew everything," Azula smirked. Sokka laughed, shaking his head. "I admit… I didn't see that twist coming. A rather interesting one, too. He's trapped, you said?"

"Oh, yes," Sokka nodded, sagely. "He was a being of seemingly boundless power… but loneliness took hold of him eventually. The idea of creating other living entities came to mind, so he decided to create a world with countless others, people, plants, animals, beasts… all so he could have all the companionship he craved. But the cruelty of mortal life got to him quickly… but he had spent too much of his power in creating this world and lacked the strength to change things. Thus, Hessik has spent hundreds, thousands of years amassing as much power as he can, all be it to become strong enough to break this world apart once more, and to create a new, better one in its stead."

"But then… the crux of the matter is loneliness?" Azula asked, raising her eyebrows. Sokka smiled and nodded.

"He is a loner, yes. The other deities exist in their own planes, he has no access to them, and they never truly knew of him… they were drawn to mortals, and they're enablers of the sins of mortals, you could say. They encourage them, even… so Hessik is not interested in befriending them," Sokka said, shaking his head. "Anyway… yep, he's lonely and fears no one will ever understand him, but…"

"But now he thinks Fyrelith might?" Azula asked, amused, stepping closer to him. Sokka chuckled, shrugging slightly.

"I admit, I had too much fun with your inappropriate antics at the beginning of the campaign. I don't know if I shut you down too hard when I did…" Sokka said. Azula laughed, shaking her head.

"Oh, please, it was hilarious, don't feel bad about it now," she smiled.

"Either way, it's not like I really wanted you to stop altogether. The whole struggle to see if any characters could resist you was pretty funny," Sokka admitted, smiling fondly at her.

"It was our own personal little war in the middle of the campaign, felt like," Azula said. "Though… I suppose this truly would be the final battle, if so. Is Fyrelith powerful enough to seduce a mighty god?"

"I suppose we'll find out… though we could find out right now," Sokka said. Azula raised her eyebrows. "I… I mean by rolling a performance check! We could very well just leave it for the next session, but I figured it'd be a good idea for me to start building the direction of things for the next session… it's probably going to be the end of the campaign, whether Hessik wins or loses, so…"

"So… you want us to roll a performance check," Azula smiled. "That was it."

"That… was it," Sokka swallowed hard, eyeing her with uncertainty. Azula bit her lip and nodded.

"Very well, then. Very well."

She stepped up to the table, where her dice tray remained untouched. She picked out her favorite twenty-sided dice, and then looked through Sokka's own dice to pick one of his, too: she handed him her own dice, and she took his for herself. Sokka smiled approvingly, stepping up to Azula's cleared dice tray, standing right beside her.

"I suppose you have endless charisma…" Azula said. Sokka chuckled.

"You almost have endless charisma yourself, with a plus six modifier by now…"

"Well, I suppose so," Azula smiled. "Either way… whatever the outcome of our battle may be, you were a worthy opponent and challenger. And if you would have me in your next campaign as well, I shall be delighted to sleep with you constantly through that one, too."

"I shall be even more delighted than you about it, I suspect," Sokka chuckled. Azula smirked proudly at him. "Alright then… moment of truth."

Azula nodded, preparing herself to roll: they stood right before each other, neither one looking at the tray, or the dice… only into each other's eyes.

"Three… two… one…" Sokka counted: Azula smiled as they released their dice at the same time.

Neither one broke the eye contact. Neither one looked at the dice to find out whether this dalliance between their characters had paid off or failed. Sokka swallowed hard, smiling slightly.

"We… should look," he said. Azula smiled and nodded.

"Then why don't you?" she asked.

"Because I'll be really disappointed if I rolled badly," he admitted: Azula laughed, shaking her head.

"Poor godly entity… he wishes to impress a perfectly ordinary woman that badly, does he?" she asked. Sokka huffed.

"Azula… you're beyond extraordinary."

That he hadn't even tried to mask things behind their characters didn't register with him, but by the expression on her face, it did with her: a spark of mischief, and yet of hope as well, lit up in her eyes…

Her hand reached up to fist his shirt: Sokka's hands fell upon her waist by sheer instinct before their lips crashed together in an impulsive, teased, long-awaited kiss.

Her arms locked around his neck, her body leaning fully into his: he didn't lose his grip on her, or his footing, recklessly allowing his hands to caress her flanks. His desperate need for her had only risen constantly, even if he had been perfectly willing not to obey it… but ever since this campaign's preparation had begun, he started to wonder if she was interested too. He had tried to convince himself that it was all in his head… but as he picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around his hips while continuing to kiss him deeply, moaning into each exchange, he was happy to let all his uncertainties fade into nothingness.

Azula didn't go home that night, much as Fyrelith would have spent the night with Hessik, in the campaign: it was easy to imagine that their characters could have had just as much fun as they did, that the feelings of loneliness and lack of purpose could have been swept away so quickly in the wake of so much shared pleasure, laughter and bliss. By morning, they climbed out of bed together and cleaned up, with Sokka handing Azula his bathrobe afterwards while he simply fastened a towel around his waist. She had to attend class later that day, so she would have the chance to enjoy his company at least for a couple more hours – and she intended to do just that.

But before they could eat, before they could reprise their nightly fun too, before they could have any genuine conversations regarding the direction of their relationship, the pair stepped up to the table, where Sokka's half-collected dungeon master's tools still sat… where Azula's dice tray still bore the results of the roll that had finally sent them into bed together.

"We… we really need to take a picture of that," Sokka laughed, running a hand over his loose hair. Azula covered her mouth with a hand, unable to muffle her own chuckles.

"Good thing we have a week left before the next session… because I have a few ideas," Azula said. Sokka raised his eyebrows. "I… think you might appreciate them. That is, as long as it's within the realm of reason in Dungeons and Dragons?"

"Well, if it's anything regarding what our characters did in bed… I'm sure it'll be fine," Sokka snickered. Azula smirked deviously. "But if you mean the direction things will take, going forward…?"

Azula nodded slowly, and Sokka bit his lip.

"I suppose you're not used to having any manner of… co-DM?" Azula asked, smiling slightly.

"I don't think that's exactly common," Sokka admitted, wrapping an arm around her waist. "But I admit, my curiosity has been stoked. What's your plan, huh?"

Azula smirked, hands caressing Sokka's chest again before she kissed him willfully anew. Once they parted, she conveyed her most devious ideas to her new lover.

"Okay… okay. We've been waiting all week… it's time to find out what happened," Aang said, biting his lip once everyone had taken their seats by the table.

"Let's hope the psychic damage was something else this time," Mai sighed, and Azula laughed as she shook her head.

Sokka cleared his throat, and everyone's attention fell to him. He felt rather nervous, of course, even slightly anxious… not so much about the game, but about the fact that nobody at this table had the slightest clue that he and Azula had been a little too enthusiastic about playing out the outcome of the night their characters had shared. Along with that, Azula had spent almost every night with Sokka since the last session, only failing to do so when she had a project to finish for a class, and on one day when Suki and Zuko dropped by for dinner with Sokka – he had asked her if she was ready to reveal their relationship then, but his devious girlfriend had decided that holding back until the next game would be far more impactful.

And so, he wondered what her plan would be. Perhaps she simply wanted to wait until the session was over… or she'd outright try to kiss him in the middle of the fight, taking everyone by surprise once she did.

But that wasn't what he should be focusing on right now. No… his true focus had to be the campaign, and the final battle was about to commence.

"As you recall, you have met Hessik, the god who created your world and now spreads chaos and catastrophes across it," Sokka said. "After claiming to be dismissive of violence and the way mortals seek to destroy each other for advancement and greed, Fyrelith, your party's sorcerer, tried to persuade and reach an understanding with Hessik. He took an interest in her… he had an interest in her all along, in fact. Thus, Fyrelith propositioned Hessik, and Hessik propositioned Fyrelith right back. This is where we left off…"

"And?!" The Duke huffed, eagerly. "Did you kill him in bed, Azula?!"

"Pfft. How uncivilized of you to say something like that," Azula said, shaking her head haughtily. Sokka laughed.

"The rest of you wait for one full day, getting proper rest after your latest, complicated adventures to reach Hessik's dwelling. If you wish to do anything before…"

"No, no, no, move forward now!" Zuko said, grimacing.

"Are you so eager because you're worried that he might have killed me? Ah, brother! So concerned for my fate… I'm truly touched," Azula sighed dramatically. Zuko scoffed.

"I'm not your brother in the game, and I just really want to get to finding out whatever the hell happened! You've kept us on edge for a week, Sokka!"

"And I will keep you there longer unless all of you agree that you don't want to prepare traps or plan ambushes or… anything, really. No preparations? None?" Sokka asked.

The others exchanged glances before smiling somewhat innocently at him.

"We would like to think that Fyrelith will succeed," Aang said, firmly.

"And that we can persuade Hessik not to destroy the world. I mean… technically, there's no amount of preparation that can help us kill a god, is there?" Katara asked.

Sokka blinked blankly before shrugging.

"Okay, then. Suit yourselves…"

"Wait, what does that mean?!"

"Sokka…!"

He laughed, and in the end, he gave the others time to plan strategic moves in case something failed: about thirty minutes later, all their impulsive plans were finished, and it was time to reveal the outcome of Hessik and Fyrelith's tryst.

"You see Fyrelith walking back to where you are… Hessik stands behind her," Sokka said. Azula cleared her throat.

"Worth mentioning… that Fyrelith's walking kind of funny," she said: the table split between groaning and laughing at her clarification. Sokka chuckled, shaking his head. "Come on, he's a god! Be realistic here, that she's still standing is quite an impressive feat already…"

"Let's just say Hessik is a very generous lover and ensured to boost your health with his powers if you needed it," Sokka chuckled. Azula smiled warmly at him.

"How very nice of him," she said. Sokka let out a deep breath before raising a hand in her direction.

"So… Fyrelith. What would you like to do?"

Azula breathed deeply, turning towards the rest of the party. They eyed her expectantly as she smiled slowly.

"Guys… I think I'm in love."

"WHAT?!"

Zuko's voice rose above the gasps and the snorts by the others as Azula giggled in a most foolish way while in character as Fyrelith. The others eyed Sokka warily as he shrugged in their direction.

"I mean, he's just so good in bed. Like, you have no idea how good!" Azula sighed happily, running a hand over her hair. "The places he took me… I'd never thought that was possible! So, well…"

"Fyrelith… Fyrelith," Zuko growled, eyeing her warily. "That's all fine and good… but you're saying he was as happy with you as you were with him? T-that… he's satisfied and thinks mortal lives aren't that despicable because you, well…"

"Because she's great in bed!" Jet announced. Azula laughed and shrugged, glancing at Sokka.

"Well, I don't know. What do you have to say about my prowess, Hessik?"

Sokka hummed, eyeing her with narrow eyes.

"She… is the most unique, special being this world has ever created. Perhaps the cruelty and horrors of this world were not without value, if they were necessary for her existence."

A happy gasp spread in the group as Azula smiled warmly at him: she reached out to clasp Sokka's hand, and he didn't reject her touch at all. They exchanged a tender gaze, their smiles as dreamy as could be…

"And that's why I shall keep her with me, once I destroy everything else."

Sokka's conclusion startled everyone. Their jaws dropped. All their excitement faded when the unexpected revelation hit them at once.

"Woah… woah. What's that supposed to mean?!" Zuko huffed.

"I mean, we are getting a fight, aren't we?" Toph smirked. "That's enough for me!"

"But… wait a minute. Wait a second," Katara said, staring at Azula pointedly: she was still holding hands with Sokka. "If you're going to destroy the world anyhow, just, not her… does that mean…?"

"Well, you see…" Sokka sighed, gazing at Azula with heartfelt affection. Azula let out a soft laugh. "We've had a whole day to discuss matters, and to reach a conclusion. Multiple conclusions, in a sense, but still…"

"Ew," Zuko grimaced. Azula laughed and shrugged.

"He is just… quite persuasive," Azula admitted. "And I mean, he has a point, so…"

"What?! He doesn't have a point!" Aang gasped, horrified. "Azula…!"

"But he does, though! He wanted to make a much kinder world than what turned out to be the case, he's terribly lonely and he needs a companion, I'm perfectly willing, and…"

"And this means we're all going to die?!" exclaimed Ty Lee. Azula raised a hand.

"All of you, yes. Not me, though," she said. Their jaws dropped until the Duke slammed a fist on the table.

"I said not to trust the tiefling since the first session…!"

"Fyrelith, please be reasonable!" Katara said.

"You're just going to stand aside while he destroys us?!" Suki asked. Azula blinked blankly.

"Well… no," Azula said, with a shrug. "I'm going to help him."

Another group gasp shook the room: the betrayal took them by surprise to such an extent that Sokka couldn't even hold back a cackle of evil laughter, one that didn't suit his character all that well, but that he indulged in all the same.

"You two… how the hell is this happening?!" Zuko huffed, glaring at them. "And I mean, out of character: what the hell was your preparation session for this evening supposed to be? I thought you'd sort out…!"

"Well, we did sort out what happened during our happy day together, evidently," Azula chuckled. "But you see…"

Sokka swallowed hard as he pulled up his smartphone: he sent a message to their group chat, and everyone opened the picture attached to it…

Two natural twenties, one in Sokka's dice, one in Azula's.

"What's… what's this roll?" asked Suki, with an awkward smile.

"Performance check, of course. If his roll had been any lower, Fyrelith would have definitely required another persuasion roll on his part in order to join him in his quest…" Azula said, with a dramatic sigh. "And if hers had been any lower, he would have decided against recruiting her permanently. As it happens…"

"This outcome is simply the mandate of the dice," Sokka smiled, with a shrug as everyone gaped at them in horror. "I know, it's shocking even for me, but…"

"Oh, you pair of assholes," Zuko said, shaking his head and cracking his knuckles. "Well, fine, then! We'll kill the both of you, and we'll save the world!"

"Yeah!"

A chorus of cheers and agreement rang in the room as the party took to planning their strategy to defeat Azula and Sokka. Those two only laughed, chatting amicably and quietly while holding hands only for another moment before focusing fully on the battle…

A battle of which the outcome was nothing like what Zuko had hoped it would be.

"For the next campaign…" Sokka announced, five hours later, as everyone sat in utter shock, frozen at the table. "I advise that someone plays a cleric."

Azula snorted and laughed, covering her face with her hands at the horrified faces of their friends. They weren't quite tearful, but they certainly were affronted by the multitude of minis on the board… minis that had been tilted down every time one of them was out of combat. The first to fall was Mai. The second, Jet. The Duke had followed, and then Zuko. Katara, Suki and Aang had fallen to an area-of-effect spell, and Toph had been the very last one left, but even with her barbarian strength and endurance, she failed to counter the godly resistances and legendary actions of Hessik, paired with the remarkable power of Fyrelith, the sorceress who took flight with her brand-new draconic wings, too.

"You frigging… you TPK'd us. You did," Zuko said, with a dangerous smile.

"What does that mean?" Katara said, her voice small.

"Total Party Kill," The Duke and Aang recited together. Suki dropped her head in her hands, Ty Lee's jaw dropped, Mai grimaced, Jet scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and Sokka sighed happily.

"Well, then! That was great. The world shall be torn apart, rebuilt into something different…"

Cries of protest immediately took off after his announcement as everyone took to lashing out at him for the outcome of the game – frankly, had the dice been any less favorable, it could have been a victory for the party, but luck was not on their side, much as Azula wasn't.

"Calm down, calm down," Sokka chuckled, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "We can do another campaign, you can even reuse the characters and we'll have other adventures this time. Oh, I'm sorry it ended up as badly as it did, but it was kind of hilarious…"

"You're a shithead, that's what you are," Toph growled. "I was having a blast! And I'm not going to play a cleric! Katara, you do it!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Oh, unreal. They never learn, do they?" Azula said, smiling at Sokka. "Perhaps I should be the DM next time, and you should be the team cleric so they stop being so ridiculous…"

"Wait, what? No! You'd be a sadistic DM, way worse than Sokka!" Zuko huffed, shaking his head. "Not a chance, Azula!"

"Well, he doesn't have a point and yet he kind of does," Sokka said, smiling at Azula. "You've always been telling me I ought to try being a player, and while I wouldn't mind playing with you as the DM…"

"Would be more fun for us to romance each other as players next time? Hmm… yes, that is a good point," she said, nodding as Sokka smiled, face flushing slightly at her not-so-subtle declaration.

"Romance each other? What, you'll do this madness again?" Zuko growled, grimacing. "You won't get away with playing some god-like character in a proper campaign, Sokka, you hear me?"

"He doesn't have to do that to capture my future character's interest," Azula stated, proudly. "In fact? We should play an already-married couple. That would be unusual."

"Oh? Bold, but… heh. That's an interesting thought," Sokka chuckled: everyone else at the table eyed them with confusion by then.

"Wait, but… why?" Aang asked, with an awkward smile as he drank some water. "Isn't the fun of in-game romance to… play out the romance?"

"Oh, no. Performance rolls to find out if the sex was good or terrible is where the real fun is at," Azula declared, and Aang nearly snorted his drink through his nose. "Good thing it's not up to dice in real life, isn't it?"

"Heh, yeah, it sure… isn't," Katara said, as Azula's words sank in. As the strangeness in her behavior with Sokka also sank in.

Azula smiled proudly at Sokka, who eyed her with a blush and a much shyer grin. The rest of the group at the table gauged the situation slowly, gradually, until…

"You fucks were actually boning in real life too, weren't you?"

Toph's blunt declaration actually got a reaction from them in the form of a spree of guilty laughter: shy in Sokka's case, much bolder and open in Azula's. The Duke blushed, covering his mouth with a hand while Jet groaned, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Guess I had no chance after all, did I?" he said, with a sad smile.

"You actually got away with it?" Mai blurted out, staring at Azula judgmentally. "Well, good for you. Spent ages pining over him and…"

"Mai!" Azula huffed.

"Wait, ages?! You too?!" Sokka gasped, happily. "You didn't tell me that!"

"Oh, she sure did!" Ty Lee confirmed, with giggles. "I mean, I'm still mad that my character died, but oh my gosh, I'm so glad! You two are finally a thing! Yes!"

"Well, Sokka's not going to DM next time for sure! He's just going to keep favoring her because she got into his pants!" Toph huffed, shaking her head dismissively.

"I'm not that biased…! Well, okay, maybe I am," Sokka admitted, with a guilty smile.

"Katara?" Aang asked, smiling awkward at the frozen young woman. "Are you okay?"

"I'm… speechless. I might… stop being speechless eventually. But for now, I'm just… speechless," was her eloquent response, to which everyone laughed too.

"Well, way to go, Azula. I suppose, if all of us had to die, at least it was for a good cause," Suki smiled at her sister-in-law, who smiled and nodded in gratitude for her words.

Naturally, though, Zuko was the last one to react. He had further warning than most everyone at the table, he had already been confronted by the possibility before, and yet he stared at Sokka and Azula, eyes wide before saying:

"My best friend and my sister?"

The whole table erupted in laughter yet again, and if any hard feelings remained after the full party kill from earlier, they seemed to have been swept away in the wake of the revelation of the relationship between Azula and Sokka. The whole group still had much to talk about, much to laugh about, and those two, in particular, had lots of things to discuss regarding their relationship still… and also regarding their next campaign: as he was experienced enough with the game, Aang offered to be the next Dungeon Master. Sokka continued to question his own ability to be a good player, but just one glance at Azula and her devious but heartwarming smiles encouraged him to go forward and live out his own story in the flesh, rather than solely building one for the others: whether in a campaign of Dungeons and Dragons, or in real life, Sokka was ready to indulge in wild, fun adventures beyond his reckoning, adventures he'd be delighted to share with the woman he had fallen in love with.

A/N:

Shoutout to PurplePlatypusBear21 for brainstorming this one with me like... a year ago or however long it was, haha! Thank you so much for encouraging me to write this wild comedy D&D ride!

#sokkla #sokka #azula #sokkla saturdays 2022 #sokklasaturdays #d&d AU #modern AU #this might just be the funniest nonsense I ever wrote #Sokka the DM #Azula the trouble player #she has no chill and is going so hard for what she actually wants #she doesn't know the meaning of subtlety #and they have a whole crowd witnessing her blatant flirting #too much fun #(minor Zuki in this one too)

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afterdarkprincess · 7 months

Text

nothing safe is worth the drive (and I will follow you home)

Relationship: LA Knight/JD McDonagh Rating: Gen/Teen Summary: LA Knight waits and watches and worries as JD fights in the Wargames match and comforts him afterwards. ___

Gift fic for my sweet donut @elementaldoughnut12 because she's absolutely got me in love with these two <3

Might write more to this later but this sweet little scene was just stuck in my head- Enjoy!! 💖

AO3 Link

Despite not being on the card for the PLE, LA Knight spent his Saturday evening backstage at All State Arena, watching and waiting for JD to be finished for the night.

Sure he could have done the same thing from the comfort of their hotel room, but he’s a worrier by nature and with JD in the precarious position that he’s in, there’s nowhere else he could be tonight and retain any amount of sanity.

They parted upon arriving to the Arena, JD going in ahead to meet up with Finn before joining the rest of the Judgement Day. They’d been keeping things under wraps from most people, especially from the other members of his faction, with all the eyes on JD for his first PLE match appearance in the main event, they couldn’t be too careful.

It makes Knight so proud to see the way that JD has developed and grown over the last year, rising in popularity as his own career has taken off and catapulted him to new heights. But dealing with all this added attention as they’ve started their lives together has been strenuous on both of them.

After the end of the show tonight, Knight has some time free and he’s traveling with JD to the next city for the Raw taping, paying a little extra to put them up in really nice hotel rooms, with date night restaurant reservations. His sweet Clover has been struggling lately and has more than earned this surprise.

He’ll have earned it all the more after a match like this, he hadn’t been sent out first for the Judgement Day, but Knight watched as his sweet boy took hit after hit for his new friends.

Things had been going their way for a while, the time running out as Team Cody’s cage remained steadfastly empty. Knight felt bad to root against the guys he respected and admired, he was looking out for JD too. A 5 on 4 match would make for a swift finish without the man he loves taking any more hard hits.

He watches as Rhea appears onscreen, briefcase in hand and referee in tow. It makes sense for Damien to cash in tonight, Knight thinks, it’s something he would do with the World Heavyweight Champion beaten down as he is.

Things change very quickly, and the elation of the approaching Judgement Day victory turns to dread as Randy Orton finally appears on the screen and the odds are evened considerably.

Knight feels horror sinking in his stomach as he can do nothing but watch as JD climbs the steel structure, though he can’t be trying to escape as those idiot announcers suggest, his Clover would never attempt something so cowardly.

Whatever his plan is, he’s thwarted by Seth and Sami, with Orton below poised to strike. Knight feels a stinging in his palms as his nails dig into the skin, fighting every instinct in him to go out there and protect his lover from what’s about to happen. Finally JD’s grip on the metal slips and he’s falling, falling, falling toward the mat and into the awaiting RKO.

His head hits the mat hard and JD doesn’t move again.

Knight’s heart nearly stops until he sees the tiniest of movements as the refs check on his boy. It was a hard fall, but he’ll be alright. His breath comes back to him and the relief turns to hot rage that he has to fight to control. There’s no way he’s going to be able to face anyone in that match for a while until he’s got a cooler head. And really his first priority is making sure his sweet boy is okay.

The match ends with the Team Cody prevailing, and Knight’s as surprised as everyone else by CM Punk’s return. He paces, knowing that JD would likely have to go through medical before coming to him, but each minute that passes without Knight being able to see him is pure torture.

Several times he walks to the door, intent on yanking it open and tearing through the arena to find him, but he keeps reminding himself that all the secrecy is for JD, to help further his career, and that the waiting will be worth it to see his boy shine, no matter how much it hurts now.

Finally after what feels like ages, there’s a soft knock followed by the door creaking open. JD ducks his head as he enters the room, but Knight is at his side in a moment, sweeping him into a tight embrace and shutting the door behind him.

They knock into the wall, but he has his hand on the back of JD’s head to protect him from the impact. The anger and noise in his head evaporates the moment his lips meet JD’s, soft and sweet and loving.

Knight pulls back after JD barely responds, taking his boy’s chin in his hands and raising it gently so their eyes meet.

JD looks crushed, and not just physically. There are bruises and small cuts along his face and arms, but it’s the sad and deadened look in his eyes that Knight can’t abide.

“Clover honey, tell me what’s wrong.” He keeps his voice soft and light to not spook his lover further.

JD sniffs, bringing a hand up to wipe his face, trying to hide further. “I failed,” He starts, but he gets choked up and can’t continue.

Knight shakes his head. “I watched the whole thing, sweetheart. You didn’t fail at anything, nah nah.”

The catchphrase gets a quiet laugh out of the younger man, but his head droops still.

“I just,” He pauses, biting his lip and looking at Knight like he’s unsure. “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.”

Knight frowns. “Whadda ya mean?”

“I been friends with Finn forever, and that was supposed to be my foot in the door, join the Judgement Day and climb my way up, right?”

Knight nods, rubbing one of his hands along JD’s arm for support.

“Jus’ lately all it seems I know how ta do is take a beatin’. And I don’ know if it’s worth it, keepin’ things secret like this.” JD’s frown almost breaks his heart.

The older man sighs, thinking about how much easier things would be if JD would turn on his teammates and join him. They’d make headlines and turn the whole universe on it’s head. But would that really be what’s best for his little clover in the end?

“Listen, honey,” Knight presses a kiss to JD’s cheek where a tear falls. “You know how much I hate watchin’ you hurtin’. But I think you need to trust yourself and stay the course. Puttin’ that work in is tough, I know it. But look at ya! As young as you are and already in the main event of Survivor series! That’s not nothin’, Clover.”

JD sniffs again, and meets his eyes. Knight would burn the whole world down if it made him happy.

“Tonight was rough, and I’m not gonna say it’s not gonna be hell for me to face those guys and not clean their clocks for touchin’ you. But we gotta do what’s best for your career. Even if it’s tough.” He kisses JD again, just a sweet brush of lips, and at the end that little grin comes out to meet him. It’s all worth it.

“You’re right,” JD sighs. “Of course you’re right. Jus’ overwhelmed is all. Ready to get outta here too.”

Knight laughs, “Come on now, we gotta real nice place waitin’ on us, with a big ol’ bathtub to soak in.”

“Sounds like heaven,” JD grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder before taking Knight’s hand in his.

Knight kisses their joined hands, “It really does.”

---

Thank you for reading!! I'm gonna work on my other WIPs now (she says again, like a liar)

#la knight #jd mcdonagh #the judgement day #wwe fanfic #my fic

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jemmahazelnut · 3 years

Text

Dark Écriture

Summary: The magic swelled in him, draining his energy. It was more powerful than any of his previous spells. More terrible than the rune of pain, more sinister than darkness, more vigorous than the rune of fear. It was pure evil and Freed was beginning to enjoy it, knowing full well the spell would end too quickly to relish it.

Or: the story of how Freed lived with his demonic magic over the years. [Freed/Laxus]

Link: AO3

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, unnamed character deaths, morally ambiguous actions.

Notes: This is a story about Freed, his dark past and his cruel side.

Thanks to oofenflugen who has beta read my fanfic. Without his help I would never have published it. Check out his blog @cygnus-arts to see his art. He also has a profile on AO3 oofen_flugen where you can find his fanfics.

Hope you like it!

Dark Écriture

-Year X777, Dark Écriture: Death-

(16-year-old Laxus, 13-year-old Freed)

Freed had promised not to do it again. He promised it only a few months earlier, but there was no way he could keep that promise to the Master. Not when he saw those children locked up in the cells and the instruments of torture surrounding them, not when he saw the man’s cruel face, not when he heard the whimpering of the children. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hold back his strength, much less the hatred that was beginning to rise and fill him.

Freed almost didn’t realize it, but he subconsciously raised his sword in front of him. He hardly noticed the way the Master’s grandson stared at him. He almost didn’t realize the demonic aura that enveloped him and choked the oxygen in the room. Mentally, he knew it was happening. He knew that he was breaking a promise he had made, and in doing so, he was doing something terrible that -maybe, just maybe- he would regret. But he couldn’t afford to worry about it.

The magic swelled in him, draining his energy. It was more powerful than any of his previous spells. More terrible than the rune of pain, more sinister than darkness, more vigorous than the rune of fear. It was pure evil and Freed was beginning to enjoy it, knowing full well the spell would end too quickly to relish it.

His magic caused his hair to rise. Freed's fringe lifted and exposed his face, leaving his black eye uncovered. His body burned, and he felt the pure hatred concentrated in his eye. His mind focused on a single thought.

“Death,” Freed hissed, unconsciously, as if his lips had moved on their own.

A deadly silence fell. It was as if the whole world had been silent for a moment. He no longer heard the whimpering children, the fighting upstairs, the voice of the guild leader, or that of the Master’s son. He heard nothing, and it was unreal.

A moment later the magic shot out with all its power out of his body, passed his guildmate, and struck the enemy. The dark wizard clawed at his chest, desperately trying to breathe. His body twitched, and he fell back to the ground, continuing to jerk, causing his leg to thump erratically against the wall. It was a terrible sight, and Freed was enjoying every moment of it. The dark mage's eyes filled with terror and widened. His drool poured and mixed with his blood staining the floor. The veins in his neck swelled.

It was magnificent. It was what Freed wanted, pure evil. It was what the man deserved.

It ended too quickly. In a few seconds, the man stilled, reducing himself to a corpse. Freed’s magic faded, and the ambiance of the room returned. The distant sounds of fighting and whimpering only brought Freed exhaustion.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, sword slipping from his fingers, forcing Freed to lean on his hands. Even if the spell had only lasted for a few seconds, Freed felt as if he had been fighting for hours. Sweat coated his body, and he struggled to catch his breath.

He couldn’t see the shocked gaze of the Master’s son. Freed didn't bother to check that the man was dead. He knew it was impossible.

He tried to stand up but staggered, exhausted in a way he’d only experienced a few times before.

“You killed him,” said the Master’s son. Freed smiled. Yes, he wanted to say. Yes, I did, and it was wonderful. Instead, Freed stood silently, realizing what Laxus Dreyar must be thinking.

No. It wasn’t okay. He had to go back, back to a safe place, go back to being Freed Justine. He was no longer Freed the Dark. He was no longer a killer, no longer evil. He was a member of Fairy Tail.

That awareness immediately brought him back down to earth, and he felt nausea rise in him. What had he done? He advanced towards Dreyar but staggered again and was forced to lean against the bars of a cell while he tried to regain his strength and balance.

He had broken a promise. The only promise he had made to the Fairy Tail Master. He had broken it within a few months. What the hell had he done? He began to feel the terror rising in his back, terrified that everything he had done to change had been in vain. Nausea made him double over, and Freed coughed with tears stinging his eyes.

He was a monster. A killer. Just a cursed child.

He heard Dreyar’s footsteps approaching, and Freed looked up, swallowing hard.

“I’ll take responsibility for everything,” Freed said, petrified to hear his guildmate's incoming judgment, Dreyar, however, tilted his head to the side, his eyes glittering with curiosity.

“How did you do it?” he asked.

Freed blinked in confusion.

“Excuse me?”.

“What spell is that?” Dreyar asked again. “I want to learn it”.

Freed’s eyes widened and he took a step back, straightening his back and avoiding his gaze. Was he crazy?

“You don’t want to do that,” he said. There was no way that the Master’s grandson wanted to learn how to do something like this.

“I want to know what spell it is,” Dreyar insisted. Freed shook his head.

“You can’t learn it anyway. Magic is tied to my eye,” he said. He saw Dreyar grimace and Freed turned to the children who were still locked up and crying. “I’ll tell the Master personally, for now we have to free them.”

“You don’t need to tell the old man,” Dreyar retorted. “Besides, the bastard deserved it,” he added as he opened a cell. Freed gave him a surprised look, but he didn’t say anything else. The mission wasn’t over yet.

-Year X778, Dark Écriture: Darkness-

(17-year-old Laxus, 14-year-old Freed)

Freed wanted to stop. He wanted to cry, scream and stop those attacks. He wanted to kill that darkness, kill that agony, kill the feelings suffocating him. But the only thing he succeeding in killing, were his teammates. It didn’t matter how much he fought; it didn’t matter how much he tried to free himself from the grip. The darkness enveloped him, and he was sinking inside it, letting the demon prevail over him.

Freed felt tears sting his eyes but, he was unable to escape. He couldn’t even control the tears pooling at his chin. He couldn’t do anything; his body was completely out of his control. He could only watch. Watch and suffer from every blow Laxus dealt. Watch and suffer for every blow the demon dealt.

Freed felt small, helpless, useless. But he was just that. He was just a cursed child, just a monster, just a killer. Freed put his hands to his ears in an attempt to drown out the thoughts, but nothing could stop them. Now they were there, they were constantly repeating themselves, filling his brain, echoing through every nerve.

Stop it, stop it!

But they were right; he was a monster. A monster, a murderer, he deserved that pain, he deserved to die, he deserved to sink, he deserved to disappear.

“Fucking hell, do you wanna get goddamn control back?”

Freed heard a scream and saw flashes of electricity piercing him everywhere. They stung and burned, leaving him in excruciating pain. Freed opened his eyes biting back tears, only for another punch hit him, with Laxus’ magic building stronger and stronger in ever more acute pain.

“Stupid kid, what the fuck are you doing, huh?” the voice growled again, and Freed looked up, seeing his teammate keep fighting him. Laxus was right, what the fuck was he doing? Crying and letting the demon seize control? No, he was stronger than that, he was better than that. He wouldn’t let the demon kill his team. He was a member of Fairy Tail, the Captain of the Raijinshuu, the bodyguard of Laxus Dreyar. He had to protect all three. It was his promise. No matter what, he wasn’t going to kill them.

Freed scrambled to stand but was halted by another shock. He gritted his teeth trying to bear it best he could and tried to rise from the darkness. It swelled around him and pulled him down, leaving him suffocated in the darkness. But he could still reach towards the light. Freed knew it. There was always a way to escape.

He growled and forced himself back up, ignoring the pain of lightning and the burning. He just had to think about his teammates and the guild he was a part of. He had to think of his friends, Bickslow and Evergreen. Freed ascended and for a moment stopped the blow the demon wanted to throw, only to sink into its control again.

The demon struck once more. Laxus had wavered for a moment, and the demon was more than happy to take that opportunity. Freed gritted his teeth again, scrambling a second time. The demon was launching another attack but as soon as Freed regained control he held it back. He was already sinking again, but the shock of electricity convinced him to grit his teeth and stay aloft. Then he closed his eyes and pushed all the darkness into himself, into the back of his mind, into his heart, and his soul.

When he finally felt it grow small, he forced himself to open his eyes again, only to see two orange eyes staring at him doubtfully. Laxus had a ready fist with electricity crackling.

“Hope you’re you again,” he growled, and Freed nodded.

“I’m back,” he whispered and Laxus lowered his fist.

Freed realized that he was collapsed on the ground, Laxus at his side.

“Your demon is fucking awesome but you really have to learn to control it,” Laxus snapped as he walked away. Freed didn’t move. He still felt numb from the shocks, dizzy from the fight, and tired as if he had exhausted all of his energy.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Bickslow and Evergreen rushed to his side and helped him sit up. Freed grimaced but held back a groan, even though he could feel injuries covering his skin. It wasn’t the first time he fought Laxus, but God, that was painful. Freed glanced at Laxus and noticed that his leg was injured.

Freed reached out to him.

“I’ll heal your wound,” he said, partly to apologize, partly because he felt guilty. Laxus gave him a dirty look.

“It’s nothing,” he retorted grumpily and stood up. Freed noticed that he was staggering a bit and felt even worse. However, he didn’t dare say anything knowing his pride. Laxus glanced at him as Freed got to his feet, aided by Bickslow and Evergreen. “You should fight with that demon more often, he’s fucking strong,” Laxus said with a grin.

Freed looked up with widening eyes, wondering if he was crazy.

“You saw what happens if I do.”

Laxus rolled his eyes and snorted and took a step toward him. Laxus was close, close enough that their foreheads were almost touching. Freed looked up.

“This happens because you don’t train, kid. You just have to get stronger than the demon, that’s why he takes control.” Laxus turned away and walked away. “Now let’s get this fucking reward, I don’t want to waste any more time.”

Freed couldn’t argue and followed Laxus, refusing the help of Bickslow and Evergreen. As he watched the blond with admiration and respect, a thought formed in his head. Maybe Laxus wasn’t all wrong, maybe the only thing he needed to resist the demon was training.

-Year X781, Freed the Dark-

(20-year-old Laxus, 17-year-old Freed)

“For a kid who wants to follow the rules, you break them quite often.”

Freed’s head jerked up in surprise at the voice. Laxus Dreyar. How did he find him? Freed made sure he wasn’t being followed by anyone when he walked away from Magnolia.

“How did you find me?” he asked aloud this time.

“Easy, I saw that the mission I wanted to take was gone and that you were gone too,” Laxus explained, sitting beside Freed. “Now you have to explain to me why you took a class S mission, especially when you know it’s forbidden,” Laxus commented, crossing his arms behind his head and throwing him a curious look.

“I’ll take full responsibility for my actions,” Freed assured, deflecting the question and staring straight ahead. He didn’t plan on coming back. He would complete that mission at any cost.

“Not if you do it with me,” Laxus retorted. Freed remained silent, refusing to reveal his true motive. “Then I’ll guess,” the Dragon Slayer challenged, glancing at Freed from head to toe.

“You hide under a cloak, in the past this place was headed by Lord Justine, and the mission requires to break a demonic curse written in strange purple characters. I suppose you or your family created the curse, right?” he inquired, and Freed pursed his lips, nervous. The last thing Freed wanted was for anyone to know his past, or to know his family.

“So? Are you going to explain it or do I have to find out all by myself? Because I will,” Laxus challenged. Freed stared at his hands, peering at his guild mark. He knew that Laxus would find out. He was one of the most skilled wizards he knew, and not just physically. It didn’t take a genius to understand that this mission had to do with Freed or his family.

Freed sighed and then looked up at Laxus, who was watching him expectantly.

“Okay,” Freed said. “But you have to promise me that you’ll never tell anyone about it.” Laxus nodded and Freed resolved to speak.

“You’re right, I was the one who launched the curse five years ago. I lived in that villa with my parents” he said, indicating with a nod of his head the large villa located on the hill, surrounded by a black fog, the same one breathed into the city, and the reason the city had asked Fairy Tail for help. “I was part of the Justine family; my father was the lord. It’s not like they really headed over this city. Theoretically, they had no rights other than the territories behind the hill. However, they were feared by everyone for their strength,” he said. “And a few years ago,” he paused for a moment, uncertain. “A few years ago, there was a bad fight, which led to the birth of the curse,” he concluded.

Laxus raised an eyebrow and peered at him.

“I guess that’s not all,” he said. Freed looked away.

“Details aren’t important.”

Laxus snorted and stood up.

“Okay, then let’s go and destroy this curse. I guess I’ll find out of the rest when we get there.” Laxus started towards the hill and Freed hurried after him, making sure his cloak still covered his face well.

“We won’t go into the villa,” he objected.

“It’s not for you to decide” was the dry reply of Laxus.

Freed wasn’t satisfied. He had destroyed the curse in minutes. It was child’s play, but Freed certainly didn’t feel good at it. Since he created the curse, it was quite obvious that eliminating it would be easy. Revisiting the villa had brought back only old memories. Old and terrible memories, and in that moment, Freed had decided that he was going to destroy that house.

He had done it, now he could only look ahead of him at the rubble of what had once been his home. But he still wasn’t satisfied and wanted to let years of anger and fear out. He would eliminate his past, destroy it definitively, destroy every little existence of the Justines, destroy everything that bound him to that place, but he couldn’t do it. He growled as he put his hands on his thighs, exhausted from the amount of magic he had used. An exaggerated amount, since he could have destroyed that building with much less. But he needed to let off steam, and he still needed it.

A new wave of dark magic rose, but he felt Laxus’ hand rest on his shoulder and a felt slight jolt run through him.

“That’s enough,” he said. Freed turned to him, gritting his teeth.

“No,” he growled.

“By now you’ve nothing else to destroy. What you’re doing is pointless and senseless,” the Dragon Slayer retorted harshly. Freed pulled away from his hold.

“Pointless and senseless?” he repeated furiously and again a wave of energy surrounded him. “You’ve no idea what I had to go through, you’ve no idea how much I want to destroy everything here” he growled and Laxus looked at him with an indecipherable expression.

“Tell me then,” he said. Freed turned to the castle, refusing to do anything like that. Laxus wouldn’t have understood anyway, he doubted anyone could. Seeing the rubble and dirt he had raised pissed him off even more. Laxus was right. It was useless, destroying the castle wouldn’t change his past. It wouldn’t change who he had been, nor who he was at that moment.

Frustrated and furious, he collapsed to the ground, trembling and feeling a sudden urge to cry. He didn’t, because Laxus was there and he wouldn’t show himself so vulnerable. He was silent and strangely Laxus sat down next to him, staring at the rubble and silently lighting a cigar.

They stayed like that for a few minutes until Freed’s nerves compelled him to speak.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I’m waiting for the story” was the simple reply from Laxus, who glanced at him, throwing out a puff of smoke. “You hated your parents, didn’t you?”

“I hated my father,” Freed clarified. “I still hate him.”

“Parents can be assholes,” Laxus commented. “So, what did he do?”

Freed almost laughed. He mentally filed through the very long list of things his father had done and hadn’t. The longer he thought about his father the more he resented him, and the more he wanted to go back in time and exact revenge. Now that he was dead, Freed had lost his chance.

“My parents were mages, but they weren’t very powerful. However, they were both very fascinated by wealth and dark magic” he began to explain chronologically, despite the difficulties to remember it in order. Laxus let him speak and Freed continued, unsure why he was telling Laxus. He had never thought of confiding in anyone, and the Dragon Slayer certainly wasn’t his first choice. But he was here now.

“They did business with dark guilds. They found items for them and sold them, or they bought items to then resell to others. Our house was full of those things, and I was a curious child, I wanted to know more. I was fascinated by everything related to magic, so one day I opened a book and read a spell. There was a demon in that book, and I saw that with that spell I could capture his soul and have his magic. My father didn’t pay much attention to me, he thought I was just a child with no magical talent, no matter what I did. I wanted to prove otherwise, so I cast the spell and united our souls.”

“You were a child and was already able to do something like this?” Laxus asked.

“Yeah,” Freed replied. “I think I’ve already proven to be skilled,” he commented coldly and Laxus just gave a half-laugh, puffing more smoke and waving him on.

“It actually worked. I caught my father’s attention all too well. At first, I lost control and feared he would treat me even worse, but he didn’t. He saw potential and he decided to train me. I was very happy, so I did what he said,” Freed said and stopped for a moment, thinking about the training his father had forced him to do. He clenched his hands in two fists and a new wave of hatred overwhelmed him.

“I told you the Justine family was feared. Well, it was because of me. When someone dared to challenge my father, he would bring that person to me and tell me to torture or kill him. Every now and then he even made me do it in public, in the town square. Everyone began to fear him and my father was happy, he felt himself the master of the city” Freed stopped for a moment. “My mother wasn’t happy, and she told me it was wrong to do it, and I knew it. So, one day I refused and… my father blocked my magic and made me understand that refusing him wasn’t allowed, especially in front of other people”.

“Did he beat you?” Laxus asked.

“Yes,” was the dry reply and Laxus snorted.

“Asshole” he growled and Freed turned to him, feeling a little understood. Maybe that was the reason he was comfortable sharing with his teammate.

“My father became more pretentious and crueler. Both with the wizards of the dark guilds, with the city, and with us. I don’t know if it was the wealth or the amount of magical power, he had accumulated that drove him out of his mind, but it happened. And one day he killed my mother,” he said in a distant tone as if he wasn’t talking about his family but something foreign to him.

“I was there, the two of them were arguing because of me and then they started fighting. I knew my dad would win, but I was scared, so I didn’t even try to stop him. My mother was a good woman, I loved her, and since all the children in the city feared me, she was the only person I could have fun with. She was the only one who really loved me. She died because of me in front of my eyes, and I didn’t even try to save her,” he said coldly, reviewing the images of her in his head as if they were part of a movie. He would never forget his mother’s expression, her screams, her lifeless body.

“My father destroyed her body. When I realized she was dead I went mad and my demon took over. I tried to kill my father, but I was still too weak and he stopped me. My father locked me in a room for weeks, torturing me to make me understand who was in charge and what would happen if I failed his orders. I think that’s when I truly started to hate him.”

“I hated him. I hated him so much you can’t imagine. But instead of taking that anger out on him, I took it out on all the innocent people he brought in front of me. If I was hesitant to torture people before, at that moment I began to enjoy it. He was proud of me, but the more he was, the more I hated him”.

“I’ve never forgiven him. I’ve never forgotten that day, and for years I’ve prepared a revenge for him. I wanted to destroy him. But I didn’t want to just kill him, I wanted him to suffer, I wanted him to feel what I had felt all those years, what my mother had felt before she died. And I wanted to take everything away from him. So, I studied for a long time in the library, looking for the most frightening spells, until I found a forbidden curse”.

“This curse would have locked people into an eternal Hell. I was excited, I couldn’t wait to torture him and the men most trusted by him. I prepared everything in advance, away from everyone. I drew the runes around the entire villa. It took me half a year. Every time I thought about the final spell, I enjoyed the sights, I imagined my father’s expression, I imagined him crying, I wanted to make him cry.” Freed’s words poured out of his mouth uncontrollably.

“And finally, the day come. It didn’t go the way I wanted. Even though it had taken me half a year to prepare it, I wasn’t powerful enough. The curse hit my father and it worked. But for only three days. I stayed there for three days hearing my father’s screams and I was delighted. But after only three days he died, I no longer felt anything. I made sure he was really dead, and I was so angry that I destroyed his body. But I still wasn’t satisfied. But it was over now, I couldn’t do anything else. So, I left. I wanted to live in the city, but I heard what they said about me. They all hated me, they called me the monster, the cursed child or Freed the Dark. I left and vowed never to come back,” Freed concluded. Laxus was silent and Freed continued to stare at the rubble for a long time. No words were exchanged between the two.

“This mission was because of the curse. Something went wrong and filled the city with fog,” Freed explained after a while.

“Your father is even worse than mine,” Laxus commented and turned to him. “At least you managed to take revenge.”

“I don’t deserve to be part of Fairy Tail,” Freed murmured, sadness enveloping him.

“You do,” Laxus sternly retorted.

“I’m just a monster,” Freed sighed. Laxus snorted and put out his cigar.

“You’re not what your father decided for you,” Laxus consoled. “You’re much better, and you’ve already proved it. You deserve to be a part of Fairy Tail more than anyone else.” Freed turned to him, surprised at the statement said with complete certainty. Laxus had never been very sensitive, yet he was here. He had listened to him and hadn’t changed his mind about him. Indeed, he had Laxus’ respect and friendship, and it made Freed feel accepted and warm inside. Laxus put his hand on his shoulder.

“You’re a skilled wizard and a good person. And you’re so much better than anything your dad has ever led you to believe,” he added, and Freed could only look into his eyes, feeling overwhelmed by those words in a way that had never happened. “So don’t be ashamed of who you are. Take off this cloak and show that you’re different from your father,” Laxus said and stood up, holding out his hand. Freed took it and stood up without hesitation.

“Thanks,” Freed murmured. Laxus grinned.

“Although, I have to say, Freed the Dark sounds quite threatening. Maybe you should start using it.” Laxus started down the hill. Freed watched him for a while before following him, feeling his heart beating madly. If Laxus, the person who most represented Fairy Tail, told him that, then Freed had no doubt he was right.

I swear Laxus, you won’t regret putting your trust in me, Freed thought, as he walked beside him.

-Year X791, Dark Écriture: Fear-

(23-year-old Laxus, 20-year-old Freed)

The brush ran smoothly through the boy’s hair, who looked at himself in the mirror. He was sitting on the big mattress, and behind him, his mother was singing softly, fixing his hair. Freed hummed the melody to himself and moved his fingers to the rhythm of the song. When the woman put the brush on the bedside table, she smiled in the mirror.

“You like it?” she asked.

Freed ran a hand through his hair, which reached over his shoulders and shrugged.

“It’s just hair,” he said automatically. A phrase that his father constantly repeated every time he saw Freed brush it.

“You don’t like it?” the woman asked softly.

“Father doesn’t care” was the next automatic reply.

“Your father isn’t here,” the woman said and rested her chin on his shoulder. “What do you think about it?” she asked again. Freed observed himself for a long time in the mirror.

“I like it,” he said. His mother smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Then she sat cross-legged on the mattress and grabbed a large hardcover book. Freed turned to her, suddenly curious and excited.

“Will you read me a story?” he asked, and the woman nodded, smiling, looking down at the first page and beginning to read. Freed rested his head on the palms of his hands, curious about the new book.

His mother continued to read aloud, but it became a distant murmur. He heard a scream and then some crying and looked around, trying to understand the sudden foreboding changes. He turned to the mirror but didn’t see the reflection of a child, but that of a teenager. His hair now reached his waist, his face was sharper.

He turned back and was no longer in his room. He was in the garden of his villa, holding a sword. A woman in front of him was crying and pleading. Freed couldn’t understand what she was saying, but of one thing, he was sure. That woman was terrified, and she didn’t want to die. By now, however, her fate had been set.

Freed felt the darkness envelop him, the heat rising through his body. His right eye burned and all his muscles were tense. His lips moved on their own and a single word came out.

“Death,” he whispered.

For a moment, silence fell around him. He no longer heard screams, no tears, no pleas. It was an abnormal silence as if the whole world had fallen silent. The woman put her hands to her chest, winced a couple of times with wide eyes, and then fell back to the ground. A helpless body with a blank expression on her face. Her eyes were full of the terror that had struck her in the moments before death took her.

Freed looked at her and lowered his sword, exhaustion hitting him suddenly. His energy disappeared, and he collapsed. But he didn’t have to. He could stay up, stand up, he didn’t have to let him down.

A hand rested on his shoulder.

“I’m proud of you,” his father said.

Freed raised his head. Two large bright green eyes met his. The little girl was screaming.

“Mom! Mom!” she screamed and Freed stepped back.

“Murderer! Murderer!” the little girl screamed. Freed backed away and crashed into a wall.

“You’re a killer! Give me back my mom!” she kept screaming and Freed wanted to run away. He turned but couldn’t run anywhere. In front of him was the body of Cana, lying in the rubble. Freed stopped and the sword fell from his hands. He was shaking. He wanted to turn around and leave and never return. But he knew that if he did it, it would be worse. That something even worse would happen. The darkness would follow.

As if forced to do so, his face turned to the right. Elfman was there, also lying on the ground. He was perfectly still; his chest was covered with the rune that had killed him. Above him, Mirajane was crying, and she was screaming, and her screams filled his ears.

“Murderer! Murderer!” Freed desperately turned, tried to escape, but stumbled through the rubble, fell to the ground and sank, under the earth. It was all dark, and he felt lost. He tried to fly. He had to get out of there. He had to escape. He had to find a way back home. But something was holding him down.

“Freed” the voice calmed him instantly. Freed turned and was greeted by Laxus.

“Freed,” he repeated, and Freed tried to get closer.

“Laxus, I’m sorry,” Freed breathed through tears.

“You killed him.”

Freed stopped short and Laxus looked away. Whatever void Freed had fallen into had vanished, and he was back down on earth. He was in the center of Fiore’s arena. And in front of him, there was another dead body. Ivan. His armor was shattered; his body was full of wounds. Blood stained the ground beneath him. His eyes were wide with pain and fear. Freed took a step back.

“You killed him,” Laxus said.

Freed looked up, perhaps for a savior, or any sense of peace, but in the stands, there were members of Fairy Tail. They hated him, everyone hated him. He caught the Master’s furious gaze and Freed was still under his glare.

Makarov raised his hand and a powerful light radiated from his palm, Freed tried to bring his arms in front of him to defend himself, pleaded that it wasn’t him, but it was useless. He was outnumbered and outmatched when everything went white.

Freed jumped up, his heart pounding in his chest and sweat sticking his clothes to his body. Terror ran through him and Freed inhaled deeply to attempt to calm himself.

‘It was a nightmare,’ he thought. ‘It was just a nightmare’ But it didn’t help him, because he knew it wasn’t just a nightmare. Because he knew he had really killed that woman years ago. Because he knew he had risked killing Elfman and Cana. Because he knew that when he saw Ivan in the arena, he felt that sudden desire to let himself go to the darker side. Because he wanted to kill the father of the person he loved.

Freed put a hand to his chest feeling his still racing heart. He wanted to throw up and cry.

“Freed, are you okay?”

Freed looked up suddenly. It was Laxus. The boy sat by the fire they had built on their way home from a mission. Freed scanned their campsite. There were two sleeping bags, the small fire, and their backpacks placed on the ground. They had decided to walk home so that Laxus wouldn’t have to take the train.

“Freed?” Laxus called him and Freed turned to him and smiled slightly to reassure him.

“I’m fine, I just had a nightmare,” he explained as he stood up and got out of the sleeping bag. He realized that his clothes were indeed damp with sweat and his hair was sticking to his neck and his clothes.

“You’ve been getting them a lot recently, is something bothering you?” Laxus asked. Freed shook his head.

“No,” he replied simply and sat next to him in front of the fire, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. But Laxus was right, he had been having nightmares for weeks, about his past, about his mother, about the people he had killed, about the people he could have killed, and about the ones he wanted to kill.

He'd had nightmares in the past, namely the Battle of Fairy Tail, and just as he finally began to overcome them, the Grand Magic Games brought them back in full force. And as much as he wanted to banish those thoughts, he just couldn’t seem to do it.

He felt Laxus’ arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t you want to talk about it?” he asked and Freed closed his eyes, leaning against him and closing his eyes. Talk about it with him, of all people? He who had asked him to kill his guildmates? He who was the son of the man Freed wanted to torture to death?

“No,” he said, “I’ll pass.”

He felt Laxus’s gaze fixed on him and his arm comforting him.

“You said my name,” the blond said, and Freed stiffened. “You said my name and then yelled that you weren’t the one who killed them,” he said tonelessly. “You know, I’ve never thought about it too much but I can’t believe I asked you to do something like that. I used you like your father did and I’m sorry. I know you’ll never forgive me but…”.

“I’ve already done that,” Freed said. “We’ve already talked about it. I forgave you Laxus, completely. The only person I haven’t forgiven is myself”.

“My fault,” Laxus murmured.

“No,” Freed tried to say reassuringly. “Laxus, darkness has been with me for a lifetime, it wasn’t you who pulled it out, it wasn’t you who put it in, and it wasn’t you who made me hate it,” he said forcefully. “You helped me instead to make me accept it as part of me, and even though I’m still working on it, it’s to your credit that I can now control the demon. It’s to your credit if I don’t feel horrible for everything I’ve done”.

“But you still have nightmares about the battle of Fairy Tail,” Laxus muttered and Freed shook his head.

“Trust me, that’s not the cause of my nightmares,” he said.

“So, what’s it?” Laxus asked.

Freed didn’t answer. He stared into the flames in front of him while he thought back to the nightmare he had had, the destroyed body of Ivan, the pleas of that woman. Freed didn’t think those nightmares would ever go away, but that wasn’t Laxus’s fault, it was the fault of the darkness that accompanied him and the evil he was hiding and that he was trying to control.

“My greatest fear” he answered simply. He let himself be enveloped by his friend’s embrace.

-Year X793, Dark Écriture: Suffering-

(25-year-old Laxus, 22-year-old Freed)

Freed could still hear the screams of terror of the enemies. He could still hear their pleas and their cries, their prayers, and their despair. And the more he heard them, the better he felt. The more he heard them, the more satisfaction grew inside him. The more he looked at their faces full of terror and pain, the more his soul laughed. There was no escape from that rune and Freed enjoyed every single moment of it.

He wanted it. He wanted to make them feel small. He wanted to make them feel powerless; he craved their terror. He wanted to make them pay for everything they did to his teammates. He wanted them to feel the way they did. He wanted to hear them pray for death. At that point, perhaps Freed would have satisfied them. Though he probably wouldn’t have indulged them.

They deserved it; they had asked for it. They had mistreated his comrades and still had laughed at it. They had enjoyed Fairy Tail’s momentary helplessness. Now it was his turn, and it was right. And if that wasn’t right, Freed didn’t care. It was he who made the rules.

Freed walked down the corridor going out into the fresh air and closing off the screams with the door behind him. He almost wanted to stay there and listen to them longer, but he knew that if he did, he'd seriously risk going mad and giving in to his dark side. And as much as he enjoyed having that dark power, he knew it was best not to go too far.

He walked away and entered the woods, passing all the trees in the shadows of the night and reaching the small stream near Magnolia. He sat down on the ground and looked at the water in front of him.

He didn’t want to get carried away by rage or fury, but he was far too happy to hear those screams. And even though he could no longer hear them now, just knowing that those men were still suffering filled him with a terrifying joy. He knew he would have to let them go sooner or later. He had to do it, fearing his sanity would disappear with each scream.

He heard footsteps behind him and then a voice.

“Are they still in there?” Laxus asked as he sat down behind him and wrapped him in a hug, pulling Freed against him and resting his head against his chest.

“Yes,” Freed said. “They were already begging,” he said with a sadistic smile and felt Laxus’ arms squeeze him even more. Freed felt himself returning to reality and realized what he had said and in what tone. “Sorry, I sound like a monster.” He knew that Laxus avoided gratuitous violence. He could kill someone or fight them if he was pissed off, but torture wasn’t his style. God, he must have found Freed awful. His stomach sunk at the thoughts, but still, Laxus’s proximity helped him. The blond rested his chin on his shoulder.

“I knew who you were from the moment I met you,” he said. “And I never thought you were a monster, you know.”

“I know,” Freed agreed softly. It still seemed strange to him, but it was true. Laxus had never been afraid of him, and he had seen some terrible things.

“Don’t keep them in there any longer,” Laxus murmured, leaving him a kiss on the neck.

“They deserve it,” Freed objected.

“Yes,” Laxus agreed. “But you don’t, and I’d rather you stay with me.”

Freed didn’t answer, knowing what Laxus meant. And he was right, he didn’t have to give up. He could have fun, but without completely abandoning himself. He closed his eyes and leaned completely on Laxus, who was now holding him in a loving embrace that Freed probably didn’t deserve. Even that didn’t interest him. Laxus loved him, Freed loved him, and that was one of the few pure things in Freed’s life. He wouldn’t let him go.

“You know Laxus,” Freed said after a while, placing his hand on Laxus’s and stroking it slowly. “Sometimes I like to be a monster”.

#fraxus #freed x laxus #freed justine #laxus dreyar #fanfiction

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plush-rabbit · 3 years

Text

Sugar and Spice

Word Count: 2K

A/N: This is set after he passes the gym to Marnie:P I hope that you enjoyed it!! Im sorry for it being so late!! Also, since sunday was a lot,, pokemon related things will go on ao3 like tomorrow!!

Piers is a rather intimidating person. He’s tall and wears dark clothing, a certain look of disdain on his features to anyone who looks upon him. He won’t necessarily be rude to people but he has a rather flippant personality that makes it hard for people to approach him first.

You on the other hand, you try to meet him. You may not enjoy his type of music, but you do try to approach him, wanting to attend his concerts or even just listening to some of his earlier music that is different from the way he sings now. It’s softer, harsh lyrics that are whispered into your ear accompanied by static due to the low quality of the mic but you enjoy it.

Truth be told, he inspired you to start your own musical journey. Different from his genre obviously, but still. It was easy to write the music, to let the flow seep into you and sing with a lonely voice and cute look. If he could keep his dark, gloomy aesthetic, then you could keep your pastel, cheery one.

Yet, despite the hopeful encounter that you wish you could have had with him, ended horribly. He hadn’t exactly called you anything mean and while you were aware of the tone he held, it certainly didn’t prepare you to be on the receiving end of it. It was a heavy feeling that it left, an unmistakable uneasiness that made you squirm and want to leave.

And yet, you still hold a strong admiration to him. You still want to meet him and go against him in a battle even if it isn’t his strongest suit just for the fact that you believe like everyone else that a battle is what people go against, what they put all their might into and see how they can prevail at the end of it. You wanted to see the light in his eyes up close and see how he would fight.

You’re everything opposite to Piers. Where he dresses in dark clothing and has a rather cold demeanor, you dress in soft colors and try to appear friendly to others, often accompanied by your team of fairy and mostly pink colored pokémon. You spent a good portion of your youth hating pink, wanting to go against gender norms but as you grew older, you fell in love with the color and the frills, wanting to be dressed in a cute way that while others may have seen as overbearing, you just liked it and it made you happy. Where as he sang metal and rock, you stuck with pop, you wore your dresses and had even jokingly called the type of music you sang “bubblegum pop”, no real reason behind it- agains, it just made you happy to call it. Despite the differences, you greatly admired the ex- gym leader. He had been able to hold his own in a town that was failing- no fault on his of course- and had been a caring brother from what you have seen. He was an admirable person and while the music he made wasn’t exactly your taste, you could learn to enjoy it.

However, due to your rising fame and the type advantage against him, people around the region- who knew of both of you- had begun to jokingly call the two of you rivals, wanting to see you both battle it out and see who would reign above the other. And while you would have happily accepted the chance to meet Piers, a trainer you strongly admired, he had only sneered at the idea of you and him having a battle. To say it hurt would be an understatement. He’s a personal inspiration and to have him act that way to the mere mention of you left you deflated.

It’s a mere accident that you both are in the same area. Mentions of him of you are sprinkled into your notifications, buildings that match in the background and while you aren’t proud of it, you take to following the buildings and the threads. You walk around, your white tennis skirt paired with a soft, baby blue pullover and pair or white tennis shoes, an obvious giveaway to who you are, a yellow star shaped bag that crosses over your chest, and a bow with trailing ribbons falling and curving around your shoulders, tickling at your neck with every step until you finally seem to be in a surrounding area that he was last seen at. While it left you with an odd taste, you wanted to run into him and express your admiration for him- just for a quick second, to tell him how much you liked the music he put out and how he stuck with the aesthetic- you could understand how expensive it could be to stick with something as money-consuming as clothing.

You find him by accident. It’s a completely stereotypical moment when you do. You both stand at the opposite ends of the fountain decorated with carvings of various water types from the region, the sun shines and you can see in front of you with his sister and the rising champions. You hold onto the straps of your bag, your lips pulling into a flustered line, heat that rises from excitement or general shyness- you aren’t sure yet, and you stare at him with wide eyes. In the pockets of your skirt, you can feel your phone buzz and in the corner of your eyes, you can see people hurriedly take out their phones. And just like that, the serene, very stereotypical moment is over when he turns around and your eyes meet. Where you widen and flush under his gaze, he hardens his stare and grows an annoyed look, brows furrowing and lips pulled into a thin line.

Your resolve is broken. You gasp, and look around, seeing people stare and a small circle forming, whether for the both of you or the rising stars of the region, you don’t know and you don’t find out, choosing to leave the area. You jump a bit, standing on the tips of your shoes and you turn to leave.

You don’t want to stick around and see what he might have to say, the thought of the smallest bit of rejection far too much on your mind. You manage to make your way into a bookstore, the scent of coffee lingering in the air and you greet the employees with a tight smile, wandering deeper into the store, hoping to distract yourself and walk between the aisles and find something to buy.

You stand at the end of the store, against a corner as you trail your finger against the spines of the books. In your peripheral, you can spot a figure, standing tall and you pay no mind. There is no real reason for you to worry- you may not look the part, but you can certainly fight dirty and the store isn’t abandoned so you could always call for help. You hum under your breath, pulling out a book and pursing your lips as you read the synopsis. The figure at the end comes closer and you turn, a soft squeak sounds past your lips. You feel yourself stand straighter, your shoulders squaring and the book held close to your chest, fingers gripping onto it tightly, enough to pale your knuckles.

“You ran away,” Piers muses, his fingers trailing along the spines, his steps quiet against the carpet. “You must be really scared of me,” he says, looking away from you, chuckling lightly. He stands in front of you, his brows raising as he looks down at you.

His dual colored hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, a thick part of it obscuring half of his face and you can only do so much to not cower under his gaze, eventually breaking from his eye contact and looking at the top of your shoes that differ from his.

“‘S not that,” you mutter, biting at your bottom lip. “I just… panicked,” you end, licking at your lips. “I- I didn’t mean to offend you.”

You were kidding yourself if you thought you could talk to him. Much less have a battle against him. Once he showed up, your resolve fell, further than it did before when he looked at you. You take a small step back, your shoes shuffling and messing at the carpet underneath, and your eyes still locked on his boots. Just a second ago, you wanted to proclaim your admiration to him, enough to go and see him and find him and yet, here he is standing in front of you without any distractions or prying eyes and you can’t bring yourself to talk to him with faltering.

“You’re a lot jumpier than I expected, ya know?” His reply to you is done with a simple roll of his eyes. “I mean, fuck, I guess it’s expected for a type user like you.” You stay quiet and you can almost hear his smug grin. “Lots of people comment how you’re a pushover because of your, er, type and all.”

You look up at him, your brows furrowed and frown against your lips. You lean towards him, the book still held in your hands. “It’s- So what? I like pink and fairy types! They happen to be cute and they’re strong!” Your voice starts to raise, slowly raising into a higher pitch, shoulders raiing a fraction to meet the ends of your lobes. “Plus, there are a few fairy that have a dark counterpart and Mimikyu is one that I’m going to add to my team!” Your eyes narrow and you pull away from him, crossing your arms in front of you, a scowl on your lips, face growing hot under anger. “I just happen to be,” you make a small noise of discomfort and bite the inside of your cheeks, “quieter.”

He looks taken aback, eyes wide as he blinks owlishly at you. His down turned lips start to twitch, forming into a wicked smile. He snorts and shakes his head, a pleasant sound ringing through the small corner, and you soften, your arms slowly lowering from their harsh grip.

“You got some fire in you, huh?” He asks, tilting his head “Damn, didn’t think you had it in you to actually stand up for yourself like that.” You meet his eyes and he flashes a quick grin that reveals his teeth. “Nothing bad about it, I swear.” he holds his hands up and brushes a hand through his hair. “Anyways-” he waves a hand and you watch it with careful eyes- “you oughta be more careful about who you yell it at, as all I’m gonna say,” he muses.

“Piers?” He hums in response and you swallow nervously. “Wh- Why did you come here?” You don’t want to accuse him of following you here, for all you know it could be a happy, little accident. “And why did you talk to me?”

His milky complexion turns into a bright pink that fills in his cheeks, a flustered look on his face where his eyes narrow. “Oh, hah, I- Marnie needed a book and I-” his hand swings around at a much faster pace, circling around in front of him with an open palm and you react instinctively.

You make a pained gasping noise, the book dropping onto the floor with a thud as your hands come up to block your face, back hunched as you try to cower under the minimal protection that you offer yourself. You whimper and take a stumbling step back that leads you against the wall, your eyes pinched shut and it’s a second too late that you realize you messed up. You gasp and straighten up, an uncomfortable heat running down your back as you meet his eyes.

He stands frozen, his hand still in midair and his eyes are wide, darting down to the book and back to where your hands still hold a semi-protective barrier against him. His eyes turn from shocked into pitiful and you break away from his gaze, mumbling an apology under your breath.

“Shit,” he hisses out, bringing his hands close to his body. “I didn’t mean to trigger you or-”

“It’s not that,” you respond quickly. “I- Can we not talk about it?” You turn to look at him, your bottom lip trembling ever so slightly, your eyes glancing back to the fallen book. “Please?” He nods slowly and you return it in response. You crouch down to grab the book and pull it close to you only to look back at it with disdain. You turn and place the book back into the shelf, your hands coming down to play with the hem of your skirt.

It’s silent. The soft music that plays from the music is not enough to drown the silence between the both of you and you want to chastise yourself for ruining a moment with your fears. Your teeth bite into the soft part of your cheeks, painful and enough to make tears spring into your eyes. In your pocket, your phone buzzes and you fail to pick it up, too frozen to care about the outside world.

“Do you want to get a coffee?” You look up at him and he gives you a hesitant smile. He jerks his chin to the other side, his hands inside his coat pockets. “I was thinking of getting a cup while I was here,” he clears his throat, “I could get you one if you want. We can drink it here too,” he adds quickly.

You give him a tentative smile, slowly pulling yourself away from the wall and taking a step closer to him. “Do you want to look for Marnie’s book first? I don’t- I don’t mind.”

“Right,” he says slowly, “her book. The uh- you know, let me message her to see what the title was, yeah?” He nods his head and moves to the side, jerking his head to allow you to walk in front of him first. “Let’s just get a drink first, all right?” He gives you a nervous smile, laughing quietly with eyes that come to a close. You come to stand next to him, nodding softly, your hands flexing at your sides in an attempt to calm down. “Neat,” he says. “Let’s get a cup

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cherchersketch · 2 years

Text

Sleep

Read on AO3

He closes his eyes, walking aimlessly through the endless universe.

The Spectre is an ethereal spirit, existing since the beginning of time, its power passing from one guardian to the next. Oliver Queen is only one in a long line.

Is he even still human anymore? Or just a resurrected vessel? Another pawn in the background of a never ending battle, between good and evil.

He can’t sleep.

The fight is over. They have prevailed. There will always be more battles to come, but for now, the universe has been remade anew, settling into a moment of peace.

Still, the spirit of the Spectre cannot rest.

He doesn’t even know what it’s waiting for, probably the next battle, no matter how long in the future that may be. He still keeps watch over the multiverse, always alert for any cracks that may appear. He stops all those that he can. Occasionally, there are still villains that slip through, but it’s nothing the other heroes on his original Earth can’t handle.

It would be nice to be able to sleep. Even if he travels to the furthest edge of the galaxy, where no stars shine and the darkness is all-consuming, he still cannot rest. It would be nice, to be able to escape into dreams.

Perhaps in his dreams, he would be able to see his family again.He’s missing so much of their lives. All of Mia’s firsts. William’s growth from awkward teenager to the confident man his younger self managed to meet.

Felicity.

But there is always another enemy, another threat. He cannot bring the battlefield home with him. Not again.

The spectre and the man. Together they wander the ends of the universe. Restless.

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

He opens his eyes to a blinding light.

From above, Felicity’s smiling face greets him, giggling. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Backlit against the rising Sun, she seems almost ethereal. He’s spent centuries wandering but she is still the most beautiful sight he has ever seen.

They are… somewhere. After the excitement of their reunion, he’s been bringing her to view all the nicer corners in the multiverse. Currently, they are in an endless field. The sky is dyed a rosy hue, frozen forever in the midst of sunrise.

“Boring you already, am I?” She teases as he stifles a yawn. Her grin falters though, when he realizes the tears that start to pool are not due to tiredness.

Oliver huffs, twining his fingers through the hand that has been resting over his chest. “I’ve missed this.” He pulls her hand close, brushing a featherlight kiss to the gleaming ring on her finger.

“What?”

He turns up, looking straight into her curious eyes. “Sleeping.”

She blinks, unsure of how to respond. “Oh? Have you not been…”

While he was human, Oliver had always been a light sleeper. Years of always watching his back had trained him to be able to wake up at the sound of a pin drop. And sleep never came as much of a reprieve when he was haunted by nightmares.

“I tried, but I couldn’t. Not since…”

“Maybe your body decided dying was enough sleep for now… oh wow that was bad. That sounded bad right. I guess it’s still too soon to joke about that huh. I don’t mean that I..”

Although it was always entertaining to hear a good old-fashioned babble, and Oliver had missed this so so much, he had also missed this. The way she paused and her breath hitched as he cut her off with a kiss. The quiet sigh as they leaned into each other, one of her hands gently caressing the back of his head, ruffling his hair.

"I was joking you know. You can sleep if you want." Felicity smiles, twining the fingers of their hands together. Their matching wedding rings shine in the pink light.

“I like watching you sleep...but like... not in a creepy way.”

Oliver chuckles, “I know.”

Settling back into a comfortable position, he allows himself to relax. The light may be blinding, but he finds himself falling into a peaceful slumber. At last.

#olicity #olicity fanart #olicity fanfic #CherCher writes stuff #I've just been reading a lot of shoujo lately #so I really wanted to draw a lap scene #also I have many feelings about our boy and sleep

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preciousthingsareprecious · 3 years

Text

Hearts Pounding and Blood Coursing

I am back with yet another D&d week fic! Is everything I write going to be set in Dick as Batman times? Maybe. Maybe. This one certainly is.

Dami Calls Dick “Baba” / First “I love you” / “You’re not my father!” “I am well aware.”

Summary: When Batman goes missing on patrol, it's up to Robin and Batgirl to track him down. Will they fall into the same trap he did, or make it out in one piece?

AO3 Link

The old warehouse looked ready to collapse in on itself any second. Damian wondered why Gotham was so littered with them. He’d told Grayson a hundred times that they needed to do something about them. Wayne Enterprises could surely step in and repair them or rebuild them or do anything to prevent them from becoming hives of villainy as they were wont to do in Gotham.

Grayson. Damian’s chest tightened. Grayson would not be able to talk Lucius into anything if they did not rescue him soon. The stupid man had gone on patrol alone and had not returned. Thus it was up to Batgirl and Robin to rescue him.

“You ready, Baby Bat?”

“Call me that again and I will paint that horrible motorbike of yours a garish shade of orange.” Damian snapped, less focused on coming up with proper revenge threats and more on finding his lost partner.

“Alright, remember the plan, you’ve got the window on the second floor and I’ve got the one on the first. We meet in the middle or wherever we find Batman.”

“I would not forget such a simple plan so soon after making it.” Damian replied, already pressing a gloved hand against the window in question to test it, “Now may we begin? Or would you like to chatter until whoever is inside parades Batman’s dead body out of the front door?”

“No, let’s go.” Brown replied.

Damian nodded, the glass was firm under his palm, not quite as ramshackle as the rest of the building. He slipped a laser cutter out of his belt and ran it across the edges of the window, and let it fall backwards into his palm.

“And Robin?” Brown added, as Damian was setting the glass aside, “Batman’s going to be just fine, okay?”

“Tt.” Damian responded, then added a quick, “I know. He will.” as if to convince himself of the fact as well.

He climbed in the window and dropped quietly into the building. Damian found himself in what looked like an office. An old desk stood off balance, titled down on a broken leg. Papers and overturned file cabinets took up most of the rest of the room, with huge windows that looked out over onto the warehouse floor below.

Damian slipped out of the door and into the hallway beyond it. He flicked a flashlight on to illuminate the dark interior and crept through, ears perked up for any sounds.

The whole building smelled of dust and mildew, and something else that was sharp and sour. Around him, the walls were covered in ancient cracked paint that might have once been white, but now looked more yellow than anything under the beam of the flashlight. Cracked and broken picture frames featuring staff, products, and some construction site Damian couldn’t recognize decorated the walls, and floor where some had fallen.

An eerie unsettled feeling crept it’s way into Damian’s head, tingling from the back to the front like cobwebs. He spun on his heel, the flashlight swinging wildly first behind him, then up to the ceiling to check for the source of the feeling.

Nothing. He was alone.

Slightly abashed, but still feeling odd, Damian turned again to continue down the hall. The feeling only seemed to increase as he walked. No doors presented themselves at first, which was strange. This building should have a number of offices in it.

Damian thought back to the blueprints he and Brown had analyzed a few hours earlier. Grayson had left them open on the Batcomputer. Their one big clue to where he’d gone.

There was one section of the building with a longer hall than others, but Damian had thought he hadn’t come in that way. Had he already gotten turned around? That quite simply wasn’t possible. He’d only been moving for a few minutes.

He slowed his pace, flashlight swinging from wall to wall as he carefully examined each one. No doors still. So he must have come in the other way. Perhaps his fretting over Grayson had caused the error. Mother had not been entirely incorrect in her assumption that feelings for another caused problems.

Still, Damian had decided that he was willing to fail a little more if it meant keeping Grayson in his life.

The further into the building Damian moved the worse it smelled. The sour, acrid, scent that had been mostly hidden under mold and disuse gradually became the prevailing one. Damian scrunched his nose at it, and tried to figure out where he knew it from. It tickled his memory, like something he should know and made the hair on his arms raise.

So far, he had heard nothing from Batgirl. Though, that was a good sign. They had decided to keep the comms silent until they found something or needed immediate assistance. They had no idea what Batman had run into in this warehouse, nor how he had been taken down. It was best not to draw too much attention to ones self, and wasting time with pointless updates or incessant chatter would be just that.

He could have sworn he��d seen the same picture of the construction site three times now. But, no he was probably just seeing things. Mistaking the weird old building and land for something else in the dim light.

With every step that unsettling feeling grew stronger, until at last, he came across a door.

Damian should have been relieved seeing it, but the anxious feeling only grew as he reached out to turn the knob.

Slowly he eased the door open, and peered into the room, listening for any sounds of occupation. When no lights flared on or voices sounded he took a step into the room.

The smell here was far worse than it had been in the hallway, as if something inside were the source of it. Damian gulped back bile and stepped further inside, his flashlight held ahead of him like a shield.

As he did so, the world swayed sideways. Damian blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the room still seemed skewed to the side.

He took another step forward and all at once the memory of the smell hit him. Fear toxin. Not as strong or as tick as he was used to, and still masked with unknown notes but Crane’s toxin all the same.

He reached up to alert Brown of the situation and tapped the comm unit in his ear, comforted by the fact that the usual hum of connection reached his ear.

Before he could say a word though, something cracked against the back of his skull and his world went black.

When Damian came to, it was slow and plagued by shadows cast over everything from the back of his eyelids to the ceiling above him. He blinked at the ancient popcorned paint and yelped as all at once it seemed to morph into staves, razor sharp and now raining down on him.

Damian shot up from where he lay, and found himself not impaled by a hundred sharpened stalactites of paint but simply faced with a throbbing headache and hands bound in front of him.

He sat, just breathing for a few moments and staring down at the cuffs and his gloves. After a moment the nightmare faded, but left that same lingering uncomfortable feeling he’d gotten on entering the hallway. Fear, he now recognized it as, not the overwhelming fear Crane’s toxins were best known for, but something more subtle. Like waiting on the jump scare in a movie.

The room didn’t smell of the toxin, and Damian assumed what he was feeling was lingering effects from what he’d breathed in earlier, and not a new dose.

The lighting in the room was provided by a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling which Damian glared at. Of course Crane would be so predictable as to make the room he’d been placed in creepy in the most cliched of ways.

His gaze travelled down from it and across the mostly bare room. More yellowed walls, cracked with age, and decorated with dreary photos resided here. And then there was—

“Batman.” Damian breathed.

Grayson lay in a crumpled heap in the center of the room. Damian had been dropped in at the back, either before his brother had been returned or Crane had purposely carried him over the unconscious body of his partner. And Grayson had better only be unconscious or Crane would feel Damian’s wrath unleashed fully against him without hesitation.

Damian scoffed at the flimsy cuffs Crane had put on him and picked the lock quickly. The villain had not even bothered to attempt to remove Damian’s belt or other gear.

Soon he was up on unsteady legs, much to his displeasure, and then taking the few strides needed to reach his Batman.

He crouched beside him and began his examination of his partner. The first thing he noticed was the rise and fall of Grayson’s chest. Then his eyes caught sight of the variety of bruises coloring his chin, how his lips were split and swollen, and the various rips and tears littering the Batsuit. One lense of his cowl was broken out and Damian could see another ugly black bruise over his closed eye.

Crane had not wasted a moment with Batman it seemed. Something he would pay for if Damian had the opportunity to avenge Grayson. But first, he needed to get his brother out of here and inform Brown of the true danger lurking in the warehouse.

This time when he activated his comms no one bashed him over the head.

“Batgirl.” He said, keeping his voice low, “Scarecrow is here. He has incapacitated Batman and locked us in a room together. I will do my best to get him out, but I would do better with your assistance.”

As much as he despised asking for help, Damian was not a fool. He could not both carry Grayson and defend him if Crane returned. Batgirl’s backup would be key in them all getting out of there alive, and in potentially apprehending Crane.

“I will be right back.” Damian promised Grayson, then stood.

There was only one door in the room, and Damian moved towards it. He was careful in his examination, wary both of traps and his mind playing tricks on him. He was far too lucid for the earlier gas to have been pure fear toxin, but he could not discount it having lingering effects beyond what he had experienced waking up.

He tried not to wonder if any of this was real or fake. He was sure now he’d imagined the hallway being longer than it was. If that was false, what else might he be seeing that was a lie? What if he was hallucinating his Batman being there, beaten and bruised? What if something worse lingering outside the door?

What made it worse, was the fact that with Crane lurking it was highly likely a nightmare was waiting for them, real or imagined.

It didn’t matter. Damian couldn’t be frozen by what ifs. His Batman was hurt and needed him. Grayson needed him to act like this was real and keep moving.

The door was not locked. Of course it wasn’t. This trap was turning into an even deeper trap with every minute longer they stayed. It made the fear in his chest twist into dread. A cold sharp worry right between his ribs.

Damian swung the door open right into more darkness. He growled, this was getting ridiculous. The one thing he no longer had on him was his flashlight, dropped when he’d been foolish enough to get knocked out.

Fine, he had other light sources he could work with. And if he had to walk in the dark he would. Brown was surely on her way, even if she had not responded to him yet.

He turned back to Grayson to crouch beside his brother.

“Batman?” Damian prompted, shaking Grayson’s shoulder gently, “I would much prefer it if you were mildly conscious and were not complete dead weight.”

He prayed that the Grayson who woke up was both sensible and toxin free. It was a hope he thought might be in vain, but based on his own experience with Crane’s toxin tonight the man seemed to be testing a new strain. It seemed less all encompassing and more designed to disorient and instill a quiet, constant, fear of a more general nature.

His brother groaned.

“That’s it.”

Damian’s encouragement seemed to help drag Grayson back to the surface. So much that he watched a bleary blue eye blink open through the shattered cowl lense. Grayson’s eye was bloodshot, but his iris looked normal. Well, normal enough for a possibly concussed, probably drugged, and definitely beaten, Batman.

“Come on Batman, we need to go.” Damian said, tugging at one of Grayson’s arms.

His brother mumbled something incoherent, but allowed himself to be dragged up from where he’d been curled. It took some effort, but eventually Damian had Grayson awkwardly positioned over his back like some kind of kevlar covered sloth. One arm draped over Damian’s shoulder, fingers brushing against his uniform, with the other was held tightly in Damian’s hand.

He tapped his R insignia to light it up. The beam was pathetic compared to his flashlight, but it was all he had right now unless he wanted to waste time searching Batman’s belt for a flashlight that might or might not be there.

On Damian’s first step forward, Grayson seemed to be putting in some effort to push himself with his feet. By the time they made it out the door, and took a random left down the hallway, he was already flagging.

Damian grit his teeth and bit back a complaint. Even this situation was better than the alternative. Damian would drag Grayson for miles over dealing with him under the influence of fear toxin the way it normally worked.

He hefted Grayson a little higher against his back from where he’d slipped. His brother’s chin rested on his shoulder, and Damian could feel his breath against his neck. He felt Grayson’s breath pick up, as he stirred back to wakefulness.

“What’re we doing?” he asked, voice thick with exhaustion.

“We are escaping a trap you fell into.” Damian explained.

Grayson tried to pull away, “S’not safe. You have to go.”

He was thrashing now, so much so Damian had to stop moving forward just to keep him held up.

“Stop fighting me and we will! If we do not keep moving we will be in even more danger--idiot!”

Grayson had thrown himself off Damian’s back, and thumped against the floor with an oof. After a moment he flipped over to look up at Damian, a deep frown on his lips.

“Batman!” Damian snapped, then realized, that perhaps he had been wrong in his assumption that Grayson was not dealing with toxin effects.

He was a fool. He should have given Grayson a shot of the anti-toxin the moment he found him.

“Calm down.” Damian said, lowering his voice to something soothing, “You are injured and drugged, and if you do not listen you may hurt yourself worse.”

Grayson pushed himself up on his palms, wincing, “You need to leave, Scarecrow is here and he’s after Batman.”

He nodded, kneeling beside Grayson, “I know. You need to let me give you a dose of the anti-toxin, and then we are leaving.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Damian blinked at him, surprised by the sudden petulance in Grayson’s voice. It sounded a bit like Drake when he was disagreeing with Grayson.

Careful, Damian slipped a vial of anti-toxin out of his belt, and popped off the lid. He held it out so Grayson could see it.

“Okay. I am not telling you what to do, simply asking. Will you let me give you this? It will help you feel better.”

Grayson shook his head, lips going from a frown into a pucker. Is this how everyone felt when Damian was being difficult? He would have to keep that in mind in the future. Grayson was a saint for putting up with his antics longer than the ten seconds Damian had been dealing with Grayson’s.

“Listen. We need to get moving. If we stay here much longer we’re going to get caught. You need to let me do this.”

Damian reached out to take Grayson’s arm. He was just about to press the syringe between a tear in the uniform when Grayson yanked his arm back.

“You’re not my father!” He shouted, sounding almost just like Damian had heard himself sound a hundred times when he’d still been wary of his brother.

“I am well aware.” Damian frowned, furrowing his brow.

It felt very strange to him to imagine Grayson seeing Father in Damian. It was a complicated feeling that made his chest feel tight like he was about to cry. It was also something he could not linger on for long. Grayson was not in his right mind, and every moment they sat there on the floor was another moment Crane could find them in.

More than that, it was frightening. A word Damian did not use often or lightly. Seeing Grayson like this was...wrong. Grayson should not be childish. He should not be so confused he saw Father in Damian. For one they were nowhere near the same height. For the other, well, Damian did not think himself worthy of being compared that closely with his Father yet. Perhaps ever.

But it was more unsettling to see Grayson so helpless. So disarmed by this drug in his system. Damian did not like it, and he wished to right this wrong as soon as possible. He resolved himself to get the anti-toxin into Grayson’s veins now, no matter how the man fought him.

Of course, that’s when he heard it. The creek of a footstep on the wood paneling in front of him.

“Stay down.” Damian said, standing, then added, “Please.”

He didn’t wait for Grayson to respond. Instead he spun on his heel, trading the syringe in his hand for a batarang.

A few feet before him, Crane stopped in his tracks. Even illuminated by Damian's dim light he could see the man wore his typical scarecrow mask, and carried a scythe in between his palms.

“Hello, Little Bird.” Crane sang, “I see you found your bat.”

“Tt. He was not hard to miss.” Damian said, bracing himself.

Crane hefted the scythe, pointing it towards them, “Of course. I was hoping you’d be a little more impacted by the sight and not run off so quickly. You’re a hard bird to frighten. Do you know how much toxin I pumped into that hallway earlier?”

Damian shrugged, “I don’t care. In fact, I’ve had enough of your blabbering.”

He threw one then two batarangs at Crane watching the man deflect one with the scythe, and dodge the other.

Crane tsked him, stalking forward. “Not so fast, Bird Boy. I have a bone to pick with your mentor first.”

“No.” Damian growled, brandishing a third batarang in his hands, “Keep moving and I will end you.”

“Doubtful.” Crane said, his mask pulling up into a smirk, “Bats don’t kill.”

“Batman doesn’t kill.” Damian corrected him, “You touch him again and I will not hesitate to take you down.”

Crane chuckled, and took a step forward, only to yelp, then jerk as if he were being shocked. When he collapsed forward, Damian saw the source of his sudden strangeness. Batgirl stood, taser held forward, a blinding grin on her face.

“I had it covered!” Damian protested.

“You’re welcome.” she said, already moving to zip tie Scarecrow.

“Tt.” Damian said, and opened his mouth to argue further, but was stopped by a hand on his ankle.

“Damian?”

He turned, and found Grayson leaned forward just enough he could grab Damian. He was looking confused, and concerned mouth turned down and eye worried. Damian’s heart skipped a beat. Grayson had heard him say he’d kill Crane. Damian would not break his promise, not with Grayson safely behind him, but he’d also been furious with Crane and ready to defend his Batman however he needed to.

Dread pooled in his stomach. What if Grayson thought Damian serious? What if he--He did not have time to worry about that right now. They needed to get him home and taken care of. Batman’s health was his priority, not how he viewed Damian.

“It’s alright.” Damian said, voice dropping back to a careful softness he hoped would soothe an toxin induced reactions, “We are leaving.”

Damian knelt again by Grayson’s side, and began the process of trying to help him up. Thankfully, Brown was here. Once she’d finished with Crane, she added her own strength to Grayson’s other side, and together they carried him out of there.

The exit was surprisingly close, and soon Damian was settled in the back of the Batmobile beside his Batman. While Brown drove, Damian held Grayson's hand and did his best to explain the rescue to his brother. At some point, however, Grayson passed out again, tilted over, and against Damian. It was not an unpleasant feeling being the one Grayson trusted enough to fall asleep against.

Pennyworth took over when they got home, and Grayson was, mercifully, mostly fine. Bruised, battered, and unconscious, but he’d be fine. That knowledge eased some of the tension in Damian’s chest.

Both Grayson and Damian received doses of anti-toxin. The way it almost immediately started to make Damian feel better hinted that he'd been more effected than he'd first assumed. Damian would never voice it, but he was grateful for Brown's save. He wasn't sure how well he would have done in a true fight against Crane in that cramped hallway.

He showered quickly then planted himself at Grayson’s side, ignoring Pennyworth’s suggestion that he should lay down and rest his own bruised head while he waited for the anti-toxin to completely remove the lingering feelings of fear in his system. Sitting was just as good as laying, and this way he could keep an eye on his brother. Brown offered to stay, but Damian waved her upstairs along with Pennyworth. He’d be fine keeping an eye on Grayson, while they moved for a cup of victory cocoa, or tea in Pennyworth’s case.

There was no victory for Damian tonight. Not until his brother woke up and he knew he was fine.

Even being home, and not in the middle of some wild trap, Damian still couldn’t get over Grayson being so vulnerable. It was wrong. His Batman could be an idiot, but he was also competent and strong and worthy of respect. He was not helpless or so confused he viewed a child as Batman.

So Damian held vigil.

He played on his phone, opening up a mindless game he could pass the time with while still being able to keep one eye on his brother. Unfortunately, Damian ended up getting kind of wrapped up in a particularly hard level. It took a solid ten minutes for him to clear it, and when he looked up again it was into bright blue eyes, totally aware of where they were and who they were watching. Damian’s cheeks flushed.

“Grayson.” he said, dropping his phone into his lap and straightening.

As he did, his phone slipped off his thigh and smacked onto the floor with a loud thump. Damian stared down at it for a moment, briefly considering leaning down to pick it up. Instead he planted his fists in his lap and looked back up at Grayson.

“I am glad to see you have awoken.”

His brother’s lips quirked into a wry smile, “You would have seen a bit earlier if you hadn’t been so focused on, Candy Crush?”

“Angry Birds.” Damian muttered, cheeks still hot.

He leaned forward to examine his brother. He couldn’t say Grayson looked too much better, but the split skin on his forehead was cleaned and closed with a butterfly bandage, and his lips were looking less swollen. His expression, happy and open is what was truly improved.

“You are looking better.” he said, “I’m glad.”

“I’m feeling better.” Grayson responded, “Wanna give me a run down of what happened? My memory is spotty at best.”

Damian kicked his feet up onto the bar on the bottom of his chair, “When you did not return by morning Brown and I began to make a plan for your rescue.”

Grayson nodded, “You found me?”

If his cheeks were not already red they would have blushed again, he shook his head, “Crane got the drop on me. I am not sure what he was planning, however it seems my intent on getting you out upset his plans.”

“We were moving down a hallway--” Grayson stopped, his eyes widening, “Oh, Dames I’m sorry. I was the worst wasn’t I?”

Damian tilted his head, “What do you mean?”

“I kept seeing Bruce, and for some reason I was mad at him.” Grayson ran his hand through his hair, “That was you, right?”

“You were not too much trouble.” Damian shrugged, “In fact you may have helped prevent Crane successfully sneaking up on us again. In the end, Brown saved us both.”

He wanted to ask if Grayson remembered the actual confrontation, but at the same time Damian was not sure he wanted to know. He almost squirmed, but held back. Robin did not squirm.

“Thanks for coming after me.” Grayson said, reaching a hand out to Damian.

After a moment, Damian took it.

“I am glad you are okay.” he said, “I--did not like seeing you injured.”

“I bet. You sounded pretty angry.”

Damian wasn’t sure how to respond. He tapped his heel on the wood under his foot.

Grayson squeezed his hand, “It was sweet, you threatening him.”

“You--” Damian spoke before he thought about it.

“I?”

He swallowed, “You did not think I was serious, right?”

“You promised me you wouldn’t kill, right? I believed you then, and now.”

Damian nodded, “Of course. He should not have hurt you.” he added, again losing the words before he thought about them.

Grayson slipped his hand out of Damian’s to reach up and brush it through Damian’s hair.

“You either.”

“Tt, do not be so sentimental. It is foolish.”

There was that smile again, “I think I have the right to be sentimental. My baby brother and basically little sister came running to my rescue.”

Grayson reached for Damian’s hands with both of his, “In fact, I’ll be a little more sentimental.” he pulled Damian forward, “Join me? I’m tired and I don’t want to be alone. Plus I doubt Alfred’s going to let me trek upstairs until at least tomorrow.”

Damian rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to be tugged forward, “Fine.” he relented, “but only because Robin must make sure Batman rests properly.”

#dickanddamiweek2021 #Dick Grayson #Damian Wayne #Stephanie Brown #hurt/comfort #canon typical violence #fear toxin #scarecrow is here for like 2.1 seconds #precious posts

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dani-escribe · 3 years

Text

Serendipity

Chapter 2 - A Place To Call Home

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F! Reader

Wordcount: 1,771

Summary: How a Friday night with plans, turns into something a little more eventful.

Warnings: A little bit of talk about the struggles of parents with kids in the hospital.

A/N: Hi loves! Here is the second chapter of the series. I was honestly giggling the entire time I was writing this and I hope you will too while reading it! Once again a huge thank you to @lowlights @fastandfeminist and @wbl75 for being my beta readers and for all of their help! Hope you like it! :)

Read here on ao3

Things at your job had been going amazing. Going in with the coffees had seemed to be a great idea and had worked like a charm. The other nurses were incredibly welcoming and your patients, while a little fussy, had just been the cutest kids imaginable. As a celebration of your arrival at the hospital, and as a way to get to know you a bit better when you weren't running from one place to the other, the other nurses had invited you for a night out on Friday. You figured it would probably be a good idea to get a drink down at the local bars or to go out dancing, and you were excited to get to know the nightlife around the city. Going to school didn't really leave you with much time to go out and explore. Also living with your parents had kind of restricted the number of nights of crazy fun, movie nights with them not being included in this description. You honestly hadn’t minded living with them because you were so close, but it was nice to get out once in a while.

It was finally Friday and looking at your wardrobe you decided to go with a simple black satin dress. The snugness of it did wonders to show off your curves, which were usually comfortably hidden behind the scrubs that you wore everyday. It was long enough to not be uncomfortable while dancing, but short enough to make a nun blush. The straps of it were thin, which complimented the V-neck plunge that showed just the right amount of cleavage. Paired with some black heels and gold jewelry you were pleased to see you could still look put together after the week at the hospital. Running around chasing three year olds and dealing with helicopter parents could sometimes make you forget that you were young and didn't always look totally disheveled.

As you got ready you started to think about the families that you worked with, which led to you thinking about if you ever wanted to have a bond as strong as those couples do with someone. In your line of work you had seen many incredible couples go through some of the most awful things imaginable with their families, but it always impressed you how their love prevailed despite their circumstances. Having any loved one be in pain is like the worst type of torture imaginable, but having it be your child, well there are just no words to describe that. This is why it amazed you how these parents were able to care for their child and one another in some of the most difficult times in their lives. You figured it was because of how much trust they put in one another, and how they were always there to hold each other up.

It must be so incredible to have someone to rely on, it’s something you hadn't really had in the past couple of years in terms of partners. This got you thinking about Marcus, which had really been all you could think about since you totally obliterated his tie and shirt in the diner. You wondered what he might be doing tonight. He could be hanging around the art museum working on a case while wearing one of those tailored suits, or maybe he would be back at the diner reading a book in a tight gray t-shirt that hugged his arms just right. He seemed like the type of man who would wear glasses while sitting in a booth, reading alone, someplace where the lighting makes him look like he’s right out of a painting.

You shook those thoughts out of your head with a gasp when you almost smeared red lipstick all over your cheek due to daydreaming about him. You had known the man for less than a week and you were already coming up with increasingly unrealistic scenarios about him. Looking at the clock you shot to your feet and started to panic, noticing that you were almost late to the meet up.

Grabbing your purse and checking yourself out one last time, you sprinted out the door and headed for the stairs. You were almost out of your apartment building when you collided with someone coming in.

An audible “ufff” came from the man that you almost ran over and you looked up to apologize for casually slamming into him. Your words stopped short when you saw those honey brown eyes staring down at you again.

“Marcus?!?” You exhaled with a gasp, half catching your breath and half losing it from the surprise that you were seeing him once again.

“We really have to stop running into each other like this” He said with a deep chuckle as his expression gave way to the amazement you both appeared to be feeling.

You let out a short laugh. “Yeah I really have to stop using body slamming into someone as a conversation starter.”

As he laughed you could tell he realized how different you looked from the other times he saw you, and as hard as he tried to hide it you could tell that he was checking you out. Not that you looked totally shabby in your scrubs, but this was definitely a step up from your “just woken up” Monday look.

“Wow, I uhh… you- you look really … dressed up. Not that you weren’t before, I just meant that you look like you're going out, not out like at the museum, like out … at night … with people. Which is great because it's night and-” The tips of his ears reddened as he continued to try and finish his sentence.

“No worries Marcus, I got what you meant.” You giggled at his cheeks suddenly flushing with a pink tint. “You’re actually right, I’m headed out to go to a bar or dancing, I-I’m not quite sure what the plan is if I’m being honest.” At this moment you realized how dangerously close your hands were to his strong chest from when you braced yourself on the impact of crashing into him.

“Oh right,” his smile seemed to falter a bit. Marcus added as he moved a few centimeters back as if to not crowd your space. “Well I hope you have fun, uh... they’re very lucky.” He added with a sweet but sad smile.

Now it was your turn to blush. “Oh no, it's nothing like that. I got invited by some co-workers to go out since it was my first week on the job so … yeah, not really with anyone at the moment.” You fidgeted with your hands now that there was a little more space between you.

He leaned his arm on the doorframe above you taking back the space he had left empty, as he seemed to perk up a bit at your response. His pause gave you enough time to think about the fact that you had just run into him in your apartment lobby, which raised your question, "So what are you doing around here?”

“Well I live here, just on the third floor actually,” he pointed upwards with a smile.

Your eyes widened at his response. “Wait really? I live on the third floor,” you exclaimed with a bit of amusement.

“Well then I guess we're going to get a lot more opportunities to run into one another.” He let out a chuckle. “I live in 302 if you ever need anything or want to save me from wearing any other terrible ties.”

Laughing at his joke you thought this honestly couldn’t get any better, “I live in 303, so I believe we’re next door neighbors then.” You mentioned as you leaned your head to the side. “I think I actually knocked on your door a few days ago to introduce myself but I guess there’s no need for an introduction now.” A small puff of air left you as you laughed about the coincidence of your current situation. “I’m actually surprised this is the first time I've run into you, I guess work keeps you busy huh?”

“Yeah, I've been staying at the office the past couple of nights because of a case but it got wrapped up today so I should be able to be here a bit more now. Believe it or not there were some guys living in that apartment before you that used to have a band and they kept me up some nights. So I guess I can finally go to sleep now at a reasonable hour, that is of course unless you’re some kind of rock legend that I’m unaware of?” His eyes crinkled in what you swore was the most adorable yet totally sexy smile.

“Nope, I’m completely rockless. Unless you count playing the piano unsuccessfully for a year in elementary school, then I think you’re good.” Heavens, he smelled so good. Your proximity to him allowed you to notice the soft undertones of amber and clean linen that made up his cologne. Not that you were trying to smell him, because that would be a little creepy, but it's like he was just starting to take over all of your senses.

“Ah I don't know there are many child prodigies who decide to go back and hone their craft in adulthood or so I’ve heard in a podcast” You both laughed and looked at each other for a moment before a buzzing in your purse brought you back to reality

“I should let you get back to your night.” He said politely, trying to not take up more of your time than he already had.

You had been so caught up in him that you totally forgot that there was a reason you were headed out the door. “Yeah they're probably wondering where I am,” you sighed. “ Well I guess I’ll be seeing more of you?” Your voice had an optimistic tone to it now that the probability of seeing him seemed increasingly possible.

“You can count on it.” He winked and you felt the temperature of the room rise.

He opened the door for you like a gentleman and you let out a small thanks before heading out the building. Despite the gusts of wind your skin prickled with warmth from your interaction with him, and you felt a shiver creeping up your spine. As you walked into the cool night air you could feel his eyes on your figure, and you would be lying if you said that there wasn't a bit of extra swing in your hips just for him.

Taglist:

@klara-luise18 @farfromjustordinary @noz4a2

#Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fic #marcus pike x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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sammystep · 3 years

Text

No One Lives Forever- CH13

(AO3 link)

Stardust Crusader Wolf Pack AU

[From the beginning- CH1]

New York streets are busy at any time of day and more so this early in the morning, people rushing their way down the street to get to work. Avdol and Joseph took a more sedated pace, letting the stream of humans flow around them like the torrents of a river. The walk to Avdol’s family’s shop was a fair distance from the new apartment but the act of patrolling around the new territory had a calming effect on their instincts. And since there was no real rush, why not enjoy the feeling for a bit?

Avdol’s tests and research the night before had revealed there were no active spells placed upon the pack, but faint magic residue was definitely attached to Joseph and Jotaro. It explained the frequent encounters and led Avdol to believe this was indeed being orchestrated by someone with a grudge against the Joestar line. The spell work was too faded to trace back to the caster, but with some specialized tools from the occult shop they could ward themselves from future spells.

“I still wish we had you examine that hunter from upstate. Maybe you could have traced the magic sooner.” Joseph grumbles as he puts his hands in his jacket pockets and sulks as they walk.

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t have done much good. I’d still be lacking the tools I need. After all, we weren’t expecting to encounter anyone, much less magic users.” Avdol does his best to reassure the older alpha, reverting back to their rolls of alpha and beta from before Jotaro was named leader of the pack. Joseph grumbles a bit more but lets the issue go, relaxing slightly as they continue their walk.

Avdol’s pace quickens slightly as the shop comes into view as they round the last corner. The occult shop occupied a narrow business space at street level, only a single door and large window with the words ‘OCCULT SUPPLIES * TAROT READINGS * WALK-INS WELCOME’ in gold font painted on the glass. Arrays of crystals, decorative knives and card decks lay just behind the glass on display to entice visitors to enter.

A bell attached to the door jingles pleasantly as they enter. From the back of the shop an older female voice calls, “Make yourself comfortable Muhammad, we’ll be out in just a moment!”

Joseph blinks in astonishment before catching Avdol’s smirk as they seat themselves at the reading table. He nods as he laughs a bit, “Right, fortune teller. She always catches me off guard with that. I’m not used to being on the other end of that trick.”

“You know by now it’s no trick Joseph.” An older black woman exits the back room of the store with the help of her cane. Her hair is styled into braids forming a bun on the top of her head, once black hair now mostly grey and silver. He half moon glasses are decorated with a beaded chain that clinks together with her jewelry as she moves.

Joseph just laughs “Well it is a trick when I do it Mrs. Avdol. I assume you know why we’re here then?” She nods and takes her seat at the table.

“My sight has shown me many things in the last few weeks. Your pack has encountered many bizarre things these past few days, correct?” Her kind brown eyes are serious as she looks at Joseph, waiting for his response.

He confirms with a nod and attempts to lighten the mood with a grin as he turns to Avdol, “How did you ever surprise her with birthday gifts?”

“Just because I’m not surprised does not mean I’m not happy, especially to see my only son.” Mrs. Avdol teasingly pinches her son’s cheek as he laughs with her.

“Mother, please!” Avdol brushes off her pinching fingers, “You act as thought I don’t visit!” he gives her hand a squeeze as she takes it back to rest both on the table.

The grandfather clock in the shop chimes 9 o’clock as Avdol’s father enters with a tray of coffee. “Right on time as always dear. Have you started the reading yet?” Mr. Avdol asks as he hands out the beverages.

“How could I concentrate on that if I know there was coffee on the way?” She grins and cackles as her husband takes his seat as well. “Thank you honey. Now…” Mrs. Avdol pulls a box from a nearby drawer and opens it revealing a deck of cards. “Before we get to the reason for your visit, first things first, the reading of your cards.” She slides the deck across the table face down to Joseph and Avdol. “Place your hands on top and we’ll see what fate has in store for you.” They both do as instructed and Joseph swears he gets a tingle in his fingers every time he does this.

“Good. As always, we start with the past, so we understand the context of the present and future.” Mrs. Avdol shuffles the deck a bit before spreading them in an arch on the table and indicating to her son. “Three cards please, Muhammad.”

One by one Avdol turns cards picked at random from the spread, first the tower, followed by the moon and strength. “Ah, so your journey has already been interrupted by calamity. Three powerful encounters behind you, but many more to come.” She picks up the rest of the undisturbed cards and re-shuffles them before spreading them out again. “I’ll draw your present.” The next three cards are even more ominous, the devil followed by justice and the world. “These represent the current danger, though I feel as though these two are more passive at the moment. A long-term danger to your pack.” She says as she points to justice and the world.

“You’re telling me we’re going to have to fight the devil?” Joseph groans and rubs his face, “Seriously? What crappy luck we’re having lately.”

Mrs. Avdol chuckles and corrects him “You know it’s rarely that straight forward. The devil is a subjugator, you will probably be facing a servant sent to fight you.”

She picks up the deck once more but pauses as she’s about to shuffle. A look of deep concentration passes over her features before she hands the deck to Joseph. “I feel you should shuffle this time, Joseph. And pick as many cards as you feel you need.” Mr. Avdol’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead in surprise but he remains silent as they continue the reading.

“Well, this is new.” Joseph is also surprised and quickly takes the cards and starts to shuffle. Instead of spreading them on the table he holds them as he draws a few cards from the middle. As they leave the deck, two others slip with them and fall to the floor face down. He tries to laugh off his clumsiness and quickly pick them up but Avdol stops him, his face serious as he watches his mother pick up the cards and turn them face up on the table. The Avdol family share a look between them before they turn back to Joseph.

“Even accidents hold meaning when reading the cards. These two,” Mrs. Avdol taps the fallen cards now revealed to be the hierophant and the hermit. “Together they represent knowledge and reflection, but that they fell… there will be a price to pay for the knowledge gained.”

Joseph’s brows furrow as he looks on at the ill-fated cards. Mrs. Avdol reaches out to gently take back the deck and his chosen cards, startling Joseph out of his thoughts. His cards remain face down as he asks, “I’m assuming when a psychic tells you there ‘will be a price to pay’, you aren’t talking about cash. What’s going to happen? This is my pack- my family we’re talking about. I’d gladly pay any ‘price’ to keep them safe.”

Mrs. Avdol pats his clenched fist on the table as Muhammad claps a hand to Joseph’s shoulder. “You know I would tell you if I could see, Joseph. All I can tell you is you will have to make this choice; the rest is foggy. Events are fluctuating around you and your pack.” She turns back to the cards he picked out and flips them face up: the star, the magician, the chariot and the fool. “These however look like good omens. Your pack learning and growing in strength and number. The way forward is a hard path, but the bonds of your pack are strong. If you rely and trust each other and your allies, I predict you will prevail over the enemies I cannot see.” With the reading over she scoops the cards back up from the table and shuffles the deck before putting it back in its box.

Joseph remains tense and contemplative as Avdol turns to his mother again, “Thank you, as always, for the insight. But we need to ask for an additional favor. I fear our enemy, or enemies, have a magic user with them. Would you be able to…”?

“Make you some protection charms?” Mrs. Avdol motions to her husband and he reaches for a tan drawstring pouch that had been sitting on the shelf full of miscellaneous items behind him. The contents of the sack clink gently as it’s placed in front of Avdol. “As I said, my visions have been unusually active for the past few weeks. I didn’t know when you would need them so I prepared them beforehand. Wear these charms at all times and you will be protected from nosey witches and the evil eye they cast on you.”

Avdol looks through the pouch of charms for a moment before taking out and opal earing and holding it to the light to inspect it. “Ah, this spell work should do nicely. Thank you.” He clips the earing to his ear before rifling through the bag and handing Joseph a metal bracelet, silver vines and thorns twisting around the band in intricate knots.

Mr. Avdol rises from his seat and makes his way to the back room with the empty coffee cups as his son secures the pouch in his travel satchel. Mrs. Avdol grabs his attention again, “Be warned, these will not be able to block more powerful spells entirely. Use caution and put up your wards like I taught you.”

“Of course. I’ve already started placing wards on our new lodgings. Now, about the shop… I feel it may be best if you and father left town while we get the situation under control.” Avdol places his hand on his mother’s arm as he implores her to close up shop.

Mrs. Avdol just chuckles as Mr. Avdol returns to the front room carrying luggage with him. Mr. Avdol chuckles along with his wife, “Don’t you know by now Muhammad? Your mother was just waiting to say goodbye to her son.”

Author’s Note:

I am alive! Sorry everyone, life got real crazy for me for a while. Had some family health scares (everyone is fine now), work schedule changes, moved, gained a roommate... still adjusting to the new changes but I've found time to write again! artwork is still on pause till I can set up my workspace properly.

Anyway just wanted to say sorry for the long break, but I'm gonna finish this thing no matter what- 13/52 complete so far !

#werewolf #family pack #jojo fanfic #jojo avdol #jojo joseph #magic #occult

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alyssaallyrion · 3 years

Text

Truth. (Iruka x Kakashi)

Rating: T

Summary: In which an accident on a mission forces Kakashi to admit his true feelings to Iruka.

A/N: Written for KakaIru Month ( @kakairu-fest ) Day 6 & Day 12 Prompts: Flowers & Hospitals.

ao3 link

When the village finally emerges on the horizon, Kakashi lets out a quiet sigh of relief. Pulsating pain from the injury to his right side makes it hard to breathe, but Kakashi tries to ignore it – he doesn’t want to worry Tenzo more than he already has.

“Is your wound feeling worse, senpai?” Tenzo asks, making Kakashi wonder if he has gotten worse at pretending over the years or if Tenzo grew more attentive.

I’m feeling much better, Kakashi wants to lie.

“I think it’s gotten worse,” he says instead, barely able to suppress a frustrated sigh.

Of course, his rotten luck would have him encounter Truth Flowers while on the mission.

Their assignment in Hyougagakure was supposed to be a simple elimination mission, and all was going well until one of the targets tried to get away. Kakashi pursued the man deep into the village, following him into a strange greenhouse-like building. Inside, there was a myriad of flowers with crystal-clear petals, filling the air with sweet scent and low humming melody.

Kakashi knew that something was wrong – the moment he breathed in the scent of the flowers and heard the low hum emanating from the petals, his mind went hazy. There was no time to dwell upon it, however – the other shinobi attacked, and Kakashi had to fight. He prevailed – but not before sustaining a nasty kunai injury just below the ribs on his right side.

“Senpai, are you ok?” Tenzo asked him, worried, once Kakashi emerged from the greenhouse.

Kakashi was never the one to complain about injuries – and he didn’t want Tenzo to be concerned.

I’m fine,he was prepared to say.

“This stab wound hurts really bad and makes it hard to breathe,” fell from his lips instead.

Kakashi paused, confused. Why did he say that?

“We should get out of here quickly before the patrol returns,” Tenzo frowned, eyes full of concern, “And tend to your wounds.”

Kakashi nodded, pushing the question out of his mind and blaming his sudden bout of candidness upon the adrenaline from the battle and the pain from the injury.

By nightfall, he’d almost forgotten about the incident when his tongue betrayed him again – this time by letting Tenzo know that the soup he had cooked for dinner was unbearably salty. A cold, sinking feeling in the pit of Kakashi’s stomach told him that it wasn’t a coincidence, and still, he tried pushing the thoughts away.

I’m just tired, Kakashi told himself, I should be all better by the morning.

Tenzo took the first watch, letting Kakashi rest. When he finally managed to fall asleep, he was haunted by dreams of darkness, disturbing and strange, filling him with the sense of frazzled terror. Kakashi woke up long before the sunrise, panting and sweating and utterly overwhelmed by suffocating anxiety. Putting his vest on made the pain under his ribs radiate towards his right shoulder, but Kakashi didn’t care. He couldn’t be in this dark tent anymore – he needed to be outside.

“You don’t look so good, senpai,” Tenzo glanced up at Kakashi from his place by the campfire, “Is the wound preventing you from sleeping?”

“I was having nightmares,” the moment the words left Kakashi’s mouth, he knew for certain that something was wrong – he’d never admitted to having nightmares to anyone, and that fact wasn’t lost on Tenzo.

“Is…is everything ok?” Tenzo started carefully, looking Kakashi in the face, “You have been much more…candid with your insights today.”

Kakashi wanted to lie, to say that he was just tired and in pain, but he knew before he opened his mouth that his tongue would betray him. This time, he didn’t try to fight it.

“I think there was something wrong with the flowers in that greenhouse,” he said, “Ever since I walked in there, I can’t stop myself from saying what I’m thinking. Even when I want to lie, only truth comes out.”

The look on Tenzo’s face was equal parts concerned and amused.

“I think I’ve heard of flowers like that,” he replied after a brief pause, “It’s called Truth Flower, if I’m not mistaken, and works a lot like truth serum.”

A shiver ran down Kakashi’s spine at Tenzo’s words. Wonderful.

“And is there any antidote?” Kakashi asked.

“Not that I remember,” Tenzo shrugged, “I’m pretty sure its effects last only a few days, so you should be able to wait it out.”

Kakashi could barely suppress a sigh. Just what he needed.

Tenzo was a better man than most – on their way back to Konoha, he had barely spoken to Kakashi, lest an accidental question makes Kakashi reveal something he didn’t want to tell. Kakashi knew he owed him one for the consideration he had shown.

“If the wound’s gotten worse, you should go to the hospital,” Tenzo’s voice drags Kakashi out of his thoughts, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No,” Kakashi replies, “You must go to the Hokage with the report right away.”

Tenzo gives Kakashi a hesitant look.

“Go,” Kakashi repeats, “I can take care of myself.”

He has no plans of going to the hospital, but what he says isn’t exactly a lie, and Tenzo seems satisfied with the response.

“Very well,” Tenzo nods, “I’ll come to see you at the hospital as soon as I’m done with the report.”

With that, Tenzo flickers away, leaving Kakashi to walk the remaining short distance to the village gates by himself. Pain under Kakashi’s ribs radiates through his right side, and all he can think of is the moment he will fall into his bed and sleep for hours on end. Or at least, for as long as is necessary for the effects of this flower to wear off. Distantly, Kakashi remembers that he didn’t close the window in his bedroom and hopes that it hasn’t rained – if it has, his entire bed is likely wet, and changing the bedding is far beyond his strength at the moment.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, Kakashi doesn’t notice how he reaches the gate – until his eyes catch the sight of a familiar silhouette. Kakashi’s heart skips a beat – he sees Iruka sitting on one of the benches just by the gate. Warmth rises in his chest, and his heart flutters, as he almost believes for a single moment that Iruka’s waiting for him.

Bitter smile blooms on Kakashi’s lips. Of course he isn’t.

Kakashi would be utterly delusional to think otherwise – after all, Iruka had no idea about his feelings, about Kakashi’s desperate dream that they could grow old together. And even if he did, what good would it do? Kakashi is damaged and broken way beyond measure, and Iruka deserves much better.

He realizes that he should walk away – given the impact of the flower, it’s dangerous for him to be around Iruka, lest the truth slip out - but it’s too late.

“Kakashi-san,” Iruka calls out, standing up from his seat.

“Iruka-sensei,” Kakashi says softly as he approaches Iruka.

The bright smile on Iruka’s face makes Kakashi almost forget about the pain in his side.

“You are back already?” there’s a slight surprise in Iruka’s voice, making Kakashi wonder if he knew what kind of mission he and Tenzo were sent on, “I hope your mission went well.”

“It did,” Kakashi nods before adding, “Are you waiting for someone?”

“Yes,” Iruka smiles, “Naruto should be back soon, and I was hoping to take him out for ramen.”

The words hurt more than they should – Kakashi knows, of course, that Iruka wasn’t waiting for him, but for a moment, it was nice to pretend.

“I see,” he says, simply. A sudden jolt of pain shoots through Kakashi’s right side, making him double over.

“Kakashi-san,” Iruka’s next to him immediately, hands-on Kakashi’s shoulders, steadying him, “Are you hurt?”

Kakashi doesn’t want to answer – the last thing he needs right now is to make Iruka worried, but he cannot stop the words escaping his lips.

“I got stabbed on a mission,” Kakashi explains, wincing as another wave of pain spreads through his body, “And the wound won’t stop bleeding.”

“You need to get to the hospital,” Iruka frowns, “Here, let me help you.”

“I can walk,” Kakashi replies, more curtly than he intends, “And I wasn’t planning on going to the hospital. I’ll deal with this myself.”

An angry, incredulous look crosses Iruka’s features.

“You can’t be serious,” Iruka exclaims, “You’ve been bleeding for days. You need to see a doctor.”

“I can take care of myself,” Kakashi protests, feeling lightheaded. He doesn’t want to argue with Iruka, but there is no getting away, it seems – he doesn’t have the chakra to flicker away, and he’s pretty sure that Iruka’s hands on his shoulders are the only thing stopping him from falling over.

“Can you?” Iruka asks, his voice suddenly almost dripping with venom, “Because Naruto tells me you end up in the hospital after half your missions precisely because you don’t take care of yourself.”

“And why does that matter to you?” Kakashi almost spits out, feeling hot anger rise in his chest, “We aren’t even friends.”

Iruka has always been politely distant with Kakashi – what gave him the idea that he could scold Kakashi like he was one of his students?

Iruka looks at him, speechless, and, for a moment, Kakashi almost believes that he will drop the issue so they could both move on with their day. And then Iruka shakes his head, and a strange, unfamiliar expression crosses his features.

“Why does it matter to me?” Iruka repeats slowly, looking Kakashi straight in the eye, “You know, I ask myself the same question all the time, and the only answer that I’ve come up with thus far is that I must be an absolute fool for falling in love with Konoha’s most reckless jonin. You are all reckless, of course, but you, specifically, I swear…I wish I was less of an idiot and could simply not care about you, but I can’t.”

Kakashi’s head spins, and the sound of his own heartbeat threatens to drown him. He can hardly believe his ears - Iruka is in love with him?It feels too much like a fantasy, but Iruka’s hands on his shoulders are steady and warm, and Kakashi knows that it’s not a dream. Iruka’s staring him straight in the face – still incensed and flushed with anger – and there’s nothing Kakashi wants more at that moment than to kiss him.

His mind’s racing as he tries to stop the inevitable, tries to prevent the fateful words from escaping his lips - after all, Iruka deserves so much more than he could ever offer - but the Truth Flower is merciless.

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” Kakashi breathes out.

Anger and color both drain from Iruka’s face, and he’s staring at Kakashi wide-eyed. There is a pit at the bottom of Kakashi’s stomach, and his heart drops, but there is no taking back his words. Whoever said that sharing a secret makes one feel better was a liar, he thinks, a wave of suffocating anxiety washing over him as silence stretches.

“What did you say?” Iruka finally asks, voice no louder than a whisper.

“I said I’m in love with you,” Kakashi repeats, “And have been for years.”

“What…what brought about this sudden bout of honesty?” Iruka narrows his eyes, looking at him suspiciously.

Kakashi hardly wants to recount what happened on the mission, but his tongue betrays him yet again.

“I’ve run into a greenhouse full of Truth Flowers,” he explains, “And now I cannot lie, at least for a while.”

Iruka looks at him for a long moment – and then something shifts in his face, and a small smile appears on his lips.

“Oh,” is all Iruka can manage.

Another jolt of sharp pain through Kakashi’s side makes him almost fall, but Iruka holds him up.

“Well,” Iruka laughs awkwardly, “Now that we’ve gotten the confessions out of the way, we need to take you to the hospital.”

Kakashi doesn’t want to go – now that he knows Iruka loves him back, there’s nothing he wants more than to stay by his side, so he tries to argue.

“Naruto told me you’ve had some medical training,” Kakashi says, leaning against Iruka’s side for support, “So maybe you could help me, and there would be no need to go to the hospital.”

“Trying to use my feelings against me already?” Iruka chuckles, “But it won’t work – we are going to the hospital so that your wound can get treated properly.”

Kakashi hardly has the energy to argue, so he lets Iruka lead him away from the village gates towards the hospital. Feeling Iruka’s warm, steady presence against his side almost makes Kakashi forget about the burning pain under his ribs. The moment they enter the hospital, however, Kakashi feels completely lightheaded, and all his remaining strength is gone as the room spins around him. He wants to ask Iruka to stay by his side, but no words leave his lips before he sinks into the darkness.

When Kakashi opens his eyes, he’s lying in the hospital bed. Bright light streams into the room through the half-open window, and he knows that he must have been unconscious for at least a day. As he glances around, warmth rises in Kakashi’s chest – Iruka’s sitting on a chair next to his bed, looking exhausted yet relieved.

“How long was I out?” Kakashi asks, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“Two days,” Iruka tells him, “Your wound has gotten infected, and you needed emergency surgery – but the doctor said you should be all better now.”

Kakashi takes a deep breath and nods.

“Also,” Iruka continues, leaning slightly closer, “The effects of the Truth Flower should have worn off by now.”

Kakashi raises an eyebrow, confused. Iruka’s right, he can feel it, but how would he know that?

It seems Iruka understands him without words.

“I’ve done my research,” Iruka shrugs, lifting up the book that’s resting in his lap.

“I see,” Kakashi murmurs.

Silence falls upon. Kakashi wonders if he should pretend that their conversation at that gate has never happened – after all, Iruka deserved much better than the likes of him. But he’s always been weak and selfish, and he’s yearned for this for so long that he cannot stop himself.

“So��” Kakashi starts carefully, his heart racing in his chest, “What does that mean for us?”

By the look on Iruka’s face, it’s clear that he knows precisely what Kakashi’s referring to – their love confessions.

“I don’t know, Kakashi,” Iruka says after a brief pause, and Kakashi’s heart drops – until Iruka reaches out and takes his hand, “But I think we could figure it out – together if that’s what you want.”

Kakashi can hardly stop himself from smiling as he gently squeezes Iruka’s fingers – there is nothing he wants more than what Iruka’s offering. It still feels so surreal that the object of his secret, desperate pining, returns his feeling, but Kakashi knows he’d be a fool to complain. And, though a man like him has no right to be as happy as he is at the moment, now that he has felt this happiness, he’ll never let go of it. Not if he can help it.

“Yes, I’d like that,” Kakashi says softly.

Perhaps they will grow old together, after all.

#kakashi hakate #iruka umino #kakairu #kkir #kakairu month 2021

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syntheticpoetry · 4 years

Text

Kintsugi

Summary: Kurt and Blaine have a mature heart to heart involving Blaine's insecurities.

Tested reaction fic where I just really gratuitously expanded on the dialogue and included the missing smut scene that very obviously must have occurred off camera.

AO3 Link || FFN Link

Author’s Note: So during our Tumblr Gleewatch group viewing I was left wanting so much more out of this scene and it kinda just spiralled from there. There's some smut, but a lot of dialogue driven conversation following the canon dialogue where I felt like the conversation should have continued rather than end with their little heartfelt hug. The way Blaine just shattered and started crying and Kurt just held him with a straight face.... yeah. There was definitely more that happened there. So here you go. See more notes on the end explaining the title. Huge thanks to @blog-carmex for beta reading for me and offering her invaluable input :D

__________________________________________________________

It has been three hours since class ended. Three long hours since Blaine watched Kurt stride right past him without so much as another word after they changed out of their fencing gear. After their sparring match they had retreated to opposite ends of the classroom, huffing in silence and shooting daggers at one another. The mutual refusal to speak to each other had persisted all the way into the locker room where Kurt then proceeded to peel off his shirt in front of everyone. Blaine had slipped into a bathroom stall to change, a mix of embarrassment and guilt beginning to wash over the anger as he shimmied out of the white pants plastered against his sweaty skin. By the time he had emerged again Kurt had shouldered past him, tight lipped with eyes fixed in the distance, leaving Blaine to stand alone, his mouth hanging open and staring dumbly after him.

“I just find it funny that we haven’t been intimate in like a week and maybe this is why.”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I got up early and forgot to text you.”

“You know what, Blaine? Sometimes I think we talk too much.”

After class Blaine had retreated to Kurt’s apartment in the hopes of another attempt at conversation, but has been melding himself into the couch for the last two hours with nothing but the silence and Kurt’s words to bounce around his skull as he waits for him to return. It feels like such a stupid fight. All of their previous discussions about just going to one another to air out their grievances, to talk about when things are bothering them feel like a distant memory. Blaine tried to talk to him. He tried to take the steps that they had outlined. But Kurt just shut him down. Kurt didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to let Blaine try to explain himself. Instead they were left to physically act out their aggressions in combat class of all places. Okay, so maybe Blaine wasn’t being completely open about the extent of his insecurities, but Kurt’s instant decision for distance and his ability to become an ice prince once Blaine had actually tried to initiate a conversation reminded him why it has always been so difficult to speak his mind.

Blaine is terrified. Terrified of rejection, terrified of Kurt finally peeling away his loosely fastened mask of confidence and seeing him for what he truly is— a coward. He had never felt brave until the day Kurt stared at him from across that table in Dalton like he was this wise old sage so full of advice and wisdom. It had been so easy to slip into the disguise, to feign the persona of a boy who had suffered and prevailed. Who was he kidding? Prevailed. What a joke. Blaine knows that whatever semblance of true bravery he ever possessed in the first place to compel him to bring a boy to a school dance in Ohio had been beaten away all those years ago in that parking lot. He told Kurt that he ran from his bullies and regretted it, but the truth is he knows he is still running. That he has never stopped.

Not like Kurt. Kurt, who had suffered in silence for months at the mercy of his own bullies and still emerged with his head held up high. Kurt, who had experienced his own hate driven assault, and had learned to become stronger and stand his ground so much quicker than Blaine could even begin to wrap his head around. Kurt, who is so much braver and resilient than Blaine can ever imagine himself being. Kurt, who does not actually need Blaine to guard him and guide him the way that he once used to.

And it terrifies Blaine to feel this insignificant again. To become a shadow of doubt beneath a rising sun.

The door to the apartment slides open and Kurt strolls in, phone pressed to his ear, instantly catching sight of Blaine on the couch. Blaine hunches over, arms resting against his knees, and braces himself for the explosion. All afternoon he has been waiting for Kurt to return, but now that he is actually here his instincts are screaming to just get up and run. Keep running. Don’t stop.

“Yeah, he’s here. Okay. Okay, bye,” Kurt slings his bag onto a chair at the kitchen table and turns to Blaine. “That was Rachel, she was just confirming us for her opening night.”

“What’d you tell her?” Blaine asks.

“I said, ‘Yeah, if we don’t kill each other in combat class, count us in,’” Kurt replies, eyes trained carefully on Blaine. Blaine does not want to return the focus though, choosing instead to tip a can of ginger ale into his mouth to douse the desert in his throat. Little distractions for idle hands and a restless mind.

“What happened in there?”

Here it comes— the avalanche. There’s a sudden tightness in his chest as he avoids meeting Kurt’s eyes. “You were really coming at me like— like… as if you had something to prove. What, I’m not sure.”

“That I’m as strong as you are,” Blaine says. The words sound surprisingly more bitter and resentful than he had initially intended them to. He remembers his place— don’t lose control — and tries to reign in some of the tension, just bottle it back up again.

“Okay,” Kurt says and strides towards him. Blaine takes note of the distance he keeps between them, the minuscule gap that feels like the Grand Canyon. Is it intentional? “But it’s not a contest.”

“Isn’t it though?” Blaine responds with the same bitterness again. “On some level? Cause for the first time in my life, I really feel like I’m losing.”

He can feel the loss of the control, the steady spiral into the depths of despair and uncertainty that he has trapped himself in for months. The knot in his stomach twists itself tighter, yet he cannot help himself. Once the train derails, there really is not much else to do but let the collision run its course. “I’ve felt that way ever since I got to New York. I feel like,” Blaine sets the can down and waves his hand between them, “We’re in this race together and you are just so much farther than I am. Like, it just feels like the whole balance has shifted.”

“What balance?” Kurt’s eyes narrow. He takes a seat in an armchair, keeps his distance.

Now he really has gotten himself in too deep.

“I guess it started when we first met,” Blaine shrinks back against the couch, avoiding Kurt’s piercing gaze. “And you came to Dalton because you were trying to get away from Karofsky, and I wanted to help you through that.”

“And you did,” Kurt says quietly.

“And I loved the way that felt. I loved it,” Blaine swallows and leans his head back against the couch, speaking to the ceiling. “I loved being able to protect you, but now I look at your life and…”

And now it hurts. Now it feels like I don’t fit into any part of it. Now it feels like I have never been, nor will I ever be enough for you because you don’t need me anymore. Nobody needs me the way that I need you. Why is this so hard?

“It’s completely different,” Blaine finishes and finally settles his eyes onto Kurt. “You’re a star at school, you have all these cool new friends, you started this band and I just,” Say it. Stop hiding. Say it. Tell him. “I feel like you don’t need me anymore, to protect or anything.”

There is a glint in Kurt’s eyes that sends Blaine’s heart careening down into his stomach. This has been a mistake. Saying anything at all, letting his guard down— it has all been a mistake. He springs up suddenly, anxious to disappear. “I mean, you asked me to move out, for God’s sake,” He murmurs bitterly as he walks past Kurt.

“We made that decision together,” Kurt replies, tone heavy and unimpressed, as he spins around in the chair to face him. “So is that what all this stuff is about that’s going on? I mean, you trying to get me to eat more?”

You are missing everything. You are missing the entire point. Do you even see me when we’re together? Can’t you tell?

“I don’t like the way I feel about myself anymore, Kurt! Okay?” Blaine’s raised voice takes them both by surprise. Through the open window, the sound of sirens permeates the post-confession silence. Blaine closes his eyes, already feeling the tears clinging to his lashes. He knows opening his mouth again is going to be yet another mistake, but so far he has been a glutton for punishment and self pity tonight, so what more is there to lose?

“And you have this amazing new body— do you know why we haven’t been intimate? It’s because I feel insecure around you. I feel insecure around my own fiancé, and Fratboiphysicals.com isn’t gonna judge me!”

Somehow this feels worse than keeping everything bottled up. The terror of Kurt’s reaction leaves him feeling dizzy and sick as he finally opens his eyes to absorb the blow. Somehow Kurt’s eyes exude a softness beneath the two smoldering flames. A sort of fierce protectiveness that only leaves Blaine feeling more pathetic than he did in the first place.

“Neither will I. Ever ,” Kurt responds and stands up to approach him. “But I am not going to apologize for not being some delicate flower that needs his boyfriend to protect him.”

“Kurt, I—”

“And you know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe it is a contest. Maybe that’s the way it has to be with two guys. But I would much rather be running this race with you than against you.”

Blaine knows what it is to be lectured. Understands all too well that familiar feeling of being put in his place, his actions chalked up to overdramatics and oversensitivity. Looking up at Kurt towering over him, he feels even smaller now. Whatever certainty he possessed, whatever feigned strength he must have siphoned off of Kurt when he entered the apartment to stagger his way through his confession has evaporated completely, leaving behind a hollow shell. His words come out apologetic and frightened, tiny and remorseful.

“Me too, I just—”

“As equals ,” Kurt says sternly.

Equals. Something about the word flips a hidden switch. Equals. He has never felt a kinship with that word before, never understood what it felt like to stand beside someone and hold each other up, sharing the weight. He has always struggled to be the pillar for someone else, to mask the cracks in his own foundation. Something about the way Kurt says it makes him feel ashamed.

“I know, I know,” He presses both palms over his eyes, keeps pressing until spots of crimson and white appear scattered across the darkness behind his eyelids like bursts of fireworks. “I-I know. I know that , I’m so sorry. I’m just…”

I am not worth this. I am not worth your time.

“I’m just so scared that you’re gonna...”

His throat constricts because he can already envision it. He drops his hands, shaking his head, and focuses on the door just past Kurt, pictures him walking right through it like it is the easiest decision he has ever had to make. Kurt holds all of the power in this relationship, and Blaine knows that. Knows that whatever semblance of equality Kurt is preaching about right now is only a mirage. Blaine ruined their perfect balance the night he let his demons take control of his emotions and lead him to that weak moment of infidelity. One more wrong move and they are bound to break again. But Kurt does not walk away, he stands before him and continues to wait patiently.

“I’m just so scared that you’re gonna keep changing, and you’re gonna keep getting stronger, then one day you’re gonna wake up and realize, ‘I don’t love him anymore.’” Blaine shrugs his shoulders, tears glistening, and smiles in resignation to the paranoid confession as fact. Even children discard their favourite toys once they are broken beyond repair. So why would this be any different?

“Never,” Kurt replies, his gaze unwavering on Blaine. The quiet intensity of his determination makes Blaine’s stomach lurch again, anxiety twisting tighter and tighter. “I’m always gonna love you. And I don’t want you to be insecure or ashamed around me.”

It’s only when Blaine exhales that he realizes he had been holding his breath, clinging to the tension in every centimeter of his muscles.

“Next time you’re going through something like this you— you have to be honest with me.”

Blaine can feel himself nodding without any actual control, like it is a trained reflex in place to diffuse the rest of the uneasiness and settle the confrontation. Anything to make this stop. His lips go numb, eyes still fixed on the door as the next word comes out on autopilot, drained and defeated, “Okay.”

Kurt’s arms around him spark the calamity laying dormant though, pull him away from the resignation and suddenly he is grasping at every inch of Kurt that he possibly can, sinking into the embrace as though clinging tightly enough will fill the gaping hole in his chest. The ebbing shame becomes a tidal wave, crashes over and over again and threatens to drag him beneath the riptide as Kurt’s thumb brushes over his shoulder blade. He feels so undeserving of such kindness and patience.

“Blaine, I think maybe we should have a conversation about where all of this comes from,” Kurt presses his lips to the thick layer of gelled hair atop Blaine’s head. “Don’t you think?”

“What more is there to say? Can’t we just cuddle on the couch for the rest of the night?” Blaine mumbles against his neck.

“Don’t deflect, I think this is the most honest you’ve ever been with me about yourself and I want you to keep talking to me,” Kurt pulls away, hands on Blaine’s arms to push him back enough to look at him. “I want you to feel like you can talk to me because you know I’m not gonna judge you. I love every piece of you, no come on, don’t look away,” Kurt’s hand is immediately beneath Blaine’s chin, tilting his head back to center. There has always been a sadness buried beneath the constant glimmer in Blaine’s eyes, usually well hidden and mostly undetectable. In these rare moments of vulnerability, that sadness is always directly on display. “I love everything about you, even the pieces you try to hide away from me, especially those.”

“Kurt,” Blaine whispers urgently, his face contorting as he struggles against the grief, and tries to keep the controlled tears from transforming into full on ugly crying. But Kurt does not let him go. Kurt does not let him look or run away.

“How many times have you seen me cry? There’s no shame in letting go sometimes, Blaine.”

“I don’t want to do this,” Blaine breathes out. He tries to take a step back, but Kurt does not drop his arms. They remain firmly wrapped around him, rooting him to the spot. “I don’t want—”

“I’ve got you, and I am not letting you go,” Kurt says. “You remember what you told me the first time we met?”

“I said a lot of things,” Blaine closes his eyes and feels the warm streaking of tears down his cheeks. He has cried in front of Kurt before, but he’s never cried in front of him. The breakdowns have been reserved for solitude, behind locked doors, hidden away from the world.

“You told me that you ran away when things got tough, and that you regretted it ever since. Don’t run from me too, Blaine— stay.”

The perfect catalyst.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine chokes out. “I’m sor—sorry, I’m sorry,” He continues murmuring, the words becoming an incoherent jumble of consonants decorating the layer of heaving sobs and gasps for air in between. With eyes shut tight, he nestles his face back into Kurt’s neck, body trembling against his steady arms, and continues mumbling the only two words his brain seems capable of conjuring.

“Blaine, honey,” Kurt strokes his back and presses kisses to the top of his head. “Blaine, why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t know,” Blaine shakes his head, forehead against Kurt’s shoulder. “I don’t know.”

Now that it’s begun, it feels like it will never end. Control feels like a foreign language as he continues to shake and cling to any part of Kurt he can get his hands on.

“Come on, come here,” Kurt commands soothingly, leading them over to the couch. He drops down, pulling Blaine onto his lap. Blaine snakes his arms around Kurt’s neck, burying his face into his own arm. “I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

The reassuring words seem to be having the complete opposite effect on Blaine and only draw out more tears. Crying feels like an effort rather than a cathartic release. The mask has finally been ripped away, leaving him feeling exposed, dissected. He feels weak. Ashamed and self-conscious. How could he lose control like this? What’s worse, how can he be so incapable of reigning it back in?

“Sweetheart, talk to me,” Kurt won’t stop pressing kisses to any area of skin he can reach. His lips are warm and wet against Blaine’s temple. Something tangible he can tether himself to. “Please?”

How do you condense years of pent up doubts and microaggressions of self-sabotage into a logical explanation? Where do you even begin?

“You know,” Kurt runs his fingers over the protective layer of gel, wriggling them in between to break up some of the strands. Blaine bites down on the inside corners of his bottom lip and allows Kurt to continue burrowing his fingers past the barrier. He had caked on so much of it after class it is a wonder Kurt is even able to break up any of it at all. Yet his dexterous fingers reach beneath and he massages Blaine’s scalp. It’s another calming, tangible gesture Blaine can tether himself to. “I have that keyboard in my bedroom. I can get that if you would rather sing something first right now. Usually helps you open up.”

The more Kurt’s fingers tangle and twist his hair, the calmer he feels. Once the tears have ceased enough he trusts himself to speak. “Okay,” Blaine has to mouth the word first before clearing his throat and rasping it out. He shuffles off of Kurt’s lap and spends the literal seconds of his absence wrenching his fingers together, both legs bouncing hurriedly against the wood floor. Kurt returns, keyboard secured underneath his arm, and sets it up on the coffee table in front of the couch before taking a seat beside Blaine. Before turning it on Blaine runs his fingers over the plastic keys. Will it ever get any easier to channel his emotions without a crutch? Kurt simply sits and watches, palm draped over the small of his back. Blaine exhales, the breath shuddering with the weight of all he tries to expel to lend his voice the strength to begin. He slides the switch up to turn it on and positions his fingers on the keys, gently tapping out a somber melody.

“ When you come home I feel the earth start to change, I am alive, I am alive, I am in love with this place. I love it most how you whisper my name And so I catch it in a bottle for my lonelier days.”

He never has to think when it comes to music. His fingers always seem to know just what notes to play. And the words always come easier when they are borrowed from someone else. He shifts closer to the keyboard, hands steady and certain as he continues with the melody. Kurt understands him so well, knows just the right things to say and do to coax him through the storms.

“The moment slows inside the palm of your hand, Oh I could stay like this forever or as long as we can. And in the morning I pour a warm cup of tea And hope you'll stay a little longer, stay a lifetime with me.”

He straightens his back, puts more vigor into the tempo as he pushes past the fear and lets his voice crescendo into the next verse. The one that means the most. The one he wishes he could say without having to hide behind the safety blanket of song. Maybe someday he can learn. But for now it is easier to parrot the words that bare a glimpse into his heart.

“Cause when you go, like summer gives to the rain, I am uncertain, but I'm certain I am losing my way. When you let go, I don't see straight anymore— I am unwinding, I am broken, I am losing my core.”

His voice breaks on the last line, raspy and watery with the weight of tears once again. He closes his eyes, languidly drags his fingers over the keys, lulling back the gentle melody as Kurt slides his hand up to his mid-back. He continues with the interlude, repeats it, drawing out the time to build up the courage to continue again. Kurt shifts closer beside him, wraps an arm around him and rests his chin on his shoulder. Tangible. Comforting. Reassuring.

“There is a door that opens at the sight of your face, I feel it all, I feel the warmth of every long summer day. And like an angel, you circle back with a kiss, You are the one I'm dreaming of, you are the one, you are the one. You lift me up with every step that I take, You are the reason, you're the answer when I'm drifting away. And through it all, when I start making a mess, You are forgiving, everlasting. You're my everything.”

The warmth of Kurt’s breath raises the hairs on the back of his neck. When Kurt’s lips press into the crook where his neck meets his shoulder the notes start to get sloppy, crescendoing and decrescendoing when a wave of goosebumps runs its course throughout his entire body. He abandons the keys, voice so low that some of the sound cuts out as he half-whispers a fragmented collection of the remaining lyrics.

“You are the one who holds my heart. When you come home I feel the earth start to change, I am alive, I am alive— there is a reason to stay.”

They sit in the stillness for a while, Kurt’s arms fastened loosely around Blaine’s waist, with only the distant muffled sounds of the city coming to life in the early hours of a Friday night to keep them company. Unlike the bustling renegades of New York City, there is no sense of urgency or obligation between them tonight. Blaine sinks back against Kurt’s chest, sluggish and exhausted, but he knows the night is nowhere near its finale. The song was merely an introduction, a segue into the next section of the grand orchestral piece.

“I remember telling you once that I’m not good at romance,” Blaine breaks the silence. “That I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to this.”

“Probably the biggest lie you’ve ever told,” Kurt responds affably. Blaine can hear the tentativeness as he tries to keep the conversation light and playful and knows he is trying to work out just where he is headed with this train of thought.

“Is it though?”

“Blaine, you are probably the most romantic person I know. I used to think I was the hopeless romantic in this relationship, but you definitely have me beat.”

“I hate that phrase,” Blaine says indignantly, trying to shrink back against him more, but there is nowhere else to go. Kurt deciphers his body language and embraces him tighter. “Hopeless romantic— why does it have to be a hopeless romantic?”

“It’s just a phrase. Of course you aren’t hopeless,” Kurt begins pressing kisses to wherever he can reach again. Blaine closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the couch cushion. Maybe Kurt was right. Maybe a week without intimacy really was far too long. The soft desperate whine that falls from his lips as Kurt continues to litter his neck with delicate kisses definitely suggests as much.

“Kurt, can we—”

“Soon,” Kurt says. “We aren’t done talking yet.” He sucks the skin at the base of Blaine’s neck between his teeth and gnaws gently and Blaine can feel the slight upturn of his lips against his skin as he lets a sharp, breathless exhale slip out.

“Well, I don’t know how well I’ll be able to concentrate if you keep—” Kurt moves his head away, only centimeters but he may as well have relocated himself across the room. Blaine scoots closer, practically sitting on his lap again now and whines, “No, no, no! Come back!”

“How about we play a game?” Kurt replaces his lips on Blaine’s neck and runs his tongue over the reddened bite mark.

“What kind of game?” Blaine rasps out, shivering as a new wave of goosebumps breaks out.

“A game of trust and honesty,” Kurt raises his head to whisper against Blaine’s ear. Blaine turns ever so slightly to face him, their noses touching, vision blurred and unfocused at such a close distance.

“Sounds like truth or truth instead of truth or dare. What are the rules?” He asks apprehensively.

“I’ll ask a question, you give me an honest answer. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but if you do you can tell me what to do next,” Kurt replies. At Blaine’s continued exhibition of hesitation he adds, “We can even take turns, if it makes you more comfortable. You can ask me anything you want.”

Blaine tilts forward, resting his forehead against Kurt’s and hesitates before he nods a fraction of an inch. “Okay. Who goes first?”

“I’ll ask first,” He leans back and Blaine falters in the absence of his support before adjusting, back straight against the couch cushion. Kurt twists sideways, shoulder against the couch back and places one hand over Blaine’s. “Why did you pick that song?”

Blaine furrows his brows, tilts his head slightly, caught off guard. The song choice seemed self-explanatory. “Because it makes me think of you.”

Kurt doesn’t ask, he says, “Elaborate.”

Blaine squirms, doesn’t understand. Didn’t he listen to the lyrics? What more is there to say? Kurt merely smiles back at him, interlocks their fingers, and waits.

“Well, I guess because that’s how I feel with you. You make me feel safe. You remind me what it is to truly be alive and without you I feel,” He stops, throat suddenly tight.

Lost. I feel so lost without you sometimes.

“Feel what, honey?” Kurt prompts softly.

“Lost.” The word sounds small and fragile when he says it and yet it feels so heavy now that it is out in the open. But Kurt shows no indication of surprise at the confession. On the contrary, he seems pleased, as though this is exactly what he was hoping to hear.

“Why?” He rubs his thumb into the back of Blaine’s hand.

“Because,” Blaine starts and stops again. Talking used to feel so effortless between them before he had created this rift. Ever since their breakup every word has come carefully selected with the fear that it will be the absolute wrong thing to say. Just because Kurt has agreed to marry him, that does not mean he cannot still change his mind. And what if he does? Blaine cannot even bear to think about that. “Because you make me feel like I am really worth something when I can’t remember why. You gave me— us, you gave us another chance and I am so afraid of fucking it up all over again because you are the best thing to ever happen to me and I can’t… lose you again. I can’t go back to being alone and just pretending to be brave because everyone expects it of me.”

He feels winded by the end of it. One question in and already the endeavour feels draining. Kurt’s expression is unreadable when Blaine summons the courage to look him in the eyes. Is that… fear? He lifts one leg, drapes it over Blaine’s lap and leans forward to kiss him. Blaine kisses back hungrily, desperately.

“Tell me what you want and then it’s your turn to ask,” Kurt whispers against his lips. Blaine swallows, already half-hard from the simple act of kissing. With the weight of an entire day of silent brooding being lifted, his body cannot help but remind him just how desperately he needs to be touched. Needs to be needed. How many questions will they have to get through first though?

“Bite my neck again, harder this time though,” He requests. And Kurt obliges. He allows himself to be swept in it for the moment, palm riding over Kurt’s thigh as he feels the gentle brush of teeth and tongue over his skin before he sucks and bites and fuck that feels good. Too soon though, he stops and Blaine wants to whine and protest but remembers what he is waiting for. Right. A question. Something he is afraid to ask, but wants to anyways. That look in his eyes… Okay. Truth time. He can do this.

“Does that scare you? What I just said.”

“A little bit,” Kurt does not even hesitate, which does nothing to quell Blaine’s nerves. It feels like a slap in the face, affirming all of his fears to be true after all. A strange swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach leaves him looking crestfallen, but Kurt slides a hand up to caress his cheek and continues. “I think you use me to define yourself and measure your worth a lot of the time, and that’s the part that scares me sometimes. I don’t want you to need me to tell you that you are enough, I want you to feel it because you know it. And I have a funny feeling that this is something you’ve been doing long before we ever met.”

Kurt holds his face there, eyes soft and intense. Blaine’s lip quivers, eyes darting wildly as he searches Kurt’s face. Searches for what? He is not wrong. Deep down, he knows he is absolutely right. For as long as he can remember he has tethered himself to the attention of others, weighing his worth in compliments and just being noticed at all. Kurt had just been the first one to take it a step further, to love him in all the ways a human being could be loved, to make him feel seen and needed and wanted . He does not know how to verbalise this though, so instead he asks, “What do you want me to do?”

“Take off your sweater and your shirt.”

“Shouldn’t we move to—”

“Rachel has rehearsal all night, she won’t be back for a while.”

Blaine’s eyes automatically dart to the door but he nods stiffly and works the sweater over his head. He moves his hands to the base of his shirt, pauses and swallows. Yes, Kurt does not want him to feel insecure around him. But one conversation is not going to fix that. With the way they’re sitting on the couch, with the lights completely on— Blaine is completely aware of how he will look once that shirt comes off. Kurt presses a kiss to his cheek and slides his hands over Blaine’s, murmuring, “This too, my beautiful boy.” Pink in the face, Blaine licks his lips and allows Kurt to help him lift the shirt over his head. He tries to sit up straighter, keeping his eyes on Kurt to distract from the way his stomach protrudes and hangs over the edge of his pants.

“Your turn,” Blaine says, throat taut, so the words come strained and thick.

Kurt languidly drags his fingertips over his bare chest, just drinking him in for a moment. He rests his palm over Blaine’s heart before he asks, soft and loving and gentle as he possibly can, “Why do you think I would just get up and leave you? Where does that come from?”

It’s immediately evident why Kurt has positioned his hand over his chest when Blaine instinctively tries to sit forward, ready to stand and pace and will himself to vanish because, remind him again— why do they have to be doing this right now? Why can they not just be naked and sweaty and rutting against each other, drowning out the need for words and difficult conversations between desperate kisses and breathless moans in the dark?

You were right, we talk too much.

Kurt’s hand moves deftly over his chest, warm and reassuring, and his voice comes as eloquently and unwavering as it has all night, “Remember, you can skip, but I hope that you don’t.”

How is he supposed to just shut him down after that now? It is a request, not an obligation, but Blaine wants to please him, wants to make him proud. Because what does their relationship even mean if he is too afraid to speak to his own husband-to-be about the horrible things he has only whispered within his own head for years and years and years?

We’re getting married. He wants to marry you. The hard part is over. He said yes. Just let him in.

“Because,” He inhales sharply, exhales it into a long trembling breath and holds his hand over Kurt’s, pressing harder against his chest. Kurt nudges himself closer, wraps his other arm around his shoulders and draws him in. “Because everyone else does, so it feels like it’s only a matter of time before you do too.”

“This has to do with your family, doesn’t it?”

And of course Kurt knows already. Of course he has just been waiting for Blaine, stupid Blaine, to come forward and finally say it. How can he possibly have been this clueless? Despite the recent miscommunications and misunderstandings, the missteps in their natural abilities to decipher each other’s body language with nothing more than a glance of understanding, how could he ever think that Kurt would not know how to trace the root of all of it with such precision that he may as well just write the instruction manual on how to operate Blaine Devon Anderson?

“How stereotypical, right?” Blaine asks, partly because he does not know how else to respond, but mostly because he is soberly aware of the fact that he is sitting here, shirtless and defenseless, ready to cry for what feels like the thousandth time in the past week and just wants to maintain the shattered art of deflection. Sardonic and dizzy and bitter and angry with himself for bottling it up for so long when it was always in plain sight to begin with, he can’t help but think— So much time wasted. And for what?

“Stop that,” Kurt says quietly, tone so serious it feels like a kick straight to the ribs. Kurt was usually the one to crack a joke, humour cynical and so biting that he could take the edge off of anything. But then again, that was usually reserved for his own tragedies. Today has not been about laughing away the pain and self-deprecation, he has tried to make it something more. “Don’t make it less than it is. It’s something that matters to you, don’t make it a joke.”

“Sorry,” Blaine says, a pre-programmed response that makes Kurt’s brows furrow in what can only be perceived as disapproval. He simply shakes his head though, runs both hands over Blaine’s bare chest and varies his gaze, eyes darting back and forth between Blaine’s lips and eyes.

“You barely talk about them. I don’t know if you even still talk to them.”

Blaine moves to fold his arms over his chest, another defensive play that Kurt refuses to yield to. He moves his leg off of Blaine, drops it to the floor and then he’s tugging and coaxing and murmuring affections until Blaine is situated on his lap, their torsos pressed firm. The material from his sweater is scratchy and rough against Blaine’s bare skin and he thinks, desperately, Please just take that off and fuck me until I forget.

“Do you?” Kurt asks delicately.

Blaine swallows and the words come out thick as molasses, “Coop, sometimes, if I call him. My parents,” He licks his lips, shimmies down against Kurt’s lap so he can hide his face into the crook of his neck. With arms firmly around his waist, he presses fingertips into his back, that damn scratchy sweater, he just wants to rip it off of him and beg and beg and beg— make me forget, just make me forget. “My mom texted me when I first moved to New York to ask if I made it, I haven’t heard from her since.”

“And your dad?” Kurt probes cautiously.

A pause. Blaine spends the next few seconds just breathing against his neck and presses his fingertips down harder. “Fuck my dad,” He finally says, quiet and fragile. It is a wonder the words don’t crack and slice his throat right open on the way up.

He feels Kurt’s arms, so strong and protective, close tighter around him and maybe it is the silence that follows— because when does Kurt Hummel ever become speechless?— or the way Kurt keeps pulling and squeezing, trying to weld them together as one or the sudden influx of scattered kisses he presses to his forehead, but something in him shatters . His entire body shudders with the riptide of the sob that courses through him, but Kurt just holds him steady, rocks and whispers his little mantra, “I’ve got you, I love you, I’ve got you.”

“Hate him, I hate him— He’s just— And I’ve never been able to— He hates me, he's always—”

Blaine hiccups and babbles and gasps and cries, unable to pluck one coherent thought from the rush of water now that the dam has finally broken wide open. Kurt presses his lips to his forehead, whispers affections and instructions against his skin, and strokes his hair, his arms, his back— every possible inch of him that exists, Kurt is sliding his hands over, fingertips grazing and pulsing. Drained and dazed from the weight of everything the insane idea enters Blaine’s head— if you’re looking for the ‘off switch’ I have no idea where it is either.

One shuddering breath collides into the next with no space in between until Kurt is lifting his head, cupping his face between both hands. He tries to twist away, but Kurt’s thumbs stroke his cheeks, hold him steady and Blaine is just so tired he has no strength to fight him.

Please don’t look at me, I can’t stand it.

“Sweetheart, you’re hyperventilating. You’re gonna pass out if you keep going like this. Just let me help,” Kurt’s thumbs brush over his cheek bones, already red-raw and stinging. Blaine burrows his fingers deep into his back again and barely notices the feel of the sweater he has been scornfully regarding as he nods a few times between Kurt’s hands.

“O-o-o-k-kay,” He sputters, gasps and cries some more, wishing, again, to just simply disappear.

“Purse your lips together, I’m gonna count while you breathe,” Kurt kisses his forehead. He closes his eyes, tries to focus on the feel of soft, wet lips against his skin and nods again. He makes it to three on the trembling exhale before breathing in, sharp and quick. Thumbs against skin, lips against forehead, they reset. Kurt continues kissing his way across his face between murmured instructions, lips planting invisible X-marks-the-spots all over the raw geography of familiar terrain like it still needs to be thoroughly explored and mapped out. Blaine has been so focused on following his voice, desperate to latch onto each whispered command, he does not realise his breathing has slowed until their lips are finally touching. He lets Kurt take control, allows himself to be cared for and coddled and carefully handled like he is actually a broken sheet of glass filled with cracks, bound to shatter at the slightest hint of pressure.

Lips still pressed together, he whispers into Kurt’s mouth, “I feel like such a mess.”

“My beautiful boy,” Kurt breathes back and it is a conscious effort on his part not to just start crying again because fuck , he feels anything but beautiful right now. “We can stop for now, if you want. I know that was a lot.”

“No, I want to tell you. I–I know that I just… shut down sometimes, but I want you to know. It’s just,” Blaine leans backwards enough to look him in the eyes. “It’s hard for me to talk about these things.”

“I know,” Kurt’s thumb brushes his cheek again and Blaine leans into the touch. “Take your time.”

“I feel like I don’t even know him, you know?”

Kurt just watches him, one hand still caressing his face and the other rubbing gentle circles into his back. Kurt doesn’t know. Kurt will never know. Blaine releases a shaky exhale before continuing.

“He was never home, always working. And when he was home it’s like we were living on two different planes of existence, I felt invisible around him. He hasn’t been able to see me for a very long time. And my mom has just been so checked out— honestly, she’s been a mess for as long as I can remember. It was just— It wasn’t a happy home, Kurt. Cooper got out the second that he could, and I can’t really blame him for it. Even though we didn’t always get along and he was constantly trying to show me up, it was really lonely without him. I didn’t have a lot of friends at school, there was no Glee club— no safe space for anyone who was gay. It was just me and one other kid who were publicly out.”

“The one you went to the dance with?” Kurt asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Blaine nuzzles his neck and breathes in deep. “Afterwards he told his parents going to the dance together was my idea, and it was, and that was it. They didn’t want us being friends anymore, they blamed me for what happened and he just… walked away. Well, I think they moved, but he just stopped talking to me.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been— I’m sorry,” Kurt kisses the top of his head.

“My parents shipped me off to Dalton after that. I didn’t even want to go at first, if you can believe that.”

“Really?”

“Really. A boarding school with a dress code and a bunch of snobby rich kids? I was dreading it. But it became home. They didn’t care that I was gay, they accepted me right away. Then joining the Warblers? There were so many times I was convinced I was just in a coma and dreaming the entire thing up. We were treated like rockstars, it was the first time I felt good about myself in a long time.”

“Now I feel bad for making all those snarky remarks about everyone just being back-up singers to you,” Kurt says, earning a quiet laugh from Blaine.

“Well, you weren’t wrong. You were right to call it out. The whole reason I fell in love with being a Warbler was because everyone had an equal say, I just got so swept up in finally being noticed that I lost sight of the fact that there were probably some other guys that wanted to be noticed too. You kept my ego from overinflating.”

“You seemed like the most confident person in the world to me when we first met,” Kurt says. “I never would have guessed you struggled with any self-esteem issues.”

Blaine shrugs nonchalantly and presses a kiss to his neck. “You didn’t know because I didn’t want anyone to know. We didn’t… talk about feelings at my house. You started bringing that out in me, making me believe I didn’t always have to hide and pretend. But I lose sight of that sometimes, I guess. It’s easier to just shut down and bottle it up, but you’re right… I have to be able to come to you, we have to be able to come to each other. I’m— I’ll be better, I promise I will.”

“Thank you for sharing all of that with me. I’ve been able to guess at some of it for a while now, but hearing you finally say it— I’m proud of you. I always want you to feel safe with me, so I hope that you do talk to me more about things like this that are bothering you.”

Blaine nods against his shoulder, eyes stinging and blurring. He does not know why he expected anything other than absolute understanding and compassion from him, why it was so difficult to force the words out in the first place.

“Do you want to keep talking?”

Make me forget. Love me and don’t let me go and just make me forget everything else.

“I think I need a break from talking. I just need you, I—”

And then Kurt is kissing him and Blaine is kissing back like it is the first time all over again. He catches Kurt’s lips with his teeth, sloppy and hungry and desperate to be as close to him as possible because the great gaping canyon in his chest demands to be filled. Please! Please! Please! His heart thumps away the greedy melody and when Kurt pulls away, widening that endless cavern, he actually whines . But Kurt is tugging at the sleeves of his sweater— normally a crime , you always pull from the collar, he constantly tells Blaine— and Blaine’s hands hurry forward to help him strip it away.

Blaine has watched him while he works out, has witnessed firsthand the care and consistency and the effort behind those hardened muscles in his arms and chest and oh god those abs . He is like a living statue and Blaine is the only one privy to the private viewing of his full display of perfection. How could he let his stupid insecurities keep him from this?

“You’re staring.”

Without even looking Blaine can tell he’s smirking. “Can you blame me?”

He looks up to see another playful smirk, and that Kurt is staring right back at him, lower lip ever so slightly tucked in beneath his teeth. Fuck .

“So,” Kurt says, voice low and husky. “You still have to tell me what you want me to do next.”

Make me forget. Make me forget.

“Take control,” Blaine says softly. When Kurt’s hand travels up his thigh to fiddle with the button of his pants, he rasps out, “I’m all yours, take control.”

The caress of lips against his jaw, the ice cool touch of smooth fingers dipping below his waist band, teasing and exploring— Blaine closes his eyes and surrenders himself to sensation. Who needs pretty words when he has the tender touch of a lover’s fingertips to ignite bursts of starlight beneath his skin? Kurt’s hands find his and the gentle pull against them forces his eyes open where he finds Kurt ushering him off of his lap. He shifts off and allows himself to be lifted as Kurt stands, eyes alight with curiosity and wonder until Kurt’s mouth is on his again and he is lost, lost, lost once more.

Kissing Kurt is everything. Early November and his lips are slightly chapped, leaving only the faintest hint of his current favourite chapstick. It reminds Blaine of their nights nestled up by the fireplace in Dalton, coffees from the school cafeteria in hand and stealing vanilla and mocha flavoured kisses in between every break in conversation. He forgets that they are standing in the middle of Kurt’s living room, forgets that they are drifting through borrowed space as Rachel or even Santana, devious in her ways of sneaking around, could waltz in at any minute despite Kurt’s insistence that they won’t. As Kurt hooks his thumbs into belt loops and draws him closer, both of their bodies desperate for the heat and friction, he forgets about his insecurities and doubts. There is only the handsome man before him and nothing else in the world matters.

Lips locked, Kurt navigates them towards his bedroom. Neither of them wants to disentangle from each other long enough to lead, Blaine just has to trust him not to let him trip. His knees hit the edge of the bed and buckle, but Kurt grips his hips, digs his fingernails in and grinds their bodies together until they’re both moaning into the kiss. His pants feel unmanageably tight at this point now.

“Kurt—”

“Working on it,” Kurt kisses his way down to his neck, teeth gnawing sweetly until first the button, then the zipper and Blaine’s suddenly being pushed backwards onto the bed. He hastily props himself up on his elbows, panting softly, eyes lust blown and following Kurt’s every move. He’s kneeling down in front of the bed, yanking Blaine’s pants off from around his ankles now and every second feels like it is being stretched too long. Finally free though, his cock bounces against his stomach, throbbing and aching by the time Kurt settles between his legs. Blaine’s eyes dart to the bedside table, hand just starting to reach out when Kurt bends over and curls his fingers around his cock, flicking his tongue over the head before sucking hard. He pulls his mouth off with a faint pop! and brushes his thumb over the underside of the head.

“F-Fuck,” Blaine trembles, arm outstretched, its purpose completely forgotten. “You’re right, a week was too long.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Kurt says and takes him completely into his mouth, palm cupping his balls.

“Jesus— Fuck!” Blaine instantly bucks his hips and fills the spaces between his fingers with Kurt’s hair, breathless as he quickly adds, “Sorry, are you—”

Kurt hums his response and hollows his cheeks, breathes in through his nose and takes him further down. They have just barely gotten started and already Blaine feels himself coming undone. He struggles to keep his hips steady, but Kurt is moving torturously slow through all of this until he just stops moving his head altogether, mouth very much still full of Blaine’s cock and he could honestly scream because how dare he just stop like that—

Oh.

Blaine knows what he wants.

“Please,” The word comes hungry, breathless and on the verge of a whine. “Please, I need you, please—”

And Kurt’s head moves backwards, sucking as he goes until he reaches the tip of Blaine’s cock, where he flicks his tongue over it playfully. Blaine balls up the sheets of the mattress in his other fist and tugs on that instead of Kurt’s hair, the quiet desperate moans falling out of him like whispered secrets in the night. Kurt pulls his mouth off of him again, turns his head and kisses the inside of his thigh, before biting down and sucking. Blaine hisses in a breath, knuckles turning white, and lets Kurt mark him.

Yours, I’m yours, and no one else’s.

There is a moment when Kurt pulls away to rummage through the nightstand when Blaine cannot help but to stare again. How far they have come from the shy teenager who could not even look him directly in the eyes when discussing pornography. He remembers so vividly the day Kurt lamented he would never see himself as sexy , the word whispered with such discomfort like it was dirty and inconceivable. It was the day they were practicing in the mirror, Kurt had been trying so hard to get the look right but ultimately kept shying away, embarrassed and self-conscious with the effort, saying Blaine just made it look so easy. Neither of them had a clue what they were doing, but disguises had always come easy for Blaine. Now, Kurt looks up at him, dark-eyed, mouth slightly parted before that devilish smirk takes over again, and Blaine is weak and breathless beneath his gaze. How the times do certainly change.

Kurt’s fingers are already coated in lube when he starts kissing Blaine’s thigh again and circles one finger around the tight ring of muscles. Blaine wants to rush ahead, squirms his hips down and Kurt tuts disapprovingly, leaving him to lie still once again and wait patiently at his mercy. He really can be such a goddamn tease sometimes. But he does not make him wait long before sliding one finger in, stroking and twisting, until Blaine pants, “More, please, more.”

He takes his time, adds another finger and scissors and stretches him as Blaine squirms and begs beneath his touch. Only two fingers in and Blaine is beginning to completely unravel, hips involuntarily jerking up as Kurt strokes and twists and kisses and bites, leaving tiny reddened marks all along his thighs. It never takes Kurt long to find that sweet spot, and sure enough Blaine is arching his back and panting as his fingers continue to brush over and massage his prostate. Slowly, he withdraws his fingers and when he pats the side of Blaine's leg and tells him to sit up he cannot help but whine loudly in protest.

“So impatient,” Kurt says, eyes twinkling with amusement as he settles himself against the headboard and tugs until Blaine is positioned above his lap. Kurt’s in control, but he knows this is Blaine’s favourite position.

“Condom?” Blaine’s thighs are already shaking as he holds himself up.

“I trust you,” Kurt replies, bringing his hands up to cup his face, voice so low and sultry it is a wonder Blaine doesn’t just stagger into his orgasm right on the spot. “And I want you to feel it.”

What did I do to deserve you?

Blaine groans into the kiss as Kurt strokes himself, coating his cock with lube before he holds it firm for him to lower himself down onto. The sweet heat and friction already feels like it is almost too much to bear. There is no way he is going to last like this, and they both know it. He positions his hands on Kurt’s chest, sinks all the way down and pants loudly against his mouth, pausing to let himself adjust before rising up again. Kurt relocates his hands to his hips, fingernails digging in and helping him rise and fall, their rhythm slow and synchronized. It doesn’t take long before it becomes more sporadic and urgent, Kurt’s hips bucking up as Blaine’s thighs tremble and burn to match his rhythm until he’s hitting just that right spot again. He yelps his moan, fingernails burrowing into Kurt’s skin.

“There, there, there— right there!” Blaine exhales quickly, winded and sweaty as he clenches and shakes. With the way Kurt’s gripping his hips he knows there are going to bruises where the thumbs sink in. The thought of it alone sends a rush of heat up his spine that erupts as another breathless gasp.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Kurt groans out. “ So fucking gorgeous.”

Blaine’s laugh comes out half-strangled as he gyrates his hips faster, thighs trembling violently as he slams one palm against the headboard to keep himself balanced. “So are you, fuck, so are you. So—” Kurt slides his hands down, cups his ass and quickens his thrusts, throwing the rest of Blaine’s thoughts to the wind as he all but crashes his head forward against the headboard and cries out. He becomes acutely aware of Kurt’s mouth against his chest, of his tongue circling his nipple, but barely registers Kurt’s breathy laugh, “Sorry, you okay?”

“Don’t stop,” Blaine breathes back. “Don’t stop, don’t— fuck, you feel so good.”

Kurt sucks on his nipple as Blaine’s breath hitches, heavy and desperate. Kurt slips one hand down and closes it around his cock, earning another loud strangled sound somewhere between an exhale and an actual word.

“You’re perfect, you’re so perfect— Kurt, fuck I’m gonna—”

Kurt works his hand faster, hips bucking wildly as Blaine cries out again, stars exploding behind his eyes as he comes. Kurt cups his ass again, squeezing and panting heavily against his neck as he keeps thrusting, chasing his own orgasm only seconds later. Blaine’s legs give out, leaving Kurt’s firm grip on his ass, his hips still jerking upwards sporadically, as his only support. Blaine keeps his eyes closed, fingers curled tightly around Kurt’s shoulders and forehead resting against the headboard, as Kurt finally slows to a stop. He does not want to move, does not want Kurt to pull away and leave him feeling empty again. As though reading his mind, Kurt holds him there, pressing lazy kisses to sweat soaked skin as Blaine’s body continues to tremble.

“God, I missed you,” Kurt whispers, raising his head enough to kiss his neck.

“I love you,” Blaine rasps out. “So much. More than anything.”

Kurt feigns a dramatic gasp, lips brushing against his neck and tickling him. “Surely not more than hair gel.”

The smile on Blaine’s face almost hurts before they both break out into laughter.

“Need some help?” Kurt squeezes his ass playfully, earning a soft, sleepy moan.

“My legs don’t work anymore,” Blaine laughs breathlessly, limbs heavy and useless. Their earlier conversation feels like a lifetime ago.

“I’ve got you,” Kurt says soothingly, lips back against his neck.

In the post-orgasm haze Blaine is barely aware of their movements as he comes to settle down beside him, limbs tangled and still desperate for touch. Kurt wipes cum off of his stomach with a tissue— Blaine cannot help but think about the midnight trip to the laundromat they will most likely be taking to salvage the sheets— before he draws him in close, those strong arms like a promise and a safety blanket. It is moments like these he loves the most, where the world stops spinning and they are frozen in a perfect carefree moment of mutual adoration and comfort within each other’s arms.

“I’m sorry about your dad, about all of that,” Kurt suddenly says softly, jarring him from the temporary peace.

“Not your fault,” Blaine mumbles, snuggling in closer to him as though melding their bodies together physically will drive away the uncomfortable feeling of emptiness starting to creep in all over again.

“Do you actually hate him?”

“No, of course I don’t. I just wish,” Blaine sighs and presses a kiss to his chest, arm curling tighter around Kurt’s waist to keep himself tethered down. “I just want him to be proud of me and it really hurts that he’s not, that I basically don’t exist to him.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” Blaine asks distractedly.

“Have you ever thought about talking to someone?”

“What do you mean?” Blaine shifts his head, too lazy to actually lift it off of his chest, and settles his eyes on Kurt’s jaw.

“Like a therapist,” Kurt says carefully. Involuntarily, Blaine stiffens between his arms. “Have you ever thought about that?”

Blaine sluggishly drags his hand over Kurt’s chest, fingers tracing invisible patterns. Kurt tilts his head down, nose pressed to his loosely gelled hair and breathes in deep before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I might have,” Blaine whispers, heart thudding violently now. Kurt has been nothing but understanding and patient, yet the anxiety still clutches tightly and forces him to want to retreat and hide.

“Maybe you should,” Kurt says gently.

“Maybe,” Blaine parrots quietly.

“I’m not suggesting something is wrong with you,” Kurt adds, pressing another kiss to the top of his head. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

How could you tell?

“It just might be good to talk to someone unbiased, don’t you think?”

Blaine continues trailing his fingers over Kurt’s chest, silent and pensive. He had certainly contemplated the idea plenty of times in the past, never sure of where to even begin. After the attack at the dance, when Kurt moved away, when they broke up— every time he had come remotely close to researching, shame and panic had chased the idea away.

“Say something?” Kurt asks softly and runs his fingers through his hair, far more pliable now that the gel has been somewhat dissolved by sweat.

Blaine’s hand stills against his chest and he props himself up on his elbow to get a better look at him. There is no judgement on his face. Those eyes like endless oceans of concern and compassion. Everything about his expression screams I see you, I love you and I see you.

“You’ll uh,” Blaine starts and struggles to hold his gaze, his first instinct telling him to stare at anything other than his eyes. “Will you help me look for one?”

“Of course I will. We’re a team, aren’t we?”

The smile on his face makes Blaine’s heart beat just a little faster, but there is no feeling of shame behind it. “Yes. We’re a team.”

He settles down in Kurt’s arms again, but silence between them never lasts long. It is only a matter of moments before Kurt’s speaking again. “Have you ever heard of Kintsugi?”

Blaine furrows his brows and tilts his head up towards him again. He is always full of these random little tidbits of information. “No? What’s that?”

“It’s a phrase used in Japan. It’s the art of mending broken pottery.”

“Okay?” Blaine trails the word out, the tickle in the back of his throat not quite a laugh just yet. He usually has a point when he brings things like this up, but sometimes he does not. Right now it is not obvious which side of that line he is on.

“Instead of using clear glue, they use powdered gold or silver, usually gold. So when they put the pieces back together, they’re not trying to hide the fact that it was broken. The process of being broken and repaired is part of its history, and they choose to highlight and display that fact by turning it into something new with these golden scars to show for it. I think that’s beautiful, don’t you?”

“So, are you calling me broken pottery?” Blaine asks, the laugh finally breaking free.

“No,” Kurt replies, placing two fingers on his chin to tilt his head up. “You’re a perfect work of art with a history to show for it.”

And as he leans forward, eager to press their lips together and soak up as much of him as humanly possible, Blaine thinks, And you are the artist.

________________________________________________________________

The song Blaine sings is When You Come Home by Mree, which instantly made me think of our boys when I first heard it.

I don't remember where I first learned about Kintsugi, but I became absolutely obsessed with it. To be able to take something broken, mend it and showcase all of its imperfections as something beautiful and apart of its history... just something about that really hit close to home for me. Here is one example. Take some time to google image search some pieces, they are absolutely breathtaking. And I think it is a perfect metaphor for how we can come to deal with our own traumas.

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.

#klaine #klaine fic #glee tested #glee 5x16 #kintsugi #syntheticpoetry writes #smut #blaine anderson #kurt hummel #glee #glee fic #tested reaction

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claraxbarton · 3 years

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Probably literally no one wants to read this, but on the off chance anyone wants to CHOOSE to read my thoughts on fanworks in relation to traditional western culture and not merely be subjected to them via DM during an innocent (though angsty as all hell) convo on the parallels between Stucky and Destiel well, here’s 1700 words on it:

—-

Actually. And here’s the thing that works so damn well with both bucky/Steve and Dean/Cas is that there is no clear “damsel/hero” dichotomy that we see in classic heteronormative relationships.

But like.

The thing about fan fiction, and AO3 specifically, is that it primarily features homoerotic and homoromatic relationships between two cisgender white men. Yes that is changing- mostly thanks to the rise of KPOP (the surprise lord and savior of 2020) and Hulu and Netflix optioning East Asian movies and television series to spread those narratives. Which is an entire thing on its own because so many of those like- is it Untamed? Feature homosocial environments and thus- the point is. The landscape is changing and yay.

But AO3s success is largely predicated on two main ships: Stucky and Destiel. Yes there are others that are huge and continue to grow, but these are the two that I feel (with no data or research to support my assertion) helped AO3 take precedence over ffnet as THE site for fan work hosting.

Now, the contradictory thing about fan work, the thing that is so often described as hypocritical and/or fetishizing is that the majority feature two cisgender white men engaged in homoerotic and/or homoromantic relationships when the majority of the readers and creators of fan works are neither.

Data supports the supposition that most fan work creators and consumers identify as non-male. And in that subset the majority identify as female.

Simply based on generic population data, the correlation can be made (again no effort put into googling this because I have sewing to do) that the majority of this group is likely cisgendered heterosexual (white) women.

However, fan works and fan engagement are a proven community for fans who do not ascribe to the heteronormative gender binary or heterosexual and/or heteroromantic relationship structure and are, in fact, not just white. Again- imagine numbers that are factual because sewing.

Fandom is not unique to entertainment media. We can trace it back to, well, as long as we can trace it back. What are the Venus of Willendorf statues of not fanart? The Parthenon? Egyptian funereal pyramids and their contents? Renaissance art in general? Is the King James Bible not a “fix it” for the previously canonical literature (that’s a hot take don’t come for me.) (you could also consider the King James Version an attempt at song fic).

In more contemporary culture, we have sports fandoms- primarily male dominated. Primarily cisgendered heterosexual white male dominated.

The fandom culture of sports fans has been described as that of collectors and curators- they want memorabilia and statistics and gatekeeping actions often require proof of knowledge or commitment via possessions.

Meanwhile, entertainment media fandoms- such as those experiences on AO3- are more creative than curatorial. Instead of efforts to organize, delineate and create hierarchies within fandoms (yes this happens but is not the overriding force), these sorts of fandoms seek to create fanWORKS and fanCOMMUNITIES. Yes, fantasy sports leagues exist and so do sports teams fan communities. But I ask you, where in sports fandoms is there a GISH?Or an AO3?

The reality of contemporary western dominated culture (entertainment,sports,economic,political, artistic and philosophical) is one that features white cisgendered heterosexual men at the apex-

Both as creators and consumers despite prevailing realities in population and cultural zeitgeist.

As such, most western dominated fandoms are homosocial: dominated by one group, that of white cisgendered heterosexual men.

All that is to say, most star athletes are straight white dudes. Most movie stars are straight white dudes. Most politicians. Most wealth holders and distributors. Most creators.

Why? Because patriarchy. But the WHY isn’t the point of this long ass word vomit.

It’s the So What?

Sports fandoms are the territory of these same homosocial networks.

But media fandoms are the territory of those NOT at the top of that hierarchy.

While the CONTENT and the original content creators remain part of that homosocial white cisgendered heterosexual group, the consumers of media are largely NOT OF THAT GROUP despite what the content creators may desire or believe (see: the creatives behind supernatural and their ridiculous ability to convince themselves that their core demographic are straight white dudes 15-40).

As such, content that features the patriarchy is primarily heterosexual, heteronormative, racist (acutely or passively), misogynistic, homophobic, homosocial and, well, lacking.

Take, for example, MCU and Supernatural as franchises. Our main characters are primarily white dudes. White dudes who mostly interact with other white dudes, whose “tribes” (brethren, compatriots, coworkers) are also white dudes. Yes, smurfs exist- the token woman or non-white person. Sometimes even a queer person (gender or sexual, though very, very rarely gender queer).

The fact that whenever our “heroes” interact with anyone outside their tribe or homosocial group they are almost inevitably evil, dead or about to die is telling. How many women die in supernatural? How many people of color? How many villains in the MCU (and while the X-MEN franchise isn’t necessarily within the MCU because Hollywood, the queer coding within X-MEN is encyclopedic) are queer coded?

Now, I’ve said repeatedly that heterosexual and heteronormative relationships are the mean within such media. Our white dudes bang white ladies, love white ladies, but act like manly white men and don’t put romantic feelings ahead of things like patriotism and pain unless they have “earned” the right to such (a trial that often involves a lot of deaths that are never addressed or given recourse. See:endgame)

Bros before hoes is more or less the rule of western mainstream media.

As such, relationships that demonstrate respect, trust, vulnerability, compassion and resiliency are almost always homosocial: or they are between two bros (no homo) and not between a man and a woman.

You trust the guy at your back, not the woman because you 1. Want to bang her 2. She’s probably going to die 3. She’s a damsel 4. Seriously she’s probably going to die.

Which all means: most of the well developed characters and relationships within mainstream western media are homosocial- they exist between two members of the same group. In our case, those straight white bros (which of course within supernatural can sometimes be taken literally in the case of Wincest).

Which means, the consumers of this media- mostly not white straight cisgendered dudes- are left with content that doesn’t represent who they are or what they want or even can aspire to.

So what’s the solution? Collect data and memorabilia? Sure why not.

OR: use your beloved media, those well developed characters and relationships, to create something new.

Fan work.

We circle back, at last, to the idea that fan work creators and consumers can be hypocritical or contradictory by creating works that feature that which they are not- these white dudes in love (romantic, sexual) with each other.

This supposition suggests that creators and consumers are using the characters and situations in fan work as replacements for what they lack in heterosocial relationships- either in media or in their own lives. Or, put another way, fans replace either Bucky or Steve with themselves and image the other to be their “love” interest.

To an extent, this may be true. That both parties are usually written to have male genitalia while most fans do not is where so many of the hypocritical and fetishization issues come into play.

But the reality is, fans are working with what they are given. Most fans don’t have dicks. A generous portion of fans don’t want to engage with dicks is sexual ways (or engage in sex at all) (and it must be emphasized that the majority of works on AO3 are rated T not E).

But the value in reimagining, subtextualizing, or deconstructing the mostly platonically presented homosocial relationships in western media as homosexual or homoerotic or homoromantic is not (for the most part) about fetish or about placeholders and substitutions for the fan.

It is about creating fanwork that reflects the society a fan lives in or wishes to live in.

Just as the sports fan will go to a bar and paint themselves blue and deride the Yankees because they want to envision a society that upholds a white cisgendered male patriarchy, media fanWORKS are created because we do NOT have a society that values romantic or erotic relationships between equals (for in traditional western society the only equal to a white cisgendered man is another white dude).

So, at last, a return to Stucky and Destiel.

The relationships created in fanWORKS between these two aren’t simply those where one is the “‘man” in the relationship and the other is the “woman”.

Yes those fanWORKS exist.

But most utilize the strong bonds of trust and respect and vulnerability and dare I say shared experience to create romantic and erotic relationships that are both more complex and more realistic than those actually portrayed in the same media.

In Stucky, we see Steve save Bucky and Bucky save Steve. We see Bucky hurt Steve and Steve hurt Bucky. We see their positions as EQUALS as a means by which to create a world where fulfilling relationships can exist that do not automatically restrict one (or more) parties to that of “chattel”.

The same is true of Destiel.

And both relationships feature key similarities within the original media that make for such rich possibilities.

Castiel saves Dean from hell. Castiel is brainwashed by the patriarchy to view Dean as lesser and even to kill him (this happens multiple times).

While Steve saves Bucky from Azzano, it is Bucky who saved Steve for almost their entire lives before that point. And after that point the two go back and forth to save each other. And let us not forget that Bucky was ordered to kill Steve but “he knew me”.

Dean and Castiel go through a similar ping pong match of saving each other.

This isn’t just about being equal in strength- it’s about being equal in vulnerability.

Which, to belabor the point, doesn’t exist in mainstream media’s romantic or erotic relationships nor is it widely taught or reinforced in western culture as a whole.

In conclusion.

Stucky and Destiel can save the world.

But probably KPOP would do it better and faster and cooler.

—-

Totally feel free to engage with your own opinions. Because I have to go sew now but later? Later we should talk friends and foes.

#fandom #meta #critical #fanfiction #fanfic #fanart #mcu #supernatural #SPN #stucky #destiel #Steve Rogers #captain america #bucky barnes #winter soldier #dean winchester #castiel #deancas

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houseofhurricane · 3 years

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ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (19/28) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: Lucien attempts to return the Autumn Court to its rightful High Lord, while trying to figure out the worsening effects of the curse on Vassa. You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. Thank you for reading! ❤️ If you'd like to get an early preview on the next chapter, follow me on Instagram at @house.of.hurricane.

The days after Vassa’s rescue are so filled with political deliberation between the High Lords and nobles of Prythian that even Lucien’s mind, so accustomed to strategy and scheming, is overwhelmed. He had planned for his reunion with Vassa to feature sleepless nights and tangled sheets, a variety of creative positions and a thousand different sounds of pleasure leaving Vassa’s lips. Instead, as soon as the meetings are over for the day, a member of the Night Court winnows her to the day’s meeting place so that she can join the long dinners, then ferries her to the Spring Court where she and Lucien fall into sleep. She reaches for him, insists despite the pain he can see in her eyes, the tears that fall as soon as their kisses reach a fevered pitch.

He always rises to find that in sleep, she has rolled to the farthest corner of the bed, where he cannot touch her even accidentally.

Still, when he tries to ask her what he can do, how he can help, she insists that he has other priorities. As if he cannot see the darkness around her eyes, the way that, in mere days, she’s grown almost frail. A shadow of herself.

When it’s decided there will be an attempt at diplomacy with the Autumn Court, Vassa rouses herself, invites Tamlin and Elain to join them for champagne to celebrate their emissaries, Lucien and Elain both having been selected.

“You’ll make sure she’s out of danger,” Tamlin says to Lucien as soon as they clink glasses, and Lucien, nodding, sees Vassa roll her eyes at Elain, who smothers her answering laugh behind her hands.

“You’re sure a firebird would not advance your cause?” Vassa asks, the joke turning plaintive. Elain reaches out her hand and then drops it, a thump against her skirts, before she can harm Vassa with a conciliatory touch. They’d agreed that the risk to Vassa did not merit the benefit of the clear alliance with the human realms. Not when the stories of Lucien and Vassa had begun to spread.

“I will keep him safe, Queen of Scythia,” Elain says after a moment, the smile in her voice, returning them to the moment, the kind of camaraderie she’d longed for in those weeks at the Night Court.

“Good,” Vassa says, and for a moment her face is alight as it ever was, her eyes sapphire-bright, “because I never worry about you anymore, Elain Archeron. You listen very well to me. Unlike certain High Fae males who love to hover over extremely capable women.”

She shoots a glance at Lucien, her lips pursed comically, and when he allows himself to laugh, he feels the brightness spread over his body, more intoxicating than the sparkling wine. He lets himself pretend, just for the space of an evening, that everything is fine, that this haven could be a lasting one, that he will hear these three laughing and teasing and happy all his life.

Before dawn, she kisses him and sets off for the lake alone.

“You can save this world with your words alone,” she says, her fingers on his face, gentle on the scars that surround his ruined eye. Watching her expression, he’d never know this gesture caused her pain. Still, knowing what he knows, Lucien cannot bring himself to take another kiss.

“I’ll save you next,” he tells her.

“Or you’ll watch as I save myself, Vanserra.” She smiles then, and swings herself from the bed to the door in a single fluid motion, as if they existed in a moment they have never known, when everything was all right.

Before the rest of the manor wakes, Lucien lights a candle, busies himself with the strategies, all the reminders he wants to give the rest of the diplomatic party, which will comprise Nesta, Elain and himself. It had been agreed that the High Lords would stay out of the initial stage of negotiations, and still Lucien worries that this group is too small, too tied to the Night Court, with two Archeron sisters with largely unknown powers who were all too recently human. And yet he has held his tongue. Because Elain has surprised him and Nesta has terrified him, and all three sisters seem to have a knack for prevailing when the rest of Prythian thinks they’re doomed.

For a moment, he wishes that he could consult Eris, but his brother has been staying in the Night Court, no doubt to Morrigan’s dismay. Still, given Rhysand’s relative strength, it makes sense to mark him as an ally. And for all that Lucien likes his brother in spite of himself, he much prefers the nights he spends in the Spring Court without the threat of his judgement and withering remarks.

Instead of ruminating over the past, he takes one more breath, reviews his notes, all the things that could unfold today, and decides that he is as ready as he can be.

By the time Lucien joins Elain and Tamlin for breakfast, he’s decided that the mission will prevail. Elain has even worn a dress in the tawny browns and deep greens of the Autumn Court, tied her hair back from her face with a red ribbon.

“Those colors don’t suit you,” Tamlin is saying, lifting a cherry turnover from the serving platter to her plate.

“What colors would you prefer me in, High Lord?” Elain’s cheeks are pink and while Lucien is sure that there are headier implications to her question, he decides he will not consider them.

Instead, he heaps his plate high and talks through the strategy with Elain, more for Tamlin’s benefit than hers.

“Do you think that Nesta will behave herself?” Tamlin asks, once the review is complete.

“Nesta likes Eris more than anybody,” Elain responds, in a tone that barely covers her amazement.

“Nesta’s job is to be terrifying,” Lucien adds.

“It’s what she’s best at, isn’t it?”

It is, of course, Nesta behind him, and Lucien shoots Elain a look, asking how will she kill me? Elain, standing to greet her sister, does not cover her commiserating smile, which seems to suggest his death is imminent.

“You’re ready for the Autumn Court?” Nesta asks Elain, who stand alongside the grand table, a study in contrasts. Nesta has come in her Illyrian, her hair braided in a crown on her head and her sword at her side. Her body is small but all of its angles are fierce, almost severe. Next to her, Elain looks impossibly soft, so gentle that Lucien is reminded why everyone always underestimates her.

But still Elain shoots back, “I’m the one taking us there. You’ll know when I’m ready for the Autumn Court. Would you like Lucien to remind you of the strategy?”

“Rhys and Feyre woke me up early to review. You’d think the dignity of the Night Court was at stake.”

“Only the peace in Prythian,” Lucien drawls, his eyes darting to Tamlin who, as expected, has his knife and fork clutched in an extremely tight grip.

“Feyre told me the same thing before she crawled inside my mind,” Nesta says, running her eyes over Lucien, redoubling her statement. “I know I’m only to speak when you want me to scare them.”

“And if Koschei is there, you do not fight him,” Elain adds, smoothing her fingers over her skirts. “Let Lucien winnow you.”

“You’ll let Lucien winnow you also,” Tamlin says, his voice strangled with restraint. Lucien can tell that he is trying very hard not to loom over Elain.

“I will let Lucien winnow me,” Elain echoes, meeting his eye as her cheeks go pink. Nesta lets out a sigh that sounds very like a snarl, and if it weren’t a sign of worry, Lucien would bury his head in his hands.

There are a thousand more important things at this moment than romantic tension. And still Lucien wishes this was his only problem.

So instead he meets Tamlin’s eye and promises to winnow Elain, does not look away from Nesta’s glare as he tells her that she is welcome to speak, he’s heard she has good diplomatic instincts, but he will welcome her sword if everything goes to shit.

Then, because for a moment he feels like his old self again, he meets Elain’s eyes and says, “Let’s see if you’re a real emissary now.”

When Elain sticks out her tongue at him, it’s impossible to hold back his laugh.

“Feyre is having too much fun watching you,” Nesta says, extending her hand towards her other sister. “Now can you please take us to the Autumn Court so I can stop hearing her cackle in my mind? I don’t think it’s good form to be late.”

Elain’s smile flickers out but she reaches for Lucien and Nesta, lets the tethering spell bind them, and the Spring Court rips away.

The wall of fire around the Autumn Court castle is new.

“I told you we should have arrived directly inside,” Nesta says, eyeing the unbroken flames.

“It would be an act of war to simply appear inside the court itself,” Lucien says as levelly as he can, reaching out to the wall of fire with his own magic, scanning it with his golden eye. There are protective and defensive spells interwoven with the fire itself, powerful enough that unraveling the magic isn’t a practical option. Anyway, an alarm has likely sounded.

Sure enough, the flames part just wide enough to let a person pass.

Lucien knows things are headed to shit when he doesn’t recognize the gangly squire who appears to greet them. He had hoped that his mother would be the one to welcome their group, even if his brothers would have been the more appropriate group, would-be High Lords welcoming the delegation sent by the other rulers of Prythian.

Instead they are welcomed like beggars, and the young male who greets them looks nervous.

He sees Nesta reach for her sword and doesn’t bother to try and restrain her. His brothers begin with disrespect and then quickly move to violence.

“We are the delegation sent by the High Lords of Prythian,” Elain says, her voice honeyed in a way that makes this nervous page blush and fidget. “Lady Cybele should be expecting us after our message.”

“Cybele d-doesn’t rule this court,” the page says, trying out a nasty tone that distorts his features.

Elain flexes her fingers and her skin takes on a golden glow that is distinct from the firelight. When he glances at Nesta, he sees silver flames flicker to life in her eyes. He wishes they would save this bravado for his brothers, but at any rate, the page grows pale.

“We’ve come to meet with whoever does rule this court.” Elain’s voice is now too pleasant. “And I’m sure you can agree that we should expect to find that a brother of its ruler welcome to enter without this kind of horrible scrutiny.”

“I was told that the b-bastard has to stay outside.”

Elain turns her glance to Lucien, her eyes gone wide. She can pull Nesta from the world, but if Koschei is inside, Lucien was always intended to be the quick exit.

Nesta interrupts, fingers wrapped around the sword at her hip.

“Who is inside the castle, boy?” Her impression of Amren is impeccable, and the page’s face grows pale.

He reaches for Elain but Lucien is too swift, and in half a breath the darkness has enveloped them and released them to the forests of the Autumn Court.

“He was going to take you to Koschei,” Lucien says before Elain can begin her protest. “Thank the Mother that my brothers are too stupid to train their henchmen.”

“Tell Feyre that we’ll need protection at the Spring Court,” Elain says to Nesta, squeezing Lucien’s fingers as she gives the order. “They could be coming for Vassa next.”

“The Valkyries are guarding her today,” Nesta says, “but we should get out of this court before we have to deal with any more Vanserras.”

“One is enough?” he asks, preparing the tethering spell, snipping its edges so that only the three of them can be carried by Elain’s magic.

“I’m fairly certain you and Eris are the only decent ones.”

“His mother is trapped in that castle,” Elain points out, grabbing tight to Lucien’s wrist, to Nesta’s. The forest becomes the passageways, becomes a winter forest scented with pine, a marketplace, an expanse of tall concrete buildings seemingly held to the clouds by magic, becomes, finally, the great hall of the Spring Court, where Tamlin waits, clad in his battle armor, two swords strapped across his back.

Behind him, still in his flawless court jacket and shining boots, Eris waits. And it is to that spotless figure that Elain runs, all the colors of autumn, her magic still aglow on her face.

Lucien launches himself after her but there’s a hand on his chest. Nesta. A warning in her eyes that he can’t decipher.

Elain stops inches from Eris, close enough that his features are cast in her golden light. Behind her, Tamlin looms, a sword drawn in his hand, ready to strike. But Elain does not hear or notice him. Her focus is only on Eris.

“Will you break the alliance with Koschei?” she asks, her hands on her hips.

“We’ve discussed this at length,” Eris says. Lucien can see in the tightness of his jaw that he’s trying to determine whether Elain can kill him, whether Tamlin will slice him to bits at her command. That he’s realizing the relative weakness of his own position, his rightful position as High Lord dependent on too many factors. That if Elain tried to destroy him, perhaps nobody would stop her.

“I am asking you as emissary of the Spring Court and friend to the Queen of Scythia. As the person who helped rescue you from Koschei, the death-lord who holds you under a curse. I am asking as the female who can harm you with a single brush of my fingers thanks to his spell on you.”

“I didn’t think you realized that it wasn’t only your human friend under his spell,” Eris says, and nobody can miss the way he leans back from Elain, an unmistakable confirmation.

“Koschei will try to tear apart Prythian until he claims both Vassa and me. He is likely searching for you as well.”

There’s a shift in Eris’ features, a pain he tries to hide, and suddenly the situation becomes deadly clear to Lucien.

“What did he promise you?” he calls to his brother, the only one he has a sliver of hope in. In a flash of movement, Tamlin’s sword is pointed at Eris, and Nesta surges toward him, coming alongside Elain with her own blade pointed at the would-be High Lord of Autumn.

“I haven’t allied with him,” Eris says, managing to smirk even at the steel pointed at him, all the allies he stands to lose. “But there are whispers that he can break this curse on me. A curse which a High Lord cannot bear. Not if he will truly rule his people.”

Elain steps toward him, her skirts sighing. She’s so close that Eris could grab her if he wanted, Eris who never shows his hand until it suits him.

“I know what it is to be a pawn,” she says. “And I am working to understand the complexity of Koschei’s magic. I don’t know, yet, how we could release you from this curse but I am working to find out. When I learn how, I will unbind you myself.”

“They should write legends about the overconfidence of your family,” Eris says, assessing her.

“If you ally with Koschei, Eris, they will never write legends about you at all,” Nesta points out, letting the tip of her sword snag on a button, which falls to the ground with a ping. “And you will lose the allegiance of the Night Court.”

Tamlin only tucks Elain against his side. He knows the allegiance of the Spring Court does not much matter, especially to a member of the Autumn Court, who so easily invaded.

When Lucien finally speaks, he’s surprised at how easily the words fall from his lips. As if he had been dreaming them.

“If you vow to fight against Koschei,” he says to his brother, “I vow that I will not rest until the High Lords of Prythian go united into battle for your throne. You should know that I have friends in every court who listen to my counsel. You will not reclaim the throne without allies. And together, perhaps those same allies could join together and rid you of Koschei’s curse.”

He’s thrown in this last without knowing if it’s possible, without knowing if the High Lords would ever agree, especially given what happened to Feyre, but Elain stiffens at Tamlin’s side, the gesture her body makes when she has a new idea.

“I haven’t forgotten that you killed my father,” Eris says, finally, and the words sound like a threat, but Lucien knows his brother well enough to see the relief in his voice, the tiniest hint of the smile he’s unable to hide from a practiced observer.

“Beron tried to harm my friends.” Lucien meets his brother’s eyes, lets his meaning become clear. He lets his magic, the light and fire, burn in the air around him.

Eris steps back, away from the swords and the tense and thickening magic.

“Promise you’ll free me from this curse and I vow I will never ally with the death-lord Koschei.”

“As soon as Vassa is free, we will free you,” Lucien says, watches as Elain nods, as Tamlin lowers his sword, and Nesta reluctantly follows. “But first, it seems we will need to go to war for your throne.”

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aadmelioraa · 4 years

Text

Home Again

Aelswith x Alfred, 1k, T (read on ao3)

Prompt fill for @minimartian: a kiss with a hoarse whisper, “I love you.”

Aelswith cannot remember feeling more tired—perhaps after Aethelflaed’s birth, that labor had been particularly difficult. But the fear that she had felt then, knowing her life hung in the balance, had been nothing compared to the fear she’d felt these past few weeks. The near loss of her infant son had been a nearly unfathomable weight upon her heart. She remembers the way her sister’s death had affected her mother, and she thanks God she can continue on without that kind of grief welling up in her soul day after day without end.

They are alive—all of them—and they are home, and Wessex is saved. Mere days ago she had been sure all was lost. How many hours had she spent in prayer, begging Edward’s life be spared? How many hours that her husband would be spared in battle, that they would prevail over the heathens? She does not know the sum. It had been most of her waking hours, and many when she ought to have been sleeping. While making bread, tending to her children, laying in bed beside her husband, always the same few prayers repeating in her head over and over and over.

She stands in the children's room, watching the rise and fall of Aethelflaed’s chest, the soft pink flush of her cheeks that comes from being well-fed and able to rest at last. The nurse is holding Edward, rocking him too and fro in her arms as he coos. Aelswith had only that evening allowed someone else to tend to him. She had not been able to bear it until she had nearly collapsed with exhaustion and someone had forced her to sit and eat. Even then, she refused to leave his side.

Edward is sleeping now. The nurse lays in him in his bed and slips away at her nod, but Aelswith lingers. She cannot tear herself away, not yet.

“I thought I would find you here.”

She turns to see her husband standing behind her. He looks paler and older than he ought, and it pulls at her heart in a way she finds more common of late.

There had been tension between them for weeks, though recently she had softened enough towards him to speak. Now that they are home again, they had nearly fallen back into their old rhythms. But still she feels a slight coldness towards him, a nagging feeling that she could not forgive his betrayal, however blessed the consequences.

She cannot believe that Uhtred’s woman had saved Edward’s life, though perhaps God had worked through her hands in some strange way. It had cut her to the bone when Alfred had taken Edward from her arms. She had sobbed harder than ever in her life that night, so forlorn that even Aethelflaed had woken and come to comfort her. The feeling of her daughter wrapped in her arms had only reminded her what she might lose if Edward did not live.

But he had lived, and so had they all. So why did she remain cold?

“I am merely checking on the children,” she says, “I will return to bed soon.”

Alfred nods, stepping a bit closer so he too can see Edward where he lays.

“I know that you resent me for my choice in the marshes,” he says in a low voice, careful not to wake the children. “I have come to ask for reconciliation.”

That tugs at her heart further, but she bites her lip and will not look at him, eyes remaining fixed on Edward’s tiny arms where they lay above his head.

“I cannot pretend to understand the bond a mother has with her child,” he continues softly, “but you must know that even such a cold man as myself would have felt his loss severely.”

His voice shakes slightly as he continues.

“It would have broken me, Aelswith.”

She finally looks at him again, and even in the dim light of the passage she can see that his dark hair has turned a bit more gray at the temples and his face has an additional line or two. The knot in her throat grows and the tears well in her eyes. She knows he speaks the truth, she knows that she could not have saved Edward’d life and that he had done what she could not.

“It would have broken both of us,” she whispers, and he takes her in his arms and holds her as she weeps. It is a different sort of fit than she has been used to, not one of fear but of relief, exhaustion, the knowledge that she had tasted too soon the mortality that bound them all upon this earth.

He is stroking her hair, whispering soft things to soothe her. His embrace, so painfully absent from her life these past weeks, feels like the comfort of heaven.

When the tears subside she pulls back just enough to look at him, still wrapped in his arms. He runs a thumb along her jawline tenderly. His eyes are so soft for her like they had been in those early days, when they were young and in love.

“You are a good woman, Aelswith, and a better wife. The best mother our children could ask for.”

She smiles weakly, her cheeks stiff as the salt begins to dry upon them. “You, my lord, are becoming quite indulgent in your own age.”

A gentle barb, the kind he is used to from her when they’re alone. The corner of his mouth quirks into a smile.

She watches as his eyes dart to her lips, his gaze deepening.

“Kiss me,” she whispers hoarsely, and without hesitation he does—unrestrained, passionate, without the reservation of any absentminded thoughts or lingering guilt.

When he pulls back he looks renewed, and that gladdens her heart immeasurably.

“I am blessed,” she whispers, “to call you husband, Lord King.”

“And I,” he echoes, “to call you wife.”

He takes her hand, and she squeezes it gently.

“Come, let us rest together. The children will be there when we wake.”

She follows him, the joy within her feeling boundless.

#not the ship you were expecting i imagine *eyes emoji*#enjoy!#i think it's mostly canon compliant or close anyway #tlk #the last kingdom #tlk fic #alfred x aelswith #pardon any typos i am trying to finish this before my computer dies agshaljkahkajk #anyway i love a good established relationship #and light angst is my jam #kat writes

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obsidianfr3sk · 3 years

Text

Falcon in the Dive

Summary: Piercing into the sky and higher, Ace thrived. The weak cowered, but the fittest, like him, survived. He didn't wait until the darkest hour, he didn't wait until they spring alive. He, with claws of fire, devoured like a falcon in the dive.

AO3

As my contribuiton to the Multifandom Gift Exchange 2020 (hosted by the wonderful @darkalinas and @scxundress), here’s a gift for my little sister and favorite villain apologist (?) @alecjamesartino. As soon as they told me I was your gifter... well, I was really happy!!! And then x’d I knew I had to write something about Ace and this song just... LIKE I JUST KNEW I HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT ACE INSPIRED IN FALCON IN THE DIVE, ALL RIGHT???? I JUST ✨K N E W✨

Before y’all start reading xd I need to... kinda clarify something. So, I don’t know if you know, but I actually based all of my fics on this timeline made by @honey-hippie-harper and @healing-winston-pratt, and I kinda just started to create my headcanons from it. But, today I decided to throw all of them through the freaking window and base this fic on this timeline, made by my giftee:’))) She uses it for her fic Love and Anarchy (which you should totally read!). That said, this work has nothing to do with my other fics (for example, Rise of the Renegades or The Origins), I’m just experimenting with new headcanons:’)

Another important thing x’d On this fic I mention Leroy’s eyes turn green when he uses his powers and that Hugh’s eyes are gray instead of blue. This are not my headcanons, they’re actually from this drawing made by @healing-winston-pratt. Go check it out and reblog it!!)

Now... well, my dear little sister Alec, I hope you like this gift. I know how much you like Ace and the Anarchists, and I have never written anything about them (Begginings and Endings doesn’t count, it was from David’s POV x’d) so this was a complete challenge for me. But what kept me going was... thinking that I was doing this for you. And honestly, your timeline just gave me so much space to play with new headcanons and scenarios, so thank you for that:’)) Personally I consider myself someone with a extraordinary imagination, but you, Alec, left me dumbfounded (quedé dirían en mi tierra). You are so young, and brilliant, and adorably deathly that I just want to hold you and protect you from the the bad things that happen on this world:’)

I’d say I love you but I’m akward so I’ll just say I’m really fond of you. I think you have a lot of potentential and I hope I get to see you become a wonderful woman. Felices fiestas✨✨✨

Knock in the doors, lock up the city,

track him down through this town,

and be quick about it... now!

How the devil can I ever prevail when I'm only a man?

I can never be duped by that scurrilous phantom again.

Year 0, month 0

“I thought you were going to be taller.”

Ace stopped looking at the chandelier hanging over his head to look at the woman to his right. “Sorry?”

“I thought you were going to be taller,” she repeated almost yelling.

“Fuck, Honey ...”

Ace turned to his left. “What?” Honey asked. “I’m just saying, geez.”

The young man's eyes went from dark to toxic green.

“Leroy,” Ace interrupted, “your chair is ... burning.”

Leroy removed his hands from the armrest of the chair he was sitting in, cursing underneath. There were drops of a greenish liquid coming from his fingers and the wood smelled like a burnt tree. As he did his best to clean up the mess he had made with his powers, Ace turned his attention back to Honey. “Did you think it was going to be taller?”

Honey tucked one of her blonde curls behind her ear. She was wearing a white coat with rhinestone as buttons; a group of prodigies had given it to her in exchange for allowing them to join their ranks. Ace had replied that it was not necessary to pay any kind of tribute and that anyone who agreed with the values of the Anarchists, could consider themselves as such. Despite this, one of the boys insisted on giving Honey the coat, because from the moment he saw it, he thought it was “fit for a queen”. That was the moment when Ace's theory was confirmed: Honey had a weakness for compliments and gifts. She accepted the coat with a smile and even defended the boy when Leroy muttered, “Ahem, simp.”

That was also the moment when he realized that Leroy's weakness was driving Honey out of her mind.

Regardless, Ace could tell that they had some kind of… appreciation for each other. The first time he saw them use their powers was when Honey sent a cloud of wasps to a group of cops who tried to get Leroy into one of their trucks and when Leroy burned the face of a guy who had grabbed Honey from wrist strong enough to make her scream.

Those two were powerful and loyal without falling into blind fanaticism. Ace needed people like that in his ranks.

The whole world needed such people in its ranks.

“I mean, yeah,” Honey continued. “I had heard so much about Ace Anarchy that… well, I have to admit I did build up some expectations.”

Ace fixed his gaze on Honey's feet. She was wearing heels. Obviously. “Why don't you get off those stilts and say it to my face?”

Honey burst out laughing right away and Ace too. He could even see Leroy trying not to smile before crossing his arms on his chest.

The three were on the seat of the cathedral, Ace sitting on the main chair where the priest who officiated the mass sat, and Honey and Leroy on the chairs to the sides, generally reserved for the seminarians who helped during the celebration. He had taken the table out of the way with his powers and stored it in a cellar, in case it was needed again. During those last three weeks that they had been using the cathedral as a base, Ace had given some speeches there. The light coming from the windows illuminated his face and the crucifix behind him made him feel a kind of power that he could not describe. Also, the main chair was wide, tall, and shiny. It would have looked like a throne if it were covered in some golden metal...

Stop it.

“I think no one else is coming,” said Leroy. “we better get out of here. These chairs are uncomfortable.”

“Use a cushion, like me,” Honey commented, proudly displaying the small cushion she had placed on the chair to make it easier to sit.

Leroy couldn’t look more disgusted. “Why would you put your ass on the same cushion you use to sleep?”

As his allies began to argue again, Ace put his arms on the sides of the chair, focusing on the immense doors of the cathedral.

As far as they knew, Ace was waiting for recruits. It was a fairly common thing to happen. Many prodigies (like the simp and his henchmen) had been flocking to the cathedral, seeking help, acceptance, or a chance to prove themselves worthy of being within Ace's close circle. It was a bit tiring at times, but at the moment he couldn't afford to turn them away without even bothering to see what their powers were. If he knew something, it was that no power could not be taken advantage of in some way, and if that way could benefit him, the better.

But at dusk, the chances of people coming to the cathedral began to disappear, because at night the city became dangerous. Thus, Ace knew that he would not receive any new potential recruits until the next morning, and he knew that his allies need to rest and eat something.

However, he also knew that David could be the one to walk through that door at any moment.

Ace was still furious with him. He probably would be furious with him for the rest of his life. David was a condescending, deluded guy who didn't bother to think outside the box for the good of those who were like them.

But at the end of the day, that guy was his blood (whoever he liked it or not) and he wanted to make sure he was still alive.

David Artino would never miss an opportunity to exercise his authority as an older brother and scold him for the first reason that crossed his mind. He could see him hiding like a mole in some hole in the city, losing his mind to the chaos that his younger brother was slowly planting in every corner of planet Earth.

However, he could also see him being killed in the street by an angry horde who knew he was a prodigy, or by a group of policemen who mistook him for one of the hundreds of protesters that had filled the city, and although the thought made him uncomfortable, it might be best if things stayed that way.

After all, if David went out to the real world, the world that was out there right now would probably kick him to the ground, take out his eyes, and eat them before stabbing him and letting him there to die.

Yes, things should stay that way. With Ace Anarchy alive and building the world as it must have been from the start, and with the Artino brothers dead, buried in a sealed tomb from which not even their souls could escape.

He was about to stand up when someone knocked on the door. Honey’s bees, which had been quietly resting on the church pews, began to buzz like watchdogs barking at the presence of a stranger.

Alec knew those four knocks.

Honey and Leroy suddenly fell silent and settled into their chairs almost unconsciously. Ace put on his helmet and then, with a wave of his hand, he slightly opened the cathedral door.

His hair was longer than normal. He recognized the same coat he was wearing the last time he saw him, but he had changed his pajama bottoms for faded jeans. He had a mysterious blow to the head and the deepest circles under his eyes he had ever seen. That, plus that unkempt beard, made Ace even more certain that, had he seen him on the street, he probably wouldn't have recognized him.

At least until he saw his blue eyes. David had unmistakable blue eyes.

“Good evening, fellow anarchist,” Ace greeted from his seat. “How can we help you?”

David gripped the door and frowned. “Alec?”

The bees buzzed louder and Honey turned to see him. “Do you know him?”

Leroy and his toxic green eyes seemed to ask the same question.

“You don't want to mention that name here,” Ace warned, ignoring his allies. “Seriously.”

David did not reply. Not that he expected him to. “Come in,” he assured him, nodding slightly. “Us Anarchists are willing to help any prodigy. We fight for all of them. Even for those who prefer to give in to the system that oppresses us in the first place. "

His allies fell silent. Ace knew he wasn't going to be wrong about them; they were fully aware that their opinion was not necessary at that time.

David's old sneakers squeaked on the marble floor of the church. The white shoelaces were stained with dark blood. “I… I looked for you everywhere,” he muttered.

“I didn't go anywhere,” he replied. “I was always here.”

He resisted the childish urge to ask where he had been, precisely because that was it. Childish. Something that only a kid would do.

And Alec James Artino, the kid, was dead.

David reached the first step of the altar and Ace stood up. “Don’t.”

His brother stopped before taking another step. He even stepped back and put his hands to his chest, as if his heart had ached at that simple word.

You see? Weak.

“I'm not here to take you anywhere,” he assured.

Ace gave a mocking laugh. “So?”

“I'm here to join you.”

The smile faded from Ace’s face. However, he did not interpret it as a sign of weakness, because immediately, he was able to recover from the blow and remain expressionless as his brother's gaze pierced his like stakes.

Even with him there, right in front of Ace, standing in the middle of the cathedral, he knew that David didn't belong there. He was not an Anarchist like them. Something was missing. Maybe courage. Maybe it was determination.

Perhaps what he lacked was that spark of life that rage gave when it started a fire in the depths of your gut.

So why bother?

Before the question slipped from his lips, the answer came to his head and it all made sense to him.

Ace was right. The day anarchy was born, the Artino brothers had died, but there was no one alive to bury them. The ghost of David Artino had spent days searching for his only remaining family, wandering around town like a beggar.

Because deep down, he needed him more than Alec had ever needed David.

How did he explain that the little brother he was looking for was dead, and now only the man he had become remained?

He knew how to explain it, but David was stubborn. Even if Ace chose the most appropriate words for the situation, he could never make him see things the way he wanted him to. At least not if he knew Alec was dead.

He did not know that in an ideal world, the only one still alive was Ace Anarchy.

It wasn't the perfect scenario, but the perfect thing about that scenario was that David didn't need to know that just yet. Alec's ghost could come out of his grave as many times as necessary and Ace could use that to his advantage for as long as he wanted.

That would make the ghost David very happy. And if David was happy and he could take advantage of that happiness, then Ace would be happy too.

Ace removed his helmet and laid it gently on his chair. When he returned his gaze to David, his eyes were full of tears.

He also tried to cry, but couldn't. Therefore, he decided to extend his arms and allow David to stumble his way to him, giving him the strongest hug he had ever received while stroking his hair and sobbing: “I missed you so much, my little nightmare.”

Alec took Ace by the arms and placed them on David's shaking back. “I missed you too.”

But he was lying. He wondered if ghost David was lying too.

He better not.

***

I wasn't born to walk on water,

I wasn't born to sack and slaughter,

but on my soul, I wasn't born

to stoop, to scorn, and knuckle under.

A man can learn to steal some thunder.

A man can learn to work some wonder.

Year 4, month 7

When it all started, Ace did not like to think of himself as a leader. At least not a leader like the previous ones. God, just thinking about becoming one of those who used to rule the world before he turned things around made him feel sick.

However, over time he grew tired of explaining to each of those who arrived, full of desire to prove something (to the world, to Ace, and themselves), that he was not a leader as such. Little by little, he started to ignore those types of comments and just let himself go with the flow.

At least until David noticed his unconformity with the matter and approach him to talk about it.

It was a couple of months after he arrived. Ace was saying his prayers before going to bed when someone knocked on his door.

Four times. As always.

He quickly crossed himself and muttered, “Come in.”

David came in, holding a candle and wrapped in a robe that "the simps" had given to Leroy (it hadn't fit him, but David was so malnourished that it was like the robe had been made for him.)

Ace put on his robe too. “How can I help you?”

David fixed his gaze on the figure of the Virgin Mary that Ace had on a ledge. “Were you praying?”

“Of course,” he answered, feeling a little defensive.

David scoffed. “Wow.”

“What?”

“I thought ... I thought you didn't do it anymore.”

Ace rolled his eyes and pretended to arrange the covers on his bed (they didn't need to be arranged, he was very meticulous about that matter). “How can I help you?” he repeated.

David finally took his eyes off the Virgin Mary and turned to see him.

It surprised him he still had bags under his eyes. He thought that now that he slept in a decent bed, ate decent food, and no longer had to go through the same stressful situations that he went through before, his face would start to look more youthful again.

Maybe the bags under one’s eyes were like expression or acne marks. They would always be there.

Just like experiences.

Then David started talking to him. A lot. About how he had noticed his discomfort when people called him a leader. About him believing that he shouldn't feel that way because being placed in such a position was completely expected and even natural for it to happen. (“Don't interrupt me.” “I wasn't going to.” Oh, but he was going to.) About if he really wanted things to work out, the world was going to need someone to guide it down the path of good, and David did not doubt that someone was Ace.

They spent several hours just ranting about it. There was a point where the two of them were lying on his bed, Ace covered by his red blanket and David tightly holding a pillow against his chest. The candle was getting smaller and smaller, and David had chosen to place it next to the figure of The Virgin Mary as if it had been lit for her from the beginning.

Only that there was a God who saw everything, and that God knew that the candle had not been lit for her.

Ace was staring at the wooden ceiling when David told him, “I could never be a leader.”

“Why?”

Obviously Ace knew that David could never be a leader, but he wanted to know why his brother thought that way.

David clung to the pillow tighter. He wasn't looking at the ceiling; he looked at Ace. Sideways, but he was looking at him. “I don’t know. I think it's just not my… personality. Even when the guys and I were out there doing the… protests and stuff, I never led any of them,” he explained. “I've always been more of a follower.”

Ace did not answer. Yet he hoped David would interpret his silence as a sign that he had agreed with him.

“But on the other hand, you... Alec, you are a leader.”

His jaw clenched when he heard his name. He had to work on it. “What makes you think that?”

“Because… seriously, why wouldn’t you be a leader?” He turned around so he could look at him and Ace felt obligated to turn to see him as well. Only that he decided not to. “People look after you. They know you are a leader and they follow you. See how much you've changed in a matter of weeks. Inadvertently, you have led people up to this point in history. No one had ever come this far. No one except you.”

Then, Ace couldn't take it anymore and turned to meet his brother's eyes. “But won't that make me like everyone else?”

“Everyone else?” asked a very confused David.

Because David never understood anything.

“Like all the other leaders,” he replied, trying not to lose patience. “Leaders who are corrupt and selfish and—“ His brother interrupted his monologue with laughter. Much to someone who had complained when he tried to cut him off in the middle of a ridiculously long explanation. “—What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry,” David replied smiling. “It’s just… forget it.” He put a hand on his cheek and kept laughing underneath. “Alec, you’re not going to be like the other leaders.”

“And how are you so sure of that?” he asked a little louder than he wanted to.

David hardly seemed to notice. “Because you are not like that. You are not evil.” He sighed. “Now… there is the potential for evil everywhere, but the only way to combat it’s if more people choose goodness. If more people choose heroism. And you… you are one of those people. I am sure.”

And with those words, the candle extinguished, and Ace decided that it was time for both of them to go to sleep. He allowed David to stay the night. It was not like he had given any sign of wanting to go back to his room anyway. Ace spent most of the night awake, but not necessarily because his older brother's snoring kept him from sleeping.

What kept him from sleeping was thinking that maybe... maybe he was right. Maybe Ace did have to start taking the role of leader. After all, human beings were like that. They were always looking for someone to follow, someone they could cling to that would protect them in some way or another. That someone could be the parents. Older brothers. God himself.

But sometimes that someone was not looking for what was best for them. For example, Ace and David's parents never made the slightest effort to hide how much they hated their children. He was still a kid when his brother took him by the hand, put a coat on him, and told his parents that they were going out to the park. Ace didn't want to go to the park; he wanted to stay home to play with his wooden cubes, but David told him that if he went to the park with him, he would give him a surprise on the way home.

However, they passed the park and David went to a clothing and suitcase store that was near the dock where various boats full of tourists departed. On his way out, he bought his younger brother a lollipop and two one-way tickets to Gatlon City.

They never looked for them. Although if they had, he doubted they would have found them.

For a long time, Ace didn't fully understand what had happened. He just knew that he was never going to see his parents again. Regardless, it was not a thought that haunted him. After all, he hated his parents. And he didn't feel bad about it. Ace had David. David would never hurt him in any way.

At least that's how it was until he grew up. He grew up and realized that David had lied and stolen to get them out of Italy. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing; they would never have survived in Italy anyway. The bad thing was when David lied to him and robbed him for his own benefit. He lied to him about Gatlon's hate towards prodigies and he stole money from his savings when what he earned wasn't enough to pay the monthly rent on his apartment.

And then… there was God.

God existed. Clearly. It was one of the few things Ace didn't feel like he needed proof for. However… God hadn't always been there for him. God had been used as a weapon for hundreds of years to attack prodigies like Ace...

Yes, God was not going to save him. He wasn't going to save any of the millions and millions of prodigies that were counting on Ace Anarchy. God was not a hero.

But Ace could be.

So from that day on, Ace began to be the head in practically all the operations that the Anarchists carried out. Nothing happened without him finding out and approving it first. He recorded numerous videos and wrote dozens of speeches that they would use to spread his word around the world. Prodigies from all countries began to rise against their respective governments, and although some of them gave them what they wanted, the vast majority made the mistake of underestimating them and denying their more than reasonable requests.

Because, well, Ace didn't find anything outrageous about a bunch of people asking their governments to recognize their basic human rights.

Sometimes the prodigies of those places could take down their governments by themselves. However, on a couple of occasions, Ace had to travel to those places to give them a hand. They weren't too far away, so Ace could use his powers to transport himself there, and he still had enough strength left to turn the helicopters and tanks that they sent to try to finish him into unusable pieces of metal. There wasn’t a single place where he had not succeeded, and there was not a single place where people did not make him a symbol and call him a hero.

Not even a single one.

That was why he did not understand people who wanted to leave the trenches.

The first time people from the cathedral had explicitly told him that they wanted to resign were the Benitez twins, Fénix and Tritón. He was a water elemental and she was a fire elemental, who had fought alongside Ace and hundreds of other prodigies like him when they took over the government palace of their country and liberated the population. They were young but strong, like most of those who joined the cause. They spent a year and six months helping on missions that Ace, Honey, or even Leroy assigned them, and never received anything other than good comments from their superiors...

“Then why do you want to leave?” Honey asked them.

She, Leroy, the twins, and he were in what had been the bishop's office after he summoned them all to a meeting where they would assess the situation. Not because he felt a special affection for them; they weren't too different from the other people Ace had in charge of. He just wanted to know why and approve the situation.

Like he always did.

Tritón smiled charmingly at Honey. He and his twin sister had the same curly black hair, but she never smiled. “As we said before… it's nothing personal,” he replied. “Fénix and I were never mistreated here, but... we want to find our own way in life.”

Honey and Leroy turned to see each other. Leroy looked quite indifferent to the situation as if he wished to be in his lab, looking for new ways to finish burning his eyebrows, while Honey seemed quite suspicious regarding the true intentions behind Tritón's words and Fénix's deadly silence.

Ace stood up and looked out the window.

“Are you going back to Mexico?”

“Yes. But not to the same place we came from.”

“And how are you going to—“

“Stop overwhelming them with so many questions, my Queen,” Ace interrupted while turning around. “They are old enough to make their own decisions.”

Tritón sighed in relief, and Fénix didn't even look up to see him. “They had already packed their things, apparently,” and he pointed to the backpacks they were carrying. The same ones with which they had arrived at the cathedral.

“Yes, it's just… we didn't want to make a big fuss about our departure,” Tritón replied. “We want it to be respectful and press-free, please.”

That comment managed to make him smile slightly. “I see no reason to keep you as prisoners,” he said, addressing Honey and Leroy. “If they want to leave, they can.”

Leroy raised his only remaining eyebrow. “Can they?”

“They can,” he repeated. He turned slightly to continue staring out the window. It was a lovely day out there. “Wanting to look for something more than what we are capable of offering is a valid reason to leave.”

“Not that we’re filling like something’s missing here,” Tritón said. “On the contrary, we have never been more… blessed. We promise that we will always keep in mind all the things the Anarchist taught us. We will be on your side even if it is from a distance.”

Now it was Honey's turn to raise an eyebrow. “I don't know, this is too—“

“Excuse me, Queen Bee,” Tritón interrupted, “but ... we're in a bit of a rush.”

“An ally has promised to take us to the border in his truck,” Fénix said, speaking for the first time during the entire conversation. “He's going to pick us up in an hour and it's a long way to the meeting point.

Ace looked through the window to find David welcoming some of the prodigies who had come out to find more supplies for the cathedral. He pointed out where they were being kept and offered to help them carry some boxes up the stairs.

Ace had to go to check on that.

“Acey...”

“Take care of yourselves, Tritón and Fénix,” Ace said, heading for the exit. “Thank you very much for your loyalty. Let me show you the door.”

The twins looked at each other, immediately nodding slowly and leaving the room, walking in front of Ace, shoulder to shoulder, and muttering something. As they walked down the stairs, Ace was too busy thinking about the new shipment that had arrived to care about their conversation, until he tried to overhear them and realized they were speaking in Spanish.

They never spoke Spanish. Not in the cathedral. No one could have understood them if they did. What was the point of hiding something?

Unless they are hiding something.

He turned his attention back to the backpacks they carried. Yes, they were the same ones that they had brought the first day they arrived, but now they seemed fuller than before. And when Ace said fuller, he meant it. Those backpacks were about to explode.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The twins kept walking as if they hadn't realized that Ace was no longer with them. Honey and Leroy caught up with him, while Honey was saying something about this situation making her babies (the bees) very nervous, and she knew that was a bad sign. Leroy replied that those "babies" should take a Xanax, but he didn't sound too convinced of his words either.

Fénix took his brother's hand and Tritón looked back, making contact with Ace's dark eyes.

The backpacks. The backpacks were too full.

Ace used his powers to rip them off their shoulders, at the same time he grabbed them from the collars of their clothes and lifted them like a mother lioness would have carried her cubs. The two cried out in shock but fell silent when they came face to face with Ace.

Neither of them said anything. Not even Tritón. They only held on tighter by the hand as Ace opened their backpacks, dropped their contents on the floor, and revealed that they were carrying, along with their personal belongings, tons of food and hygiene items taken directly from the cathedral warehouse.

The warehouse that David was supposed to watch.

“My bracelet!” Honey exclaimed. “That... bitch was taking my bracelet!”

A group of bees returned the bracelet to her queen. Honey thanked them in a low voice and immediately, her face was completely changed by her anger. “How dare you?” she asked Fénix putting a finger on her chest. “How dare you disrespect me like that ?! Is that how you were going to pay the man who was going to take you to the border!?” But Fénix didn’t say anything. Again. “Answer me!”

“More like how dare you!” Fénix suddenly yelled. Honey took a step back from shock. “How dare you take everything from people who have nothing!”

“Fénix... por favor...” Tritón whispered.

“Shut the fuck up, Diego!” she yelled at his brother. “Tell me, Harper! How do you sleep at night?” she kept asking. “How do you sleep at night knowing that you have helped destroy the world as we know it? How can you reason that what you’re doing is right?!”

“Eleonor! Eleonor, por favor!”

Fénix started to try to free herself from Ace's grip, but that only made Ace cling tighter to the collar of her blouse. “How dare you even think you’re the good guys?”

Then, she looked him dead in the eye and spat, “How dare you call yourself a hero, Alec Artino?”

Ace thought hearing his name was going to make him lose his mind. Yet some way or another, his face remained expressionless. Even when Honey slapped the shit out of Fénix and the bees began to fly around her, stinging every bit of skin that wasn’t covered by her clothes. He also remained expressionless when he heard Tritón yell at Honey to leave her sister alone, calling her a "pinche vieja bruja" in the process, or when Leroy (who didn't understand anything, but knew it wasn't a compliment) held both of his wrists to prevent it from forming a wave of water that would drown all the bees instantly. It did not cause him anything at all to hear the poison melting Tritón's skin, making him cry in pain, or Fénix yelling and cursing.

And he didn’t even flinch when he broke Tritón's neck. Or when he left Fénix alive just the exact amount of time for her to process what her actions had caused to the only family she had left before breaking her neck too.

Ace dropped what was left of the Benitez twins. The bees moved away from the body and returned to Honey as if they were children hiding in their mother's skirts after having been lost for hours in the market, and Leroy let go of Tritón’s wrists without saying a word. Ace looked around and realized that a big amount of people had watched the entire scene from a distance.

One of those people had been David.

At that moment, Honey's bracelet fell off her hands. Ace picked it up with his powers and Honey whispered, "Thanks, Acey". She tried to put it on, but her hands were shaking so much that Leroy reached out (reluctantly) to help her adjust the clasp.

She didn't take her eyes off the corpses. “Someone come pick them up,” Leroy ordered.

Ace pointed to the first group of people he encountered. “You,” he barked. The trio of anarchists trembled slightly. “You’ve heard Cyanide. Clean up this mess.”

He turned to tell Leroy and Honey to go with him to the office, but they had already made their way to Honey's quarters, while she was babbling about something insignificant and a cloud of agitated bees followed them. David was also not where he had last seen him, but found him turning his back on him and putting the supply crates in the warehouse.

The warehouse that was his responsibility. The warehouse that the Benitez twins had managed to steal from it without anyone noticing.

David couldn’t stay there. He would have to get him a new position, the sooner the better.

Being a hero was not doing things that everyone considered right. Being a hero was to be a revolutionary, one who was willing to make sacrifices to protect the people who were on his side. Especially when those sacrifices meant the death of traitors who only sought their own benefit, completely forgetting the rest of them.

To protect the people who were on his side. Not the enemy. Never the common good.

The common good was not something Ace believed in, because that would mean looking after his oppressors, and they had never looked after prodigies at any point in human history.

Why start doing it now that the tables have turned?

Perhaps those thoughts made him more than just a revolutionary. Ace was probably a visionary.

But did those thoughts make him a villain too?

***

And soon the moon will smolder,

and the winds will drive.

Yes, a man grows older, but his soul remains alive.

All those tremulous stars will glitter,

and I will survive!

Year 10, month 11

For a lot of people, the answer was yes.

Being a visionary was the same as being a villain.

No one had ever said that to his face, but Ace knew it was what they were thinking. He saw it on the journalist’s faces, who came from time to time to the cathedral to report the latest advances in some important mission or some notable event. He felt it in the air of the cathedral, where some of his allies bent down every time they saw him as if they were not worthy to look him in the eye. He felt it every time he looked at his brother's expressionless eyes, working in the basement that served as a workshop where he created weapons for the Anarchists.

However, none of those silent reproaches mattered to him. Ace knew what he was doing was the right thing. Even if that made him not fit into the perfect image society had in its head of what a hero should be.

Ace had learned that there were no heroes or villains. Not like everyone thought.

The world would one day understand it as well as he did. But in the meanwhile, he had to sit down and observe that embarrassing spectacle.

They had managed to fix the TV that was at the former’s bishop's office. The only channels that were still actually broadcasting anything, besides the same old shows over and over again, were the news channels. But then he decided to do it just when it was absolutely necessary, for example, when they lied or got too close to a truth the public didn't need to know.

After all, freedom of speech was a human right.

Leroy was sat on the comfy chair Honey always sat on when they were in Ace's office. David offered Honey his chair and she said that she expected no less from someone as chivalrous as him (“Definitely some men should start taking your example”), but then added he shouldn’t worry about it, Ace was surely going to allow her to sit on his desk. Ace didn't see why not. She even brought her pillow with her. She put it over the desk, at the exact place she was going to sit on, and had her eyes fixated on the TV like she were a little girl watching colorful cartoons.

They were broadcasting from the West Zone of the city. An Anarchist truck was on fire in the background of the image. The trio of prodigies that Ace himself had sent to exchange some weapons for medicines with the usual gangs they always trade with, were tied with a chrome chain as if they were animals. The sky was still blue, but the evening light made the clouds turn orange and illuminated the faces of the two figures standing at the base that held the statue of a man with a copper-colored helmet.

Ace had never seen that monument as an ode to himself. He didn’t even know it was there until David told him about it, after going out to the city to visit that girlfriend of his. It seemed that some prodigies had come together and built it on their own. They hadn't left a signature or a way to prove who were they, but they did leave a golden plaque that read: "Long live to anarchy".

To anarchy. Not him. He was just the face they had given it.

He thought that everyone would think the same, but apparently, that pair didn't see it that way.

Because again, apparently, that pair shared a single brain cell.

One of them had brown skin and his cape flapped in the wind. His entire body looked slightly translucent, probably due to the nervousness that caused him to have that many people looking at him. Ace had met enough prodigies to identify when their powers gave away their mood. However, most of the general public would not be able to know exactly what he was feeling, because a black mask covered most of his facial features and he was not saying a single word.

He was terrified.

Poor little thing… sure.

The other was blond and his eyes were full of courage. The more words that came out of his mouth, the more his cheeks turn red and the tighter he clenched his fists. He was also wearing a mask, but even someone less observant than Ace could tell exactly what he was feeling.

“…and now this!” he yelled at the crowd. “Now this statue! A statue in the middle of the city, as if having experienced firsthand all the misfortunes that his anarchist reign has brought to our lives has not been enough, now he wants to constantly remind us that he won. He won—” His voice cracked, and he tried to hide it by coughing. Honey burst out laughing. “—and he will keep winning until someone stops him!”

The boy in the cape put his hand on the monument. “You know what this reminds me of? It reminds me of loss.” He became invisible and within seconds, he was sitting on the statue's outstretched arm. “Because Ace Anarchy has taken away from us so many things—” He jumped off and fell gracefully onto the base again “—that he took our fear with him.”

“That’s why we are here,” the other continued. “We are fed up with Ace Anarchy and his government, and I'm sure you are too.” He took a deep breath and smiled at the nearest camera. “But we don't blame you if you still don't understand. There is nothing wrong with being paralyzed with fear. That is what Ace Anarchy has wanted us to do during these ten years that he has been in power. The good news is that there is a cure for fear, and that cure is hope.”

A young, dark-skinned reporter pushed her way through the crowd. Her microphone had a number five printed on it, and Ace recognized the channel immediately.

He had killed one of its journalists after she refused to stop digging graves. He had to do it; if she dug too much, she would surely have found Alec Artino's body.

After all, freedom of speech was a human right. Messing up with the dead was just a quicker way for you to end up like them.

“Georgia Rawles, for Channel Five,” the reporter said with a heavy breath. “I think we're all asking ourselves the same question about—” She tried to search for the correct words, but the time was running out and she couldn’t find it, so she sighed and just blurted out, “Who are you?”

Leroy rolled his eyes. “More reporters like her, please...” he mumbled sarcastically.

She handed the microphone to the one with the cape. For a few seconds, he was almost completely invisible, but the insistence of the reporter Rawles brought him back to reality and his voice did not tremble as his legs did when he said: “We are that hope.”

The other boy tapped Georgia Rawles’ shoulder and she swiftly passed him the microphone.

He never stopped smiling. “We are the Renegades.”

Georgia Rawles drew back slightly. He couldn’t tell whether her expression was one of horror or joy because right after replying, the boy smashed the monument to anarchy with a single blow and turned it into pieces.

They both jumped from the base before the monument could crash them. Dread Warden and Captain Chromium ran towards the city, without any reporter bothering to follow them.

Ace turned off the television with his powers, and for about five seconds, neither of them spoke.

“They're not good at picking aliases,” Honey spat out of nowhere.

“So that’s the problem you have with this?” Leroy blurted out.

“Dread Warden… that has nothing to do with his powers,” Honey explained as if she were explaining to a five-year-old why the sky is blue. “And Captain Chromium is too… cheesy to be a real alias. Are we sure they were serious when they gave their names to the reporters from the first channel that arrived on the scene?” She cleared her throat and said (trying so hard to imitate the voice of a teenage boy whose voice hadn’t change yet), “He won,” before burst out laughing again.

“How mature of you…” David muttered.

“Do you have something to say, brother?” Ace asked.

For a second, he thought that David would not answer him, as he had been doing lately whenever he asked him that question. However, this time he did not remain silent and turned to see him. Not in the eyes, of course. “Actually, I do.”

Ace leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead then.”

“I don't think we should take this lightly.”

Honey scoffed. “Who says we are taking this lightly? The invisible twink and his lesbian boyfriend hate us, so what? They’re not the first ones, like… get in line, girl.”

“Well, you don’t seem too worried about the whole situation, to be honest.”

“It's because Honey doesn't shut up about the names thing, right?” Leroy asked in a slightly teasing tone.

“It's just my marketing major talking,” Honey said, slightly kicking him, barefoot. “I know about branding and stuff.”

“You dropped out.”

She put on her left heel and kicked Leroy. “You too!”

David massaged his temple. Ace turned around in his rotating chair and looked out the window. The sky had turned the same color as the clouds.

“Alec,” David called him. “It seems like… they—the Renegades think of themselves as heroes, and… they see you as the villain. I don't know, they could be a real threat, you shouldn't ignore them.”

Ace really wanted to tell David to just go back to his workshop. What did he know? They were just a couple of children who had destroyed a monument, who hadn't even been able to reveal their true identities and hid the entire time behind their masks, like criminals.

They were not a real threat.

But then, the seventeen-year-old Ace Anarchy appeared on the other side of the window, challenging him to finish that sentence inside his head. The seventeen-year-old Ace Anarchy who had dismantled entire governments and liberated millions of prodigies simply by wearing that helmet and its powers.

And when Ace blinked again, it was no longer the dark eyes of his old self that were staring at him from the glass, but the gray eyes of Captain Chromium, with that smug and arrogant smile, that he used to charm the cameras moments ago, passing his fingers through his hair as if his life depended on it.

Ace couldn’t look away from him.

He resembled Ace, but it was not enough. The old Ace didn't smile at his oppressors and he didn't have an unhealthy obsession with his hair either. He did not seek to protect people to win their affection, because he didn’t care if people like him or not, he knew he was doing the right thing.

The old Ace was not a kid playing to be a superhero, because superheroes didn't exist in the first place.

When he blinked, none of them were there anymore. Just his present self.

He smiled at himself to regain confidence.

Ace had learned that there were no heroes or villains. Captain Chromium was going to have to learn it too, and soon. Ace was willing to be the one to teach him that lesson.

And he would, whether he liked it or not.

***

There was a dream, a dying ember.

There was a dream, I don't remember,

but I will resurrect that dream,

though rivers stream and hills grow steeper.

For here in hell where life gets cheaper.

Oh, here in hell the blood runs deeper!

And when the final duel is near, I'll lift my spear and fly!

Year 20, month 5

The main difference between Ace and his brother was that David always fled at the first sign of danger. Always.

When the boys at his school began to suspect that he was a prodigy, David skipped school for weeks, getting his clothes dirty enough to make it look like he had spent breaks running after a ball along with his bullies. When his mother slapped him with the hot metal spoon, yelling he would not eat dinner that night, they both hid in the closet of his room, while David hugged him tightly and sobbed, telling him he rather be dead. When his father came home from work a few hours later and almost killed him, David took them both out of that house and out of Italy.

He said it was because he knew that the next beating would be the last and that when he was gone, Mr. Artino was going to focus all his anger on Alec, who would end up having the same fate as David. He didn't want that for his little nightmare.

What he didn't count on was that if Ace had been in his place, he would have turned around and slammed the bullies into the concrete wall of the school. He would have endured hunger and weariness with dignity and would have killed his father before he could touch a single one of his hairs. Ace wouldn't have turned his back on his problems. Ace would have fought for himself, just as for twenty years he had been fighting for all prodigies.

And now this.

He always knew that David didn't have what it took to be an anarchist. He was too deep in his own thoughts to even make an effort to listen to him. Ace had decided not to bother to explain to him the whole situation because there was no force on Earth able to change his mind anyway, and he had much more important things to worry about.

They were both sitting in the tiny white dining room in the apartment where he, Tala, and the girls lived. Ace had arrived unexpectedly so she had put more water to boil because the one they had put in for breakfast had cooled down. She apologized for the inconvenience, but he assured her that there was no problem, she could take all the time she needed. David had a cup of cold tea in his hands. He had never lost that disgusting habit of biting his nails.

No, David was not an anarchist. But Ace never thought he was a traitor.

Not until now.

The kettle began to boil at the same time the baby cried from the other room.

Tala turned off the stove and Ace could tell she was debating between pouring his tea or going to see what was going on.

“Don't worry,” Ace said walking towards her, “I'll serve it, you go take care of your daughter. Would you like me to make one for you too? "

He knew he intimidated people, but Tala took it to another level. She looked at her feet the whole time, her hands were shaking and she didn’t even answer the question before running into the next room, where Nova was complaining about her little sister's cries.

Ace took another splintered mug from the cupboard. With his powers, of course. The place looked clean (they probably spent a lot of time cleaning for lack of other hobbies), but he didn't trust them. “I've always said it: Tala is a lovely woman,” he said.

David didn't even flinch.

He had never been good at hiding his feelings.

“How does she like her tea?”

“Uh?”

He put his hands behind his back and opened the jar where they kept the chamomile tea. “How does Tala like tea?” he asked again.

David finally came back to reality. “Oh… three of sugar. She likes to add three spoons of sugar.”

Ace tried his best not to roll his eyes. I see this wife of yours wants to give herself cavities.

By the time the tea was served, the baby had stopped crying and Tala left the room again, with Nova following her. “Uncle Alec!”

David and Tala turned to see her with a single exclamation on their lips.

No.

But they didn't say anything. It was too late. Nova was already hugging his legs and Ace was stroking her strands of poorly cut hair. “Good morning, Nova, how are you?”

“Terrible,” Nova replied in all honesty. “Evie has been si—“

“Tala, Alec made you some tea,” David interrupted suddenly.

“Oh, that’s true.” He levitated the cup towards her and couldn't help but smile when he saw her recoil as the cup approached her, wondering if this was how she would see the barrel of a pistol approaching her forehead. “With three tablespoons of sugar. Just the way you like it.”

For the first time, Tala looked at him. “I don't like my tea with sugar,” she said in a calm voice. She shot David a stern look. “I thought we have talked about it.”

David looked so... small and weak. “I forgot about it. I'm sorry.”

But that "I'm sorry" didn't sound at all like the "I'm sorry" someone says when the only wrong they've done is forgetting how their wife prepares her tea.

It was the "sorry" of a traitor.

It was the "sorry" that Ace was waiting to receive.

Then he held out the other cup. “I apologize, that was my mistake. Take this cup then. I don't like to add sugar to my tea either.”

Tala accepted the cup. She took a sip and Ace recognized that micro-expression of disgust as she felt the hot chamomile water touch her palate.

It didn't surprise him that she had lied to him. That whole family was full of liars.

Nova turned to see her dad, laughing as only a child could laugh. “Oh, silly papà…” she said, hiding her head in his uncle's neck.

David smiled almost imperceptibly and raised his arms slightly so that Nova could run into them.

It reminded him a lot of when he wanted Alec to run into his arms.

But, like Alec, Nova didn't go to him. She liked being in her uncle's arms. “Oh, silly papà” Ace repeated. “Silly, silly papà...”

And the imperceptible smile disappeared completely.

“What were you saying, Nova?” he asked. "Moments ago. Are you having a terrible day? "

Nova knew immediately what he was talking about. She wasn't too busy drowning in the bitter taste of her lies. “It's just that Evie hasn't stopped crying for days,” she exclaimed with a face of pure exasperation. “We have given her everything, but nothing calms her down, and I always have to—”

“Alec, I have to tell you something.”

David had stood up and his fists were clenched on the splintered table. His knuckles had turned white and his bushy eyebrows betrayed the real nervousness behind all that facade of sternness.

He was so pleased by the image that he didn't even comment on how inappropriate it was to interrupt a woman when she was giving her point of view on something, or when Tala took advantage of this seemingly distracting moment to snatch Nova from his arms.

That was the moment. David was going to ask for forgiveness. He was going to break as he had broken that night when they were hidden inside the closet and just as he had begged his abusive father before he smashed his head against the nightstand. He would tell him that he regretted betraying him and that from now on, he would agree with him on everything. He would accept that he had never been anything but a coward who escaped trouble at the first opportunity and would run into Ace’s arms one more time.

That was the time for David to choose Ace as the god to whom he would pray for mercy.

That was the moment.

But of course, it would have been too dangerous. Therefore, he was not at all surprised, when he looked down at his teacup again and blurted out, “Evelyn has been very ill, and… we have run out of options. You know I wouldn't bother you with this if it wasn't important, but I wanted to know if… you know.”

“If I could get some medicine for Evelyn?”

David nodded energetically. “That's right.”

Ace pretended to stop to think about it. He wanted to see the desperation in his eyes and wanted him to suffer at the thought that he might never get the much-needed medicine for his little daughter.

He wanted David to suffer in every possible way he could, and when he thought it was going to break, Ace replied, “I think I have a contact that could help us with it.”

“When will you—”

“And with that medicine, Evie is finally going to stop crying?”

Now it was Nova's turn to interrupt him. If he weren't so blinded by the pain he wanted to inflict on his brother, he probably would have had found the act of Nova being the one interrupting her father delightful.

Tala tried to hide Nova with her arms when Ace approached them, but it was useless because he used his powers to gently pull Nova towards him, making her laugh out loud at the feeling that the levitation caused in her entire body. “I assure you, Nova, that with that medicine Evie will stop crying,” he replied, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “But in the meantime, you have to help your mom and papà, and keep doing what you say you do to calm her down. Now… how do you calm down your little sister?”

“I put her to sleep.”

David threw down a chair and ran over to Nova. Ace felt like she had been snatched from his arms again.

Having the two of them there, side by side, made him more aware of how similar they looked. Although Nova had always been a perfect mix of her two parents, Ace was much of the idea that one could know a lot about a person by looking into their eyes.

Nova had the same eyes as her father, but without the golden details that gave away the stardust that David was able to manipulate since birth.

The fact that their eyes were very similar but not identical could mean a lot of things. Perhaps it was that Nova had the worst quality of her mother and the only prodigious thing inside her was the half of the blood that ran through her veins. It would be a shame. The world did not need the oppressors to continue to reproduce with the oppressed and to gradually extinguish the spark with their inferior genes each prodigy had. It was only one of the thousand ways in which they were slowly annihilating them.

However, it could also mean that Nova was not like David, but not in the sense of being or not being a prodigy. Maybe those golden sparks were actually that her brother's soul had been born rusty and that was what would never allow him to see the world as Ace did. Instead, Nova did her name justice and could symbolize a new beginning for them, much like the supernova that granted them their powers had been.

For a second, she saw Nova not as a child, but as raw and pure potential.

Did he know? Was David aware of how precious was what his rough hands were holding?

“She sings her to sleep,” he explained hastily. “Nova loves spending time with her little sister, and she loves carrying her. Whenever she cries she insists that we let her hold her and that always calms her down. It is like—”

“Magic?”

David hesitated. “Yes… magic.”

Nova played with the collar of her dad's shirt, thinking about God knows what, until something made click inside her brain. “Uncle Ace!”

“Yes, Nova?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but David silenced her with a severe look.

Ace offered Tala his help with washing the dishes before leaving. He assured them that he would be back as soon as possible and asked Nova to kiss little Evie goodnight for him. He gave Tala a quick (and unrequited) kiss on the cheek and a handshake to David.

The same hands that could have defended themselves from the abusers, that could have stopped the burning spoon before it slapped him, and those that could have wrapped around their father's neck before blood stained the old carpet in the room.

He decided that there would be no survivors. Not even the ghost of David.

David always ran from danger, but now he was the danger that could destroy what it took Ace years to build. Ace wasn't running from him. Ace noticed it, faced it, and defeated it.

Because, in the end, Ace Anarchy was the real danger.

***

Piercing into the sky and higher,

and the strong will thrive.

Yes, the weak will cower while the fittest will survive

If we wait for the darkest hour,

'till we spring alive...

He had already been to the dome of the cathedral on other occasions. The first time he had done it, it was dark. The entire city was in lockdown and there was not a single light because Ace had managed to uproot the building that provided basic service to all the city. Then, he thought that maybe, just maybe, that night the sky would be so clear that he would be able to see the stars. And what better place for stargazing than the dome of the cathedral.

He was right. He could see every last star. Their light was not like the light posts in the parks or the lamps in his old room. Their light was energy, it was strength, and it was sheer power.

They were so present in the sky and seemed so close to his fingertips that he felt one of them himself. But he did not believe that his energy, his strength, and his power was similar to that of any of those stars; it would be like reducing himself to being something that he was not, so he could fit into a mold that he did not to fit in and please people who did not appreciate him.

And like that, under the stars and on the dome of that cathedral, the birth of anarchy was announced with the explosion of a supernova.

Ace Anarchy was a supernova. Ace Anarchy was born on that dome.

Now he wondered if he was going to die there too.

Hugh Everhart was in front of him. He didn't move a single muscle and he didn't make a single face, not even when Ace spat his name like it was a blasphemy. With one hand he held his spear and with the other, he clung to the piece of cloth that passed through his chest and that held a baby dozing on his back. He took a step forward, and Ace imitated him, too blinded by adrenaline to even think that this image was too good to be true and that Hugh Everhart would never give himself up like this, on a silver platter, and without his allies by his side, unless he didn't plan on giving himself up in the first place.

It was the worst mistake he could have made. And he didn't even notice it until he began to feel… that.

It was as if he was being absorbed. Someone ran their hands from his head to the tips of his toes, causing the feeling of lightness with which he had lived for so long to gradually fade away. The cars he launched, the walls, and the corpses he used as weapons against the friends and relatives of the dead were growing heavier and Ace had never carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. At least not that way.

Never like this.

The fire inside him was getting smaller, and smaller, and the only thing that seemed to remain was a single spark.

Ace stepped back, but Hugh Everhart kept on walking towards him.

There came a time when there was no more dome Ace could stand on and he fell to his knees.

For that thousandth of a second, he felt the presence of Tala and the baby behind him, looking at him with a deadpan expression. David's ghost, made of the same stardust that his fingers could manipulate, laid his hand on his shoulder and a tear, bright and white, fell on the fabric of his trench coat.

It was a pure tear, waiting to be paid for with another tear that was just as pure as the first one. But Ace had long since lost the ability to cry.

Hugh Everhart pulled the helmet off his head with such force that he backed away a couple of meters. The air swiped away the ghosts of his brother, his wife, and daughter, leaving only Alec Artino, with his knobby knees and messy hair, looking at him as the lost child in the middle of the battlefield that he was.

He ran towards him and wrapped his thin and fragile arms around him telling him that perhaps it was time to accept his own humanity.

Because… what is Ace Anarchy without his helmet?

His enemy readied his spear and Ace turned to see the boy asking the question, who was looking at him as if his mere presence was the answer.

What was Ace Anarchy without his helmet? Was he that weak child, with a stuffy nose and restless hands? Was he the man he saw in the reflection of his eyes, with a sloppy beard and deep dark circles?

Was he the ghost he would soon become?

Alec held Ace by the cheeks, with those bony little hands that were always cold, no matter how many gloves he wore or how many times David wrapped his around them and rubbed them to keep them warm.

And then he asked him, “How do you kill a god?”

The answer was what brought him back to reality and the one that made him realize, that it had only been a couple of seconds from the moment he fell to his knees and now that he was standing up, Alec’s ghost fading for the last time.

Because David and Alec Artino should have died completely since day one. In a perfect world, the only one alive was Ace Anarchy.

Someday, that vision of a perfect world would become real, and neither Alec nor David would be there to intervene.

Someday...

The only thing that remained inside of him was a spark, but even a single spark could start the biggest of fires.

How do you kill a god?

How do you kill Ace Anarchy?

Oh, my little nightmare.

You don’t.

And with that, he spread his arms and leaped straight into the flames.

...then with claws of fire, we devour like a falcon in the dive!

#multifandom gift exchange 2020 #renegades #archenemies #supernova #renegades trilogy #alec james artino #ace anarchy #david artino #honey harper #leroy flinn #queen bee #obsi's writs #falcon in the dive

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