#i wish i actually was capable of writing longer fics. or. anything. for that matter. since it's been. checks ao3.

[yandere-monoma]

good evening i am warming up for the 3(+????) killswitch updates i have planned for this coming week so KYM 3 COMMENTARY

chapter 3 (the flashback) was originally meant to just be 'the rising action', a large, large, large chapter of build up before not only getting to the pregnancy reveal, but also detailing all of rose's reactions to it and her whole attempt to redeem herself through motherhood, only to end with a cliffhanger about her subsequent miscarriage. however, i went batshit, got too lost in the sauce and the chapter ended up being SO long before i even got to half of what i had planned, so chapter 3 was split into two halves. it's actually so interesting watching how a piece's word count can grow in that regard, like, i feel like with pacing i am just following this invisible flow and i can sense when i just need to cut it off and i don't really have a choice in the matter. which makes it especially funny when a piece just gets longer and longer and longer and then suddenly it's 10k+ words, god

the flashback was also what i considered at the time to be my final moment to really detail as many of my headcanons about how rose was raised as i could, since i knew the rest of the fic would be laser focused on the pregnancy plot. there were so many details i wanted the audience to have, especially because the pain of building and developing a world that never really gets shown is so painful ARGH

it was a difficult chapter to write for a number of reasons. like, from the first line, i was STRUGGLING

the chapter promptly starts:

and it was... interesting, to say the least, to finally sit there and put a number to what was happening... the topic of CSA is something i write about a lot, but i actually have a huge tendency to avoid listing ages when i do so. i love ambiguity and also adding specifics like that actively make me uncomfortable HAHA i think it makes it too real and makes me actually process what i'm actually writing about, which i'm usually largely disconnected to (i have little to no visual imagination when i read, so, really, the only reason i'm capable of writing this kind of shit without getting grossed out myself is cuz it's all just words to me). so it was an interesting challenge to actually pinpoint an age. it's a large reason behind the 'something bad happens' revelation happens later on. i was incredibly unwilling to specify what age rose was when the sexual abuse happened, both because of that discomfort and also just because of indecision. i don't actually know when bro first started attacking rose in that way. or any of my strider, really. i don't really care to know. HGJFKGS

also

it's interesting to see >rose: scream as it is right now because it's one of those bits that left me unsatisfied to leave as is. maybe one day i'll double back and fix it hsdjfkgsdg initially there was meant to be a stronger and more obvious parallel between rose seeing her menstrual blood for the first time and rose seeing the blood from her miscarriage. at the very least, the commands were originally planned to be identical, but since this chapter's beginning and chap 4's ending are just too different, i abandoned it as an idea. but now... after the fact... oh how i CRAVE it... KJGFLS

this part also brings up another reason why this chapter was so awkward and so difficult. i don't keep it secret from anyone that i just have a big fetish for angst and whump SHDFJGSDF kym isn't meant to be a ~deconstruction~ of anything. if anything, it's more me going 'damn i wish rose got whump fics. she would get so many if she was a boy/a strider. HEY WAIT A SECOND-'....

but a lot of what i'm writing about in this chapter isn't actually fueled by horny. i very much lack a menstruation fetish. in fact, anything involving reproduction is very 🧍‍♂️which is why having an entire plot arc that revolved around it was CRAAAAAAAZY... i got off to NOOOOOONE of that what do you MEEEEAN

it is actually so funny being slightly awkward about writing period blood when you literally write about dicks-in-guts on like a monthly basis HAHA anyway... WORTH it for the carrie reference that part was so sooo important to me

i rewatched carrie so much for this scene HAHA

i love writing bro i hope my love for writing bro really shines in this fic because god i love writing him he's probably my fave hs muse ever

whenever i mention bro's jeans being too tight pls know it's because once i saw him described in a fic as a middle aged man stuffed into an old pair of skinny jeans and it never left me, especially after becoming that very thing. also pls know that whenever i talk about his jeans being too tight it's because i'm gay i'm gay i'm gay and i'm thinking about his thighs and ass and cock

that's you! you're the joke!!!! idk why i adore that line but it was so fun to write

interesting conundrum sparked in this interaction that would haunt me for a couple of chapters after this one. i have thought too many thoughts about how bro should refer to rose. it was all too tempting to have him drop a 'sis' every now and then for that same sense of casual bro-ness but god it's not casual enough in a lot of ways... the lack of plosives stood out to me too much for some pretentious reason and i think in a way it was actually too accepting of her gender to ever be allowed. 'kid' is gender neutral which is as much freedom as bro can possibly allow her. rose is only granted her womanhood when it's being used against her, otherwise she's forcibly deemed masculine or neutral, depending on what suits him more

(which is double interesting because that's a phenomenon that is ESPECIALLY forced upon women of color... i don't actually utilize any race hcs in this fic because my strilonde race hcs tend to be very fluid but damn... kinda wish i did just for that)

quick shout-out to the DVD menu line a few paragraphs down from here yeah that was a purposeful reference to eat your young, it is very important to me that the rose strider character study also reads exactly like a dave strider character study because bro as a character is STATIC, he is repetitive, he is doomed to repeat the same abuse towards his victim no matter who he aims it at. rose and dave and jade and john will all have to face that same moment in the living room where the tv is on and bro is leaning way too close and he shatters their childhood forever by kissing them for the first time. the reason why they get on that couch will vary, bro and rose are watching carrie, bro and dave are watching shitty comedies for ironic reasons, maybe bro and jade are watching cartoons, maybe bro and john are watching childhood tapes while bro tries to prove some crazy insane point. it is always on that fucking couch that bro decides they are grown enough to start™

'Bro’s arms coming around you to squeeze just a little bit as it comes to an end' i fucking LOVE writing 'good' bro moments i LOVE writing bro sprinkling those masculine gestures of affection i love making him ruffle someone's hair or pat them too hard on the shoulder or give them a little side hug. i love when he is not just a stone cold freak sociopath TM he is a human capable of showing love who even enjoys doling it out at any opportunity. it is so so fun and also it drives me crazy

fun fact i'm actually incredibly shit at understanding how the hell the striderian mind games are even supposed to work. it means a lot that people say i nailed it with the carrie thing cuz ngl this is the only way i could make it click in my head. for me, so much of what bro claims in irony isn't, he's just like that genuinely and the mind game is the fact that he just lies and omits info and makes you wonder what's fake and what's not. to me bro strider works because he is a manchild who spends every waking moment crafting a fantasy land and making it a reality, following every fancy and whim he has. for me, he takes the concept of seeing a fictional character and going 'MOOD' and deciding to wear similar clothes or adopt a similar posture and he goes above and beyond. bro being a 'fan' of SAW and creating traps in his house is an example of that to me. he thought they were cool and decided to incorporate it in his irl. and since what's cool to HIM should be cool to his super cool kid too, he just assumes they have the same approach as he does. which is why he sees rose and goes, oh yes, i gotta re-enact every great womanTM horror through her. she's gonna love and appreciate the FUCK out of that.

speaking of that, bro and rose being likened to jigsaw and amanda doesnt really happen enough for my tASTES HELLOOoOOoooo

'This is how he loves you.' line that cracks me up because it's like. one of those lines/concepts that follows me into every piece about abuse if it gets long enough. the bizarreness of it. attempting to comprehend another person's perspective and squeeze it into your own even though trying to understand just harms you further in the process. it makes me aaaaaaaaaaaaa

And God made Eve from the rib of Adam and Eve was weak. And the curse was the curse of blood. 

did you know that carrie has a musical. did you know i fucking love this song from this music. did you know i will sit and force a religious reference into anything and everything i write because i have so So many fetishes on the topic

You start imagining your brother’s rib plucked out, shiny and pretty, and growing enough flesh and arteries and bone to form a little girl. And you were made from him and you were made for him and you-

I'M INSAAAAAAANE adam and eve didn't have to go as hard as it did but Damn. Damn. yknow what people don't do religious striders enough considering the whole from the south bible belt thing. like i don't think they're christian in the slightest but they'd be entrenched in it, they'd be SURROUNDED in it and godhsdjfgsdfg (melts into a cummy puddle) anyway

SCREAMS INTO MY FIST I LOVE THIS SCENEEEEEEE

it is such an odd exchange it was so fun describing absolutely nothing about what was going on in either of their heads

another instance of manchild bro literally jumping for joy SO excited to get a laugh in with his (other) best friend

rose taking his horror movie reference and twisting it into another, trying to take control of the situation (most notably a horror movie where the villain is two antagonists pretending to be one, which is what rose would prefer their relationship to be like, an 'equal' symbiosis rather than one with a huge power dynamic like carrie and her mother)

the fact that yeah it's absolutely pig's blood god bro where did you even get that god you freak

we now get to >rose:bind which means i get to talk a shitload about rose's gender which was... HARD

because rose is very much not transmasc nor is she even particularly genderfluid or even butch and that is a very hard thing to convey in a very... queer audience. i won't get into the rant of it (because HOO i could rant) but i think sometimes in fandom, things get simplified or shoved into a box because it is something recognizable and relatable. i didn't want anything about rose's gender to be relatable. her sense of masculinity is something that was projected onto her and her sense of the feminine is something that was robbed from her and her entire identity is built upon that.

like, it was SUPER fun to play with this aspect of rose striderism because i usually do see her portrayed as butch or masc or just really punk/alt but it was very important for me that this wasn't something that she chose for herself and that it wasn't something that was really true to how she saw herself. dave's issues with masculinity was handed to him on a platter by bro and i wanted that for rose as well

so it was super important for me to talk about her binding. it was super important to explore it as something that was done to her, something that doesn't even really do anything for her as she does it, except fulfilling an aesthetic that was obviously given to her to uphold. it is another form of mutilation that she happily accepts and buys into.

ngl the mutilation is also a reference. i don't really write trans striders (i prefer trans lalondes tbh HJSKFG) but if/when i do, you better KNOW that they're never not thinking about cutting their titties off with their swords. it's their Thing.

You are now a twelve year old drug addict/you are now a twelve year old rat. This wasn't done on purpose but after this point, she never refers to herself as a 'girl'. she gets a quick mention at being bro's sister while lil cal's influence is still holding the narrative but after this point she's just referred to as rose in every 'introduction' sentence and ugfhdgfgd noice

shoutout to this section by the way i think i wrote it while losing my shit on my adhd meds HAHA. i always love the extra edge of mania that gets infused in my writing when i'm hyped up on them enough (i actually have a series on ao3 specifically and secretly dedicated to my Way Too Hyped Up On My Adderall writing, fun fact). this section is also a shoutout to the fact that i've just always been obsessed with psychology and these experiments are some examples of

like, the approach was: ok ricky imagine you're at a bar drunkenly explaining actual real life nature vs nurture experiments to an unwitting third party

Let me be warm. My life is darkness and all I want is a single dose of light. 

note to self: steal that from myself and put it in a book wtf

rose's silly junkie era is so fun because it's me twisting alcoholic meteorstuck rose into the worst thing it could possibly be and she is so cute hjskgsdg

this part was so fun and what's SO fun about reading back on it is literally seeing the parts of the fic where, in the process of writing it, i went... wait let's go a step further WAIT wouldn't it be crazy if i did this or that. here is where i simultaneously realized, YES let's acknowledge within the fic that this is a FIC, let the narrator know about the trigger warnings and the summary. let the narrator understand and point out characterization. let the narrator take plot points and toss them out completely and tease their existence out despite their removal yESSSSS.

now, the latter is actually not the first time i've written that. it's something i've been practicing a lot lately, playing with unreliable narrators and the way they relay actions. playing with what is omitted rather than what is directly and incorrectly said. it's so fun GOD it's SOOOOOO fun to say something happened but not allow it to be studied even a little bit. it's so fun to spend an entire chapter detailing a list of years only to be like. oh yeah by the way, this whole time something else was happening that we just neglected to mention, oops, yeah. and it was such a perfect loophole for my own discomfort HJSKDF go me

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

this was the part of the fic that i was the MOST excited about. there was absoLUTELY no plan for it WHATSOEVER it appeared INCREDIBLY RANDOMLY after i was inspired and reminded by a random ass homestuck PLAY i found on ao3 (this one btw it's super good) that i'm also a playwright and i miss writing in a play format. SJDKFGSDFG. i love playing with format so MUCH and the first few inklings of this idea came from me wanting to use a BROTHER/SISTER format, completely stripping bro and rose's identity into nothing but their familial roles

and then i realized who'd be perfect to do just that

i believe this is the first time i also had to wrestle with what color to use on bro: which is something i tend to struggle with literally whenever i have to incorporate pesterchum colors for him. however, this fic really solidified it for me: as much as i love using orange for bro, it's important to use black for him because lil cal stole his color from him and stole what agency and 'character' he had. the black makes him a NPC, he's reduced to a default setting, and that's perfect. every time i remember that, the urge to put some likeness to dirk into him evaporates instantly

now, i've already talked about my approach to lil cal's characterization so i won't repeat much but i WILL do more to point out specific aspects of it

this part is funny cuz yes it's supposed to be a reference to arquius/equius but also it's a reference to me being really fucking gay for bro. caliborn/lil cal is also gay for bro but also it's just me. i'm the one who wants to kiss bro. i'm the one drooling about his sexy sexy Sexy tight shirt. it's ME.

this part is funny cuz caliborn is not gay for bro and i am Not a lolicon HJDKFGLSDFG

i hope how much fun and delight i was experiencing writing this scene shines through because it was the most fun and the MOST delightful

1)the injection line is super hot 2) reference to laugh track! i love bro feeling one way but being psychically tortured into acting another!! i love thinking about how that would look from the outside!!!!!!!

3) this is the start of the ASPECTS being highlighted in CAPS LOCK which i was INCREDIBLY TEMPTED to also format into their aspect colors but i was TOO FUCKING LAZY and was already doing a lot. it was an impulse that turned into a mini-challenge to me to see just how many aspects i could naturally fit into the prose without trying to force it, very much looking forward to seeing what that count looks like at the end

1)having to google drug safety phrases cuz i couldnt think of good ones off the top of my head was fun 2) who is the green? is the green caliborn or is it lord english or is it The Game? to me, the answer is, of course, all of the above, but especially The Game to me. again, this building and completely unplanned theme of Sburb being an entity capable of opinion and omniscience, and being nearly as much of a character capable of narration as Rose is... really started to solidify here, as lil cal, another inanimate object and another construct of The Game and another impossibility of paradox space, gets to suddenly narrate as well

which is rly what drives me crazy about KYM and what kill/switch has turned into. who or What the fuck is the narrator and what does it Mean to narrate within the context of the story. it isn't like the epilogues where someone is taking it consciously, so what? i can't wait to see if i ever have a specific answer for this, or if it will always just be the consequence of me just having so much fun in the writing process.

speaking of who is the narrator, who tf is the black caps vs the orange HJSDKFGDSG it's so so soooo fun playing with lil cal's ouroboros of possession. i love playing with meshing the two, like the black caps is the possessed narrator channeling lil cal's vibes as it channels any of it's hosts vibes, while the orange is lil cal's words straight from lil cal's lil bitch mouth

oh the SATISFACTION in getting to write the puppet bro moment. the SATISFACTION!!!!! writing this and getting to think and wonder just how many times lil cal has spoken through bro was so fUN

hey did yall know there's white font littered all throughout the fic because there's white font littered all throughout the fic and this is its first usage of it

i don't have specific thoughts (yet) about lil cal and his possible connections to doc scratch.

i do have thoughts about using the white in a way that would be hidden from most readers but still signified in a way for people to try and curiously try and find it. i attempted this by neglecting to white out the punctuation, leaving a big awkward space for a chosen few to hopefully consider poking at

bro slamming rose's head into a wall until she passes out and then regaining control of himself just in time for the effects of her drugs to hit him and passing out with a smile of pride on his face while lil cal (and the GAME) fucking pouts all tf over it. oh yeah baby. oh yeah this is what dreams are MADE of

VERY important speed-run of a VERY important rose strider hc

imo, rose is a better fighter than dave, right. she's better at becoming bro's protege than him. she's his perfect child. she's him.

so.

dave, in his failure, really only barely gets past lvl 1 of bro's intended training by the time sburb starts. maybe he's inching his way through lvl 2. he never even so much as gets a PEEK of lvl 3.

while rose is SOARING towards lvl 10. ok maybe that's a lil much. maybe she's at like 5 and a half. STILL.

so

i wanted to show that. i wanted to say YEAH not only is rose strifing but she strifes WAY more often than dave. i wanted to say yeah not ONLY is she getting attacked physically in the bathroom and kitchen but it's happening several times a day. i wanted to say yeah you thought shit was only physical and psychological??? hell nah bro started engaging in biochemical warfare against her body and she's all for it. i had this absolutely batshit hc about bro forcing rose to strife on roofies on a regular basis and it being something she (mostly) willfully encourages. GOD.

one thing i regret and mourn was that my pacing(???????) didn't allow all too much room to show rose befriending the other zetas and why she adores them so much. i think i summarized it enough with each friend brings a universe to you, but damn that is a premise that deserves a big long ramble

god what the hell is this AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA makes me so mad that bro is so cute with her JHKDFGSDFG this is just me shipping brose so goddamn hard, man... so goddamn hard...

also it was very fun to show bro literally handing rose some drugs on a silver platter after bashing her so often for them earlier. looking back, this is very much a moment where gamzee's influence on cal was absolutely in effect. he's affectionate and willing to share in the drug stash

another thing i regret not elaborating much on. although i think the sardonic nod at myself was super funny (yes it is so on the nose and obvious ooh so original a lolita reference in a het grooming fic) but i do wish i went more into detail about... rose attempting to find her femininity again and specifically the fact that this is happening because of what she's seen of jade and of women in media

(i dont think rose has read lolita but i do think she watched at least parts of the sexualized movie version)

(((man maybe i'll edit this bit cuz i do a lot with rape culture and how it affects rose but i'd love to add some porn culture thoughts as well... femininity and empowerment being joined with objectifying the self for men's benefit and rose attempting to lean into that as she tries to seduce bro because she is unaware of her appeal to him, a gay man)))

also, another laugh track moment, and another hc about bro and how he experiences attraction (and how it's been poisoned by lil cal)

Something in Bro’s face changes, then, the shift in possessive influence, gamzee losing what control he had over bro

You drape your arms around your brother’s shoulders. He grunts. “What are you doing?”  bro returning, sluggishly reacting to what's happening, displeased with affection he didn't initiate and would consider weak

You kiss him on the cheek, girlish and soft. He grimaces. “Kid,” he warns. bro at the forefront. she does something 'girly', he reiterates and reinforces the gender neutral. it is a warning to stop before lil cal notices what's happening, and before she does something he'll really hate

You kiss him again, on the mouth this time. He pushes you away, disgusted. “The fuck?” bro continuing to be at the forefront, suddenly confronted with the fact that rose is attracted to him. as far as he is aware of, nothing he has done to her has ever been linked to 'attraction'. his assaults of her (as bro strider) at this point are a 'lesson'. they are not the result of a paraphilia. he is not attracted to his own child (the attraction is to power, it's to himself, it's ???????). the thought itself disturbs the fuck out of him. is he even aware of how much he has done at this point? does he even remember? is this bro at his purest, without any other influence or sickness manipulating his thoughts?

He breathes harshly. Sweat pops into his forehead, a vein bulging to view above his shades. He looks agonized. lil cal possession! his brain is getting zapped to hell and back and lil cal is fucking screaming at him for allowing something so DISGUSTING to happen. he's not the only one disturbed now, vessel and host are both SO unhappy with this turn of events

he grabs you by the wrist and yanks with a sudden roar of “c'mere.” bro on his own isn't the type of person to raise his voice when he's angry. the violent change in volume here is courtesy of lil cal (leaning towards caliborn?), though he's still largely in control

It’s like you’ve been filled with candy. Bright, fizzy, fuzzy candy that sparkles and foams up like nothing you’ve ever seen. Bro throws you to the ground. He looms over you, huge and terrifying. He corrects you with a sudden, sinister snarl. “You are meat.” lil cal officially puppetering bro completely. candy/meat reference to trigger caliborn even further. why can lil cal read rose's mind???? because of their connection? and/or because of gamzee's chucklevoodoos and the fraction of that ability still held inside of him

“You’re defenseless,” he informs you, drawing a sword from his specibi. “You’re helpless.” rape culture rape culture. it's also interesting to see where kym bro's obsession with it comes from. caliborn's misogyny, sure, but equius, too, in his obsession with the hierarchy, with his fetishization of it and the power structures within it, which of course also fuels the 'attraction'. you're helpless and this is something that i will help you fix... also a sentiment leftover from dirk/hal.

he reaches down suddenly, snarling again, one hand closing around your throat and the other, well. at this point, bro is all action. he is a melting pot of impulses and commands. every aspect of lil cal shouting different things, parts of him rebelling against the intimacy and demanding it be twisted, other parts obsessed with correcting behavior through violence, other parts overwhelmed with arousal and being unable to cope with it otherwise. all at once. all at OOOOONCE. It’s funny to see the contortions on your brother’s face as he fucks you, the forced clench of his jaw, the gratification, the aaaaaaaaaaaaaall of it

'sober up jfc' was such a funny command because the jfc was added at the last minute cuz >rose: sober up just... sounded so bland on its own. needed more OOMPH after the insanity of the scene before

it's also an ode to how much i fucking love that fucking roof my god i could write 6487569045634563950634563 strife scenes forever and never get tired of them

which is another thing i find fun about the rose strider character study. it fills in blanks that i havent written in break and bind us. the thought that bro is aware enough of his own crimes to contemplate suicide more than once isssss GOD yeah... god yeah... i probably wont ever write it much with dave himself because it's already in kym but GOD!!!

this was me struggling to transition to the present JHKDFGSFG like god you get so caught in a feedback loop of insanity and adrenaline that sometimes it's hard to move away from it (which is why i largely write oneshots cuz then i dont have to AHAHA)

surpriiiiise... it was a surprise to me, too. again, the pregnancy plot came long after i had actually started the fic, and rose's 'sickness' was only ever meant to be mental at first. suddenly plotting this and connecting it back to the first chapter/summary felt so wild to do hjsdkfgs

and with that we have the YIKES and me going jesus christ that was the end of the chapter huh goddamnit this fic is way longer than i wanted godDamn. this chapter is insane and i love it so much god.

[rae-gar-targaryen]

i have nary a shred of positive attention span these days so longer fics (I'm talking even 2k+ tend to turn me off unless i know good and well that the writing is beyond superb)

anything more than that, and i would much rather have chapters/pieces/parts of it broken up where appropriate so that i can give it the attention it deserves without feeling bogged down with reading all in one sitting or being unable to find said time to do the reading. kids are masters at thieving of time

as jey said, it's really a matter of how the writing is done as well. i know with some people, i can focus right in because the hook and storytelling actually draws me in and makes me stay. while other much longer fics begin to bore me or allow my mind to wander off too much by like paragraph 3.

Also valid. I love a good blurb where you're kind of dropped into SOMETHING and it has a lil spicy kick? I wish I was capable of writing a blurb lol

[yatsugareboyf]

0X1=LOVESONG (I know I love you) feat. Seori [AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE]

akutagawa x gn reader. part of my TCC: FIGHT OR ESCAPE 500 EVENT.

hurt/comfort requested by @os8mu. warning: mentions of death, nightmares, dazai's abusive past.

the back of the book: akutagawa thinks he's a loser after almost losing the love of his life.

note: this took me a while but I got it! i used grammarly this time, so pls tell me if there's any difference. there's a lot of references of the song in the fic which i enjoyed writing hehe. this was actually one of the first fics i started writing aft i got mai's request <3 enjoy!

playlist here. (to be uploaded soon)

"Yokohama didn't do anything good for me, anyway," he bargains to no one in particular.

Would Yokohama even be worth living in if it cost your life? Would Yokohama feel complete for him without you? Would Yokohama even be thankful for the sacrifice that cost him his drug? The answer is no, of course, he concludes. Because why would Yokohama, the city he vowed to protect despite his terrible upbringing and trauma, be grateful for a sacrifice from someone like him? After all, he is a mass murderer with whom no one wants to be associated. It was okay for him to die, rot in secret and not have anyone mourn him. He said it himself; there won't be much time until he passes away.

And even if all the odds were against him, he was the one who was fated to live in this world that lacks the only thing he deems necessary to live: you.

But why you?

You, who did nothing but great things to make Yokohama a warmer place even for people like him. You, who never put Yokohama in harm even if it harms yourself. You, who didn't need to vow to become someone who would protect Yokohama even in its darkest days. Why did you have to be sent to die? Did the people ask too much of you?

He never understood, and he never will dare to understand.

Indeed, he was a loser. He had lost his childhood to pursue a life of crime and danger without a choice. He had lost his long-time mentor, an abuser, to someone who he thought didn't even match his own capability, and now he's about to lose you.

The one who one day appeared to him like an angel, sweeping him off his feet and showing him a new hometown he can truly be free and happy. The one who accepted him even if heaven itself wouldn't let him in, the one who could mend the wound in his soul and thaw his stone-cold heart, his one and only.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke is a loser, and he despises the fact that he's about to live up to it again. He won't allow it.

Come what may to Yokohama and anyone who seeks refuge in it, he doesn't care. They will pay the price of endangering the one warm thing this cold, ruthless world could ever give; they will see the consequences of their actions that resulted in the harm of his beloved. The only thing that mattered to him was to make sure that you were safe, and Yokohama would suffer the result if that were to be bent.

And yet somehow, Yokohama never did. They never saw the wrath of a monster who lost the one thing they could have. He would've destroyed Yokohama, hell, even the whole world, only to have you by his side, smiling without a care, but you didn't let him. Yokohama didn't deserve someone like you, nor did Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.

Fallen to his knees, he cries for you. He sobs for the life that was once yours, the life that you were to have, and the life that you were to have with him. He mourns the sunny days where you make it impossibly brighter, wishing that when the sun comes up again, you’re there to melt him out of his cold nightmare. He longs for the moment that you’ll return with the sweetest grin with your hand out to him, once again rescuing him from his chains. With bloody hands and a sore throat, he screams.

Once again, he wakes up into a nightmare, the hellish world where you no longer exist. Except you do still very much exist, and he just doesn't realize it yet.

"Ryuu? Hey, I'm here. Look around. You're not there anymore. You're here with me, alright?"

There it was, the soft illumination of your gentle voice and the warmth that it brings.

He felt you scrambling around him, kind of unsure in your movements, until he heard your footsteps walk away from him, but not that far. He opens his eyes to a blurry vision, looking up into the dark ceiling. Tilting his head in your direction, he sees you filling up a tall glass with the pitcher of water on your dresser. You always left some water in your room if Akutagawa needed them (or when you think he needs them, he never asks for it himself).

How thoughtful, one of the more reasons to love you. You know what Akutagawa needs, even when he doesn’t tell you. You know him like the back of your hand, offering things that he never knew he needed, providing something that he never thought he was worthy of receiving and giving things that he never gave himself.

He saw you walk over to his side of the futon, cooing at him to sit up properly so he could drink from the glass you just filled. You help him hold the cup when you notice his hands still shaking, you slowly rub his back when he starts to cough, and you move the stray hairs from sticking on his sweaty face.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll get you a towel-”

He reaches out to grab your wrist, almost desperately, as he sees you start to step away. He loosens his grip after a while but still keeps his hand around your wrist. Tugging on it, he struggles to say, “Stay with me, please.” swallowing the lump forming in his throat. Somehow, you understand, taking his hand in yours, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Okay. I’ll stay here.”

You spend a few moments holding his hand gently, staring at them. Akutagawa is scared to close his eyes again, so he focuses on your face. It brings him comfort, although it is not enough to describe whatever feeling comes from his gut. It’s… reassuring. Being able to lay your entire self out without having anyone step on it, being able to lower your guard without a stealthy jab from behind. It gives him fortitude in the times when he can’t seem to stand on his own.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything? Do.. do you wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head, and you’re not sure if he’s referring to the former or the latter part of your sentence, but you don’t pry more. Akutagawa moves his hand up and pats your side of the futon where you previously laid on, looking up at you with his red-rimmed eyes. Following his gesture, you move to sit beside him, tucking your legs under the covers beside him. He grabs your hand after you have to let go momentarily, quietly moving his head to rest on your shoulder.

It’s not always that Akutagawa would initiate acts of affection. He’s still wary of physical touch after all this time, but whenever he would, you never say anything. He didn’t explicitly say to not make a big deal about it, but he really appreciates it. You just let him be, nuzzling his head against your neck while he plays with your fingers. You make a move to rub his scalp but freeze halfway, hesitating to touch him. Still, ever the professional mafia man, he already knows your hand is hanging a few inches from his head.

“What are you doing?”

“I just..” you continue your movement, placing your hand on top of his head, rubbing it softly to not startle him. You feel him stiffen but not flinch, staying in his position, “Is this okay?”

He doesn’t respond, but you continue rubbing your fingers lightly against his scalp. After a while, you stop, checking if he’s uncomfortable, but before you can ask, he grunts quietly and tugs on the hand he’s holding. You hold back a fond giggle, moving back to begin scratching his scalp again.

It's small moments like this where Akutagawa feels like you're the only one who understands him. With only a simple nod or with a wave of a hand, you seem to know better than others who've known him his whole life. It's you who he feels like himself with. Not the rabid dog that the mafia knows him to be or the menace that the agency perceives him to be. He's simply and utterly yours, nothing more and nothing less.

Later on, you would whisper to him, laying him back down on the futon and covering his shoulders with the covers. You would kiss his forehead and hold his hand close to your chest, a reminder that you're beside him. You would smile at his warm face, lightly poking the beauty mark under his eye before laughing at his scrunched-up face. You would whisper a soft "Goodnight, Ryuu. I'll be here to protect you.", despite your droopy eyes and continue to run your thumb over his knuckles.

Akutagawa is scared to close his eyes, worried that he'll wake up into his world of nightmares again, but he feels safe under your soft gaze. He can't help but quietly stare into your eyes, eyelids slowly drooping, settling into a half-closed look. You know that he's close to drifting off (sometimes with his eyes open), so you start to hum a quiet tune. It fills his ears and reaches the realm of his dreams, lulling him into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.

[thickenmyblood]

hey maca :)) I have sth that I’d love to hear your input on! (wall of text incoming so beware- I’m absolutely not mad if you don’t want to answer lmao). Basically it’s about how you portray women in your works and to what extent you see that portrayal mirrored in the canon books. I have noticed that a lot of writers tend to go a traditional route with for example daughters not being heirs like you also mentioned in an answer for a wtsioa ask on here. Considering the cultures Vere and Akielos are based on that’s obviously very logical and a lot of authors (including you) make it work fantastically! Yet personally I never got the vibe of Vere and Akielos being as patriarchal in canon, mostly because the Information we get is kind of confusing. On one hand damen is a walking manosphere (and. all of Akielos in general as well) without any prominent female figures in his life but on the other hand damen only ever speaks appreciatively of for example the female vaskian warriors. Both countries seem to ban women from the army yet Damen also refers to a warrior queen. The regent is a total misogynist but with the wording Laurent uses it almost seems like that is more the exception and not the general rule of veretian court life. Both countries also have ties to Vask, an exclusive matriarchy and Akielos is said to be similar to Patras which Pacat has stated is also partly a strong matriarchy due to vaskian occupations in the past. I could go on for a lot longer but I guess that damens overall positive attitude towards women and especially stereotypically spoken masculine women is what sticks out the most to me. It just seems kind of misplaced in a world that supposedly is as sexist as the original cultures from our world. Which is why I’d say both countries do have gender roles but are overall a lot more egalitarian than their respective real world og cultures. But that’s only my take and I’d love to hear more on what others think about the portrayal of women in canon and how they chose to portray it in fanfiction. Love you and your new work, hope you’re doing well❤️

HELLO!!! Thank you for asking me interesting stuff :, ) you always have the best questions and my sad little inbox is open to you any time, friend. I divided this into parts, so:

My portrayal of women: I need to work on this a lot lmao. I’m not proud of any female character I have ever written for this fandom, and I’m also not proud to say I struggle horribly when it comes to writing female OCs, especially if the story is not about a female character that is a literal projection of me. Or Bella Swan (yes, Twilight literally shaped my sad little brain and the way I write and consume fiction).

Authors writing female characters in a “traditional” way (for fantasy settings): I can’t speak for other authors but I definitely think, in my case, that using the “it’s a patriarchal society, women have no rights, women can’t be heirs, etc.” blueprint is a matter of being lazy. It’s quick, and easy, and it’s been done before so we all know how it works and a) it’s unlikely that you’ll mess it up (in the plot hole kind of way) and b) it’s obvious that most readers know how the usual system works and so you don’t have to spend paragraphs or even chapters explaining it to them. I am very lazy when it comes to world-building for fics. Why? Because when I’m writing fanfiction I don’t give two shits about the world, I just care about the characters doing Things and having Feelings. The moment you start to question these issues (a society where women can join the army, where they can be heirs, where maybe they can have multiple husbands, etc.) a billion issues arise because it’s not the “usual way” and so you’ll have to deal with “unusual problems”. See: plot holes, info-dumping, etc.

Vere and Akielos in canon: I think the books get very, very confusing at times when it comes to gender roles in that specific world. They also get very confusing about how royalty works, in my opinion. So:

Damen never mentions female influences in his life, not even nannies or wetnurses or anything. He mentions past queens and his mother, but even then… It’s always struck me as “what the actual fuck” that we get no information on Egeria. In TSP, he doesn’t even read as curious to me, especially when I think of that line that goes something like “oh, well, he’d never asked how tall she was”.

Then you have Jokaste, who is highborn and also… perhaps trained in politics? It’s unclear to me if she’s ever been directly involved in meetings or been an active member of the Council or even been allowed to study these issues. Clearly, she’s smart and capable and cunning, but like… how? Did she have private tutors? Is she a self-made woman? Like, what’s up with that? Are women allowed to engage in public politics? Are they allowed to be kyroi?

IMO, Damen complimenting the female warriors in Vask has to do with how appreciative he is of war-related stuff. Like, he thinks people with his own qualities are neat. We see this time and time again in the books—having honor, being brave, respecting one’s family, protecting those who need protecting… He compliments these things when he sees them in others, especially in Laurent. Obviously one of the big changes in Damen as a character is that he goes from being daddy’s boy to being like “well, actually… maybe war isn’t always the answer, and maybe war isn’t always honorable”. The Vaskian warriors prove themselves worthy of praise in a “manly” way, if that makes sense. (In the same way, Laurent proves himself in the Okton, not so much to Damen but to other Akielons). So, in essence, War > Any issues he may have about women doing Stuff.

Don’t judge me for this but I can’t remember the Regent talking about women. Do you have any quotes about that? I feel like Book 1 is super rich when it comes to world-building stuff and yet it’s the book I remember the least. I know he obviously has a preference for boys and not girls, but I don’t recall him having interactions with Vannes or ladies at court? I’M SORRY I’M SO STUPID but I don’t own the book so I can’t exactly word search my way out of this one, and so instead of saying stupid stuff, I’m asking anyone reading this (lol, you and my mom probably) to please tell me what canon says on this issue.

Ties to Vask: Er, yeah, I mean… They’re clearly not at war with Vask and have some sort of economic deal (there are Vaskian pets in Arles? Which makes me wonder if they, like, buy them from Vask? Or if the pets are Vaskian and turn into pets in Vere? Slaves are not like pets so I don’t know?), BUT just because they have deals with this kingdom/are on good terms with the ruler does not mean they necessarily approve? Like, maybe they’re like “yeah, it’s weird they give women so much power, but also I need that silk/leather/WHATEVER, so I’ll shut up about that”.

“Akielos is said to be similar to Patras which Pacat has stated is also partly a strong matriarchy due to Vaskian occupations in the past.” Is this in the books or is this something she said in an interview/post-releasing the trilogy? I know in the books there’s a quote that Akielos and Patras are similar because they both have slaves, but other than that I can’t quite remember anything about Patras? Like, I don’t recall Pacat giving us extensive and thorough world-building on either nation, at all. Once again, I am asking you for more explanations on this because I literally don’t remember.

4. My opinion and a Stupidity Disclaimer: As I’ve said above, there’s a lot of stuff I don’t remember and so I’m not trying to preach to anyone reading this or even saying that I hold the truth about… anything. I’m answering questions as I see fit and asking more questions when I run out of answers.

I believe world-building is not one of Captive Prince’s strong points. I will not elaborate on this because this is already long enough but there is simply, in my opinion, not enough material to reach any solid conclusions when it comes to world-building questions such as the role of women in Vere and Akielos, how compulsory homosexuality affects the development of highborn men and women in Vere, exactly what makes Akielos’ view on women different from Vere’s (if there’s any difference at all), the history of gender roles in this world and how it’s evolved up until canon, how Lamen can solve the heir issue without recurring to, once again, “the usual stuff” (concubines, bastards, marriage to women, etc.). It’s clear from what I’ve read that Pacat has come a long way as a writer and that her new trilogy has a lot more in-depth explanations to world-building questions, but this is not the case with CP, and so I’m afraid my answer to most of this is “I don’t know, and I don’t think anyone can know for sure”.

Lastly, I think I struggle a lot with understanding the role of women in this universe because I simply did not see enough women doing stuff, so I don’t know what’s permitted, what’s unacceptable, what’s illegal, what is straight-up execution worthy, etc. This is not me complaining about the lack of female characters in CP, at all, which I know is contradictory to stuff I’ve said in the past (I answered a couple asks a year ago about how I’d wished we’d gotten Vannes’ POV or Jokaste’s POV in the short stories). I’ve changed my mind, and so I think Pacat is entitled to write whatever she wants, just like I’m entitled to talk shit about KR with any living soul who will listen lmao.

To end this on a spicy note, I think sometimes we consume the wrong media and then complain because it doesn’t have what we wanted. If you’re looking for a trilogy with strong, fleshed-out female characters, Captive Prince is not for you. If you’re looking for a trilogy on female struggles and, I don’t know, defying… the male gaze… Captive Prince is not for you. There are plenty of books out there that focus exclusively on female characters, featuring sapphic relationships, and dealing with gender issues. WHICH IS NOT TO SAY WE SHOULDN’T BE HAVING THESE DISCUSSIONS. This is not about this particular question, but more about a lot of posts I’ve seen floating around… complaining about Pacat’s writing and the themes she didn’t explore.

If anyone has made it this far, thank you for reading, and know this is NOT me telling you what to think. This post is an open question that anyone can engage with, although I hope people will engage with this directly and on this platform, instead of… taking it somewhere else where I sadly can’t engage back! Unlike what happened with our awesome fat Laurent discussion, I will be replying to any questions I get on this (Note: I did not reply to most of those questions because a long time had passed and they were sort of repetitive).

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

no grave can hold my body down – 2/2

Character: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary: It took time to get Jason Todd away from the darkness. Sometimes it felt like he was always standing at a tipping point, at risk of completely losing himself. But not when he was with her. She made him better and she would continue to make him better.

Word Count: 9,000

A/N: I know there are a lot of contradicting opinions on Jason Todd’s height. But for my own wish fulfillment, he is 6′3/6′4ish in this fic. 

Part 1

Y/N had fallen asleep after getting home from work. She had a long day and was so exhausted that she passed out as soon as she sat down on the couch. Jason had to take off her heels and drape a blanket over her.

Now he was dressed in his armored undershirt, cargo pants, leather jacket, and tactical boots. His red helmet was tucked under his arm, but he was already wearing a domino mask. If Bruce had taught him anything, it was to be prepared to a point of paranoia.

He crouched down to his knees.

Ever so gently, he brushed Y/N’s cheek.

“Y/N,” he whispered.

She stirred and winced a bit when she opened her eyes, the glare of the quiet television was suddenly harsh.

“What’s going on?” She asked, still half asleep.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep. I just wanted to tell you I’m leaving to go on patrol.”

“Mhmm. OK.” She hummed. “Be careful, J.”

If Y/N ever found out how un-careful the Red Hood was, she would never sleep and she’d probably beg Jason to quit his vigilantism.

“I love you,” he told her before kissing her on the forehead.

“Love you, too,” she said back so dreamily that it sounded like she was talking in her sleep.

Jason slipped out of the window. He purposely chose this apartment due to the direction the windows faced, the distance from approximate apartments, and the darkness that would prevent any wandering eyes from the neighbors.

He’d been patrolling for a few hours. It was oddly a quiet night. He assumed it had to do with how cold it was outside. Sometimes criminals were weak in the most obvious ways.

Jason was standing on a rooftop, taking a breather when he felt someone drop behind him. He knew his family all too well and could differentiate all of their footsteps. Which was why he didn’t immediately shoot Dick when he thought he’d try and surprise him.

“So, Y/N was quite the hit…” Dick said without giving Jason a proper greeting first.

“What are you still doing in town?” Jason answered.

Dick sighed. “B still needs a little help on the case.”

Jason nodded, not actually caring why Dick was still in Gotham. 

Then an awkward silence washed over them. Well, Dick thought it was awkward. Jason couldn’t care less. 

“Why won’t you talk about her with us?” Dick’s teasing was gone and his tone serious now.

Jason turned his head away from the city view and finally acknowledged his brother. “You don’t need to know anything about her,” his helmet distorted his words to make them sound even harsher than they already were.

“Doesn’t seem like she completely shares that view.”

Jason didn’t respond. He didn’t appreciate Dick speaking on Y/N’s behalf.

“Bruce seems to like her,” Dick added.

Jason’s head snapped to him. “As if I give a fuck,” he snapped.

Dick had the audacity to laugh. “How did the two of you meet anyway? She was living in New York City when the two of you first met, right?”

“Jesus,” Jason growled. “Did all of you run a background check on her?”

Dick shrugged. “What did you expect?”

————

Y/N didn’t have any idea where she was going. With the sun having already set, she couldn’t even figure out what direction she was headed.

But she had typed the address to her hotel into the Uber app and trusted it from there. She was also too preoccupied still answering the dozens of work emails on her phone.

“Hey lady, we’re here,” the driver said rudely after she didn’t realize they had stopped.

“Oh, sorry!” She said, writing the last few words of a sentence before pressing send.

She jumped out of the car and yelled a thanks before slamming the door shut.

To her surprise, the car raced off without a second’s hesitation.

But when Y/N turned around, she realized she was definitely not in the right place. And for the first time throughout the drive, she realized she was definitely in a bad area.

Y/N heard all of the terrible things about Gotham. Sometimes she wondered if the things about all of the crime were exaggerated by the news or if the city was really rotting from the inside like everyone said. What she definitely didn’t believe in was all the vigilantes that seemed to be protecting the city. No one could ever offer up any proof, even with every single human having a video camera in their hands at all times.

But now she wishing she’d taken people’s warnings a little bit more seriously.

This was definitely not Gotham Heights, where her nice hotel was located.

“Fuck,” she muttered as she whipped out her phone and instantly tried to call another Uber. But the app was being finicky and she was getting a loading screen for far too long.

Then she heard a group of men whistle at her. The streets were filled with literal dumpster fires. There were countless inoperable cars with broken windshields and without wheels. The only women she spotted looked like they were working the streets.

‘Walk, Y/N. Just walk. Act like you know where you’re going.’ Her brain was screaming at her.

So she did while remaining on high alert.

No matter how much she pretended to blend in, she was obviously out of place and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Her heart was racing and she tried to walk as fast as she could without fully running. She just hoped to get to a main street soon and try to catch a yellow cab, since apparently all her car-service apps decided not to work.

But suddenly, a man stepped onto the sidewalk, blocking Y/N’s path forward.

“You lost, sweetheart?” He cooed.

Y/N stopped and started backing away. But when she turned around, she saw that two men were waiting behind her.

“No need to be scared,” the same men said behind her, closer this time. “We just want to talk.”

‘Fuck this,’ Y/N thought before she decided to make a run for it.

But one of them grabbed her and shoved her to the side, pushing her into the alleyway she hadn’t realized they were right next to.

It was so dark that she could hardly make out the silhouettes of her attackers. But that wasn’t going to stop her from fighting. She immediately tried to shove past anyone in her vicinity and hit whoever was grabbing her.

“Get the fuck away from me!” She screamed, hoping that there was someone in this poisoned city that would try and help her.

Except she was outnumbered by three men, which ended in her getting shoved up the brick wall that lined the alley.

“I don’t have any money,” she gasped as a last ditch effort to save herself.

“Who said we wanted your money?” One of them chuckled darkly.

Before their words could hearten Y/N to try another defensive attack and escape, there was a strange zipping sound that echoed down into the alley.

Next thing Y/N knew, the man that was pressed up against her and pinning her to wall was flung off.

Y/N gasped and tried to get her eyes to adjust to the darkness enough so she could actually see what the hell was happening.

“It’s the hood!” One of the men yelled to his friends before making a run for it.

Then a gun was fired off – two shots.

Y/N yelped at the noise and covered her ears.

But when she looked back up, the man who had tried to escape was now on the ground, screaming in pain as he looked down at both of his knee caps that had been shot.

When Y/N turned her attention to the other two men, she finally saw who had interrupted their assault.

It was a man – if that was even what he was – dressed in military gear of some sort. But what really caught her attention was the red helmet that was reflecting the night light and allowing her to actually follow what was happening.

Y/N watched as he punched the daylights out of one of her attackers. She saw the man’s face get more and more covered with blood with each punch.

If Y/N was scared before, she was now terrified.

Without hesitating any longer, she too made a run for it, hoping she wouldn’t be shot like the other runaway.

She sprinted around the corner. But she only got a few yards before the same behemoth landed in front of her.

He was tall, and had to be at least 6’3. Men were confusingly short in New York, so Y/N was still trying to wrap her mind around having to tilt her head slightly up. But then she realized it wasn’t even his height that was jarring; it was how utterly hulking he was. His shoulders were so wide and his chest was massive. His thighs seemed to be the same width has her entire torso.

Everything about him was intimidating and imposing.

“I gotta give you credit for being that fast while wearing heels,” he said to her as he glanced down at her shoes.

It wasn’t exactly comforting that his voice seemed to also be distorted by the helmet.

Y/N was frozen in fear, truly not knowing what he was capable of or even what he wanted.

“You can relax. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he told her with his hands raised. His guns were no longer in his grip, but in their holsters at his thighs.

“You just killed three men,” Y/N told him with a shaky voice as she took a step back.

“I didn’t kill them. But if you want me to, I’d be happy to go back there and finish the job.”

“What? No!” Y/N cried out.

He had the audacity to chuckle at her reaction.

“Where exactly did you think you were going?” He asked her.

“This whole damsel-in-distress thing is new for me. But I thought it made sense to run away from the guy who was shooting people,” she told him quickly.

Jason was grateful that his mask hid all his emotions and facial expressions, because he was smiling at her sass.

He looked her up and down, taking in her outfit and just her overall look. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“What gave me away?”

He shrugged, ignoring the question. “What the hell are you doing in The Bowery? This is the most dangerous neighborhood in Gotham.”

“My Uber dropped me off here. I thought I was at my hotel and by the time I figured out I wasn’t, my driver had already sped away and left me for dead.”

He took a step toward her. “What’s a gal like you doing in Gotham?”

“I work for an art gallery in New York. But there was an event that I had to attend. I’ve been here all weekend.” 

Why was she telling him any of this?

Jason nodded in understanding. “Come on,” he told her.

“W-What?” She asked nervously.

“You’re not gonna get a car in this area. You should report the driver who brought you here in the first place. He knew better.”

He walked past her.

Y/N looked around her, trying to figure out if she even had any other option. She knew he was right about a car, which was probably why she’d gotten a loading screen for all of them when it realized her location.

Yes, he was technically a masked criminal. But he did just save her life, no matter how terrifying it was to watch.

Y/N decided she didn’t have much of a choice.

Before she could move, a motorcycle was being pulled up alongside her.

Y/N eyed it for a moment.

“What’s your name?” She asked him, as if it would make the situation any safer.

“Red Hood,” he told her.

Y/N nodded, not surprised that it didn’t make her feel any better. She realized she was in no position to ask for his real identity. She knew enough about vigilantes to understand that they only survived from hiding their true selves from the criminals they fought and the law enforcement who thought what they were doing was wrong.

“Where are you staying?” He asked her.

“Crest Hill Hotel,” she told him.

“Fancy,” he teased. “Hop on.”

Y/N hesitated before following his instructions. She sat awkwardly on the back of the motorcycle, unsure of what to do.

“You’re gonna want to hold on, beautiful.” He told her over his shoulder as he revved the engine.

Y/N tried to ignore the heat that rushed to her face as he called her ‘beautiful,’ and then she tried to ignore how wide and strong his torso felt as she reached to hold on.

It took 20 minutes to get to her hotel, proving that the Uber driver really hadn’t given a crap about how incorrect her original address had been.

Jason had decided to drop her off in the back entrance to avoid a scene of the infamous Red Hood dropping off an average citizen. He didn’t need that type of attention and Y/N shouldn’t be tied to him in any way.

Y/N got off the motorcycle with a surprising grace and turned to him.

“Thank you for…saving me,” she told him gently.

“It was nothing,” he told her.

Y/N just watched him for a moment, wondering what he looked like under that red helmet and without all the armor.

“What’s your name?” He surprised her by asking.

“Y/N. Y/F/N Y/L/N.” 

She didn’t know why she felt comfortable giving her surname. But it just came out.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Though, I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

Y/N suddenly dug into her purse, making sure she still had her phone and even just the key to her hotel room.

“Fuck,” she muttered without realizing it.

“What is it?” Jason asked.

“Nothing. I just…it sounds stupid, but I have a little notebook to write down ideas for – well, for my artwork. But it must’ve fallen out back in that alleyway when those guys shoved me against the wall.”

When she looked up at him, it was impossible to know what he was thinking.

“Anyways, thank you again.” She turned to finally walk away.

“Y/N?”

She shouldn’t love how much she loved the sound of him saying her name.

Y/N turned around.

“Stay close to the hotel. Gotham is different than New York City.”

She nodded.

————————

“So, when did you see her again?” Dick questioned after he listened to Jason’s retelling.

“I was helping out a friend with a job in NYC. Things got ugly. I may or may not have been shot when I showed up at her window. Her apartment was in the area and I needed a place to lay low.”

Dick laughed. “Uh huh. Sure you did.”

Jason ignored him. “Anyways, I’d gone back to the alley that night and found that notebook she was talking about, and gave it to her to make up for bleeding all over her couch.”

“Always the romantic,” Dick teased.

Their conversation came to a halt. Instead of talking, they both listened to the city noises that Gotham brought.  

“Listen, Jason, I know I did a poor job of being there for you and actually acting like a brother. And I also know you haven’t always been my biggest fan.”

Jason stayed quiet.

“But you deserve to be happy. And we both know Y/N does that.” Dick sighed. “But you don’t talk about her with us and you kept her from even just meeting us after years of you two dating. If we weren’t all noisy and paranoid, we wouldn’t know a thing about her.”  

“What’s your point, Dick?” Jason asked roughly.

“No one ever wants to acknowledge this, especially you…but you’re more like Bruce than any of us. And you’ve seen how he pushes people away, keeping them at a distance. Y/N wants to be a part of your life, your whole life. And that includes all of us – whether you like it or not. So, what I’m saying is you don’t have to hide her from us.”

Dick knew not to expect a response from Jason. So he left him where he found him and gave him his space once again.

Jason didn’t have anything to say anyway. 

Dick’s words made him angry more than anything. Because he knew they were true. Yes, he saw how Bruce behaved with women. It was promiscuous and casual, because anything else was too close for comfort. Bruce’s priority would always be Batman. And Bruce knew that no significant other deserved his lack of commitment – no matter how much they might love each other.

—————

Y/N was doing her nightly routine and applying moisturizer to her face when she heard it. She could be acting paranoid, but her instincts were telling her something was off. 

No, someone was here.

Jason made a point of being loud and immediately announcing when he got home as to not scare her. So, it couldn’t be him.

As quietly as possible, Y/N tiptoed out of the bathroom and to her side of the bed where she kept a titanium baseball bat. Jason had offered her multiple times to teach her how to shoot a gun. But Y/N wanted nothing to do with them.

With the bat in hand, Y/N snuck her way to the living room where she heard the sound.

She had turned off all the lights, making it hard for her to see clearly.

But she did see a large mass standing in the middle of her living room. With just a bit of hesitation, Y/N swung the bat. But the intruder caught the bat, stopping her attack.

They stepped into the moonlight, finally allowing Y/N to see that it was Batman in his full uniform, cowl still on.

“What the fuck. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Y/N snapped at him.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Bruce defended.

But Y/N was still irritated. “Jason isn’t here.”

“I know. I came to talk to you.”

She froze. “Me?”

“I need a favor.”

Y/N narrowed her gaze. “I highly doubt I could do anything to help you.”

“You’re wrong. This has to do with your job. You work at The Drago House.”

Y/N tilted her head and crossed her arms. “Yes.”

“It’s owned by the Ibanescu family. They use it as a front for human trafficking.”

Y/N shook her head. “That can’t be possible…”

“Don’t underestimate the crime families of Gotham, Y/N.”

“So, why do you need me?”

“There are files and codecs that would decipher who their buyers are and where they hold auctions around the world. Nothings digital. They’re old school. With that information, we could shut done their operation forever.”

Y/N’s face was serious now. “What do you need me to do?”

“You have always had access to all the information. You just never knew it. All I need is for you to scan the files.”

She now looked at him suspiciously. “Don’t they say you're the world’s greatest detective? I find it hard to believe that you’d have problems breaking into the gallery after hours to get them for yourself…”

“It’s only completely lockdown as soon as it closes every night. Their security system is high-end and resets every 24 hours. Could we get into it eventually? Yes. But we’ve already been at it for weeks. And we’ve received word that there’s a big…” He hesitated. “…shipment happening any day. We don’t have time to waste.”

Y/N thought about what he was telling her.

“Why didn’t you go to Jason?” She finally asked.

“You said Jason doesn’t tell you what to do.”

Y/N glared at him for using her own words against her.

The apartment went quiet again.

Then Y/N nodded slowly. “There’s an opening tomorrow night. I can get them then.”

—————

Dick’s words haunted Jason for the rest of the night. He wanted to cut patrolling early and just get back to Y/N.

Now he swiftly moved into his apartment from the fire escape and immediately took off his helmet and domino mask underneath.

But Jason froze when he saw Y/N’s bat in the middle of the living room.

His heart raced at the immediate assumption that something happened to her. The furniture was untouched and there were no other signs of trouble, but he still rushed towards the bedroom anyway.

“Y/N?” He called out, despite it being nearly 4AM.

He let out a sigh of relief when he found Y/N slowly waking up from their bed.

“J?” She murmured, half asleep.

“Y/N, why is the bat in the living room?” Jason asked as he rubbed his face and then sat on the edge of the bed near her. Without even thinking, he cupped her cheek.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to wake up more. “I thought I heard something and freaked myself out. But it was nothing.”

“Y/N, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me when shit like that happens.”

“But it was nothing,” she repeated. “What?” She added with a sigh when he was giving her that disapproving look.

“I don’t care if it ends up being nothing. If you’re scared, then I’m going to be here. OK?” Then he finalized his point with a quick kiss to her lips.

She nodded. “OK.”

Then she looked him up and down, realizing that he was still completely in his Red Hood gear, only without his helmet.

“You OK?” She asked in a whisper. Her eyes already scanning his body for any obvious injuries.

“I’m fine,” Jason sighed. “I was just worried about you when I saw the bat. I thought something…”

Y/N quickly sat up in bed. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m fine. I’m OK. I was just being paranoid. I should’ve put the bat back. I’m sorry.”  

A comfortable and reassuring silence settled between them.

“Why don’t you take a shower and come to bed?” Y/N offered softly.

Jason nodded and kissed her again.

As soon as he was out of the room, Y/N ran a hand over her face. 

She hated lying to Jason. He didn’t deserve it. But she also knew he wouldn’t let her anywhere near an operation that Bruce was trying to pull off. This had to be the same thing that Tim had pulled Jason aside for at the gala.

But Bruce made one thing clear: he needed her help. And he wouldn’t do so if he wasn’t desperate.

———————-

The next night, Y/N couldn’t stop sweating and her heart rate was out of control. She tried to act like this was just another day of work, greeting customers, explaining the pieces, and answering questions.

But the need to get into the back offices when everyone else was gone would not stop nagging her.

With shaky hands, she tapped her ID on the scanner. Usually at this point in an event, all of her colleagues were either on the floor or had called it the end of their work day and headed home.

By some miracle, that was exactly the case.

Y/N locked the door behind her, never having seen a purpose for doing so any other day of working at the gallery.

“OK. OK. OK. Breathe,” she muttered to herself as her eyes scanned the room.

She knew where all the files were in the room. And Bruce had given her the keys to knowing what to look for. Now it was just a matter of putting the two together.

Y/N instantly went to work and started shuffling through papers, finding what was needed.

Bruce had given her a special pen that would scan every file within a second no matter what angle it was pointed at, so Y/N wouldn’t have any suspicious photos on her cellphone.

Y/N was almost done, covered in sweat and with shaking hands, when the door started jiggling.

She swore her heart was about to burst out of her chest.

With pure adrenaline, Y/N quickly put back the files that were in her hand.

But the person on the other side of the door was clearly getting impatient quickly and continued to mess with the doorknob.

Y/N jumped when it was finally kicked open. She whipped around to stare at a man who was nearly the size of Jason, but looked far deadlier. She’d never seen him at the gallery before, which meant he was definitely part of Ibanescu’s gang.

“Can I help you?” She snapped rudely, trying to use her authority to hide her fear.

“What are you doing in here?” He accused.

“I work here. Who the hell are you?”

He ignored her question. “Why was the door locked?”

“You still haven’t told me who you are,” Y/N shot back.

And with that, she straightened her posture and started walking past him. But this man wasn’t as stupid as he looked. Just as she thought she’d slipped away, the man grabbed her by the arm.

“Excuse me,” Y/N hissed.

But he ignored her and started dragging her into the back storage area of the gallery and further away from the crowd.

Y/N tried to rip her arm from his grasp but his grip was vice-like and didn’t even seem fazed by her efforts to escape.

This was not good.

While Y/N was still hopeful that she could possibly talk her way out, she was also realistic. 

Which is why she hit a button on her watch.

Jason had gifted it to her very early on in their relationship. It was a classic chronograph watch. But he had installed a panic button onto it.

“If something ever happens – even if you think you’re being overly cautious – you push this and it will send out a signal that I can track. I’ll be there before you know it.” That’s what he had told her when he gifted it, and she’d worn it every day since.

A few seconds later, Y/N was being shoved through the door that led to the back alley.

There was a group of men, just as large and intimidating as the one who still had a grip on her arm.

It was pouring rain and freezing outside. But the slight overhand of the building into the alley protected them slightly.

“What the fuck is this?” One of them asked.

“I found her snooping around in the offices,” he announced.

“I’m one of the directors of this gallery!” Y/N bit back. “I was checking the price points on pieces for a potential customer.”

“The door was locked,” the man added.

They all seemed to be looking at each other.

Y/N was frozen, trying to wait for the perfect moment to make a run for it.

But then she saw one of the men, who appeared to be in charge, eye the pen that was clipped to the pocket of her pants. She prayed that he was too stupid to think it was anything more than just a writing utensil.

But then he slowly walked up to her. He grabbed the pen from her pocket and inspected it.

Y/N swore time froze. She couldn’t hear anything. She couldn’t feel the tight grip on her arm that was surely going to bruise her.

Then the man’s gaze shifted from the pen to her eyes.

“Get her in the car,” he told the group.

Y/N’s heart dropped.

Without hesitating, she immediately started to fight the man holding her. With a swift motion, she kneed him hard in the groin, making him let out a growl and keel over. But he dropped his grip on her arm.

Despite wearing heels, she made a run for it. She didn’t get far, but she got far enough into the rain that she was already drenched.

Another man grabbed her, shoving her against the building and clenching her throat to a point of suffocation.

“You stupid bitch,” her original captor spat as he backhanded her across the face.

Y/N blinked as a ringing started in her ears and her face stung with pain.

“Get her in the car before you make a fuckin’ scene,” the leader warned.

But before they could respond to the command, the street lights went out, causing a surge of darkness to blind all of them.

Y/N tried to step away from her attackers as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. But she couldn’t see a damn thing. The pouring rain was only making it more impossible.

It wasn’t until one of the men cried out in pain and guns started firing that she could see anything. Except it was too fast for her to make out a clear picture. Every so often, a lightning strike or a muzzle flash would give her a short glimpse.

Lo and behold, Batman was taking out the men one by one. But every time Y/N’s eyes focused on his tall silhouette, he’d disappear. She couldn’t keep track of his movements. And apparently neither could any of Ibanescu’s men.

“Shoot the girl!” One of the men yelled.

Y/N’s eyes widened when two of the men turned their guns on her.

But just before they fired off their rounds, a small force tackled her to the side and behind the safety of a giant dumpster.

Y/N looked up to see a young boy shielding her with his own body.

Damian. 

Things were so chaotic that she hadn’t even registered he was there, too.

Before she could say anything to him, there was another presence that dropped down beside her. The next second, she was being grabbed and pulled into the sky.

From the feel of his arms alone, Y/N immediately recognized it as Jason.

His grappling gun had brought them to the roof of the building.

Once their feet were grounded onto the roof, Jason barely stepped away and grabbed her shoulders.

Y/N couldn’t read his face from his helmet. But the subtle movements of his head made it clear that he was scanning her body to see if she’d been hit. It only took a few seconds to be convinced that she was clear.

Then he was grasping her face. “Stay here,” he told her before he used his grappling gun to vault back down into the alleyway.

Y/N ran to the edge of the room to look down.

When Jason returned to the fight below, he was ruthless.

Damian had seen the Red Hood with a vengeance many a time. But this… this was something different.

No bone was left unbroken.

Jason wasn’t just neutralizing these men…he was out for blood and pain.

The leader of the little gang was on his knees, covered in his own blood, when he looked up at Jason, who had a gun pointed just centimeters from his head.

“Red Hood, no!” Bruce growled as he threw a batarang, knocking Jason’s gun away from its almost-victim.

Jason whipped his head around. “They were going to kill her!”

“I wasn’t going to let that happen,” Bruce countered.

While they talked, Damian knocked out the man Jason almost murdered. By now, all of them were knocked unconscious or so injured that they couldn’t even open their eyes.

Jason’s entire body froze, realizing what had really happened. Bruce and Damian didn’t just happen to be there to save his girlfriend. This was their doing. They were the ones who had put her in this dangerous situation to begin with.

“What the fuck did you do?” Jason thundered.

Just as a flash of lightening struck, he turned to face Bruce, finding his new prey.  

“She had an in and I asked her to use it,” Bruce explained evenly. “She agreed.”

“Of course she fucking agreed!” Jason yelled over the rain. “She’d never say no to helping! And you knew that, and you took advantage of it!”

Then he raised his gun, pointing it at Bruce.

“Put the gun down, Red Hood.”

“Fuck you,” Jason hissed.

The next thing Y/N knew, Jason shot a bullet towards Bruce, causing her to let out a yell from above. In her heart she knew he hadn’t aimed to kill, but Bruce dodged the shot anyway.

Now the two men were fully fighting each other. Bruce seemed to be pulling his punches and just trying to remain on the defense. But Jason wanted revenge. Yes, Bruce and him had a dark history. But putting Y/N in danger erupted something inside Jason that made him see red in a way he never had before.

Just as Y/N was going to call out for Jason to stop, she heard someone drop beside her on the roof.

Dick stood a few feet away, standing tall in his Nightwing uniform.

“Dick, do something!” She begged.

“I can stop Bats, but I can’t stop him,” he told her.

“Then get me the fuck down there! Use your zip-line thingy!”

“Zip-line thingy?” Dick repeated, clearly offended. “This is a grappling–”

“Dick!” Y/N cut him off.

“Right, sorry.” He grabbed her, held her body tight to him, and lowered them down back to the alley.

When Y/N looked up, Bruce was on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

But Jason wasn’t done with him.

“You made it clear that you don’t give a shit about me. But putting the one person I love in danger just for you to solve a case? You’ve reached a new low,” Jason yelled as he slowly started to walk towards Bruce.

But before Jason could reach him, Y/N blocked his path.

She was soaking wet and shivering from both the cold rain and the shock.

Jason could already see the bruises covering her neck and face. He also didn’t miss the small line of blood that had trickled down her nose.

“Jason,” she whimpered. “That’s enough.”

He froze.

Y/N walked to him. “Please, just take me home,” she whispered.

Just seeing her made Jason’s entire body relax. But he was also reminded that she was the priority, not Bruce.

Noticing her shivering, he took off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Bruce, Dick, and Damian were barely able to see the short, loving moment before Jason flung a smoke capsule onto the ground, covering him and Y/N as he brought her into his arms.

By the time the smoke disappeared, Jason and Y/N were gone.

—————-

When Jason and Y/N got back to their apartment, Jason when into autopilot mode of nursing Y/N. He pulled her into their bathroom and immediately started helping her out of her wet clothes. Y/N couldn’t stop shaking, and he noticed.

Jason only left her side for the split moment when he turned to start the shower, making sure to make it extra hot.

Then he was right back at her side, taking off his uniform and matching her nudity.

When he gently tugged her into their abnormally large shower, there was nothing sexual about it.

Now that Y/N’s skin was bare to him, he looked at all the injuries she had.

There were a few scrapes that would heal in a week or so. But Jason’s gaze went dark every time they lingered on the bruises across her throat, face, and bicep. He should’ve killed all of those bastards.

Y/N leaned into Jason’s chest. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Because she knew that’s what this was. Jason wasn’t mad at her – at least, not yet. That could very much come later. But no, right now, he was scared. He put so much energy into keeping Y/N away from his other life, only for her to be thrown right into the center of it. And it wasn’t even his doing; it was Bruce’s.

“I know,” he bent down to whisper in her ear as he wrapped his arms around her.

Y/N didn’t know how long they stayed in the shower. But eventually Jason turned off the water and wrapped Y/N around in a fluffy white towel. She looked so young and innocent.

He moved her to their bedroom and sat her down on the edge of the bed.

Y/N watched him as he moved about the room, getting each of them clothes – all from his own closet.

“Are you hungry?” He asked her carefully as he handed her a pair of his sweatpants and one of his hoodies.

She shook her head.

Jason wasn’t surprised. One of the side effects of trauma and shock was a loss of appetite. But he made her drink a huge glass of water before he let her get in bed. And he made a mental note to make a big breakfast tomorrow when her body recovered and realized how starving it was.

When they were both finally under the covers, Jason didn’t hesitate to pull Y/N completely in his arms, smothering her with his giant frame. She welcomed his touch and warmth, burying her face into his chest.

Neither of them knew who needed this closeness more.

Tonight had been scary. Y/N knew Jason’s anger was bound to show up at some point. But right now, both of them were just grateful they were okay.

————————-

To Y/N’s surprise, she woke up in bed alone.

But her concern didn’t last long as she heard Jason moving around in the kitchen and she could hear soft music was playing if she listened hard enough.

When Y/N moved to get out of bed, she felt all the soreness that came from being grabbed and thrown around like she was last night. She winced, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. But she made a mental note to hide any signs that she was in pain from Jason.

Over their time together, Y/N and Jason got disturbingly good at reading one another. So, when Y/N walked into the kitchen to find Jason making breakfast, she immediately sensed things were not good. It wasn’t the cooking that tipped her off. His naked back was to her and she could somehow see the tension in his shoulders – in his whole body.

Y/N knows he heard her as soon as she walked into the kitchen.

“There’s coffee,” he says without turning around from the stove. He’s making pancakes. Chocolate chip pancakes, to be precise.

Y/N pours herself some coffee and sits at the table, watching him.

A few minutes pass before she’s had enough of the tension.

“If you’re gonna yell at me, then yell at me,” she told him.

Jason froze for a moment, but then quickly looked at her over his shoulder. “When have I ever yelled at you?”

He had a point.

Yes, Jason was once filled with only rage. There was a reason some feared Red Hood more than the Batman. He was ruthless. Fueled by vengeance, his temper, and his disappointment in the evil that plagued the world. He fought his enemies, but he also fought with his friends and family.

But Jason Todd was none of those things with Y/N. He never lost his temper with her. He never projected his rage and hardships from what he saw as Red Hood onto her. He’d never even raised his voice with her.

“I know,” Y/N admitted. “But I also know you’re still angry.”

Jason sighed, turning off the stove and bringing a giant plate of pancakes to the table.

But Y/N couldn’t eat while having this discussion.

Jason leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You wouldn’t have let me do it,” Y/N countered.

“Yeah, and for good reason.”

“He used you, Y/N.” Jason tried to explain. “You’re untrained… with no exposure to this world. He knew not to involve you and he went behind my back to do it anyway.”

Y/N lowered her head in shame. There was a part of her that felt useless. She couldn’t jump around rooftops and save those who needed it. She was just…normal.

“I just wanted to help,” she mumbled.

Jason leaned forward from seeing her upset. “Y/N, come here.” He reached for her hand and baited her towards him.

She took his offer and moved from her chair to straddle his lap.

Jason held her waist tightly as he pressed his forehead to her’s. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.

“You’re not going to,” she reassured him.

“Please, I’m begging you, don’t ever do something like that again.”

Y/N’s heart hurt at how desperate he sounded. She had realized far too quickly that Jason wasn’t scared of death. He was only scared of her death.

“I promise,” she told him.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me, Y/N.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Jason accepted her apology with a kiss. But it didn’t end quickly. In fact, it got more heated and hungrier. His grip got firmer on her waist.

Y/N knew where this was going, especially as he thumbed the hem of her hoodie and sweatpants. But they both needed this.

“The pancakes, Jason.” She warned him.

Jason smiled as he pulled away from her lips. “Fuck the pancakes,” he told her in between kisses. “I’m takin’ you back to bed.”

—————————

A few weeks had passed since the incident. Y/N tried to get her relationship with Jason back to normal. He still insisted on keeping his vigilante life away from her. But there was more of an understanding for why now.

However, tension had risen again a couple days after the attack, when they received an interesting gift in the mail. They had opened a rather large envelope addressed to the both of them. 

Inside were two first-class plane tickets to Paris with their names on them and an open reservation at Hotel Le Royal Monceau.

Y/N had stared at them with more of an understanding than Jason.

She’d looked up at Jason. “I…I told him I’ve always wanted to go to Paris when I first met him at the gala.”

He’d glared at the gift. “Typical Bruce. If he can’t punch his way out of an issue, he’ll try and buy it.”

Neither of them had said anything about actually using tickets and reservation. It just collected dust on one of their end tables.

Now Y/N sat in their apartment alone, reading another one of Jason’s books, when her cell started ringing.

It was a number she didn’t know, but she decided to answer it anyway.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Y/L/N, it’s Alfred Pennyworth,” a charming voice answered back.

Y/N couldn’t help, but smile. As if she knew more than one Alfred in the world. “Hi, Alfred.”

“I thought it would be a good time to give you that lesson you asked for. Are you free today?”

Y/N looked around her apartment. All of her plans for today had consisted of laying around, drinking coffee, doing a bit of reading.

“Yes, today would be great.”

—————

Y/N wouldn’t make the same mistake twice and had given Jason the heads up on her change of plans.

Seeing as Jason had no issue with Alfred, he didn’t seem too bothered bit it all. But he did still tell her to be careful and ended the call with a sincere, “I love you.”

It was strange going back to Wayne Manor when there wasn’t a gala being held there.

Y/N thought it would seem more like a home this time around, but it still felt like a museum to her. And yet, she still had imposter syndrome as she walked through the threshold.

Alfred gave her a warm smile as he opened the door. “It is lovely to see you again, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Alfred, please, it’s just Y/N.”

He nodded. Then he gestured for her to follow him. “Come. I have a station set up in the cave.”

Y/N stuttered to a stop. “Cave? As in the Bat Cave?”

Alfred seemed amused with her hesitation and concern. “Of course.”

“Should I be – Is that even OK?” Y/N fumbled through her question.

“Well, I don’t see the point of hiding it from you. It’s not like you don’t know all the family secrets already, dear.”

Y/N blinked at that and finally continued following him.

Alfred led her through the secret passage way as if he was taking her to the dining room. She tried to control her reactions and not come off too interested in the details of it all. But it was rather hard.

Just like Alfred told her, there was a little medical station set up in a brighter lit area of the dark and dingy cave.

Y/N half expected him to bring up the recent drama that she’d caused. But ever the gentleman, Alfred didn’t so much as mention it.

He also did as he promised, going through everything she could ever need to know while tending to Jason. He even had little models to practice sewing stitches on. He was a good teacher and Y/N was soaking it all up like a sponge.

She couldn’t imagine her going to med school at any point. But knowing these skills were going to be used to help Jason made it easier to retain.

After hours of teaching, the cave awoke as a carport opened and the batmobile sped in.

Y/N internally swore. She’d hoped not to run into Bruce with this visit. He never seemed to be home, so the odds had seemed low. But clearly she’d messed that up.

Bruce stepped out of the car, taking in the two of them.

“Any injuries, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked politely.

Bruce was about to lie, but he glanced down at his abdomen where it was quite obvious he was bleeding.

“Perfect. My pupil can practice on you,” Alfred announced. 

Y/N’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh! That’s definitely a bad idea…”

“Nonsense. Best way to learn is under pressure,” he winked. “I shall go off and start dinner. Let me know if you’re near death, Master Wayne.”

Y/N watched him leave, regretting ever having come here.

When she turned back around, Bruce was removing his cowl.

“He’s right,” Bruce admitted. “Best way to learn is under pressure.” Then he moved to sit in the medical chair.

Y/N swallowed, realizing how dry her mouth was. “Right.”

Her hands shook as she tried to remember everything Alfred had been through. But she knew in the back of her mind that Bruce was fully capable of stitching himself up. So, as much as this was a set up from Alfred, Bruce wasn’t running away from it like she had tried to.

Y/N hadn’t said a word as she cleaned his wound, only apologizing when she thought was necessary – even though he never made a sound of pain or even so much as winced.

Bruce seemed to be following her lead, not wanting to force her to talk if she didn’t want to.

But after 20 minutes or so of silence, Y/N couldn’t take it any longer.

“You know, you can’t buy his forgiveness,” she said as she focused on her stitches.

“I wasn’t only looking for his forgiveness…”

Her eyes flickered to meet his awaiting gaze. “You can’t buy mine either.”

“I owe you an apology,” Bruce began to her surprise. “I should have never involved you. It was dangerous, despite how in control of situation I thought I was.”

“I agreed to it,” Y/N offered. Then she looked at him again. “But I accept your apology.”

A moment passed before Y/N asked, “Are you going to say that to him, too?”

“I would if he would even consider talking to me.”

With that comment, Y/N put down her tools for a second and straightened her posture. “I may not know you very well, Bruce. But I do know that you and Jason are more alike than either of you care to admit.”

She hesitated on continuing. Did Bruce even deserve advice from her?

“He was hurt. And he showed all of you that hurt by being angry, because he didn’t know how else to tell you. He doesn’t feel heard and he doesn’t feel seen. He was lost. And it’s hard for him to just forget how you all handled it.” She took in a deep breath. “But I know he still sees all of you as his family. And you’re the closest thing he’s ever had to a real father.”

Then she quickly grabbed her tools again and cleared her throat. “So, get over yourself, and just talk to him. And I mean actually talk to him – not as Batman and Red Hood, but as Jason and Bruce.”

The cave went quiet.

Y/N couldn’t help herself and looked up at Bruce. Either she was losing her mind or he was giving her a very shy smirk.

“What?” She blurted out.

But before he could answer, a motorcycle sped into the cave.

Y/N would recognize Jason’s bike anywhere. But he wasn’t in uniform. Instead, opting for his black leather jacket and a normal tinted motorcycle helmet.

After he took it off, he eyed the two of them, trying to read the room.

“Hey,” Y/N said shyly.

“Figured I’d come and pick you up,” Jason answered her unasked question, ignoring Bruce.

Y/N looked down at Bruce’s injury. “Actually, I’m all done here.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said sincerely as Y/N covered the wound with a bandage. “You’ll be a better nurse than Alfred in no time.”

Y/N grinned and took off her gloves.

But then she met Jason’s unsure gaze. They had a silent conversation.

“I’m gonna go say goodbye to Alfred,” she quickly told Jason, but really she was telling both of them. “Meet me out front when you’re ready?”

Jason hesitated, but nodded.

Y/N walked to him and gave him a quick kiss for comfort and encouragement.

And then she was off, leaving the two men alone.

Jason shifted his weight, not knowing where to start.

“You’re lucky to have her,” Bruce finally spoke.

Jason winced even though it was a compliment. “I don’t deserve her.”

Bruce stood up. “That’s not true.”

“You of all people know I’m not a good man, Bruce.”

He shook his head. “We may have different views on how to save this city. But we both want the same thing. That doesn’t mean you’re not a good man, Jason.”

Jason blinked at his statement.

“I owe you an apology for... a lot,” Bruce began. “The first is putting that girl in danger.” He paused. “The second was not protecting you – before and after everything that happened.”

“You mean before and after I died?” Jason wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

Bruce’s jaw clenched at that.

“Anything else you want to apologize for?” Jason challenged.

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed. “But I get the feeling that you don’t want to hear it all right now.”

There was a pause.

“You’ll always be my son, Jason. Even if you no longer see me as your father.”

Jason’s eyes filled with tears at Bruce’s words. But he held them back. He couldn’t break down. He couldn’t be weak. Not here. Not now. Not like this. 

He couldn’t take any more of this discussion. But he knew this was what he’d been wanting to hear from Bruce for so long.

“I’ll see you around, Bruce.” He told him before putting his helmet back on.

But Bruce had one last thing to say. “Keep her close. Don’t be like me, Jason.”

‘Don’t push people who love you away and make this darkness be your only life,’ was what Bruce would never actually have the courage to say.

Jason now had the cover of his helmet to hide his expressions. But he gave Bruce one last glance before tearing out of the cave.

—————

As Jason pulled his motorcycle up to the front of the manor to pick of Y/N, Damian was playing out front with Titus on the gravel drive.

“Hey, Demon Spawn,” Jason greeted after taking off his helmet.

“Todd,” the boy replied coldly.

To his surprise, Jason got off his bike and walked to him with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

Damian eyed him.

“I saw what you did that night. You saved her life,” Jason said.

Damian waited.

Jason held out his hand. “I just wanted to thank you.”

The boy hesitated before finally shaking it.

Jason didn’t expect Damian to say anything. But he did know talking to him like an adult, instead of a kid, was the only way to get through to him.

Then Y/N was walking out to them with Alfred lingering in the doorway.

“Hi, Damian,” she greeted sweetly before greeting his dog as well.

“Hi, Y/N.”

Jason was surprised he even remembered her name.  

“Ready to go?” He asked Y/N.

She nodded. But then reached up to touch the white in his hair. She seemed to have a fondness for it. And Jason didn’t seem to mind.

“You OK?” She asked.

He nodded. “Better.”

She gave him a shy but encouraging look. “I’m glad.”

“I love you, you know,” Jason breathed.

“I know,” she smiled.

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

Oh lordy. That took way longer than I was expecting. But kept my mind off of this dumpster fire of a country. And I hope reading it did the same for you ❤️

[fangirling-is-my-passion]

*Salted Caramel*(Steve Rogers x Platonic!Reader)

Warnings: mentions of anxiety and a very, very complicated parents-child relationship (I don’t know how to write warnings, I’m so sorry).

Summary: You have an anxiety attack one day and the First Avenger comes to the rescue. In a fatherly way, just to clarify, hehe.

A/N: Eeehh, I have no clue if any of this makes any sense, haha, but I’m not gonna lie, I wrote the fic I desperately needed, so anyways I hope you enjoy it, my lovelies. Also, know that if you ever need anyone to talk to, my dms are always open. :)

You were the newest member of the Avengers and, although you’d only been part of the team for a couple of months, everybody had welcomed you with open arms. Nonetheless, you didn’t have as much opportunity to interact with them as you would’ve wished to, since you, not only being the newest member but also the youngest, still lived with your parents. Everybody had agreed that that was fine as long as you attended training sessions at the compound three times a week, which your parents agreed to. And now, even though you’d celebrated your 18th birthday a week ago, your living situation hadn’t changed much. At least not so far.

In spite of it all, the team had quickly embraced your presence in their lives and you felt more comfortable and at home with them than you’d ever felt with any of your relatives, including your parents. As a matter of fact, you didn’t really feel at home with your parents at all. Due to some issues from the past that had had its peak only a few months ago, the effect in the present was that your trust in them had broken completely and, even though you’d tried to fix the relationship several times along the years, the truth was that your parents kept letting you down constantly, making the damage irreparable by now.

This had taken a toll on your mental health and your anxiety had worsened a lot lately, nevertheless, telling your parents about it was obviously out of the question, and you didn’t want to bother the group of superheroes with such insignificant problems like yours. The world was in their hands, and in yours now too, you couldn’t make so much fuss about something like that.

Until the day you reached your breaking point.

Which sounds very dramatic, yet if you thought about it too much, you’d been through a lot worse before.

The circumstances and its specific details are irrelevant, the point is that, while you and your mother were having lunch, you had quite an intense anxiety attack. The kind you hadn’t had in a considerable amount of time.

Your hands started sweating, your heart began pounding inside your chest, making you feel like it could burst out of your ribcage at any given moment. Your breathing became shallow and quick, your lungs always asking for more air to breathe in, and a weird sensation that felt very much like losing ground and any sort of control over your life and yourself invaded you. At one point you even thought you’d pass out, but fortunately you didn’t.

You had to get out of there, fast.

So you told your mother that oh, crap, you’d just now remembered that you had a training session with the Avengers that afternoon, so you really had to get going. And without another word, not even waiting for a response from her, you took your phone and nothing more, and exited the house.

Once outside you walked aimlessly, trying to get as much air into your lungs as you could in an attempt to calm down. A million thoughts were rushing through your head, making you feel slightly dizzy, but you tried with all your might to concentrate on your inhalations and exhalations. After several minutes, you started feeling the tension in your whole body loosen up a bit, your breathing becoming steadier and your train of thoughts no longer on the verge of crashing. However, you still felt the urgent need to talk to somebody. Yes, the last thing you wanted to do was bother any of the earth's mightiest heroes with your problems, but this really seemed to be the last straw for you.

Therefore, you unlocked your phone and called the first person you could think of.

“(Y/N)?” Steve Rogers’ voice called from the other side of the line.

“Uh… Hi.” you said hesitantly, with a remaining shakiness in your voice that certainly didn’t go unnoticed by Steve.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he asked preoccupied, and you could almost picture the expression on his face: the furrowed brows, the worry reflecting in his blue eyes.

“I, um, I’m… I’m fine, I just… I just needed to talk to someone. I’m sorry, I shouldn't be bothering you with this.”

“No, no, you’re not bothering at all. What happened? Where are you, at your house?”

“Umm, no, not exactly, I’m… I’m a couple of blocks away, but…”

“Oh, okay. Do you want me to go there, or maybe meet somewhere, so we can talk?”

“I-,” tears started gathering in your eyes, making everything around you blurry, but you weren’t exactly crying out of sadness, “I don’t want to be a burden, really, I’m so sorry, I just wanted to hear your voice…” you mumbled, your voice cracking.

“(Y/N), you’re not a burden. Whatever happened, if it’s important to you then it’s important to me, okay? We can talk. Just tell me where and I’ll be on my way.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? You barely know me…,” you sniffled, tears rolling down your cheeks now, a sign of how moved you were by Steve’s kindness. He didn’t have to do all that, leave the compound to go meet with you somewhere, to listen to a problem that had nothing to do with him, but he was willing to do it nonetheless.

“Because I care for you. Even if you haven’t been part of the team for as long as the rest of us, you are family now. And families are always there for each other,” he stated softly but with determination.

“Thank you…,” you whispered, feeling like not all the thank you’s in the world could express how grateful you were to the man. “Um, well, there’s… There’s a small coffee shop relatively near here, I guess we could… we could meet there… if it isn’t much trouble,” you added.

“Sounds good. Can you send me the address?”

“Sure.”

“And text me when you get there, all right?”

“Yeah, I… I will. Thank you, Steve. Really.”

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo.” You smiled to yourself, feeling another wave of tears coming up. “And, hey,” he added, “it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

_________________________

Minutes later, you were at the coffee shop, sitting at a small table for two by the window. It was a lovely place you’d discovered at the beginning of the year, one day you were wandering aimlessly around your neighbourhood. The food was quite tasty in general, and both the place and the people who worked there gave off a very warm and cosy vibe, the type you only feel during Christmas, sitting in front of the fireplace with a cup of hot cocoa in your hands.

You’d already texted Steve to let him know you’d arrived, and now all you had to do was wait for him to get there. According to him, he was just about to.

And it was true, because a moment later you saw the tall, blond-haired man enter the establishment and search for you with his eyes. He finally spotted you, and you were able to notice, even from a distance, how his expression softened, while he made his way towards you.

“Hey,” you muttered standing up, still ashamed that you’d made the superhero travel all the way there for such a mundane reason.

“Hey,” he greeted you back with a soft smile, before sitting down on his chair, prompting you to do the same, “so… What happened, kiddo?”

You sighed. “Well, I just… I, um… may or may not have had… um, an anxiety attack…,” you could feel your face heating up due to the embarrassment you felt by admitting it to somebody else. An anxiety attack. Pfff. It felt so absurd now, making such a big deal out of it when there were clearly more important things…

“An anxiety attack?” Steve asked, tilting his head to one side in that particular way of his. His ocean eyes were overflowing with kindness, and that single-handedly was more than enough to make you want to cry again. Your heart was definitely not used to such a level of sympathy.

“Yeah…,” you breathed, your eyes starting to water up once more.

“Does it happen to you very often?”

“Umm, not exactly, I don’t know… It’s… It’s been happening with more frequency lately, but… I-I don’t know, it’s… it’s complicated. I mean,” you sighed again, “I’ve… I’ve lived my whole life... with anxiety and, well, I know there isn’t an actual cure for it, but I’ve… I’ve learnt to handle it, more or less, it’s just…”

At that moment, a waiter walked up to your table and asked if you wanted to order anything. You wiped the few tears that had escaped your eyes as discreetly as you could, hoping the waiter wouldn’t notice anything. As a matter of fact, you were embarrassed by letting yourself cry in front of Steve too, but at this point you couldn’t really help it. The superhero looked at you inquiringly.

“Have you eaten already? Do you want anything?”

“Um, yeah... yeah, I have… Uh… no, I don’t know... if you want anything… I can tell you that the salted caramel frappe is really good,” you offered him a small smile.

“Is that so?” He smiled too. “Well… I’ll have one if you have one. If that’s okay.”

You chuckled lightly. “Okay. It’s a deal.”

“All right then, two... salted caramel frappes? Please.”

“Sure,” the waiter wrote it down on his notepad and gave you both a warm smile, “I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you,” you and Steve said in unison.

“So,” he began, “you said your anxiety attacks have been happening more frequently lately. What do you mean lately? Is there a specific reason? Is it because of the Avengers?”

“What? No, no, not at all, you’re actually kind of my escape from everything… Umm, it’s complicated…,” you let out another sigh and proceeded to explain the situation to Steve, at first hesitantly, but after a while you were capable of talking a bit more freely.

You told him about your parents, about how you no longer felt at home in your own house and how the trust you ever had on your mother and father had been broken. How the comfort they were supposed to provide you was long gone and, in spite of your past efforts, it always ended unfavourably. It wasn’t easy, not in the slightest, nevertheless, as you kept talking, you could feel a heaviness being lifted from your shoulders, one that you didn’t even know was there in the first place. And, yes, the possibility of things ending badly even now was still there, but Steve’s expression, his whole energy made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t felt for way too long. So you might as well give it a try and get this off your chest once and for all.

Not long after you started talking did your beverages arrive and you both thanked the waiter before you continued.

He listened to you attentively. Never interrupted you, waited patiently for you to go on every single time you paused to take a breath or sigh or calm yourself down, never pushing you to keep talking. His furrowed brow reflected his worry for you, but it was in an understanding and serene way. He was glad you were finally telling all this to somebody and felt honoured that from all people you’d trusted him. He was perfectly aware that you were opening up to him and the last thing he wanted to do was make you feel like your emotions were invalid or unimportant. So he kept listening until you finished, and then waited a few seconds more, letting you sip on your frappe, before he spoke.

“I gotta ask, is that the reason why you go to the compound more than the necessary three times a week?”

Touché. You’d been constantly lying to your parents, telling them you had training sessions almost daily, or making random yet believable excuses so you could get out of your house and spend more time with the people who actually made you feel good.

You simply nodded to confirm Steve’s suspicions.

“It’s okay, (Y/N), I understand, I really do. Families can be tough sometimes, and people may disagree with what I’m about to say, but you don’t really owe your parents anything, especially after the way they’ve made you feel. It might sound like a bold stance, particularly for someone as old-fashioned as me, but as the saying goes “the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb”. You’re not obliged to like your parents, let alone if they have had abusive conducts towards you. Now, in addition to that, it doesn’t have to be a greek tragedy for it to be valid. If something makes you feel bad or uncomfortable in any way, if it hurts you, then it does and that’s it. Other’s don’t get to say whether they hurt you or not, only you do,” he made a pause, pondering what to say next, ”Maybe someday your relationship with your parents can be rescued, or maybe not. Both things are fine, as long as it’s what makes you feel better. For now, however, I think we should find a quick and satisfactory solution to the problem, so why don’t you come live in the compound with all of us? You’re an adult now, you don’t need your parents’ permission,” the blue-eyed man offered you a sweet lopsided smile full of warmth, a tiny hint of fear that went unnoticed by you sparkling in his eyes, since he wasn’t sure of what impact his words had had on you. He was hoping he’d said the right thing, but he was terrified of the possibility that he’d screwed up.

Nevertheless, his fear couldn’t be further from the truth. Steve’s speech had reassured you profoundly, reinforcing that sense of safety of yours that had already started to develop around him and the rest of the Avengers. You lacked words to express how grateful you were towards him, but this man would always have your eternal gratitude. Needless to say, tears were streaming down your cheeks as quietly as you could keep them, your heart overwhelmed by the tenderness and the understanding he was offering you.

“I-,” you began, but your sobs became too much for you to contain and you broke down crying. Still, you tried to articulate your thoughts as best you could,” I’m sorry, it’s just… nobody had ever been so understanding with me and… and had ever comforted me so much in my life… you’re being so kind to me I… I honestly can’t thank you enough… I don’t even know what to say, I’m so sorry, I’m so lame...”

“You’re not,” Steve assured you softly, placing his hand over the one you had on the table. How were you supposed to stop crying if everything he did filled you with a sensation of comfort you’d lost a long time ago?

“Thank you,” you sniffled, wiping your tears clumsily with your free hand, “Thank you. And… yeah, I’d… I’d absolutely love to live with all of you at the compound. But will it be okay for everybody?”

“Of course! I told you, you’re part of the family now. We would all love to have you there with us, kiddo. We simply have to tell Tony, he’s the one in charge of that sort of stuff. And, of course, let your parents know. If you want, we can go to the compound right now and tell him. I’ll be there with you if you need me to. Both with Tony and with your parents.” Steve gave you a loving smile. His heart felt so relieved now knowing that his words hadn’t been a mistake.

“Okay, yeah… That… That would be nice. I told my mother I had a training session, so she won’t expect me to be back until later.”

“All right then, perfect,” he said, before taking another sip of his frappe, which had been reduced by half by now. Yours was almost untouched, but only because you’d been too busy speaking. Or crying. Or both. “By the way,” he added, “you were right, this thing is really good.”

You giggled. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Steve motioned the waiter to ask for the bill and once it was paid (he of course didn’t let you pay for your drink no matter how much you insisted), you both stood up from your seats, grabbing the remains of your frappes.

“Steve,” you called, making him turn back to look at you attentively once again, “thank you. So, so much. For everything,” you expressed with as much sentiment and gratitude as you were capable of. He was definitely the best man you’d ever met in your life. And that was saying something, having in mind that you’d met all the Avengers.

“Come here,” Steve said with a smile, his arms open, asking for a hug. You did as you were told, a wide smile now plastered on your lovely face. Yeah, it was a bit swollen from the crying, but it was still lovely.

To be honest, all you wanted to do at that moment was to keep hugging him and never ever let go; nonetheless, you knew that wasn't possible and eventually you'd have to break the hug. So for now, you breathed deeply, inhaling Steve’s scent (he smelled like bar soap and clean laundry, with a small touch of cinnamon), and you let yourself enjoy every second of that warm and strong embrace, and its newly found feeling of home.

[nillegible]

(Part 3 of Stay, the MY time travel fic. Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 )

It’s several more weeks before he meets Qin Su again, and it’s like having a sword shoved through his gut a second time.

He thought he’d gotten over her death in the weeks since, but apparently not.

Meng Yao’s skills at administrative work, honed to perfection over years of managing Jin sect, had resulted in a series of rapid promotions, as more and more people realized that Meng Yao was not only capable but willing to do boring meticulous drudge work and do it well. By the time Qin Su returns from her mother’s small, secluded clan, Clan Liu, Meng Yao is one of Qin Cangye’s personal aides.

He keeps his face when she thanks him for saving her life just barely. It’s so hard, when she looks so young and carefree, untouched by the grief for a lost child, of a secretive husband who never turned to her.

Meng Yao had done that to her.

I didn’t have a choice, he’d cried to Er-ge, in a temple and felt justified. In front of her sweet face, that defence dies a quiet death.

She’d killed herself, when she heard the truth, and for one moment, in between the grief, the rising terror of an unknown enemy stalking him, he’d hated her for it. Do you think you have suffered more than I? How dare you take your own life, while I still didn’t give up?

But he owes her better than that, so he smiles, and promises the Young Mistress Qin that it was Meng Yao who was honoured to have been of assistance to her. He remains perfectly cordial, always, in her presence. He doesn’t hide away, doesn’t take paths around the buildings that she frequents, even though every time he sees her again, it hurts.

This pain, at least, Meng Yao deserves.

He’s careful not to get too close though. He makes his excuses not to join her where he can, and never shows her the attention he had in a previous life. He didn’t expect this to be noticed, but as he’s learned the hard way, some eyes are always sharper than Meng Yao would give them credit for.

*

When Qin Tianyu approaches him for tea and a discussion of the talismans that Meng Yao has been reworking to be more efficient, he thinks nothing of it. When they’re working on writing some together after, and the talisman master carefully broaches the topic as if it wasn’t intentional, Meng Yao can see the Sect Leader’s interest in the matter.

“Meng Yao has been noticeably cold to Su-sizhi,” says Qin Tianyu.

Meng Yao looks up, sharply. “I have no quarrel with Qin-guniang.” How did I miss this?

“I said cold, not a quarrel,” he returns calmly. “She is the only one you do not call shijie.”

“She’s the heir, it’s polite, Qin-shishu,” Meng Yao says, even though he knows it’s not good enough. Everyone else calls her Su-shijie, quite enthusiastically. He endures the carefully considering look that Qin Tianyu sends his way. His mask had held up beneath Wen Ruohan, Nie Mingjue, Jin Guangshan, and Lan Xichen. He would not be unmasked by the a simple elder of Laoling Qin.

But Qin Tianyu just nods, as if confirming something to himself. “The idea was floated that Meng Yao joined Qin sect for Su-sizhi.” he says, and Meng Yao freezes, wary. “After all, Sect Leader Jin does not need another spare heir.”

Meng Yao sits in silence, work ignored as he tries to decide on a response. He had briefly considered before approaching Sect Leader Qin that it may look like this from outside, but had reasoned to himself that as long as he showed no interest in Qin Su, it would blow over, and he’d look like any other disciple. That people would find it suspicious that Meng Yao was not angling to marry her to become the next Qin Sect Leader is a surprise.

So, what should he say to turn this suspicion astray?

“This humble disciple is merely Sect Leader Jin’s bastard son. Young Mistress Qin deserves better,” he says, hoping that was vague enough to be acceptable.

“Meng Yao professes to be remarkably unambitious,” returns Qin Tianyu, lightly. Liar, he’s saying, even though for once Meng Yao isn’t actually lying. Qin Su did deserve better than what he’d given her. He’d loved her enough to know that. But unambitious people cannot do what Meng Yao did to keep his place at Wen Sect. Couldn’t remove the head of Wen Ruohan and end a war.

Unambitious people would not do all of that, just to become one of threw personal aides of a minor Clan Leader.

“Maybe I used it up,” says Meng Yao. From the way the elder glances up, he realizes that he had been silent long enough that he believed he wouldn’t get an answer. But Meng Yao has found his words, and there’s nothing to do but continue, “My mother wished to be a Jin concubine. She wanted me to do anything it takes to secure a place within Jin Sect. That it was the only way for me to live well.”

And she was wrong. She was as wrong about this as she was about Jin Guangshan. It had been a constant, grinding pain, to know again and again that the person he loved above all else had been so incredibly wrong. Meng Yao had thrown himself life and soul into trying to prove her right, into gaining his father’s regard and living well. He’d fought desperately, thinking that if only he gathered a little more influence, that if he did just a little bit more, then he’d succeed. Get the recognition his mother craved for him.

At some point, spite and fury had taken the place of love and duty, but he had not wavered in his goal. But he’d still never proved her right; had murdered his own father, and sat in mourning like a filial son, truly mourning how much he’d failed.

Nothing that he did could ever make up for it. This time, he knew better than to even try.

“It was my mother’s ambition,” he says aloud for the first time. Perhaps to a broken woman who did not even own herself, it had been liberating to imagine owning so much, to be in control of her own fate. “It was hers, but I…”

He falls silent, and after a few moments Qin Tianyu returns his attention to his paused work. For several minutes, he just watches the hypnotic way that the talisman master draws the same talisman again and again with the most minute of differences, to be tested and ranked according to efficacy.

“But you?” he prompts, when the stack is complete.

I want to live. That single, animalistic need, that had kept him alive through so much that would have killed others. I will not die here. Not now.

“I want to live,” says Meng Yao. And then continues, unable to stop, “I wanted her to live, too.” And when she didn’t, when illness wasted her away, taking her from him in pieces, unable to save her for want of something as immaterial as gold… something had broken in him.

Qin Tianyu nods, serene, as he gathers up the completed talismans. “Meng Yao would do well to think about why.”

Why?

You think your life is worth more than theirs? All the people you sacrificed, to live just a few years longer?

“Why shouldn’t I deserve to live?” asks Meng Yao, sharp. “Why shouldn’t we… why are our lives to be discarded at the whim of those stronger than us?”

“Silly child,” he says, “You have survived. You are alive. Now what?” Meng Yao just stares. “Perhaps Meng Yao should consider getting on with other things.”

Get on with what? Meng Yao had turned down Sect Leader Jin’s offer, had given up the name Jin Guangyao, just to escape the tragedies that that would precipitate.

But he was alive now. He was alive, and had time – perhaps even unmeasured time, so long as he stayed out of his father’s way. Perhaps he wouldn’t cultivate to near immortality, like those stronger than him, but he could live nearly a century more. Now what? Why are you alive?

It was so unlike him to not have a plan, but for once he hadn’t really. He didn’t…

“Meng Yao,” Qin Tianyu snaps, and when Meng Yao looks up, he’s leaning forward over the table, hand out and hovering over Meng Yao’s wrist.

“Master Qin?” asks Meng Yao, but rather than answer, the elder gently touches his fingertips to Meng Yao’s wrist. The pressure of foreign qi is familiar; light and diagnostic, before it withdraws.

“This old teacher apologizes,” he says, when he’s done. “I did not mean to cause you distress.”

“Not at all, this martial nephew is glad for his elder’s guidance,” says Meng Yao, taking his hand back and holding it to his chest. “I will meditate on how to prove myself more useful to Qin sect in the future.”

“Meng Yao, you misunderstand. No, rather, it was this master who misspoke. I did not mean to imply that you must prove yourself.”

“I understand,” says Meng Yao, after a beat. Spoken aloud, it must have sounded more cruel than he wished. But that was still what he meant.

There is no resolution after that. Qin Tianyu seems unable or unwilling to explain better, though he clearly thinks about it for a while. Finally, he dismisses Meng Yao, who leaves with the talismans. The lingering unease of a conversation that went poorly is left to fester in the room, while Meng Yao retreats to the disciple quarters immediately.

He resolves to work harder.

[AN: What do you think? Too OOC? I'm hoping to give MY a proper and slow redemption story, but it’s a toss up whether it’s going well or not. Thannk you for reading, please drop a comment in the replies if you have writing advice! I’ll be so grateful!]

[Click here for part 4!]

[leonawriter]

Second half of what was going to be just one post but I wanted to make each point stand out on its own-

I think that the Port Mafia is going through a character development arc throughout the manga, just the same as the ADA is, and by the time the series ends will be almost unrecognisable from the mafia we started out with.

Funnily enough, the first person who springs to my mind when I think of this is actually Kouyou. Though I will touch on others later on.

Kouyou is certainly not the first PM member we meet. Strictly speaking, that’d be Dazai, or Higuchi, or Akutagawa. But I feel like her change is the most indicative of the route the mafia is taking, and the difference between the pre-manga PM, and the PM after the manga started, and after several arcs. In fact, this is also something I tend to try and think about when writing her in fics, because it is highly relevant.

Chronologically, we know that her timeline is thus; she was part of the mafia in the time before Mori took over, and under the old boss she wanted to run away, likely encouraged by an older man who she may have had feelings for, romantic or not. That man died, and left her feeling that no matter what, she would be unable to escape the darkness. At some time after that, Mori took over the mafia. A year later, she was one of his trusted subordinates, and she is tasked with taking a young Chuuya - previously an enemy of the mafia, and someone who had no idea how to talk to the mafia’s business partners - under her wing. She would go on to become an executive, and at some time before the manga began, found and took in Kyouka. She would then go on to be murderously protective of her young ward, much like a mother or older sister, and encourage her to believe as she had - that she would never be able to live in the light.

So what we see from this is that Kouyou up until this point is a woman with a dark past and a dark heart who is full of grief, and I think that a lot of people overlook this because she’s beautiful and because the way she is later is more popular, but... she is just as guilty of perpetuating the cycle of abuse as Mori, Dazai, and Akutagawa. She was imparting to Kyouka the same “life lessons” that she had learned herself, in much the same way that Atsushi’s headmaster had. Both of those people had suffered, and so both of them taught their charge in a way that they saw as somewhat more forgiving than what they had gone through, in a way that to them would ready the child for the outside world and their future, but was ultimately doing more harm than good.

So, what changes?

I’d say that to answer “Dazai” is to over-simplify things.

The situation had become such that it was no longer viable. Kyouka refused to go back to the mafia. Kouyou was afraid for her, that she would lose herself in some way, and despite her previous words to Atsushi, she did want Kyouka to succeed; or at the very least, saw how a failure would break her, as we see it does while she’s in the jail plane, chained up in midair. Their organisations are not just at odds, but as an executive she’d have to be seeing that neither of them are in a safe position.

Kouyou was already in the perfect place to accept Dazai’s suggestions before he came to her with them (and, admittedly, he may have predicted that things would get to this point, may have used the situation to his advantage).

So, what changes the way that she sees things?

Dazai is one aspect. A rather large one, considering how he himself puts that he managed to get out of the mafia, and is someone with his sort of past (and personality) who not only made it out, but has been staying out, and succeeding. He also points out that with him present in the ADA, he’s able to ensure that Kyouka can flourish in the way that she deserves to.

Atsushi is another aspect, I’d say, because he was the one who was willing to suggest that their organisations work together.

Even just staying with the ADA and not being treated with anything other than respect (and yes, that includes “respect for how dangerous she can be”) would work towards this.

In summary, Kouyou before the Three Company Conflict arc is a grief-ridden woman filled with despair, who sees herself as someone only capable of showing her true potential in the darkness. She comes out of said arc as someone who appears happy with where she is, and who chooses to be where she is, yet who is also happy to help Kyouka from the shadows.

This is just focusing on the one I feel is the best representation of this phenomenon of PM members coming out better. 

Another would have to be Chuuya, which is something that many people have written about, myself included, on how before the manga starts he’s bitter over Dazai’s defection, seeing that trust in his partner as having been shattered. Yet over the course of their first reunion, he is forced to see that his partnership with Dazai need not be over simply because Dazai is now a traitor to the mafia, and that Dazai, well, missed him. As a person. That the connection is still there. And later, during the Lovecraft battle, they work together fluidly again, just like old times and reminding them that just because they’re older, doesn’t mean they’re too much different to still be partners. You can really see it in Dead Apple, where his acceptance of Dazai is less in how willingly he trusts in him and activates Corruption, and more in how comfortable he is after he’s woken up again both in the movie when he sees Akutagawa, and in the promo images where he’s still next to Dazai, and they’re smiling.

Akutagawa needs almost no explanation, given how his arc is still ongoing, and he’s already gone from being the rabid dog of the mafia who kills before he thinks to someone who goes out of his way to leave people alive, and who because of that, is learning to see things from another point of view, just as Dazai wanted of him.

Yet, it’s not just these obvious ones; Higuchi has to work with the ADA on several occasions, tempering down on her novice’s pride in her organisation that she had on her introduction, and is also coming into her own as well. Kajii may well have taken something from his encounter with Yosano, and we see how he’s more than just a mad lemon scientist when he says how much he respects Mori (and I wonder if anything else is going to happen with that). Hirotsu is now able to talk with Dazai again and it isn’t something that he would have to worry about being seen as treasonous. 

And last but not least, Mori himself - when it’s said during his match against Fukuzawa that they’ve both got more to protect now, that’s not just cheap words; Mori protects his people. He shows grief when his people die and it was out of his control. He accepts that an alliance with the ADA is the best and most optimal course when it’s put on the table, even with the understanding that it’ll put them at a disadvantage in the short term. He is forced to begin to come to terms with things about his past that he had been trying to rationalise, and ignore, such as how his actions led to Dazai’s defection, and I sincerely believe that although he does not regret what he did, he does regret how it ended, and what it cost him. 

Mori, the leader of the mafia, is being forced in the current arc  to come face to face with the realisation that the mafia can’t live as an island, merely taking from the ADA what they need and giving nothing in return. It is Mori’s lack of action that led to things becoming as bad as they are now, and because of that, his own people are suffering. I’ve said this before to personal friends, but I do think that this is indicative of the mafia’s growth as a group - Mori needs to learn that the alliance with the ADA has to be an equal one.

What’s more, the ADA is learning through their own growth in general that they have to be able to trust the PM in return.

What does this say to me? 

Other than that the characters of the mafia have been influenced positively by the plot, into becoming better versions of themselves, and the development is still in progress because the series isn’t over? That you can’t write them the way they are now, into a fic set years before the series starts?

That the themes of BSD are such that the PM represent the underside of society, a cruel and callous way of thinking that we often don’t wish people to see, or that we cover up. That even the ADA, on the twilight of the law, is still more often than not too proud to accept the help of criminals who are less ashamed and more forward about the way that they do things being criminal. That both sides are slowly moving down the path of being able to accept one another better, and in doing so, they’ll better be able to accept themselves.

We already see this with Kouyou and Akutagawa and Chuuya especially. We see this with Dazai, and to a degree with Kyouka. I believe that the longer the series goes in this direction, the more other ADA characters will accept themselves; such as Tanizaki, with his ability to use his ability in ways that Hirotsu notes are “perfect for assassination,” and with Ranpo, who hides the fact that he has insecurities and is also fully willing to make a demon of himself in order to protect his own - which is far more of a mafia attitude than an ADA one, even if, just like with Chuuya, I’m not sure I can imagine him in the other organisation.

The ADA will always be the ADA, and the PM will always be the PM, but together they can be better than they were before on their own. Currently they seem to be on a tentative truce of sorts, uncertain about doing things together and constantly in a state of tension. If they can get to a point where they trust each other more implicitly, that’s where the real strength is going to come from - something that Mori saw himself, when sending Chuuya out to help Dazai - and yet it won’t just be in the sense of power and how well they perform in their casework and missions, but strength of character, in who they are as people.

[yostresswritinggirl]

100 Followers Special

(And how to participate) you don't need to be a follower to vote ack

~yostresswritinggirl

Hello AGAIN, with your back to back followers special! Exiled here, very tired, as I just closed the requests box for our 50 followers special. I asked for some recommendations and no one helped me so this is what I came up with!

Granted, it's nothing that special, I literally just dumped my notes into this so—

Please make sure to follow the guidelines and read this thoroughly to properly participate!

1. You will be given a long list of fic prompts specific to a character that I've come up with for weeks on end, please don't steal, as I will remove them after this event is done!

2. Voting! You now have the power to influence my writing schedule haha- what you need to do: is to pick three prompts from the list and send it to me; either through reblog tag, a reply, or in my ask box (not anon so we can count fairly, will not publish these answers tho so worry not)! Not in messages tho! It should be in this format:

1. Character - prompt or prompt title

2. Character - prompt or prompt title

3. Character - prompt or prompt title

example:

1. Albedo - Citrinitas

2. Zhongli - Braid

3. Xingqui - Author!Reader

The top three most voted prompt and character will be the next fics I'll publish after I'm done with the current reqs. Speaking of: Voting ends when I finish the current reqs. You'll know it's done once the counter in my blog desc reaches 12/12.

3. In addition to the three prompts, you also get to add your own prompt to it! My prompts list does not include ALL the characters that's why I wanted to give you this option too! Add a fourth number and specify a character, a prompt/idea, and the format of the fic! Format it this way:

4. Character - Prompt/Idea (Format)

4. Kaeya - What's under that eyepatch? (Scenario)

After I pooled the answers, I'll randomly pick between the bonus answers and write them last! So give it your best shot!

4. Tags-list! I thought this would be necessary for this kind of a whim special, so if you wanna be tagged, just put Tag Me! at the end of your vote. Please make sure that you're actually able to be tagged because I just tried and some users are not in my orbit huhu, look here

5. If a pocket watch/series prompt gets chosen, I will only post the first chapter, not the whole damn fic pls. Have mercy,,,

I will post a counter of the top three in my blog description and will be updated as frequently as possible. Any questions, please direct to this post or my dms <3

Without further ado, here is your choice list!

Xingqui - "My liege, would you care to accompany me on my reading break? I've picked up a romance novel and it reminded me of us."

-> Author!Reader: You met Xingqui at Wanwen Bookhouse when delivering a batch of your newly-published book. But as a ghost writer, no one knew it was you that authored such books. Safe to say it was cute watching the noble bookworm fanboy about you in front of you. [FLUFF] [FIC]

-> Headcanons with a reader older than Xingqui who's a close family friend of the Feiyun Commerce Guild. Fascinated after meeting you in a party, the noble boy aspires to become the best man for you despite the difference, promising to be the best suitable partner for you in the future. [FLUFF] [HEADCANON SCENARIO]

Childe - "Hey there, comrade! What a coincidence that we had a break at the same time, care to accompany me for a walk? I promise I won’t lead you to a fight haha... hey, don’t look at me like that!”

-> Antinomy -  The 10th Harbinger (You) and the little shit they had to mentor (Childe), this fic enumerates the trials of the 11th before he became a Harbinger under your care. From strangers to mentor to friends to love- Childe made a grave mistake, now you’re once again strangers. [FLANGST] [ONESHOT]

Albedo - "Ah, it's you. I've heard of fleeting rumors that you've been pestering a certain someone just to see me. Next time, just come directly to me, I wouldn't mind the assertiveness."

-> Refer to these three as well: Albedo Fic Ideas [FLUFF/FLANGST/FLANGST] [ONESHOT/ONESHOT/SERIES]

-> “You’re Enough”: A year into being the new Chief Alchemist of Mond, Albedo finds himself holed up in his room in the dead of night, haunted as he continuously comes out empty on his research to bring his master back, feeling inadequate. So you reminded him of what he’s capable of. [FLUFF?] [ONESHOT INSPIRED BY You Are Enough - Sleeping At Last]

-> Under the Artificial Sky: Michaelangelo Scenario focused on Albedo’s sketching aspect. Grand Master Varka and Acting Grand Master Jean figured Albedo needed a break and a change of scenery, and sent him off under the guise of a commission in Liyue. What he didn’t expect was another artist from Fontaine accompanying him in this big project.(Albedo and Reader are tasked to paint the new Jade Chamber within 7 days) [FLUFF] [SERIES - 7 CHAPTERS]

-> Albedo SMUT: I had this idea while laying wide awake at 3 AM. The alchemist had been trying all remedies to shake off the stress and fatigue in his system and they all seemed to fail, no amount of sketching or discoveries can pull him away from it. So when you offered a solution he hasn’t heard, he’d jump at it immediately. “You know, some people say having intercourse with someone is a good stress-reliever.” “Intercourse? If it’s true, then please, I wish to have intercourse with you.” “Wha- wait Albedo, do you not know what that is? It’s only done between lovers!” “Convenient, I love you, anything else?” (Two virgin dumbasses do the thing to relieve stress) [SMUT] [ONESHOT]

Xiao - “I’ve taken care of every threat around this area, you can relax now, I made sure of that.”

-> What is it with you and Qingxin flowers? The Traveler had once heard of Xiao’s affinity for Qingxin flowers, and they’re flying companion boldly asked this lingering question to the adepti himself. His pupils dilate and sharpen before Paimon could finish her sentence. (An origin story about his favorite flower, and his favorite person) [SLIGHT FLANGST] [ONESHOT]

-> Just how harmful is adeptal energy to normal humans? You both found out in the worst way possible: silently, deadly. (Slight spoiler: you fucking die) [ANGST] [ONESHOT]

-> Nightmares Taste Horrible: He’s seen that look in your eyes and the ancient soul within it; you’ve lived long ago, and the only thing your soul carried now was the nightmares of a macabre timeline. Was it him or was it demons that brought you that fear? No matter, he’ll protect you even from yourself. (eating the nightmare of a dead soul reincarnated to you) [FLANGST?] [ONESHOT]

-> Go for the throat: The seal that marked you had made it all too late for him to remedy. Bleeding eyes, growing fangs, it’s just another demon to vanquish just like he’s done for centuries. What makes it different was it was sealed in you. (Inspired from Melanie Martinez’s song uhu) [ANGST] [ONESHOT]

Zhongli - “Mortals are capable creatures that evolve and adapt for means of survival, but they advance in ways that changes the world around them. This retirement, may be harder to me than it is to them.”

 -> “In human history, there’s a certain noble and powerful connotation to rulers who braid their hair.” Convince to braid his hair using some historical braid trivia; that long hair behind his back should not be ignored for any longer. [PURE FLUFF] [DRABBLE]

-> History has its eyes on you: A traveling theatre hailing from the land of entertainment finds its way to Liyue for their last caravan. A certain Geo Vision man seems to resonate with your newest script: fighting and protecting your land, building up its nation, before being forced to let go of it. He resonates maybe a little too much. (Musical!Reader with heavy references to Hamilton hehe) [FLUFF] [ONESHOT]

Venti - "Can you hear the symphonies of the wind as it sings to you? That's me, guiding you and protecting you! Whenever you hear it, know that you're safe and sound under my protection!"

-> the one the bard once loved: like actual bard, you are the archer or smth, loved by Venti and Barbatos. Yandere!Barbatos undertones, very unhealthy relationship. This hurts the kokoro. [PURE ANGST] [ONESHOT]

-> The Caravan: (related to the Zhongli and Musical!Reader up there) Your caravan stops at Mondstadt for a whole week before it reaches its final destination. This new fanfare pulled in a peculiar bard who now wants to tag along for the fun of it. "I have no more responsibilities in this free land!" Just what kind of responsibilities does a broke bard have in the first place? [FLUFF] [ONESHOT/HEADCANON]

Diluc - "You look weary, and you still managed to pull yourself here. Here, a fresh and cold glass, on the house. A relieved smile should be enough payment."

-> Abandoned by The Altar: A timeline oriented story focused on your once perfect childhood relationship as Diluc's bride to be, soon becoming estranged after the death of his father and his neglect. You only wish now that he looks at you the same way he did when you heard you were supposed to be together forever when you were young. [FLANFF] (The ending gets better pls; Inspired by Still Into You - Paramore) [ONESHOT]

-> There are No Laws Against Homelessness in Mondstadt: My favorite title out of all of this ahahhaa- who says adventurers can't be broke? You're the living embodiment of that. (Good boi Diluc with a broke ass reader) [FLUFF] (Warning: homelessness) [ONESHOT]

Scaramouche - "Let's go already, the sun is setting and we're nowhere near our destination. If you wanted to linger just to spend more time with me, I would have indulged you behind closed doors anyways."

-> Scaramouche Finally Does the Fandango: Have you ever wondered how Scaramouche is like working with other people? His first assignment was to accompany you in your main region and he sees you in your natural habitat, entranced. [I dunno how to tag this, NORMAL?] [ONESHOT/SHORT]

-> Skincare bitch, how I headcanon Scaramouche as someone actually conscious and always tending to their skin. Look at that smooth skin, cute cheeks, let me pinch, eyeliner glory— In which case, that hat has more purpose than being a frisbee. (May or may not include reader. (based from a reblog convo with chels-void) [GOOD VIBES] [HEADCANONS]

-> Once Supreme: Before Scaramouche, there was someone else higher than him. Before Balladeer there was just a young man fighting for his beliefs and her Majesty. Before Mondstadt, his smile wasn't just for deception. "Someday, someone would take advantage of that smile, Scaramouche. It's not appropriate in this work environment." The day you break a man. (Harbinger!Reader again, and lots of HCs for Scaramouche, same format as Antinomy) [I also do not know how to call this, eventual ANGST] [ONESHOT]

Kaeya - "What are you doing out here in the dead of night? Citizens like you should be cozied up in bed and leaving the patrols to us Knights. Come, I'll accompany you back home."

-> Honey Whiskey: A mysterious band of dancers from Sumeru visits Mondstadt and its taverns to offer a night of alluring dances. What was supposed to be a night of drinking for Kaeya and his troops ended up becoming a tipsy surprise mission when the main dancer steps down from the stage— and ignores him?! How scandalous! (Slightly suggestive themes/You're a bad guy) [COOL?] [ONESHOT] [slightly inspired by song with the same name]

General:

-> A Musical!Reader but with a scenario with every other character, most probably headcanons master post.

-> Genshin Food prompts: From that one post, I ended up making a whole storyline of oneshots related to their special dishes. Oneshots connected to a bigger picture. By impulse you've ended up leaving your normal life behind to pursue your cooking career, starting from Mondstadt, to learn all the cuisines to establish the first ever international restaurant. With the implications of magic and peculiar customers, your simple dream turns into a harder goal. [GOOD SHIT] [SERIES] [CANON-COMPLIANT]

-> God of Time!Reader that hails from Fontaine. Do you wish to know more about their origins and their purpose in this world? [CANON-COMPLIANT] [HEADCANONS] (General since it deals with all the characters/interactions)

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

Tagslist-for-my-thirsty-homies:

[libermachinae]

For the directors cut meme, I would love to hear anything at all about chapter 5 of We Forget the Names Not Written Down. (That preface by Rewind, btw, has stuck with me so much, gosh.)

Thank youuu ;u; I was really hoping someone would ask about that one. Under the cut because *spoilers*. (here's a link to the fic in case anyone hasn't checked it out yet)

Okay, so, to start with, the name: "Preface" is the last chapter of the fic, as a final nod to the fact that the fic really doesn't conform to a linear sense of time. Even the chapter itself is spread across different time periods: the dedication was a collaboration between Rewind and Prowl, the Forward was written by Prowl after Rewind's death, the Preface was written while Chromedome was still alive, and the chapter as a whole is being read at some point in the future, after The Complete History has been published. My purpose there was to pull the audience into the story: there is no present but that of the person reading it. Each section represents a crystalized version of who its author/s was/were when they wrote it, and then these disparate moments link up to form a single cohesive text.

The other reason I put "Preface" at the end of the fic is because it is an end, for both Rewind and Prowl. For Rewind, it's the last chance he has to "write" (and I'll go more into that in a bit) and say exactly what he's thinking. It's the last opportunity he has with his own voice, and he uses it to say goodbye to the world and wish it well with a future he won't get to see. And for Prowl, it's the last step he takes before sending the manuscript, anonymously, to the publisher. They're his last words, too, before he disappears to the unnamed planet mentioned in the fic's summary. "Preface" is a series of goodbyes.

The other structural thing I would want to mention in this chapter is authorship. The definition of an author is a theme that I was exploring throughout the fic, and chapter 5 is where Rewind has a chance to address it head on by talking about the assistance he's receiving from Chromedome.

Now I’m a writer, and even that’s in only the barest sense of the word. I can get most of the important words down, but I need Chromedome to connect the dots for me.

The idea that Rewind is the author of The Complete History is never brought into question, because I personally think it's more interesting to consider how this then affects our definition of authorship. Delta's Malady has started to degrade his ability to generate and interpret language. It's not necessarily deleting words, but it's becoming more effort than it's worth for Rewind to come up with every single one. Before Chromedome's work, I imagine these two sentences read more like this:

Writer barely. I important words, Chromedome connect.

It's possible to understand Rewind's intention, but there is a lot of space that needs to be filled to make it read correctly. If someone other than Chromedome (like, for example, Prowl) were to take a stab at interpreting it, they might come up with the following:

I barely write. I generate important words, and Chromedome makes the connections.

By changing "writer" to a verb, the focus of the first sentence shifts from being about Rewind's identity and onto a task he struggles to perform. The latter instance could also be interpreted as Rewind simply not writing often, rather than his ability to do so being poor. The focus is further shifted from Rewind's perspective by going from "the important words," which imply personal stakes, to "important words," which is a more general sense.

The point I'm trying to make with all this is that even if all Chromedome is doing is connecting the dots, it still matters a lot and affects how Rewind's final goodbye will be read. Even if Chromedome knows Rewind better than anyone else, the fact that he participates this way at all impacts the way readers interact with the text. Rewind is still considered the author, but authorship doesn't guarantee that he intended everything exactly as it was written.

Which, to be fair, is true for everyone. I'm constantly using words that don't quite fit but are close enough to replace the ones I want but can't remember. Reading itself is an interpretive act; it's impossible to write something that will be interpreted the same way by everyone. But I'm getting super off track now oops :P

Within the Preface itself, I knew I had to talk about Functionist Cybertron (or, as Rewind calls it, Cybertron) because the fic would have been incomplete without it. Not only is Rewind dying because of it, but it's his creation as much as the manuscript is: just as complicated, but still important. He feels a sense of responsibility to it, the same way he feels a responsibility to finish The Complete History, so it can be passed down to future generations. Another ending represented in "Preface": the transition of one generation of Cybertronians to the next. The two Cybertronians cited in chapter 2 were an MTO and a spark forged within Trypticon, neither of who were present for the start of the war. The galaxy is trying to heal from the effects of the Great War, and that means moving on from the people who helped start it (even if only tangentially, as in Rewind's case).

After spending a few paragraphs talking about that Cybertron, though, Rewind intentionally switches back to talking about his Cybertron and the war he was part of. As with the text as a whole, it's a final act of rebellion, Rewind fighting for control over his narrative even as it's drawing to a close. The important note here is that it's out of a sense of responsibility, not of pride.

It is not a proud story. I don’t think anyone walked away from it without some amount of shame, despair, or rage. But it is ours, for as long as there are Cybertronians left to remember it.

Rewind is trying to take ownership of something he has little claim to, because someone has to and he's in a position to do so. It's this same reasoning that Prowl struggles to articulate in his letter to Bumblebee in chapter 4. Both of them see something that must be done and decide that they're going to do it.

And the thing is, they do it poorly.

Rewind can't write on his own. His databanks are being corrupted by Delta's Malady (in chapter 1, Prowl concludes the corruption is so widespread Rewind is no longer capable of making meaningful contributions to the text) and he struggles even to find the way to his memories, if they still exist at all. And Prowl is a terrible editor. There is only one section that he writes without any prior input from Chromedome, and he struggles so much that he ends up reusing Chromedome's wording anyway, to the detriment of the text. Neither is in an ideal position to perform the task they set out to do, but they choose to do it anyway. Because someone needs to.

The last paragraph was kind of where I figured out what I wanted this fic to be and how I was going to get it there.

Because that’s all any of us end up becoming: the words and the stories we leave behind. I spent my whole life trying to capture as many as possible, even as I watched so many fall through the cracks. So, a final dedication: to those who exist in echoes. Though we forget the names not written down, they form the spaces between every word, every letter. It was their collective story that I aimed to tell, and if I’m left with any regret, it’s that I still failed to catch them all.

To be completely, entirely transparent: in regards to the title, I was trying to pull a "Without Love." It starts off by saying that we lose the things we don't intentionally record, and then finally Rewind reveals that actually, they've been there all along. Prowl's name only appears once in the fic, as the last word of chapter 4, where I meant to imply that it had been deleted before he sent his letter to Bumblebee (not sure if that idea actually got across). Prowl's is the name not written down, but he's everywhere in the fic, constantly influencing both the text and the story of its creation. Though I still consider Rewind the sole author of The Complete History, in the context of the story, he and Prowl are partners, working to create something that will outlast them both.

[creativia10]

Janus in Wickhills Part 1

(Title not certain)

Janus wakes up on a forest floor, having no idea how he got there. He soon learns that apparently he seems to resemble some sort of dead evil faery king, snake scales and all, and he has no idea why. So he finds himself getting wary and suspicious looks from people he doesn’t even know, including the ones who offered to help him. Not to mention, dealing with the confusing nature of the green skinned fae who Janus can’t help but be intrigued by. However, he may come to learn that he is more connected to everything than he was aware.

Warnings : Threats of violence

Notes: So, I decided to go ahead and start posting this story. This is a fanfic au of @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors 's Love and Other Fairytales series. I did not know before that I needed to add in the ‘read more’ link. Since this is a bigger story, I want to do better with that this time. I will probably put specific warnings at the front of each part.

Ok, so here is some setup for the story: This is an au of Laoft where Remus came back several years earlier, and Linda isn’t in the picture yet. With this in mind, setting takes place some time after Logan has become the Seelie court rep.

I do not know yet how long this fic will be, since I am still writing it, or when I will update. So far, I have five chapters written.

Let me know if you have questions about anything, or if I forgot anything.

Chapter 1

Janus stirred, first aware of a dark green surfacing through the little light against his closed eyelids. He slowly blinked his eyes open, not quite aware of everything yet. As his eyes opened he noticed some light coming in through the leaves of the top of the forest. Top of the forest? Wait.

As Janus brought himself to sit up he felt leaves shift below him. He leaned back, thankful there was a tree behind him.

Something…wasn’t right, here. He shouldn’t be waking up on the floor of a forest. He was feeling a great wrongness here. He tried to think back to how he got there, but that only gave him fuzzy images and a dizzying headache. That could not be good. He put his hand against the tree as he stood up. He felt groggy.

How long had he been asleep? That was also concerning.

As he righted himself he looked around. He was definitely in the middle of a forest. How strange. It seemed dark in there though.

He seemed to be in period clothes with a cape, that didn’t feel off at least. He carefully started stepping around, wondering how he should go about this, considering he didn’t know which way was out. Something told him it would probably be a bad idea to call out either, he didn’t know what lurked in these woods. As he started to walk around he tried to find a space between trees that could remotely resemble a path. They didn’t seem consistent though.

He hadn’t gotten far before he heard someone clicking.

“Oh you’ve done it.”

Janus whirled around to face the figure, human-like with an inhuman quality. Fae, his mind supplied him with somehow. Not sure how he knew that.

“Ohh you’ve done it now,” the figure said as they stepped towards Janus. Janus couldn’t help but step away. The fae laughed and then shook their head.

“I don’t know where you got off going around with the dead Serpent King’s face. It’s not going to end well either way.”

Janus narrowed his eyes. What were they talking about? The fae rolled their eyes.

“Oh please, no point in keeping up an act. It’s a pretty stupid thing to do.”

The fae flicked out into their hand a light colored blade.

“We don’t take kindly to mockeries of betraying usurpers around here. You wear his face, you get the same fate.”

Janus gasped and quickly dove away from the blade aimed right towards him. He breathed fast as he quickly tried to get away, not wanting them out of his sight but also wanting to get out of there.

“Help!” He shouted then bit his tongue. That felt like a stupid thing to do. He didn’t know the intentions of any of the creatures around there. An angry snarl came from the fae who attacked him.

“Don’t act so pathetic when you dare to wear that traitor’s face!”

They launched for Janus again. Janus stumbled back, falling backwards when another figure swiftly stood in front of the other fae. Said fae stopped when he did, frowning, but standing down.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Your highness, I didn’t t-“

“This is still close enough to the revel for me to intervene. What is the issue?”

The fae scowled.

“That bastard made a mockery of the executed king by traipsing around with his face! I was only doing us all a favor by putting a stop to it.”

The royal stiffened and looked around to look at Janus. Janus stood up and eyed him cautiously, poised to take off if he had to, not that Janus knew where exactly he could go.

The royal’s face was unreadable.

“I am here now, so I am not allowing personal justice by killing on sight. I will see to it that this matter is addressed.”

“But-“

“Why do you wear my brother’s face?” The Royal asked Janus this time. Janus just looked at him.

“I am afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He lies!” The other fae cried.

“I do not understand your accusation, seeing as we can only consider a fae capable of such a transformation, and in that case, he would be incapable of lying.”

Fae? Him? Janus felt like whether or not he was fae, should be something he should know about himself. So why did he feel so unsure about that?

The royal gave the fae attacker beside him a sharp look.

“You are no longer helpful to this situation. Go on to the revel now.”

The other fae did not seem happy about this but went off without a complaint. The royal looked at Janus again.

“Explain,” He said.

“Explain what?”

“Explain how you look nearly identical to my dead brother.”

“How the hell should I know that? You’re acting like you’ve never seen someone who looks similar to someone else before.”

“Well his snake scales are pretty iconic to him.”

His what?

Janus took notice of an off feeling, as some things were coming back to him slower. He reached his hand to touch the left side of his face and gasped when he felt not smooth skin but the raised circles of reptilian scales. Well, that mas definitely a magical characteristic. The royal was watching him.

“I, along with many others, also saw him brutally murdered in front of our own eyes, so him seeming alive should not make any sense at all.”

Janus eyes widened at that. What the hell?

This was a lot. He clenched his teeth as he felt the start of what could turn into hyperventilating. That was the last thing he needed right there. To go into a vulnerable state in front of a stranger who clearly viewed him suspiciously.

“Perhaps we should start with what you are doing here?”

Janus sucked in a breath.

“I-I don’t know.” Janus looked at him then broke eye contact. “I don’t know how I got here. I just woke up on the forest floor. I know how that sounds-“

“Not as farfetched as you would think.”

Janus looked up at him in bewilderment. The royal’s lips twitched up briefly.

“Do you know who I am?”

Janus shook his head.

“Should I?”

The royal seemed to withhold a laugh again.

“Some call me the lord of the forest.”

Janus slowly nodded at that. Somehow, that seemed to work, considering how the attacking fae earlier had acted around him.

“I am also known as the spider prince. What is the last thing you remember?” the lord of the forest asked.

“Before waking up?”

He nodded.

Janus pursed his lips as he thought. It was a bit fuzzy. He went up to a tree. There was a conversation with someone whose face he couldn’t recall. Something happened. It wasn’t good. He remembered his consciousness fading.

He hissed and winced. It was clearly not a good memory. The prince frowned.

Janus said, “Not much.”

The prince hmmed. Then he turned around.

“Come with me,” he said.

Janus just stood for a moment.

“I may know of some people who can help,” the prince said. He started to walk away.

“You may want to readjust your hat, though,” he said as he nodded to Janus’ snake side and then began to walk again. Janus turned his hat and pulled it down some, not quite covering the side of his face completely, and found himself following. It wasn’t like he had many other choices anyways.

There were whispers around them. Here comes the prince.

Strange. Who follows him?

Who tries to cover part of his face?

Poor coverage indeed.

Wait is that-?

How can it be?

We saw him dead.

Who wears the dead serpent’s face?

Janus drew himself up and sped up his pace some, feeling extremely uncomfortable. They walked into a very big clearing, filled with people dancing about. There was an overall feyness to it. Many stared at them as they went past. This whole thing seemed to scream danger to Janus. He followed the prince wondering what he was thinking. He didn’t know what the prince thought of Janus at all. They made their way to an area along the edge of the clearing in the back, clearly set aside from everything else. There were three others who looked close in age to the prince. Janus noticed a fey knight off to the side as well. She made her way over to them as the two walked forward. The prince gestured.

“Can you explain this?” He asked her. The fey knight looked at Janus in shock, then her hand made its way to the sword at her side. Janus gasped and stepped back. The prince held up a hand before her.

“I already spoke with him, he claims not to know how he got here. If he is fae, as I suspect, then he can’t be lying.”

The knight frowned but she eased up some.

“That doesn’t make him innocent though.” The other three who had been waiting for the prince stood near them. Varying levels of expressions on their faces.

The knight gave him a hard look.

“What is your name?”

Janus opened his mouth, then paused. You weren’t supposed to give your name to the fae, which she clearly was, along with the prince.

“…you may call me Jay,” He almost wished he had thought of a cleverer nickname, not one that was too close to his actual name. She hmmed, still on guard.

“He never gave anyone his real name anyways,” one of the others standing by them spoke up, who was also dressed like a knight. Although he had an iron dagger on his sheath. The prince nodded.

“I also asked him if he knew who I was and he said no,” The prince said. That caused many confused looks around them. The prince looked to another in their group. Another fae. This one, who also appeared fae, yet strangely wore glasses, tilted his head and looked at Janus in consideration.

“Hmm, well he does seem to be fae.”

“I think the snake scales were pretty telling of that. I also don’t know of any witches who can do that.”

“He did act surprised when I mentioned the scales though, as though he didn’t conjure a glamor for himself.”

“I cannot think of why someone would play at this anyways though. After all, we cannot lie and to our knowledge no one else has transformative abilities like the fae do,” Specs said.

“Aren’t there other faeries who look alike though?” The last one, with curly hair and similar glasses, asked.

The glasses clad fae shook his head.

“Not like this at least.”

“My brother was made to be gentry, as we were made to be ruling heirs of this forest. He and I were the only ones who came into being the way we did. There would be no one like us.”

The one dressed as a knight gestured at Janus.

“Well then how would you explain this!?”

The glasses faery pursed his lips.

“I am afraid I am not sure.”

This was all just really weird. He would have left ages ago if he had any idea on where to go.

“Hey everyone! What’s going on?” A voice called out loudly from behind him, getting closer. “What are you all staring at?”

The people in front of him seemed to grow very concerned as the voice approached.

The glasses fae spoke, “R-Duke…”

Janus found he couldn’t help but turn to face the other. This was a green man. He literally had mint green skin. He hung a spiked mace over his shoulder. The green man, Duke as specs called him, just stared at him, face varying in extreme expressions. Janus wasn’t sure what to make of this. He was starting to get used to the bizarre reactions to him which was incredibly infuriating. There was something about the man before him though. Something familiar that was almost on the tip of his tongue. He seemed handsome too, even with the green skin, and somewhat ridiculous mustache. The man seemed to settle on something.

“What..the hell!?”

( Continues in Janus in Wickhills Part 2)

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Whumptober Day 17: He Knows

Summary: Written for Whumptober Day 17. Set during RttE. A Hiccstrid AU. When Viggo knows something about Hiccup that the Dragon Riders don't, he's all too eager to share it with his young rival.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Viggo, Astrid

Pairing: Hiccstrid

Words: 4 264

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Blackmail” + “Dirty Secret”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: This is actually based in an AU/UA that I've posted one one-shot for before and do plan on writing a main fic for because there is just so much drama and plot that can be made with it.

The continued usage of the wrong pronouns is on purpose.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

NOTE: The Rape/Non-con warning is there for a correct warning. Nothing explicit happens in this fic. What does happen is unwanted touching above the belt, above the chest even, but still unwanted.

Ao3 Whumptober Fic

Ao3 Original Fic

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"I can't imagine how awful it must be to be in your position."

Hiccup looks up from the shackles binding his wrists at those words. They are the first spoken since Ryker has pushed him into this chair in front of Viggo minutes ago. There's been a tense one-sided silence of Viggo giving him the usual "did you honestly believe you would get away with this" speech with Hiccup not even giving him the time of day. But at those words, he has to look up.

They haven't been spoken with the kind of sympathy you'd expect to hear them be spoken in. Instead, Viggo gazes back at him with a smirk and that alone is enough to make him angrier than he already is.

"What position?" Hiccup asks, tone short, and showing the way he feels.

"Well, born the way you are, I can't imagine you have it easy." Deciding against giving him a straight answer, Viggo continues to use hints instead of giving him a straight answer.

"Berk no longer takes an issue with me being a runt." Hiccup replies and Viggo gives him that look, one of those he doesn't like. This one makes him feel like he's being played with.

"How does it feel knowing that your father, the Chief, will never truly accept you?" He asks and at this point Hiccup is confused.

Whatever gave him that idea? The relationship between him and Stoick is the best it's been since ever and Viggo shouldn't be able to know about the years before Toothless. And even if he did, that wouldn't explain why he thinks this.

Noticing the confusion Hiccup fails to hide, Viggo continues.

"You have to hide yourself, do you not? Can't imagine that must be pleasant." Viggo's fingers won't stop moving as he speaks and Hiccup almost finds them distracting. Is that what it's like talking to him? Is he that distracting, too?

"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm not hiding any part of myself." Hiccup denies what he thinks is an ungrounded claim.

"Good job, Hiccup, you almost sounded believable. I had no idea you were capable of such lies. How many times did you have to tell this to yourself before you started to believe it?" Viggo congratulates him on an acting job well-done and Hiccup isn't sure why.

"Repeat what? You're not making any sense." In the back of his mind, the very, very back, Hiccup feels like he knows exactly what his captor is talking about. But the last thing he wants to do, however, is admit to it.

Viggo readjusts his position and leans back in his chair, his expression hardly changes.

"Does it frighten you knowing you'll have to pretend you're a Chief someday? For the rest of your living days, I suspect? I assume this masquerade started because Berk's line of Chieftains has been entirely made up of men at this point. Bad enough they would get a runt for a Chief someday, but a female one? Now that must've stung." So this is what this has been all about, Viggo finally reveals the truth behind the lies Hiccup has supposedly been telling.

Pressing his lips together, Hiccup looks the other way, unable to bear that look of satisfying victory on his opponent's face. Viggo, meanwhile, is simply enjoying this little interaction.

"Are you suggesting that I'm... that I'm... You're-you're ridiculous!" Hiccup spits his denial at him, evidently shocked at this reveal.

"Can't even say the word, can you? Is that how far they've gotten the stubborn Hiccup Haddock the Third? You can't say "woman"? "Girl"? Or even the word "female" when it comes to yourself? You disappoint me, my Dear Hiccup." Viggo asks with mockery. This is still nothing more than a game to him, as everything always is with this man. A kind of frustration only he can make Hiccup feel burns within him.

But at least there's that one thing that doesn't change. Doesn't matter who he represents as Viggo still won't stop calling him "Dear".

"How did you know?" He asks, dropping the act as it's no use to keep it up.

Spending years in hiding, he doesn't exactly show it much. He's not like Astrid, who expresses her femininity with her clothes and her grace and her statements. He's not like Ruffnut, who would scream her pride as a woman from the rooftops if they hadn't explicitly told her several times to stop shouting in the middle of the night.

As far as he knows, he doesn't act, sound, or look all that different from his guy friends. And even after the months spent on the Edge together, they still have no idea what he truly is. So how did Viggo know?

"I simply have a keen eye, my Dear." Yeah, sure he does. It took the Dragon Riders ages to correct him on his pronouns before he finally started to call him...

Oh.

"So you've known from the beginning? Why keep it to yourself all this time?" It is a good question. If he really is as observant as he claims, why hadn't he brought it up sooner?

It's not like this is the first time he's been captured by the Dragon Hunters, so why wait until now? That something might've changed scares him the most.

As if having been invited to talk more about his discovery, Viggo stands up and walks from behind his desk.

"It was odd for sure. Is this simply who Hiccup Haddock is or is there something deeper going on? It didn't take much digging before I concluded that's exactly what's going on here." It is the intro to whatever speech he has prepared, the moment he's been waiting for, what he probably specifically captured Hiccup for.

"Berk has been keeping its dragon secret quite well, despite your theatrics." Hiccup rolls his eyes. Sure, he might have a bit of a dramatic flair going on, but it's not all purely theatrical.

"Did you know that your tribe's allies still refer to you as "the runt of Berk"? "Stoick's little embarrassment"? "Stoick's mistake"? I can't imagine any of those things being said about the Dragon Rider, especially about the Dragon Rider who ended the war with the dragons. That was you, wasn't it? Isn't that how you lost your leg?" So he knows about that, too, not that he's too surprised about this one.

Viggo has come to pace behind Hiccup, his hands behind his back. His footsteps are slow, relaxed, and yet somehow methodical as well.

Hiccup tries not to let it get to him, not that or the nicknames he used to hear so much growing up. He's always despised peace treaty signings for this exact reason. That and that his father expected him to keep the visiting Chiefs' spawn entertained and most of them loved to bully Berk's runty heir. The things they used to say to him, even in his own tribe, they still affect him to this day.

"But that everyone, even your allies, felt secondhand embarrassment for you and your father wouldn't explain your need to hide, so I dug a little deeper, a little somewhere else, and then I discovered Berk's lineage. No female leaders in your nearly 400-year-old history?" Viggo asks, the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor accompanying him.

Hiccup's silence means he's hit the nail on the head. It's the lineage, that is why he needs to hide.

His hands land on the back of the chair and Hiccup visibly tenses up as a result. His hands intertwine, legs press close, shoulders move up, jaw clenches, within a single second, Hiccup is one human-sized ball of tension.

"This is why I can't imagine how awful it must be in your position." His voice is so close, he's looming over him and that, as well as the nature of this conversation, sends chills down his spine.

Hiccup wishes he could retort, sass, say anything, but his throat has closed up.

"Berk isn't the most progressive of places, is it?" Hiccup's silence keeping its hold on him, Viggo continues to talk.

But this time, Hiccup manages a response.

"And your tribe is? Where are your warrior women, Viggo, because we haven't seen a single one so far." Hiccup moves to the side, away from  Viggo. He doesn't need to look to know that his smile is still there. He's not going to respond to that one.

"What do you want people to call you? Are you truly satisfied going through life as someone you're not?" Satisfied? Of course, he isn't satisfied.

He's never told his friends this, but he's jealous of his female friends. Astrid, Ruffnut, Heather, he knows at least two of them were never ostracized for being a runt and for being useless. And they certainly haven't needed to prove their worth by fighting a dragon nearly the size of a volcano, lost a leg, and trained the dragons of Berk only to be forced to continue to hide.

He's resentful, too. Yeah, he's resentful. Some might claim he isn't capable of such an emotion, but that nagging feeling choking his heart is a familiar one.

As if able to tell the rush of emotions, Viggo leans in just a tad bit closer and suddenly his hands are on his shoulders. Not even on the pauldrons, but on the armor itself, close to his neck. There's a slight trembling he has a hard time suppressing. He does like that Viggo thinks he can just invade his personal space like this.

"Can I make you an offer?" The older man leans in closer, his lips right next to his ear.

"What about a place where you don't need to hide? A place where you can just be yourself, the woman you were meant to be from birth. Strong, intelligent, powerful, a true Mistress of Dragons." A place like that doesn't exist, not for him, but Viggo isn't quite done yet.

"A place next to me." And there it is. The tone in his voice always dips when they're alone, but this time it dips even deeper and Hiccup isn't sure how to feel about it. Afraid? Something else?

The suggestion isn't as tempting as he'd like it to be, however, because the Grimborns and their men still hunt dragons for a living, some even for sport. That isn't a community he can even consider living in.

But it is nice to dream, though. A life where responding to "she" and "her" instead of "he" and "him" is possible.

If only he hadn't been born an heir to a tribe that couldn't possibly accept a Chief that is both a woman and a runt. If only he hadn't been born an heir.

"Are you thinking about it? About what you could become? What we could become?" Viggo's hold on him tightens, but not in an entirely uncomfortable way. Or rather, Hiccup supposes it isn't supposed to be discomforting.

"What's in it for you?" Hiccup forces himself to bypass the lump in his throat in order to ask. Because Viggo isn't offering this out of the kindness of his heart.

"New opportunities." That's the only answer the man will give him and Hiccup is left to guess what exactly these opportunities may be.

So he's no longer interested in beating them or having a truce then? Viggo has never hidden his interest in his young foe, but has never made this offer before.

One hand moves closer to his neck, fingers curling so the back of them can caress his skin. At the same time, his index finger and thumb grab small locks of his hair to play with. The other hand, it moves down just a bit and sneaks the tip of his finger beneath his armor. Hiccup's breathing grows labored.

There's a sense of excitement that he doesn't like.  Because these are kinds of touches he doesn't let the Riders do in fear of being discovered. Not even Astrid, his girlfriend, can get too many touches in. The Riders, not knowing about this secret, believe it's because he just doesn't like to be touched. They respect this, whenever they remember to.

This must be why Viggo's fingers have this effect on him, because of how touch-starved he is to protect this secret his forebears forced onto him. That just makes him hate it even more.

"Are you thinking about my offer?" He repeats his question in that same low tone.

Hiccup's hands may be shackled together, but he's not tied to the chair, so he brings an end to this conversation by getting up before those hands can travel a little further. He could sense their intent to, could feel his armor lift just a tad.

Now pouting, Viggo watches Hiccup walk away from him.

"That won't happen. You hunt dragons and I save them. Don't forget that we're at war for a reason, Viggo." He tells the other, turning his head sharply to look at him from over his shoulder.

"This-this-this... fantasy! This fantasy won't work out. It will never work out! So don't bother trying to get me to your side, no matter what type of deal you try to make with me, I refuse to take it." He raises his voice, ignoring the stinging and the burning in his throat as the urge for tears wells up within him.

A fantasy, that's what the idea of him ever being himself, herself, is. A fantasy. Nothing more, nothing less.

Swallowing and taking a breath, he pushes that realization to the back of his mind. His mind.

But Viggo straightens and his amusement is gone as he approaches. Hiccup's stubbornness and his refusal to show his fear in the face of his enemy doesn't allow him to back away, but he can feel his heart thumping inside his chest.

"It wasn't a fantasy, far from it, it was a fair deal to save you from further humiliation. I'm sure you've suffered quite a bit of that in your young life, I had simply assumed you didn't want any more. But I see that I was a fool." The game picks right back up where it left off and Hiccup is left to wonder where it'll go this time.

He hasn't only declined, but essentially made fun of it, too, and that can't feel good to a man as prideful as he is.

"What do you mean?" He tries to keep his voice strong, unwavering, but he can't help the sense of anxiety that he feels when he asks.

"I have this information, do you expect me not to use it? I'm sure there are tribes, both ally and foe, that would be very interested to hear about Berk's heir. I'm also quite interested in knowing how Berk is going to react. Do the Riders know?"

"NO!" At that, Hiccup has quite the reaction and Viggo maliciously smiles once more.

The rational part of him knows his friends will accept him and won't reject him for this, but even so, that fear lingers. It's been ingrained into him since birth that nobody wants a runt, let alone a runt that's also a... So there is still a part of him that wonders how they are going to be any different from the rest.

Hiccup looks down, ashamed for the way he responded. He has just given the exact reaction Viggo is looking for.

"How about an ultimatum? Join me or the Dragon Riders will know. Refuse a second time and Berk will know. Refuse a third time, your allies. Can you guess what will happen if you refuse for a fourth time?" Viggo asks, satisfied with this perfectly cruel choice. He has always loved a good game. So long as it's in his favor, of course.

Hiccup stares at him, unable to hide his fear and the growing tears.

This is the day he has always been afraid would come, the day someone finds out and uses it against him like he has been warned it would. Ever since taking on this role of protecting dragons and facing countless of enemies, he has been afraid. Even before Toothless, when he was just Berk's embarrassment, he was afraid.

And now it's here.

If anybody finds out, he'll be shunned and bullied and belittled and thought of as worthless all over again. He can't bear to go back to those days. He can't bear being hated again for being born the way he is.

And yet...

"I guess you're going to have to... tell them." He can bear to see the Hunter harm dragons even less and so he refuses and in his mind doom himself to a life branded as the shame of his father. At least he'll still have Toothless.

Though not happy with this answer, Viggo isn't surprised.

"Shame, we could've had something great together, could've created some greats things, but you leave me no choice." He tells him. Hiccup casts his gaze downwards, a sense of panic is threatening to choke the breath out of him, but he has given the Hunter Chief his answer and he doesn't plan on taking it back.

"Shame, a real shame," Viggo remarks some more. He'd given Hiccup the chance to change his mind, but it didn't happen.

Then, as if sensing the dreadful end of this conversation, an explosion rocks the entire ship that they're on, throwing the two off-balance.

Slamming into the older man, Hiccup, and Viggo both make a tumble towards the floor, one ending up on top of the other.

"Dragon Riders!" The call is faint, almost too soft to hear, but it's Hiccup's cue to get out of here.

Using his cuffed hands, Hiccup strikes upward against Viggo's face with such force that it breaks his nose powered by nothing but the want to escape. He leaves the man no choice but to take a moment as a burning pain burst free.

Hiccup takes this opportunity to run, climbing to his feet and going for the door.

Toothless has to be here on this ship, too, they've been captured together.

As luck would have it, while he runs down the corridor, Toothless appears and their gazes meet.

"Toothless!" They meet each other halfway, both running to reunite and the dragon pushes the flat top of his head into Hiccup's torso, urging him to grab hold for as much as his tied wrists allow it for a brief hug.

"I'm happy to see you, too, Bud. We have to hurry and leave."

"Just what I was thinking." Astrid pops up as well, having been the one to free Toothless and letting him guide her straight towards Hiccup, always homed in on him.

"Come on," Axe in one hand, Astrid grabs one of Hiccup's in her other and pulls him along towards the deck of the ship, dodging Hunters and bracing for impact with each hit delivered by the other Dragon Riders.

They reach the deck soon enough and while Astrid and Stormfly reunite, Hiccup climbs in Toothless' saddle and the four of them take off towards the sky, the others providing them with cover fire.

"Dragon Riders, we're heading back to the Edge!" Hiccup orders. There were only two ships and they're both sinking, no use sticking around.

"Wow, we're happy to see you, too. Just a nice "Hello!" would've been fine, though." Snotlout teases Hiccup from on top of Hookfang. From what he can see, Hiccup is fine, so he thinks he's allowed to.

"Snotlout!"

"No, Astrid, he's kinda right. I'm happy to see you guys, too. Now let's go home." Hiccup stops Astrid from lecturing the other Rider. Barf and Belch, Ruff and Tuff, Fishlegs, and Meatlug join back up with them and the group heads for home.

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The Dragon Hunters didn't get too far away with their prisoners, but still, it took a good hour of flying before the Dragon Riders arrive on the Edge.

The six Riders and one Dragon are in the clubhouse now, removing the cuffs and cleaning the chafing that they'd caused on his palms. Or Astrid is. Snotlout and the twins are off to the side, declaring their undying hatred for the Hunters while Fishlegs prods Toothless incessantly for possible injuries that may need treating.

"But I need to take a look at you!" Fishlegs exclaims when the dragon moves away again, much to Toothless' annoyance as he just wants to be left alone.

Astrid, who had been watching the rather amusing chase around the room, looks at Hiccup to see his reaction only to find none.

He's been down ever since his rescue. And though, being kidnapped can't exactly be called pleasant, Astrid feels like something else might be going on here.

She dabs his palms with a clean cloth soaked in water a few more times before she speaks up.

"You're not going to say anything?" She asks gently.

"Hmm?"

"About Fishlegs and Toothless."

At this, Hiccup looks up to see what's going on, Snotlout and the twins betting in the background how much longer it'll take for Toothless to get angry.

"Fishlegs, he's just tired and wants to be left alone. So leave him be." It may have sounded a little sterner than he intended it to, but it only further validated Astrid's assumption that something is up.

Turning their attention back to his stinging hands, she has to ask.

"So what's wrong?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I just feel like something is the matter. You know you can always tell me, so do you want to talk about it?" She offers herself up as a listening ear.

"Nothing is wrong, just the usual Viggo with his stupid threats." Hiccup tells her, deciding against sharing details about their talk for reasons that are obvious to him.

"Oh no, what was it this time?" Astrid asks, remarking on this being a very frequent occurrence.

Hiccup looks her in the eye and seemingly thinks about something for a good few moments.

Should he tell her?

He stares at her fiercely blue eyes, the long blond hair he loves so much, can feel her hands caring for him as she waits for an answer. Then he looks around the clubhouse, gazing at each of his friends when he finds them. Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut, just joking around and relieving the stress of the day.

He doesn't need to look at Toothless, who has settled on the floor behind him now that he has some peace. He has known from the start, all the dragons have, and they don't care what he is.

Looking at them all, fear wins. He's been so long without this, friendship, fun, just people who like him, you name it. He realizes he doesn't want to lose any of it.

"Hiccup?" Astrid says his name, thinking he's lost in thought.

"It's really just the usual, truce, or die." He tells her and if he reaches far enough, he can explain his lying as being technically not lying. Because what was basically a marriage proposal from one enemy to another is like a truce and revealing a secret such as his to the world is like a kind of death.

"Are you sure? We all know Viggo isn't pleasant to be around, especially for you. So we'll understand if you feel a little awful. Or a lot." Astrid tells him, lifting a hand to lay on his cheek.

Hiccup's eyes flit towards it as its warmth ends up on his skin and he needs to keep a hold on his breath, having a hard time keeping it under control. It's the biggest drawback to a lack of physical touch, the fact that every little thing makes his skin burn with a desire for more.

Astrid suddenly remembers Hiccup's believed aversion to touch, but before she can act on her realization and pull away, Hiccup leans into her hand. So she keeps it there, smiling as every little moment she gets to have with her boyfriend like this is a precious one.

But she has a point, he does feel awful. Viggo's offer and following threat aside, Hiccup hasn't been able to get his touches out of his head. He hates how they made him feel, still make him feel, Astrid's in comparison are much more enjoyable.

And then there is that deep, dark part of him that wants more.

Noticing Hiccup savoring her touch, she grows a little more daring and places her free hand on his other cheek and Hiccup takes her wrist and keeps them there, sighing in content.

Her hands are warm, they're soft though still calloused, and they belong to his girlfriend.

This moment makes Astrid wonder just why Hiccup doesn't like to be touched if he's taking such delight out of this. To her, this just screams a desire for more, and she's sad that he won't allow himself to have more for reasons he hasn't shared with them yet.

Meanwhile, Hiccup is savoring every second he gets because he knows this may be one of the last times he will get to enjoy it. There is no doubt in his mind that Viggo will make good on his threat and that means all of this, Astrid, the Gang, might end soon. It sounds like nonsense, but this fear is real to him.

So he holds Astrid's hands, hoping he can enjoy her warmth just a little while longer before he inevitably loses it all, all over again.

[pellucidity-is-me]

Remus Lupin and Latin

Summary: A young Remus Lupin studies Latin for no reason in particular. Second installment, but works as a one-shot, too. You can find the link to my longer fic on my blog description, and this one is on my AO3/FFN account, too, if you want to read it in its entirety.

Wordcount: 2073

Remus Lupin starts learning Latin at age eight, too.

He's been a werewolf now for more than three years, and it has already taken its toll. His eyes always seem to be shrouded in shadow from intense periods of exhaustion—when Remus isn't plagued by constant nightmares, he is the nightmare himself, scratching himself to bits in the small family cellar while his mum quivers in fear in the sitting room and his father tosses and turns, trying in vain to be well-rested in order to heal his son the next day before going to work. When Remus looks at himself in the mirror, he only sees the amount of weight he's lost, the pallor of his skin, the scars on his hands, and the constant dead look in his eyes that he can't seem to get rid of, no matter how much he smiles.

It doesn't really matter how he looks, though. He sees no one, save his parents, and they don't really care how Remus looks so long as he's alive.

Remus can read all by himself now, but his parents still insist on reading to him after every full moon so that he can "rest his eyes". Remus knows that this is just a ploy to get him to fall asleep, which is a bit annoying. It doesn't matter if he looks and feels tired. He doesn't need to save his energy for anything. It's not as if he has school, dinner parties, football matches... or whatever kids his age typically do. He doesn't even have friends.

What Remus does have is time—too much time, in fact; Remus has all the time in the world. When he wants to go to sleep, he will. And right now, Remus does not want to sleep. He's been doing that for hours and he's ready for something new.

His father reads him Maxwell Melephant and the Magic Elephant for what seems like the hundredth time. Remus mushes his face into the pillow and groans so vehemently that he nearly falls off the couch.

"Are you hurt?" asks Remus' father, alarmed. It's evening, two days after the full moon, and it's also a weekend. Remus' father doesn't have to work today, so he can stay home all day and fuss over Remus. Remus isn't sure whether he's pleased or annoyed by the fact. "Did the wound on your side open again? Stay there, Remus; don't move—I'll fix it..."

"Nothing's happened," says Remus. He's a bit angry, actually, so he takes a few calming breaths—in through his nose, out through his mouth. Anger is reserved for full moons and full moons only. "I'm just kind of bored, that's all."

Remus' father takes a deep breath and then places the book upside-down on the coffee table. "I'm sorry," he says. "Ever so sorry, Remus. I know it's hard. I wish I could do more. I'd switch places with you in an instant, you know..."

"It's fine," says Remus automatically. "Could you keep reading? You were at the part when the elephant was climbing the redwood tree, I think."

"So I was," says Remus' father, but he doesn't pick up the book. He doesn't speak for a long time, and Remus tries to get comfortable while he's waiting. It's not quite possible with a large wound on his side—it seems to stab Remus sharply whenever he moves his stomach the slightest amount—but he can try anyway. Once he's more or less satisfied, he pulls the scratchy woolen blanket that his mum knitted up to his neck, obscuring the scar on his left shoulder that has remained a constant reminder of what Remus is for more than three years. Remus doesn't mind that scar, not really—but he knows that his parents do.

When Remus' father opens his mouth to speak again, it's not because he's resuming the story. "You need a hobby," he says thoughtfully.

"I have a hobby," says Remus. "Misery. That's a hobby, isn't it?"

Remus' father would normally laugh at such a joke (Remus didn't mean anything by it, after all), but he doesn't today. "Are you really miserable?" he asks seriously—and a little guiltily, if Remus isn't mistaken.

"No. I'm fine. You and Mum are loads of fun, Dad. I mean it."

"But what have we done?" muses Remus' father. "What have you done?"

Remus suspects that his father is talking to himself, since he isn't making any sense. Remus has just learned the word rhetorical, and he thinks that it applies in this situation. Remus replies anyway, of course. "You teach me some magic with your wand. That's fun. And Mum teaches me maths and writing. And I read a lot. And you let me play with that Boggart that we keep in the cupboard. I help Mum cook, and I play chess sometimes. And Mum taught me to crochet. And we draw pictures together sometimes... and you tell me stories. Remember when we tried to write one? Mum said that it was the worst story she'd ever read, and you know how much she hates Maxwell Melephant."

Remus' father smiles, but it seems to be nothing more than a formality. "Yes, but that was because we depicted her as a giant, fire-breathing dragon. Your mum doesn't particularly like being depicted as a heavyweight, ancient magical animal capable of destroying entire cities in a single breath."

Remus turns into a rather heavyweight animal with claws and teeth, capable of destroying entire cities in a few hours. He does that every month. But he doesn't mention it—why ruin a good thing? It'll only upset his father. Remus laughs weakly. "I have fun. I promise."

"No, you don't. You just don't know what fun is."

"I know what fun is. Fun is a three-letter English word, derived from—" Remus pauses here, because he is an eight-year-old child who knows nothing of etymology. He hears his parents make that joke sometimes (his father is a typical Ravenclaw; he knows these things. His mother just makes things up), but he never quite understands what comes next. It's something to do with other languages, he's pretty sure. One of them, he knows, is Latin.

Remus doesn't know any other languages. He wonders what it would be like to know another language. Is it anything like the foreign words that Remus' father teaches him to speak when he's casting spells? Does real magic happen when people speak other languages? Do people look different when they speak different languages? Remus doesn't know. He's only spent time around his mother and father, after all, and neither of them are bilingual.

"I want to learn Latin," says Remus. "Is that a hobby?"

Remus' father blinks. "Do you even know what Latin is, Remus?"

"Of course I know what Latin is."

Remus' father crosses his arms, and Remus knows that he's teasing him. "Oh, really? What is it?"

"It's like... you know, another language... that people speak."

"Half right," says Remus' father, laughing. "That's an odd hobby for an eight-year-old, but I'll ask your mother what she thinks when she's done with her nap. It's time to go to sleep now, all right, Remus?"

"Keep reading Maxwell Melephant?"

"Only if you finish that glass of water. You need to..."

"Hydrate," Remus finishes with a groan. He tries to reach for the glass, but there's a sharp stabbing pain in his side that causes him to cry out—his father wordlessly hands him the glass and helps him sit up. It is extraordinarily painful, but Remus manages to finish the water. He nearly asks for more, but he doesn't particularly want to navigate standing up and going to the loo if he happens to drink too much, so he merely leans back and falls asleep to the familiar words of Maxwell Melephant and the Magic Elephant.

When Remus wakes up, his mother is pressing a damp cloth to his forehead and mumbling something. Remus blinks the sleep out of his eyes and leans into his mother's touch; her words come into focus like the lens of a Muggle camera. "...mus? You're awake?" she says, and Remus nods. "Your father tells me that you want to learn Latin?"

"Sure," says Remus. "Dad says I need a hobby. Latin's a hobby, isn't it?"

Remus' mother laughs a little and removes the cloth from Remus' forehead. Remus almost protests, but it's not long before the cloth is dipped in water again and then replaced. "Sure, honey. I suppose it is, in the most basic sense of the word. I learned Latin in school, did you know?"

"Could you teach me?"

"Erm... no. No, I don't remember a thing. It's a bit of a dead language."

"How did it die?"

"No, not dead... not dead like that. There aren't native speakers of it anymore is what I mean. Everyone who speaks Latin also speaks another language—and it's more written than spoken to begin with."

"I can write," says Remus. He doesn't know why his heart is so set on learning Latin, but it is. "I bet I'll like it."

"I... I suppose you might. I never did. Dead languages are dead boring, in my opinion." She pats Remus' hand and ruffles his hair. Remus makes a face. "I'll pick up some books at the library, all right? And then I'll teach you what I remember. It'll take a lot of studying, I'm afraid, and I don't know exactly what you're going to do with it... but why would I stop my kid from learning Latin?" She laughs. "You're an odd one, Remus Lupin."

Remus might be odd, yes, but he is also patient. He waits a full week until his mother has time to fetch Latin books. When she returns, she sits down at the dining room table with Remus and teaches him the basics of conjugating and declining.

And Remus does not like Latin. He's not very good at memorizing things, even though he does it all the time (what else is there to do?). He doesn't have a good enough grasp on the English language quite yet to understand the subtleties of a second language. But he studies the language anyway.

And he keeps doing it for years.

He becomes relatively good at Latin, actually. He grows to love it. He likes studying by his window on a rainy day. He adores the time that he spends with his mother, studying Latin while she reads a book or knits or fusses over Remus. He relishes it, because every time that he spends on Latin is time spent—and all Remus aims to do is to spend time, really. He has no goal. Latin is a relatively useless language.

But when has Remus ever done anything that was beneficial for his future? Remus has no future. He knows this at eight years old. He knows this because the Ministry have told him so. He knows this because his whole life has implied the fact. There are constants in Remus Lupin's life: the full moon, pain, and loneliness. He will live in a small house with his three closest and only friends (his mother, his father, and the Boggart that they kept in the cupboard) forever. Remus cannot fathom forever, but he knows that it's a very long time, and he spends his seconds waiting for it to end.

He picks up Welsh a year and a half later. Remus is Welsh himself, though he hasn't lived in Wales since he was five. Remus' mother protests. "Remus, not everyone in Wales speaks Welsh," she says. "No one in my family speaks it. You'll have no one to speak Welsh with. We've been living in France for a week now; why don't you learn French instead?" But Remus hardly has anyone with which to speak English, even, so he doesn't really care. Besides, they only end up staying in France until the next full moon.

Remus' time whittles away, bit by bit, second by second. His life exists in intermissions between full moons. He can't do anything useful, because he would need a future to do so—so he learns languages that no one speaks, memorizes poetry for no real reason, and writes stories that no one will see. He doesn't have a reason behind anything, but—much like his appearance—he doesn't care so long as he's alive.

[msaluna]

The Moon Well

This story is a mini fic of Luna in a Corruption AU, giving hints on how she became corrupted by an event while overseas. All of Luna’s backstory is relatively the same with only this one event causing her sudden shift in corruption. Enjoy. -RayMun

================

The night of her return was not a pleasant one, the woman known by so few in the town as the local witch, and even fewer by actual name passes through the magical portkey door. The one that leads back to a mansion overseas owned by a man she no longer cares for. Her body still humming with magic from the events that only happened the night before. 

She closes the door behind her, waving a hand over the door, it vanishes in a shimmer of powerful magic. The house creaks with what could only be heard to Luna as a sound of concern. 

"I am okay dear friend," Luna said to what would be emptiness. "But I think we’ve outgrown this town."

Luna places a satchel of books she has been holding onto the table as she goes to prepare for her “Move” to another location. The books weren’t hers to keep but she felt every right to take it. The contents were a mix of rituals, spells, and Fay knowledge along with one black journal. It was written in cursive french, but she didn't have to translate it to know of its contents. Because she saw through the torching visions of the Moon Well what secrets it and its previous owners kept. 

Without much preparation time, Luna focused her magic to the condition of the house. Her eyes and body glow in pale gold light, a phantom image of moth wings expand from the woman’s back. The house around her binds and twists, creaking as the Relocation spell takes hold. Markings and symbols write themselves in light along the walls and ceiling of the rooms. And in a matter of minutes, the house once known as Sun & Moons Fortunes is now an empty shell in the small town. Making the new residence to the Witch of Secrets currently unknown.

VVV[Open Read More to see the Journal Entry]VVV

[Research of the Moon Well] 

[Owner: Viktor Frollo]

[Contact: XXX-XXXX-XXXX]

[Date: 21/12]

The Moon Well, I have only seen it in tales and vague mentions in old documents but now I have been convinced the place or more accurately this phenomenon truly exists. This year, during my visit to that drabby campus, invited to the Yule ball as per usual, I was expecting it to be the same as last year. Boring. Typical meet and greet while reconnecting and reassuring some of my former contacts that I was being a well-behaved gentleman. Seeing the most mature and basic of magical potential. Such cowards. They do not realize untapped magic is waiting to be discovered if they simply opened their eyes and looked. 

But no, they fail to even realize that one of their own students has talents that are far more than just a prodigy witch. This time, even I was allowed the opportunity to peek behind that curtain that hides the secrets of the moon. A student by the name of Luna Eirian allowed me to see past this veil during her performance for the winter moon. It was stunning in more ways than one, truly something to behold. But what was more shocking than the skills she possessed was the display of natural magic being displayed through her voice and music, it was the fact that no one realized what I had at that very moment. She was performing Fay magic! Specifically Moon Fay! At least, this is what I strongly believe just from the scene I experienced this evening. 

I can hardly steady my hand as I write my excitement of this discovery. The only thing now is to convince Ms. Eirian to allow me to be her patron or mentor. She will never be able to reach her true potential through the cowardly teachings of that establishment. This will be difficult, as she is already suspicious of me from her reaction to my presence at the Ball. Even when asking her if she would like a patron to fund any projects she wishes to undertake, she politely declined. Sadly, she isn't like any of the women, like the ones who pursue me in the hopes I would give them my time. It would have made this situation easier. 

[Date: 22/12]

I have sent a request to Ms. Eirian's counselor to have her study under my watch. Seeing as we are both viewed as porridge witches from the same university, it was fairly easy to convince the council. However, Ms. Eirian herself seems to be a paranoid sort of individual or at least highly instinctual when someone takes interest in her. I did not see any hint of shyness in her demeanor when asked, so her rejection of me doesn't stem from bashfulness. At least she isn't a gullible idiot, that much is a blessing and frankly, I believe it adds to her charm. 

[Date: 28/12]

It has been a week since the Yule Ball and I have managed to convince Ms. Eirian to stay at the estate while I help her with a project. A broom. Simple enough, but now that she is here, I can proceed with providing her with information about her talents. And I can finally push her to limits that will break that veil once again, without interference with those cowards at the university. Hopefully, the promise of more knowledge from my collection of books will entice her to stay longer than intended. She seems to be very fond of learning about magic. 

[Date: 10/01]

A new discovery, even if she didn't have her Fay heritage, Ms. Eirian has proven to be quite clever and knowledgeable. She has only relied on her Fay powers less than a handful of times while under my watch. It is truly impressive, we would have many quite the collaborative team if she lived on this side of the ocean. Or have come to the university when I was attending. I still intend to study her Fay capabilities, but even I have to admit that her presence here has significantly warmed the chilly atmosphere of this estate. 

I need to move the project forward if I am to hope to achieve my goal of studying Luna before I become distracted.

I will be moving the project forward a little faster than usual. Now that she is less suspicious of my movements, I will be able to gather samples to perform further studies.

---

[Date: 16/01]

Today, I took a gamble. I handed Ms. Eirian a book that normal human eyes are not typically allowed to read. It is one of the few Fay-written books I have managed to find without being tarnished or fake. It was worrisome, I had a story prepared to explain why I had the book and why I was handing it to her without explanation. However, a surprising thing happened...she didn't question the book or the contents. She didn't even ask how she could read it. Ms. Eirian...do you trust me this much with your secrets? Or in bittersweet irony, are you truly unaware of why I drew close to you?

The way she smiled at me with excitement about the contents of the book tells me she does not know. And for some reason, at that moment in time, I felt sad. I pitied her more than being pleased with the concept of her unknowingly being part Fay. She truly didn't know how special she was to me. And the idea of knowing a secret she didn't know she had, pained me.

---

[Date: 21/01]

Our relationship has grown closer over these past few weeks. She has opened up quite a bit, and it makes things easier. But there seems to be an issue that I wasn't expecting to have, I purely played with the idea of returning her affection to keep her close but now, I wish to keep her close regardless. However, the issue is that I still would like to pursue knowledge about the Moon Fay while she is still by my side.

 In a few days, the super moon will be rising and I need to be prepared. 

Forgive me Luna, but maybe you will if my studies help you control this Fay magic inside. Once I see and record my findings, I promise that I will tell you everything. No more secrets between us. 

I promise.

---

[Date: 31/01]

I am not sure what happened, all I could say is the display of magic and the veil tearing was unlike anything I have ever seen before. The power of the ritual could be viewed as a success to a typical scholar, I know my past self would have seen it as such but seeing Luna---Apologize for my notes at this moment. 

The ritual is supposed to be performed during a normal full moon but my eagerness to see a positive result has led to a miscalculation. The Moon Well does exist and it can be accessed by a half-Fay heritage of moon descent. However, due to the mythical powers of the supermoon, the results have left --the subject-- Luna in an almost comatose state. Possibly overwhelmed with the sudden flow of magic, knowledge, or both that came to her. She was screaming by the end of the ritual and I, admittedly in a panic, tried to cut her ties off to the connection of the well---

*the writing seems to be shaking more and more as the journal goes on*

She was babbling in Fay for hours nearly four hours, I can barely pick out a few words that I know, "too loud" and "stop the voices" were some of the few I could trasl translate as I got her to some care. Her body is strangely chilly to even myself. Body limp but strangely light as a feather now that I recall. Her body glo was glowing softly, still full of magic I presume. Apologies again for any miss-spelling or illegibility, my hands are still shaking from shock. I will be staying by her side for the remainder of the night to make sure that her condition didn't worsen. 

*the writing is a little more steady, assuming after a pause to calm themselves* 

Luna's condition had improved in the last few hours of the night, maybe due to the peak of the moon finally reaching its end. It is only a hypothesis. Luna is still restless in her sleep though, but the chill has gone away. Thank God. The glowing has also faded somewhat but her hair has clearly changed, adding more blond to her caramel hair. Upon further inspection, the freckles on her body have also burned into her skin, only now do I realize that her markings on her back fit perfectly as the constellations of the night sky. 

This experiment should not be replicated without further research and understanding of Fay magic. And also should not be proceeded without less secretive tactics to any 'subject' performing the ritual. I believe, if I wasn't a coward in that very moment, if Luna knew about her heritage before performing the ritual, the results would have been less catastrophic and dangerous to her livelihood. Hopefully, Luna will wake from her sleep soon, so I can apologize to her properly. For now, I will leave this journal here for a time while I rest and wait for her to awake.

Luna. I am so sorry. 

---

[let-it-raines]

I’ve been in such a Neverland/3a kinda mood with fic reading lately, so I figured I’d send my fave CS fic writer a prompt! Or not really a prompt... I’m giving you free reign of everything, I just want to read something from you set in that time period ❤️

@dorisquinn you flatter me so because I am the worst at writing canon and/or canon divergence, but I figured why not? I 100% went down the road of neverland smut because, well, I’ve never done that before, and I feel like that’s a right of passage here. lol. If you want something different, shoot me a message and I’ll try to figure something else out! 💕 

thanks to @shireness-says for making me sprint so that I actually wrote for once

found on ao3 | here | 

-/-

She’s quiet tonight, but really, he would never expect otherwise, especially after everything that’s managed to transpire today.

Rarely is Emma Swan a woman of many words, but now? Now when they are in the most dreaded place in all of the realms, at least to him, and she is constantly working to try to save her boy? Now she is more silent and pensive than ever, but the fire behind her emerald eyes burns just as brightly as always.

As someone often on the receiving end of her rage, he knows that look and that flame better than most.

He knows that look because he feels it too.

Or, well, he felt it, long ago, and on occasion, sparks flicker back to life, the fire igniting and burning so brightly that he thinks the inferno will begin again with no chance of being extinguished.

Yet, as he sits with his back against a hardened tree and watches Emma ignore her parents fervently talking, he knows that what he feels is not the same.

He knows that he does not have a child, no matter how much he felt like Bae was his, and while his loss stings far more than Killian is willing to admit to himself, it is not the same. It is not Emma missing Henry, constantly worried over his well-being as she keeps their little group from killing each other, and while he is not particularly fond of any of their partners in this adventure, at least he is not counting on a woman he despises and parents who blatantly do not understand him to save the one person in the world who matters most to him.

Oh, and a dastardly pirate who not a soul trusts even though his intentions are good. He swears of it, but it has been a long damn time since someone believed in him like that.

The Charmings do not seem to find him capable of living up to their namesake, but he can’t blame them. His first impression was not one he would call particularly good.

Lies, deceit, violence and the works, but he was in a different mindset then. He didn’t know these people, didn’t have any inkling as to who they were, and he had an end goal in mind that he would have done anything to accomplish.

Still would, most likely, but there’s decidedly something different now. When he wakes up, his first thought is not of vengeance. Those thoughts creep in often, but they are not everything.

He’s been given a reminder that he might be capable of more than the evil he’s been for longer than he’d care to admit.

Killian has done horrible things, has ruined lives, and he won’t pretend he has not. If Snow White can forgive the woman who ruined her life in more ways than one can count despite the Queen showing little remorse, maybe Killian can be worthy of the same kind of forgiveness.

Though, he cares little for the forgiveness of Snow or trying to get on her good side.

But he is here and helping to save Emma’s lad, and he knows this devilish island better than anyone else here.

Well, the Crocodile is wandering around here somewhere and tends to know more than he should, but Killian prefers to think of him as little as possible lest he get caught up thinking of his own vengeance and not the goal here.

Henry.

Bae’s son, which Killian still can’t quite believe.

Emma’s son.

That’s why he’s here. That is all, even if David keeps telling Killian that he is only here to seduce Emma. Killian chuckles to himself. That might be nice, but that is not his goal.

If he is to win her heart, it will not be out of any trickery or misdeeds.

If he is to win her heart, it will not be dishonestly. That hasn’t been important to him in centuries, but there she goes again, reminding him of things he has forgotten.

There’s a rustle of leaves, and Killian stops sketching words into the dirt with his hook and prepares himself for battle with one of the Lost Boys before realizing that it’s simply Emma standing from her spot.

And walking toward him.

Well, maybe he’ll be preparing for a battle of another kind then.

She settles down next to him, the tree’s width large enough for them both to have a place to rest their backs, and he can feel the heat of her skin flicker across his as her hand accidentally brushes against his own. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t explain her presence, and he silently reaches for his flask and hands it over to her. She takes it and then downs a healthy amount of rum. His preferred kind is strong, likes to burn down his throat despite his tolerance, and there’s a part of him that is always impressed by how easily Emma can handle it.

As those words flicker through his mind, he’s immediately brought back to earlier today, to his taunting and teasing. All he wanted to do was get a rise out of her. It’s simply so bloody fun to see her nose scrunch and her eyes roll, and while he’s wanted to kiss Emma for weeks now, to feel how soft her pretty pink lips are, he was not expecting her to take him up on his offer.

Then again, Emma is always surprising him.

The way she grabbed his coat and pulled him to her sent heat to his groin almost immediately, and there was a hunger in her kiss that he felt in his own. It’s been decades since he felt a fire like that deep in his belly, and Killian was reminded of just how much he likes when a woman takes charge of her own desires.

(Another reminder, another reminder, another reminder.)

He simply did not expect for his desires to turn into a want that he’s dared not hope for again.

It was a reminder that he didn’t want, that good things could happen to him, but he knows who he is to this woman and these people. He’s an outsider, and if David’s words earlier weren’t clear enough, he is not welcome amongst them.

And yet, here is this fierce woman who has been like a siren to him, calling him back when he wants to stray, sitting so close to him that her thigh keeps brushing against his own.

The jungle is quiet tonight outside of their camp. He hears no birds or other creatures, only the crackle of the fire and the words being shared between Charming and Snow White. They’ve been huddled close together ever since Snow was informed of her husband’s condition, and while it is obnoxious to have to view, Killian so wishes he’d had time like that with Liam. It’s not a happy future for the two of them, especially having to be separated from their daughter and grandson should they chose to stay here to be together, but it is a future.

There is a possibility of one, and that’s more than most people get.

It’s more than he got.  

The Queen is hidden behind a tree across camp, avoiding everyone, and truly, it should be the other way around. He’s no saint, but that woman ruined this family. He understands that a young Snow shared a secret that had horrible consequences, and while Regina was certainly a victim there, she is not one now. At least when it comes to this family. Her son is in trouble, but no one in this camp is at fault for that.

He needs to get off this damn island. It’s giving him too much time to think about people he should not be giving a second thought to.

“How does this rum never run out?” Emma suddenly asks.

She hands him the flask back, and he takes his own sip. “It’s enchanted.” “How’d you manage that?”

“I’ve gotten around.” Emma snickers, and he arches his brow. “Something funny, Swan?”

“Nope. Nothing at all.”

Killian hums and tucks the flask back into his pocket. “I’m aware of what the phrase ‘getting around’ means, love. I was in your world long enough to pick up on a few things.”

“Of course you would pick up on innuendos.”

He winks, and there’s that eye roll he so fancies. “I do my best to make sure I’m well versed in things that I need to be well versed in. Makes life easier.”

“Innuendos make your life easier?”

“When it comes to beautiful women such as you, aye.”

“Do you always flirt to get what you want?” “Why, darling, are you admitting that I’m flirting with you? Are you going to return my affections?”

She kicks at the dirt and turns away from him.

Push and pull.

Push harder. Pull further away.

That’s Emma.

“No matter,” Killian continues, waving his hand in the air in front of them. “Did you come to sit with me for any particular reason? Perhaps to get away from your parents?”

She groans next to him. “I can’t listen to it anymore. I mean, I can’t imagine how they feel, but I – you know what, never mind.”

“Pan got your tongue?”

His lips curl up at the same time that hers pull down into a frown. She is obviously not amused by him tonight.

“My apologies, milady,” he sighs before standing from his spot. The leaves rustle underneath him, but no one from the other side of the camp notices his movement. They’re all too wrapped up in their own lives.

Emma cranes her neck up to look at him, and he’s never seen someone so swan-like. She lives up to her name, but with Emma, he thinks it must be the other way around.

“Are you going somewhere?”

He tilts his head to the side. “I, too, would like to have some time away from the doting lovers and the moaning queen, so I thought I’d take a walk. I know this area well enough to know that we’re near the beach. Would you like to join me?”

Her eyes narrow and dart over to her parents and then back to him. “Is that safe?”

Killian pats his sword with his hook. “I’ve got weapons, as do you. I think we’ll be fine. C’mon, love. I know you need to have your mind taken off of things. This island will drive you insane if you don’t find something that calms you.”

Emma’s shoulders sag before she stands and steps up to him. “What was that for you?”

He swaggers closer, the magnetic field around her always pulling him those few inches forward, and then dips his head so she has a direct view of his wink. “A man likes to keep his secrets, love, but if you play your cards right, I might let you in on it.”

“Can’t you ever be straightforward about anything?”

“I find that I’m straightforward about many things. You simply never pay attention because it’s not what you want to hear.”

Killian doesn’t bother to wait for her reaction. Instead, he turns on his feels, grabs a lit lantern, and starts heading down the path they made earlier to make his way to the beach. He can hear the ocean waves already. It’s a sound that usually calms him, one that he’s nearly always searching for, but here, the echo is different. It’s loud and brash even when the waves are gentle, and he aches for the sound of the waves in the Enchanted Forest or even those of the ones in Storybrooke.

Anything other than this.

Anything.

Emma’s boots crunch behind him, and he lifts an overgrown branch until she steps underneath it and begins walking at his side. A part of him doubted that she would actually follow, but deep down, he knew the odds were more in his favor than disfavor. She’s silent as they walk, but occasionally her hand will brush against his arm, and he feels the heat of her touch spread over him.

There are no truly nefarious plans in his mind as to what they are to do on the beach once they get there, and he wouldn’t be opposed to simply watching the moonlight glint off the water. However, he knows what he was implying when he suggested them leaving the campsite, and he knows that Emma does, too.

A one-time thing, she’d said. Emma may possess a superpower for telling when others are lying, but she’s not the only one who is good at reading people.

The beach comes into view past a few vines and bushes, and Killian slashes through them with his sword before putting it back in its holster and stepping over the newly slain foliage. Emma steps behind him, following exactly in his footsteps, and then all of the sudden the sound of footsteps stop when they step onto the sand.

That was the one good thing about these beaches. It’s soft sand instead of hard pebbles.

There’s a scratch of nails down his back, a faint feeling through the thick material of his leather, and Killian twists his head to see Emma standing so close that he can see all of the freckles on her face, counting them one by one until he knows them as he knows the constellations in the sky.

He’s rather more interested in them than the constellations here.

“You were saying something about getting my mind off things?”

Killian nods and reaches his hand up to tuck her loose hair behind her ear, and his fingers ghost across her cheek, feeling the soft, velvet skin. He’s seen many a beautiful woman in his few hundred years, but there’s something different about this one that he believes might not be physical after all.

Though, she certainly is beautiful in that way.

“Aye, love, I believe I was.”

And then he dips his head and slants his mouth over hers. The initial shock is much the same as it was earlier today, but this time, it’s his turn to take charge. He gets to thread his hand into her hair first and pull her into him before she can grab onto the lapels of his coat, and he gets to control the pace. It’s fast and heady, her tongue already swiping across his bottom lip, and while he wouldn’t mind slowing it down to savor the feeling of her, that’s not what either of them need.

That’s especially not what Emma needs.

It’s been awhile since he’s done this, his taste for bar wenches fading away a long time ago, but the movements haven’t been lost on him. The push and pull, the teasing and tasting, it’s all second nature, but right now, it feels new.

Everything about this is refreshing, but he has to push those thoughts down. He’s had too many sentimental ones about Emma today, too many realizations and questions since their dalliance, and this isn’t a time to think of him yet again not getting something he craves because he isn’t good enough. This is the time to let his body take over and to forget.

That’s why they came here after all.

Emma’s hands tug on his lapels before moving to the inside of his jacket. She runs them over his chest and over the chains hanging from his neck before they settle on his shoulders. He can feel her nails much more clearly with only the thin layer of his shirt keeping her from his skin, and his eyes shut even more tightly at the feel of it all as his tongue tangles with Emma’s in slide so perfectly in sync that he doesn’t believe it’s real.

This is real, this is real, this is real.

“You tell no one of this,” Emma grunts against his lips as she works to remove his coat from his shoulders.

“Aye, I understand.” His hook tugs against her backside, and he releases his hand from her locks to help her take off his coat. It’s heavier than he would like, but it’s what he’s needed to keep warm in ports and on the deck of the Jolly over the years. Now, it will be a nice barrier between the two of them in the sand. “It will be a private dalliance between us.”

“Do you always have to talk like that?” “Like what?”

“Like you’re from a Jane Austen novel?”

“What’s that?”

That gets a smile from Emma, and maybe he’ll be destined to only make her smile when she’s teasing or feeling superior over him not knowing something about her world. For now, he’ll take it.

“She’s a writer. She writes romance.”

“Oh? You read those? I didn’t take you for the type.”

“Shut up,” she groans, pushing him down until he gets the idea and settles down on the ground. Emma sinks down onto her knees and settles on his hips before she dips her head and rejoins her lips to his. “Just be quiet, okay?”

“As you wish.”

Her mouth stills at the words, the same ones he used earlier, but then she’s continuing the kiss, and Killian can feel her over every inch of her. His skin is prickling and beginning to become sweat-soaked once more, but now that he’s without his coat, he can feel the cool breeze of the ocean wafting up onto his skin. He doesn’t know how long they lay in the sand with their mouths moving together with no destination in mind until he feels Emma’s hands near his trousers. She’s pulling apart the laces, and as her mouth breaks away for her to get more access to it, he takes the opportunity to pull at her blouse with his hook. She gasps at the touch, but she doesn’t push him away. Her skin is sun-kissed and glistening with sweat, and her chest is heaving, heart obviously beating as quickly as his is. He swears that he can feel it, but he knows that’s not true.

She’s glowing underneath the moonlight and the flickering of the lantern, and this may be the first time he’s been truly fond of the moon here in a lifetime.

There he goes thinking those thoughts again, and he swore to himself that he would not do that.

Ever tried, ever failed.

Finally, he gets her blouse down enough that he can see the roundness of her breast, and Killian groans at the sight. He’s spent more nights than he’s willing to admit dreaming about something like this, but the reality is much better.

Bloody hell.

Her hand brushes over him through his leathers, and he hisses. But the pain is good, a pleasant burn, and Killian lifts himself to lick away sweat that is gather on Emma’s collarbone. Her skin is salty on his tongue, and he savors it.

“Why the hell are your pants so frustrating?”

“I believe it takes a more patient hand.”

“I don’t have any time for patience,” she huffs, and he notices that her hands are shaking and that she really is struggling to get his leathers down. Killian takes the opportunity to lift his hips to help her, and she finally gets them tugged down, smiling as his cock juts out.

Well, maybe that’s another way he can get an elusive smile out of her.

“Aha,” she laughs, almost giddily.

“I don’t believe that’s a reaction I’ve ever had before.”

She shrugs and starts working with her own bottoms. She handles them much better than she handled his, the zipper easily tugging down and the material peeled off of her so that he can see the toned legs she possesses, all of her muscles defined.

Beautiful.

His mind simply can’t get past that.

“Yeah, well, I’m always one for new things.”

Emma kicks her trousers off until they’re resting on the sand, and she settles back on top of his hips, her softness brushing over his hardness. She’s more ready than he thought she would be, but he’s certainly not going to complain, not when he so desperately needs to be inside of her. Maybe if he’s allowed to do this again, which he doubts, he’ll be able to take the time he usually would with someone like her.

Someone who is more than a conquest.

Someone who should be treasured.

“Really, now?” he questions. “In that case – ”

She slaps his chest, and he grabs onto her hand, holding it to his chest as he chuckles.

“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”

“Aye, and while I do so love a woman who takes charge, you have to let a man have a little fun.”

Her groan is frustrated as she tilts his head back, making her neck swan-like again, and all he can think is how much he wants to bite the delicate skin. But that thought is quickly dissipated when Emma takes him in hand, stroking him a few times, before guiding him into her.

Bloody fuck.

It’s better than he could ever imagine to feel her warmth stretching around him and to hear the groan straining in the back of her throat. She’s a vision like this, still half-dressed but entirely indecent, and he almost tells her so before her hands clutch at his shoulders and grab onto the chains around his neck. They’re the only cool thing about this moment, the Neverland heat and heat of their activities consuming him, and it’s a nice touch to feel the mementos he’s collected over the years.

He wishes that he had a way to collect this moment.

“Fuck,” she hisses as she begins a gentle rocking, adjusting a testing out this new position they’re now in. “Fuck.”

“At a loss for words there, Swan?” “Don’t be cocky.”

He juts his hips up at her words, and she moans, and digs her nails into his skin so hard he may bleed.

“Apologies, love,” he says, not meaning it.

In fact, he can’t keep the smile off his face. He’s sure she despises it, but Killian doesn’t care to stop himself when he hasn’t felt this good in ages.

But they’re doing this to forget, he reminds himself, not to remember.

They quickly find a rhythm that works for the both of them. Emma takes control, like he knew she would, and continually changes up how deep he enters her over and over again. It’s like she can’t figure out if she wants shallow or deep, fast or slow, and eventually he tires of it and wraps his arms around her to flip them over, careful not to hurt her with his hook. She gasps at the movement and opens her mouth to say something, but then he’s pushing into her as his mouth deliciously slants over hers.

Emma hooks her foot against his backside, pushing him further inside of her, and he can feel his heart between his ears as he finds the pace that he wants. Her nails keep scratching into his back, and Killian groans before trailing his mouth away from Emma’s to find her ear. He begins whispering to her, working around her rule of him not being loud, and when she complains, he tells her that he’s very much being quiet. Besides, he thinks that words he whispers to her keep her from protesting anymore.

He’s getting close, his high nearing the edge, and he props himself up on his left arm so he can reach between them and rub his thumb over where they’re joined. Emma lets out a long moan that he hasn’t heard before, and then he feels her fluttering, feels her falling around him.

Fuck.

The feeling nearly causes him to fall right there, but he has enough mind to pull out and take himself in hand to finish himself off since he doesn’t believe Emma has any of the potions that prevent pregnancy with her.

This was never really in either of their plans.

Going off of plan is quite possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to him on this damned island.

He’s almost there, teetering on the edge with shaky limbs, and as soon as he feels Emma’s soft hands on him, he’s gone.

Afterward, they don’t spend time lingering on the sand. Before they can catch their breaths, Emma is standing and straightening herself up, tugging her clothes down and back on, and he does the same. Though, he’s much slower than her, partially due to his hand but mostly due to the fact that he doesn’t seem to be fighting the internal war Emma is.

He knows that he just slept with a woman he fancies from time to time, while she just slept with a man she most likely still finds despicable despite them getting along rather well lately.

Nothing like a crisis to bond people.

“Thanks for that,” she finally mutters as she twists her locks back to remove them from her face. She’s flushed, the heat still lingering, and he can see the slightest bit of redness on her chest from where his beard rubbed against her. “It was…”

“Bloody satisfying.”

“Yeah,” she huffs, her lips turning up even as she looks away from him. “But also, a one-time thing. I mean that this time. Today has been complicated.”

“Aye, Swan,” Killian sighs, “whatever you say.”

He’ll respect her wishes with no hesitation, but like he thought earlier, Emma isn’t the only one who knows when someone is telling a lie.

[shoichee]

Hortensias

Midorima x Takao

rpg!AU

Word Count: 5271

Synopsis: Takao, a cheeky yet innovative alchemist, accidentally crash lands near Midorima’s target and causes them to flee. Midorima is seething, not just because Takao made him fail a vital commission, but because Takao ruined his perfect streak of quest clears that he maintained for years ever since he joined Akashi’s guild.

Note: I don’t write character x character but since it is for @knbsecretsanta‘s event, and since @iseefairies had listed some ships, I thought to experiment with this and see how this went;; based off of the official art twitter of KNB’s fake RPG here !

@knb-kreations 

Merry Christmas, Aly! I hope the year has been treating you well <3 This is actually my first time writing a KNB ship as I’ve always stuck to KNB x reader! But without further ado, here’s the fic!

»»—————　☼　—————««

Another gentle zephyr slinks through the whimsical city, where dandelions flutter past the sturdy, maintained walls that embrace its citizens in everlasting security, and it is evident that the residents felt safe from the way they carry themselves. Here, everyone chatters away merrily, as mothers gossip with one another at the local produce booths and fathers drink away to oblivion in the local taverns with their friends. Children are let loose, playing a one-sided game of tag with unsuspecting pigeons, grubby hands waiting to pounce on them at the perfect opportunity.

Despite the overwhelming bustling, Takao knows everyone in the city and the city’s topography like the back of his hand. An equally chatty person himself, he can’t help but wedge himself into the huntsmen’s conversation about recent news of game or even lodge himself into the housewives’ whispers with an easygoing joke that instantly gets them giggling. The latter, well, he’s required to know the land of the local area. Otherwise, how could he properly do his job as an alchemist?

Due to his gregarious nature, everyone knows Takao Kazunari, the “friendly alchemist.” Takao, a young man described to be the next “enlightener” of the era. Takao, an alchemist gifted with the convenient ability to “see” the properties and compatibilities of the elements found everywhere; it certainly had played a critical part in shooting him to high prestige among the nation’s scholarship, even if he never took his studies seriously back in the academies. Every new discovery he made, every innovation he accidentally pioneered, were always due to his own whims and morbid curiosities.

What if he took a slime creature’s remains and melted it with an open flame?

What if he extracted oils from petals of specific poisonous plants to turn them nontoxic?

What if he took certain minerals and infused them with randomized doses of ether energy?

After all, he was bound to become utterly bored in the city if he had nothing else to occupy his attention. That was the beauty of being an alchemist. One can always find something new to tinker with out of things that already exist, to push the limits of matter and energy.

Even so, he found the excitement of being an alchemist dwindling with each passing day. Especially ever since his application to one of the most prestigious guilds was immediately rejected despite his rising stardom. At first, he didn’t mind the rejection—sure, it stung and dumped an ice-cold bucket of reality on him, but he figured to shrug it off and finally decided to work hard, hoping for another momentous opportunity to come by. Still, he was a tad bitter about the fact that he was very close to being accepted as an official guildmate had it not been for a “masterful archer” showing up to take the limited spot away. He remembered a pink-haired girl, assumed to be the guild’s recruiter and receptionist, reluctantly telling him that the guild was prioritizing an experienced warrior over a civilian alchemist due to a recent onslaught of hostile monsters roaming outside. Takao eventually came to terms with her explanation, and with that, he kept the thoughts of the guild in the back of his mind while he worked.

That was, until every time he tried to do anything, intervention was required specifically from that guild.

He needed to purchase a specific ingredient that was labeled a controlled substance? He needed special permission from that guild.

He wanted to go outside the city walls to pick a few plants and carcasses for an experiment? He needed to go through extra lengths to submit a request for an escort from that guild.

He wanted to travel beyond the local area to other regions to expand his alchemy repertoire? He needed to be an approved member from that guild.

It was beyond ridiculous—how was it that no other guild besides that guild being granted much authority over the city?

Granted, he could’ve just gone along with the established rules and merrily be on his way, but the thought of potentially meeting the person who took his opportunity away dug up unresolved feelings of bitterness.

I’ll show them… I just need to be so good that they have no choice but to notice me.

Even if he didn’t have the innate miracle of being able to wield ether energy during combat like the recent recruits of that guild, he still was undeniably a prodigy in his own arts; he just sometimes wished he was more of the first than the latter.

———

What are the odds that today was when almost every guild member was not anywhere in the close proximity of the city?

Close to none.

Apparently, local knights were apprehensive in guarding the perimeter without the comforting presence of the powerful guildmates nearby, and it looks like the anxiousness spread to the rest of the cityfolk. The fathers were by their families’ sides and stationed outside their own homes, while mothers wrapped their arms around their children inside in apprehension. Some children picked up on the mood changes, while some were confused or annoyed in why they couldn’t be outside chasing after birds.

For Takao, this was yet again, another momentous opportunity he had been waiting for.

He had his eyes set on the prize: the ether-infused hydrangea flower patches outside the walls near the forest. No one was going to be around to pay much attention to a lone alchemist moving about when they had more dire situations to focus their attention on: the rogue tribes, or hostile beasts, or even the enemy regions adjacent to the land.

His physique was quite deceiving; even if Takao was a mere lean civilian, he was more than capable of scaling up the stone walls and doing simple acrobatics to avoid authority detection, and he easily slipped to the wild with the advantage of the lack of “watch dogs” around.

“Sheesh… finally, no one here to breathe down my neck every second…”

Takao stretches his arms, sore from the physical exertion moments before, and exhales. He scans his surroundings before determining the best route to his destination and promptly jogs. Except that it took him longer than expected to get there considering that he kept getting sidetracked by every object that caught his eye, either packing them into his bag for future experiments or chasing after them in an attempt to view them up close.

Nonetheless, he reached the hydrangea patches by late afternoon, and he eagerly plucked off each flower bud by their different colors, wondering if the pH that causes the color diversity would affect the results of his experimentation.

“It wouldn’t hurt to treat myself with a quick experiment…” he murmurs to himself, looking at the colorful, tall bushels around him in the quiet meadow. “There’s no one here anyways…” His face grows giddy at the thrill of the possibilities for the first time in a while, and he hastily brings out small bottles of liquified ether energy and the melted slime remnants he had from past experiments. He pops open the cork caps and dumps each colored bud into various bottles and seals it back up with the cap, and he gives each glass a firm shake before he sets them all on the ground.

With that, he makes himself comfortable on the soft grass against the tree, taking out a small sketchbook to record his observations.

Three bottles filled with blue hydrangeas stood innocently and perfectly aligned for Takao to observe without any inhibitions. The first bottle had the blue hydrangea soaked in the ether energy, the second bottle had the hydrangea partially enveloped by the melted slime, and the third bottle had the flower mixed with both the ether and slime. Half an hour passed by uneventfully, and Takao slightly scowled.

“Oh, come on,” he grumbles. “Not even a teensy reaction from these?” He huffs and blows the stray bangs out of his eyes before he puts down his sketchbook, and he quickly crawls to lift the first bottle up. “I thought for sure the first bottle would have something happening…”

He gingerly opens the cork to smell the bottle’s contents.

Sweet, yet refreshing and crisp like cold morning air.

It would definitely make a superb fragrance for the perfume shops back home, but it wasn’t what Takao had in mind when he wanted to visit the patches.

Perhaps Takao should’ve actually paid attention to his alchemist studies back during schooling because out of agitation, he may have not noticed, or rather disregarded, the odd feeling that grew in his stomach when he picked up the second bottle. To any other alchemist who learned the basics of experiment procedures, they would’ve been much more meticulous and careful, and many would even notice the strange pressure emanating from the sealed bottle. But to Takao, he’s always believed that philosophy had done more harm than good in alchemy, putting limitations in the efforts of pushing humanity’s potential. But perhaps the stuffy adults at the academies were correct this time.

Because the moment he slowly twisted the cap off, his immediate instinct was to tilt the bottle away from his face within a millisecond, and the bottle’s contents exploded like a rocket right after in a hot goo of blue hues. Any other second later and Takao’s face could’ve been melted off with a blue stain. But unfortunately for his surroundings, the entire nearby flowers and grass patches have been repainted a cerulean blue in uneven distributions of splotches. Even in the aftermath, the bottle in his hands was abnormally warm.

“Well, I don’t think that’s what I meant when I said I wanted a reaction…” he laughs to himself and gets up to examine the results. Wherever the blue touched, it completely liquified and melted it, evident from the way the petals were dripping even despite the bottle’s contents being completely dried. “Now how do I even fit these into my bag without melting a hole through it?...”

It seems that his words completely jinxed his current situation because he felt the blue-stained grass and patches pressuring and heating up again to explode, and while he tried to leap away to put some distance, the colorful explosion was much more violent. All Takao registered was his body blown back like a leaf across the meadow before he landed harshly on the mushy soil, feeling the crunched up flowers underneath. He rapidly blinks away the blue in his vision before he saw a cloaked figure scurrying away from the scene.

“Ah… shit, how am I gonna find my stuff?” Takao grumbles, more worried about his missing possessions than whatever he just witnessed. “It looks like they fell through the bag anyways…”

“You should be more concerned about the consequences you’ll face for letting the perpetrator escape rather than the contents of your mere sachet.”

Takao jolts out of his musings to face a viridescent-haired man, with equally striking eyes. However, the scowl on his face was the most defining feature of his sharp countenance.

“Uh…” Takao averts his eyes before he turns back to stare at his intense glare with a casual shrug. “My bad?”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, look, I had no idea, really,” he protests, holding his hands up in good faith. “I just got blasted over here from some flowers just a bit away, and I’m not here to steal your game—look, see? I don’t have a single weapon on me.”

“The issue,” the man glowers. “—is that you let the man escape. You gave away our location by painting a target on our back by making explosions and permanently marking the fields with a jarring blue—”

“No, they are not permanent colorations,” Takao corrects. “Besides, you could always find him again right? I mean, he hasn’t ran too far off. Maybe instead of talking to me, you could’ve found him by now… why are you looking at me like that?”

“You… can’t be serious,” he deadpans before hardening his expression again. “Do you not understand? The enemy left, like any person with common sense would do. Every second the person is out free, there is higher risk of danger for the city and my recor—wait… you’re not even from the guild.”

“You’re from that guild?!” Shit… Takao was unbelievably screwed. Not only did he not get what he came for, but he lost the majority of his possessions and got caught on the trip by a guild member themselves no less.

The man narrows his eyes. “What’s your excuse of being all the way out here without any guildmate escort?” Takao nervously chuckles to try to dissuade him. “I will not tolerate any shit from your end.”

“Well, you know… afternoon stroll, got lost, got separated from the escort ‘cause of that, and…”

“Oh? If that’s the case,” the man said, softening his face in mild understanding but still visibly peeved. “Might you give a physical description or a name? Such irresponsibility will not be tolerated by Akashi.”

“Well… I didn’t really get a close look at this person per say…” he says. “I guess I was so excited for the potential fruits of my experiment that I—uh, didn’t bother to… look.”

“... Is that so.” The man narrows his eyes at Takao’s hesitance. “Would you like me to escort you back and you can point to me the member you’re most familiar with—wait, where are you going?!”

“It was nice knowing you, but I’m a busy man!” With that, Takao sprints away from him, hoping that he can eventually find the looming city walls as a general pinpoint for the right directions. But before he can dash past eight meters away, his senses tingle to dodge something.

It was the man’s shower of arrows.

“What the hell?! What kind of person would SHOOT at an innocent civili—”

“SILENCE or you shall receive further retribution, for my shooting range knows no bounds.”

“... But you just missed.” At Takao’s words, the man’s aura of hostility spikes drastically and he prepares his bow to shoot another four arrows at the alchemist before Takao has a revelation. “Ah, ha! Aren’t you the famed marksman, Midorima, who has a spotless record of clearing every quest you undertake and never missing your shots…? Or had a perfect reco—HOLY SHIT, can you please stop trying to shoot at me?”

“You have lip for someone who can’t remotely defend himself.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe it’s because you might be the person I have a grudge against if my intuition is correct.” Takao casually shrugs but his own hostile aura slightly catches “Midorima” off guard.

“And I am indeed Midorima Shintaro. What of it?”

“Blegh, gross,” Takao says, completely ignoring Midorima to examine his shot arrows on the ground. “These arrows are beyond functional. How can you even shoot with these, much less even keep them?”

“H-How dare you—!” Midorima grows slightly flustered, surprised that even a normal civilian would comment on his weapon of choice. “These are my lucky arrows, obviously! I have other arrows and bows for other purposes! Don’t get the wrong idea!”

“Did you really have a perfect streak?” Takao inquires, haphazardly holding the arrow by its dull head. “Even a novice archer knows to stay away from this sort of craftsmanship.”

“I’m simply testing the limits of my skills,” Midorima snaps, walking over to Takao to snatch the arrow off his hand while collecting the others. “I do as many things as humanly possible to push the limits, and that is why fate grants me favorable outcomes, regardless of whatever tool I have on hand.”

“You still missed though.”

“You will not speak a word of this.”

“You can’t make me.”

“You will not. Speak. Of. This.”

“You also failed a mission too. Oh, what would the people think of you when I run back to the city to deliver the news?”

“You wouldn’t even have a chance,” Midorima says, grabbing Takao’s arm roughly. “You’ll be sent straight to the interrogation room and get personally questioned by Akashi.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Takao protests. “Easy there pal, easy! Let’s not do something so extreme, okay? Look, here me out, I kind of need to have a good reputation to wait for an opening in the guild rosters again to reapply, and you took my spot the last time.”

“I didn’t take it, fate was more favorable to me than to you and anyone can easily see why.”

“Ugh, whatever! Hear me out, I won’t say a word about your record hiccups and you’ll cover up my trip here! We both get something out of this… deal?”

“You have the audacity to think that I’ll go along with this—?”

“Then you’re okay with me tarnishing your record? I’m quite popular with the townsfolk, if I do say so myself.”

“... Fine.” He releases his arm and shoves him away. “But I will not hesitate to apprehend you if you go beyond the walls again for your frolicking.”

“And I wasn’t frolicking,” Takao scoffs. “I was doing alchemy.”

“There’s no difference.”

“Oh shut up, dullhead,” Takao says, waving him off dismissively and ignoring the way Midorima was ready to strangle him. “Before we go back to the city, I have to go look for my stuff… they’re actually quite dangerous if an unsuspecting person picked it up.”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place, idiot?” Midorima scowls. “Let’s go.”

———

“Are you really an alchemist?” Midorima asks, gauging Takao’s jittery behavior as he scans for his missing belongings. “The way you carry yourself is more akin to a troublemaker quack than a legitimate scholar.”

“If you’re not gonna help me look for my things,” Takao retorts, “then go sit at the tree while you wait for me, Shin-chan.”

“What the hell did you just call me?—”

“Shhh,” Takao whispers, putting an abrupt finger to Midorima’s lips. “I hear sizzling nearby. Do you hear it too?” All Midorima does in response is to send a glare at Takao for invading his personal space but nonetheless gives a reluctant nod in affirmation.

“Alright, I know you think I’m a fraud, but do heed my words when I tell you to stand back,” Takao says, tutting his finger across Midorima’s face. Midorima was this close to delivering a swift knockout and leaving him in the fields. “But if you don’t wanna listen, that’s fine, too. But if something happens, you can go cry to the stars and fate for your misfortunes.” And Midorima only rolls his eyes at his jab but still steps back a few meters.

“... Be swift about it.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Midorima merely observes Takao waving his hand dismissively to shoo him off before he dramatically sneaks to the source of the sound (which prompted another eye roll from Midorima’s end), and he stares at Takao’s surprisingly determined face when he became enraptured during his work.

Takao notes that it was actually the third bottle from his experiment earlier today, and some of the contents have partially spilled from the opened bottle. To try to salvage the rest of the uncontaminated concoction, he pulls out a tiny spoon and tidies up the mess before promptly sealing the glass again. He sighs and stretches out his arms before he notices that despite the spilt concoction on the grass was still sizzling, there wasn’t any further reaction.

“Hey Shin-chan.” Midorima slightly flinches out of his daze at the sudden beckon of his name.

“Are you seriously going to call me that?”

“Bring your arrows here, would ya?”

“And you can kindly fuck off before you can ruin my luck for today by messing with the blessed arrows.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, already,” Takao huffs. “Just give me an ‘unlucky’ arrow then.”

Wordlessly, Midorima tosses over a broken, chipped arrow from his sack, and Takao stares at the “arrow” and then at the green-haired archer incredulously, wordlessly demanding an explanation.

“Broken arrows bring misfortune.”

“Then why on earth did you keep it?”

“So I can bring my enemies unfavorable outcomes.”

“Gee thanks,” Takao sarcastically says, but he turns back to the liquid on the ground and thoroughly coats the arrowhead in the substance. “Step back, kay? I’mma be throwing this.”

“Wait,” Midorima interjects, plucking the arrow off of Takao’s fingers while minding not to touch the coated arrowhead. “Where do you want me to shoot it?”

“There’s no way in hell that arrow can be even drawn on the bow.”

“Watch and learn, amateur.” Midorima scoffs as he draws the bow with ease, even with a questionable arrow. “Like I said, my shooting range knows no bounds.” Takao sighs and silently points to a nearby patch of flowers as the target and watches in extreme doubt, waiting for Midorima to gauge the distance and strength of the winds before he gracefully lets the arrow go… and perfectly hit the mark. On impact, the arrow caused an explosion.

“Wow…” Takao whistles. “I’m actually impressed.”

“What the hell did you do to that arrow?!”

“Just had a hypothesis. Thought the concoction might’ve needed a catalyst to push it to that point. Guess the trip wasn’t a waste after all,” Takao chuckles, satisfaction visible on his face. “Alright, marksman prodigy, looks like you aren’t half-bad after all. I got all my things, and we can go back.”

“You never stay on a single topic, do you, alchemist?”

“Well after we get to the city, you don’t ever have to hang around me anymore,” he laughs, speed walking away and skipping from excitement at the possibilities of his experiment results.

“... So it seems.”

———

The trip back to the city was mostly uneventful, mostly consisting of Takao’s eyes sparkling whenever anything of interest nearby catches his interest and Midorima gruffly scolding him to keep his eyes on the destination instead. Still, despite the many setbacks and detours, they reached home by dusk.

“And you better not say a single word about what happened out there,” Midorima threatens, jabbing a finger at Takao’s chest.

“My word is as solid as your own, archer,” he shrugs in reply, flicking his finger off to evoke a reaction. It worked. Midorima gave his signature scowl and was about to deliver another retort, but he was interrupted by the locals, who happened to be concerned for Takao’s whereabouts the entire day.

“Kazu!”

A few children and tailing mothers run up to the pair. The mothers were ready to apologize for their children’s eagerness, but Takao reassured them that the children were always welcome to chat with him. Midorima raises a brow at the amicable atmosphere he easily exudes.

“Kazu! Where have you been all day?! I wanted to see sparkly flowers! And shiny rocks! And glowy juice!”

“I’m sorry for my child’s lack of manners, but everyone was worried where you disappeared off to… I guess our anxiousness really rubbed off on everyone today…”

“Ah ha… it’s no problem ma’am, really…” Takao laughs. “I was just occupied with alchemist duties today!” Midorima sends a pointed look on cue at his words.

“B-B-But… you’re always so busy with the grown-up stuff lately… and you never have time to show us your collection anymore…”

“Well, how about to make it up…”

Midorima feels extremely out of place, feeling like he’s intruding on a conversation he shouldn’t be a part of. Before he turned to wordlessly leave and let them talk in peace, the children finally noticed the archer and stared unabashedly in wonder.

“Who’s this scary man, Mr. Alchemist?”

“What the—? Who are you calling sca—oof—” When Midorima instinctively tried to shoot back in defense, Takao immediately jabbed him with an elbow to stop any potential harsh comments from slipping.

“He’s actually the archer who helped me with my duties today… right?” Takao sends a “secretive” wink and Midorima only averts his eyes away.

“Ooh! Ooh! He’s the super duper strong archer superhero Dad always tells me about!”

“Y-Yeah…” Midorima coughs into his fist. “I shoot… arrows.” Takao struggles to hold in his laugh at his awkwardness with the children… or his awkwardness in expressing kindness overall.

“Well… it’s getting late kids, we have to go home and prepare supper for everyone.”

“Awww, but can we play with the archer hero tomorrow if we go home now?” The children turned their puppy eyes to Midorima and he immediately took a step back, frantically eyeing Takao to step in and help. Takao gives a playful smirk before he coughs and pretends to be stern.

“You children know better now,” Takao says in a mock-deep voice. “If you listen to your parents, eat healthy, and sleep early, you’ll get to play more with me and one day be a strong warrior too.” The said “strong warrior” turned away to facepalm to refrain from any snide comments slipping.

After the locals slowly dissipate after exchanging pleasantries with the alchemist, Midorima turns to face him.

“... You weren’t joking when you said you knew everyone here, huh.”

“Yep,” he says, popping the “p” at the end. “It makes daily life less mundane for a civilian like me. Not like someone like you can understand.”

“Conversations like these are meddlesome and quite unnecessary. That being said, I bid you a decent night.”

“You can just say ‘good night’ like a regular person,” Takao scoffs.

Midorima only scoffs back and makes haste for the guild hall.

———

Maybe it’s because Midorima is finally paying attention to the city life rather than keeping his head in his own world, or maybe it’s because he personally was recently acquainted with Takao, but from that point on, all he hears throughout the chattering and gossips were talks of “Takao Kazunari, the enlightener.” It somewhat agitates him that that’s all he’s been hearing for the past several days… nonstop. It doesn’t really help when some of the city children are actually actively hunting down the said archer everyday to make him “play with them,” like Takao promised to them that night.

He’s going to punch him if he ever sees that airhead again.

Still, it was a coincidence (or not) that Midorima found Takao’s craft table in a desolate corner of the city under a modest porch for someone who was the esteemed individual. Here was Takao, carefully eyeballing the measurements with his tongue sticking out in complete concentration. Quite typical of him.

“There are measuring tools for a reason, dumbass.” Takao dumbly blinks before he registers that Midorima was right in front of the table before he frowns.

“Ugh, go away,” he says half-heartedly. “I’m busy.”

“From the way everyone talks about you, I still can’t believe that their image of you is completely different than what I’m witnessing right now.”

“So you heard, huh?” he mumbles, obviously not paying attention to Midorima as he continues to eye the beaker up close. “People can say whatever they want… I’m just doing what must be done within my abilities. Tools are kind of stupid anyways. How can you discover new things when you use such orthodox methods? Besides, you can’t talk considering that you use fucking broken arrows and shoddy sticks for your archery.”

Midorima crosses his arms and frowns. “That’s different. It was just specific days that have been granted luck by the stars.”

“Say whatever you want, but we both do our things our own ways to push the limits of what humans thought were previously impossible.”

“I suppose you’re correct… for once.” Midorima stares at his handiwork, trying to comprehend the process of the art of alchemy. “So… what are you trying to do?”

“Dunno… the results were kind of surprising but I think if I can just change a certain property of this element… it can end up being groundbreaking…” Midorima widens his eyes in genuine curiosity and then narrows his eyes in deep thought to try to think of what “property” Takao was speaking of.

“And what’s this ‘groundbreaking’ result you have in mind?” Takao looks up from his table in mild surprise.

“You’re actually… interested in this?” Midorima simply turns his face away but says nothing, and Takao chuckles. “Well, if you’re that curious, I’m hoping that this can lead to a method in harnessing the power of the elements in crafted tools and weapons and push human civilization to be more adaptive to our environment than just… being walled up here all day.”

Midorima turns to face Takao in unabashed amazement, staring at his intense gaze that was unlike what he previously knew of him. He turns away after a few seconds when he feels his ears slightly burn, unable to handle the intensity of the moment. So this was the true alchemist side of Takao Kazunari that everyone praised.

“And, well,” Takao laughs, already returning back to his happy-go-lucky character. “There’s no way that I’ll be accepted to the guild if I reapply and don’t show them anything new. Plus, I’m not gonna lose to the likes of you.”

At his challenge, Midorima tuts in irritation and hits the top of his head with his fist, which was exactly the main objective that prompted him to look for Takao in the first place.

“What the fuck is your proble—”

“I’ll be taking my leave now,” Midorima says stiffly, swiftly turning away to walk back where he came from and leaving Takao to stare at the retreating figure in mild annoyance.

“Still…” Takao grumbles. “Why did this guy stop by my workspace anyways? It’s not easy to find this spot in the back of the city, either… Surely, he must have more important things to attend to… like that perpetrator-at-large…”

Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Takao likes to think that Midorima stopped by to learn more about his craft that he dedicated his whole life to. That same wishful thinking also paints an unfamiliar red hue across his face.

———

“Momoi-san.”

“Oh? Mido-kun!” A pink-haired woman whirls around to face the abnormally tall archer. “It’s quite rare to see you here!”

“Ahem…” He coughs into his fist. “When are guild applications opening up again?”

“That’s a good question actually…” she hums. “Akashi is kind of fickle and has been in a more volatile mood since he’s still tracking down the leader of that rebel group from yesterday, but I predict that they’ll open again quite soon, considering that the waves of enemies haven’t subsided at all… Why do you ask?”

“I’d like to put in word for a potential recruit.”

“Uhhh… are you even the same Mido-kun I know? You should know that if you recommend someone in and they get recruited, you take full responsibility for them and—”

“And form an official team with them while showing them the policies, proper conduct and customs, and other adventurer essentials. Who do you think you take me for?”

“Right… may I ask who’s this person you’re planning to recommend?”

“I’m sure you’re aware of the city’s biggest alchemist.”

“Takao Kazunari? W-Well, yes, but… I’m sure you’re aware that you were picked over him in the last recruitment session,” Momoi says, slightly cringing at the memory of Takao’s crushed expression when he found out that he was rejected.

“This time, he has something to offer to the guild that no one else can,” Midorima says. “Something that not even Akashi can afford to overlook.”

“B-But!” Momoi protests. “Wouldn’t him being paired with you be a very bad idea? I mean, I’m not sure if teamwork is even possible considering what happened.”

“On the contrary,” Midorima replies, a small smile playing on his lips. “Fate tells me that we would make a very efficient duo.”