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joannasteez · 3 years

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Hey lovely! Could I request a little something for Jax? It could be a headcanon or imagine, it’s up to you. But could it be about the reader is Angel and Ez’s little sister, and she’s in love with Jax?

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 {𝐇.𝐂}

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Jax Teller x Reyes!Reader

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: The emotional direction wasn’t specified so I kind of just went with what came to me, by the way, This is my very first request!!, so hope whoever sent it in enjoys ❤️

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Angst. Fluff. I also suck at simplifying things so this is another long head canon, apologies if that sort of thing bothers you all lol.

Credits to the gif maker @tragertrap

Taglist: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @elektriknachosss @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @superhoeva @witching-hour @noz4a2 @nutterbu @withmyteeth

If you’d like to be tagged for Mayans MC fics ONLY let me know!!

☠︎

It amazed Felipe at times, scared him even, at how similar you looked to your mother Marisol. The spitting image of her; a younger, but slightly taller, reincarnation. But you were your fathers child through and through. The toothless yet warm endearing smile, the sharp intuitiveness, placid nature, and just through the black center of your eyes, enough experience to cover a few lifetimes. It’s what the Reyes men feared the most, that uncanny familial trait that forces you to bury such soul crushing pain, to turn cold to things that warrant warmth. Your father has it, your brothers as well, Ezekiel more than Angel, and so do you.

You had it now, that calm, collected demeanor, as the guys brought in a bleeding Jax Teller through the entry doors of the lodge. He was barely conscious, eyes dim, limbs heavy, and blood staining all along his color drained skin and the aged leather of his kutte. If you were anyone else you’d be alarmed, startled by the amount of blood and frantic men, but you were you, having seen too many things that resembled such a scene to let even a shudder pass through you.

“Get the kit, we need you to sew him up but he’s lost a lot of blood.”, Bishop says briskly, filled with worry, and your feet move faster than your mind can comprehend, snatching the kit laying near by and pacing to the bedroom where they have Jax. His head elevated by pillows, Both Ezekiel and Angel hot on your tail waiting for you to give them directions.

There’s a poorly wrapped cloth that lays against the wound, and just as you peel it back you pressurize the wound with a gauze. “I need gloves”, you say.

Angel’s a bit taken back, the President of the Sons original charter is on the precipice of death and you’re talking about gloves. “We don’t have time for that”.

“Just get the fucking gloves Angel”, you clip. Tone harsher than it’s meant to be, but he takes no offense and moves quick for the gloves before coming back.

You’re cleaning Jax’s skin once there on, wiping away all the blood that pours from him. A needle in your hand, eyes steady. “This is gonna hurt”.

Jax is sweating, teeth clenched at the piercing sting of the needle. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

Did he really just ask you that? “I guess we’ll just have to find out”, you deadpan.

“Y/N”, Ezekiel warns.

The situation isn’t funny, a man’s life is on the line but still, you want to laugh at the audacity. “What?! He’s got a bullet in his abdomen and he’s worried about if I know what I’m doing”.

There’s silence now, a heaviness that settles to suffocate the whole lodge it seems. A dread of existential proportions that looms like a phantom in the waning rusted gold of the setting sun. The stillness is calming as you work, slipping the fine needle through his paling skin with a frightening ease that forces a worried look to Ezekiel’s face, Angel’s as well. Mayhem has consumed them all, men who laugh in the face of death everyday are doubling over, overwrought with fear, and here you are, unaware of the dark silhouette that threatens to form over Jax’s body, inching over the walls, creeping slowly as they tease whispers of death through the wispy blow of the wind.

Your brothers leave after while, called out by Bishop and Chibs who are talking over possible scenarios for revenge.

“Can you stay after this......... please?” It’s barely a whisper, and it’s drawled, but you hear the need in his voice.

It compels you to say “Okay”.

When you’re finished you wipe at Jax’s skin again, fingers trembling just the slightest as your mind catches up with your body, or is it the other way around? You’re not sure, but the two have surely had a crashing reunion and now you’re exhausted at such a fast build and fall of adrenaline. You’re thinking now, at the side of the bed, of deeply buried memories because the blood reminds you, it always does. All you see is Marisol, and your vision is blurred, eyes glistening with warm tears that comfort your skin, thumb shaking as you push the wetness away. She’s so lovely in your mind, a bright silhouette framing her and she’s so beautiful, so light and gentle. The aura of her, just from a thought, it makes her presence palpable again, till you remember she isn’t really there. Because it’s just a memory. A timeless mirage of sorts that ungrounds you from reality.

You breath, looking to the clock to find that it’s been three hours already. Three hours of you looking through your memories for your mother, Marisol. It’s purposeful, must be, why the need to think of her is so strong in this moment of all moments.

It’s infuriating, that you weren’t there, you couldn’t save her, but you were here now and you saved Jax. That counts for something right? It had to.

He’s awake again, and you’re not sure how but he is. Must be the force of his will that has his eyes opening, fighting against a sleep that feels too much like forever. “You alright?”

His eyes are a near lifeless blue but still they’ve got shine to them. “I should be asking you that, you’re the one that got shot”.

“Why the tears darlin’ ?”

You’re not up for a personal deep dive, never have been really. “Don’t know what you’re talking about”.

He smiled, noticing your reserved demeanor. “They we’re probably tears for me, I saw how worried you were earlier”, he jokes sarcastically.

You roll your eyes. “Why’d you want me to stay?”

“Didn’t want to die alone, if I did”.

You shake your head, fully convinced of otherwise. “You weren’t gonna die”.

He gives a weak smile. “I know that now since we’re talking, unless this is a dream, or some purgatory shit then I’m screwed”.

You chuckle at his dazed rambling and it makes his weak smile a little stronger as it spreads. Amusement looks good on you. Pretty. “There it is”, he says. Talking about your little smile.

There’s a stretch of silence, and it’s contemplative for Jax. Flashes of the incident from moments prior running through his mind. He’d just met Galindo for the first time, shook his hand, exchanging pleasantries. They’d talked business and at the end all parties seemed happy with the results, but it made him wary. How well everything was going, something somewhere was bound to go wrong, and yeah maybe he was a bit too pessimistic in the moment but it proved him right. The Sons and The Mayans were riding back to the lodge when the Lobos attacked and he can’t remember much after that, just feeling more than alive and then a little ways from death. His father calling him and then his mother, and he almost answered. He’s glad he didn’t.

“I’m sure you know as much as I do, you see a lot of shit when you live this life. Seen more guys than I can count take a bullet, and more times than none I’ve been the one to give it to them”. He’s quiet, contemplative. On the rise of something that resembles an epiphany. “After a while they just become faceless y’know, nameless, just kill #52 on someone’s list. That’s what it felt like, I was about to be on somebody’s fucking list and that shit is scary”. He turns to you then. “And then the next thing I know I’m in here, with your pretty ass standing over me saving my life. I thought I was in heaven”.

You roll your eyes, it’s delirium from the blood loss, making him say things he doesn’t mean. “Even with a bullet wound, flattery gets you no where Teller”.

“Tell me what does”.

———————————————————

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 & 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑

He’s warm under your skin, heartbeat a sweet song that pulses a quiet steady rhythm into your ears. It’s a comforting thing, soothing and mellow like the fiery cool blend of a setting summer sun.

You feel his hand, cool rings caressing the nape of your neck. “You awake baby?”

You move against him, to let him know that you are and a hand pulls gentle at your chin. “Let me see you darlin’ ”

Your body pulls up atop of his, bare chest moving along his and toward him so that you’re face to face, legs tangled together. His hands reach to caress your face, touch a gentle flame that burns to light your skin. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in the morning for weeks, the club stealing him away every moment it could, screwing around with the days you’d set aside to see each other. He grins, loving the dim set of your sleepy eyes. “Hi”.

“Hi”, you say. Tone rasped, sleepy.

There’s a glimmer in his stare, a dazzling sparkle that lives just over the grayish blue of his irises. You don’t identify it, what the warm glint means, for fear of being wrong, but somewhere inside, you know it’s love. It looks to pure to be anything else. He’s grinning again, all nostalgic like. “I was thinking just now, about that day when you patched me up. Best day of my life”.

You scoff. “You almost died”.

“But I got to meet you”.

You’re shaking your head at how lovey dovey he’s being. “Always with the flattery”.

“I’m serious, I fuckin’ love you. More than I ever thought I could”. He rolls you both over easy, his lean build on top surrounding you, fingers still caressing idly against your face and yours drawing along his tattooed back. He kisses you, patient and deep, as if to savor this moment. Staining his memory with the soft pliant flesh of your lips, the airy moan that resonates from your chest, and the lulling skim your nails give the gold of his hair. Forget the Irish and their guns, the Cartel and their H and everything that isn’t this. If he could, he’d stay with you here. Just like this. Forever.

He’s at your neck now, teasing you with tongue wet kisses and stingless nips, but something comes to mind. A wary thought that’s bugged you for a while. “When are we gonna tell my father about us. I want you to meet him”.

He looks to you, confused. “You don’t wanna tell your brothers first?”

“Ezekiel already knows. Found out the first time we met back up to see each other”. You’d thought you’d been sneaky enough that night, leaving after everyone fell asleep, but Ezekiel was always a couple steps ahead it seemed, following you out of Santo Padre a few hours to a bar where you’d met up with Jax. The conversation with him was easier than you expected, but still he was wary, and how couldn’t he be. You were his baby sister. He’d worry till his last breath. “... and I told Angel a couple of weeks ago. Couldn’t really get out of explaining how I had your rings laying around”. You couldn’t remember much of what that admission to him entailed, besides the look of disbelief he had, and then the screaming, and then eventually the forced calm of his expression when he realized that there was nothing he could do about it. It was still unbelievable to him, you weren’t that little girl anymore, no matter how much he wanted you to be.

You were grown, beyond capable of making your own decisions. But boy did it scare you having to tell Felipe.

“Whenever you want to tell him I’m ready”.

His sureness makes you smile, wide and bright, laying a kiss to his rosy lips. “I love you too Jackson”.

#mayans mc #ez reyes #angel reyes #jax teller x reader #soa #jax teller #long headcanon #joannasteez #reyes!reader #jax teller x reyes!reader

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august-anon · 4 years

Text

Tickletober Day 15 - Stuck [LATE]

It's been so long since I tried writing for these guys, I was close to their age last time I tried lol. Hopefully I did alright!

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Ship(s): gen or romantic Ladybug and Chat Noir, up to you

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Adiren/Chat Noir, Ler!Marinette/Ladybug

Word Count: 988 words

Summary: Thanks to a little yo-yo malfunction, Ladybug finds out something very interesting about her partner.

[ao3 link]

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

Any other day, Marinette would’ve dismissed playing such silly games during patrol. Sure, the occasional race would come up at least once every few patrols, but they were superheroes. They had a responsibility to Paris, and they needed to be taken seriously to complete it. She didn’t want to even consider what would happen if Alya ever got pictures of them playing for the Ladyblog…

But school had been so stressful, lately. She’d missed so many classes and notes thanks to all the akuma attacks that her grades had started dropping. She was having to stay up extra late and put her designing on the backburner just to get enough time to study for their upcoming exams. Alya, Adrien, and Nino were helping her as much as they could, but there was only so much they could do for her.

So sue her if she took the little free time she had to call a last-minute patrol, solely in hopes that Chat Noir would try to start one of his silly games and actually give her a way to unwind.

And she was right. The sun had just set on Paris, making them much more difficult to see, giving them even more cover for their game. Ladybug chased Chat Noir over the rooftops of Paris, not even certain what her goal was anymore. She thought it had started as a game of tag, but now her only goal was to catch Chat Noir, no holds barred.

Which was why, when they reached a particularly flat roof, Ladybug went so far as to toss her yo-yo at him, grinning as it tangled around him and stopped him in his tracks. The grin escalated into laughter as he made an indignant squawk and toppled over, the yo-yo slipping from her grasp as she giggled.

“Are you alright?” Ladybug asked, approaching Chat Noir, who was currently looking more like a worm than a cat thanks to all his squirming.

“You cheated!” Chat Noir said, though his words lacked any heat and Ladybug could hear the barely-concealed laughter in his voice.

“I don’t remember us establishing any rules, kitty.”

Chat Noir rolled his eyes, though he was still grinning. “Yeah, yeah. Now help me out of here. I may be cathletic, but even I can’t break my way out of your yo-yo.”

“Keep it up with those puns and I might just leave you here,” Ladybug grumbled, though she kneeled down to start picking at the knotted string nonetheless.

“I know you secretly love them, Bugaboo.”

“In your dreams, Chat.”

Ladybug kept picking at the string, trying to find a loose portion to help tug it away. Had she not dropped her yo-yo, it would’ve been much easier, but it had only tangled the string further when the yo-yo slipped from her grasp. She drew her hands away as if burned when Chat Noir flinched and gasped.

“Are you hurt?!” She asked. “Did the miraculous ladybugs not work? Where did you get hit?”

Chat Noir chuckled a little nervously. “No, no, not hurt, don’t worry, M’lady. I’m just, ah, feline a bit sensitive.”

“Sensitive--?”

Chat groaned. “I’m ticklish, okay?”

Ladybug couldn’t help but giggle a little bit. “You’re ticklish? The big, bad superhero Chat Noir is ticklish?”

Chat thunked his head back onto the roof with another groan.

“Well, this ticklish kitty better hold still while I untangle him, otherwise he’s just going to get himself more stuck.”

“At least try not to tickle too much?” Chat asked, already sounding defeated.

Ladybug snorted as she went back to picking at the strings. “Come on, it’s not that bad. Everyone’s ticklish at least somewhere.”

A sly grin spread across Chat’s face. “Even you, M’lady?”

Ladybug quickly realized her mistake and cleared her throat, hoping her blush hadn’t spread far enough to be seen under the edges of her mask. To distract him, she quickly poked her finger into his side a few times, sending Chat Noir into a fit of giggles.

“Bug! Wait, no!”

Ladybug laughed. “Wow, you’re really ticklish. Better hope an akuma never finds out your little weakness.”

Ladybug gave up all pretenses of pretending to work on the knots and simply dug her fingers into Chat’s ribs, laughing again as he shrieked. If he was this ticklish through a leather suit, Marinette couldn’t imagine how ticklish he must’ve been without the thick protection.

“Maybe if I tickle you enough, it’ll loosen up the yo-yo and you can break free! What do you think?”

“No!” Chat wheezed.

“Now I finally know what they mean by tickled pink.”

Ladybug giggled under her breath and had mercy, pulling her hands away and going back to actually trying to untangle him. By the end of it, Marinette’s fingers were sore and there had been quite a few truly accidental tickles that had sent Chat into giggle fit after giggle fit, but Chat Noir was finally freed and the yo-yo was all wrapped up again.

“Thanks, Ladybug,” Chat said, and Ladybug couldn’t help but think that there was some sort of deeper meaning to it. “I should get back home, but I’ll see you later.”

Ladybug smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. “See you around Chat.”

Ladybug watched him go for a few blocks before turning tail and swinging home herself. She detransformed as she dropped through her trapdoor and onto her bed, letting out a sigh. Stubbornly ignoring the pointed look Tikki gave her, Marinette climbed down and threw herself into her desk chair, staring down at the textbook she’d left open before she’d all but leapt out of her room.

Surprisingly, looking down at the book didn’t bring the same amount of tension to Marinette’s shoulders as it had only a few hours before. She smiled as she jotted down notes, feeling a lot more prepared to take on exam week. Maybe a silly break was all she really needed, after all.

#tickle fic #tickletober2020 #My writing #miraculous ladybug tickling #lee!adrien #ler!marinette #ticklish!adrien #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng

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mysticaltigersorceress · 4 years

Text

Two! (dumbasses) for the Price of One!

Hello friends! I did an exchange with @issatheartist, and this is what has come of it! I really enjoyed writing about Mirahaki and the Heart Pirates and hope y'all enjoy it too! So with out further ado, meet Issa’s oc, Haki-chan :D

_________________ Length: 1.5k Summary: Mirahaki and Ikkaku are shopping; Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo stop by, and Ikkaku and Shachi are ready to tear their hair out at their two friends pointless pining. Warnings: None ao3: here lol

A small bell rang overhead as Shachi entered the clothing shop, Penguin and Bepo trailing close behind. He had seen Ikkaku drag Mirahaki inside earlier, raving about something she’d seen in the window. However, neither of their two crew mates could be seen from a quick glance around, so the pirates pressed onward into the store, vaguely browsing as they went to keep the sharp-eyed shop-keep from (immediately) throwing them out.

“Ikkaku! Mirahaki! You two in here still?” Shachi yelled, earning a glare from the shop-keep. It wasn't like they had a sign saying you can’t be loud inside.

“Over here!” A familiar voice called and he spotted Ikkaku at the back of the shop. She waved a yellow jacket at them as they joined her. “Look what I found! Do you like it?” She held it up to herself so they could picture how it would look on her.

“Naw, it’s too bright.” Bepo deadpanned. Penguin snorted as Ikkaku gave Bepo the evil eye.

“Says the one wearing bright orange.” She scoffed, eying the Mink’s boiler suit.

Bepo’s head cocked slightly to the side in a way that was far too cute for such a deadly pirate. “What’s wrong with orange?”

Ikkaku sighed and shook her head. “Nothing, nothing at all.” Bepo missed the hint of sarcasm in her statement and poked through the rack behind her, quietly wondering aloud if they had anything in his size.

“Hey, where’s Haki-chan, I thought she was with you?” Penguin asked, but it was fairly obvious their friend wasn’t in sight.

“Ah, she’s in the dressing room.” Ikkaku gestured to the closed door behind her.

Bepo turned and held up a white, child-sized t-shirt with a frog on it. “Think this will fit me?”

“OF COURSE IT WON’T!” Ikkaku and Shachi blurted out, and Bepo’s head drooped forward glumly.

Penguin shook his head. “Well, once you two are finished, we need you back... back at… tang at the–” Penguin's eyes widened and his jaw slightly dropped, the smallest sound like he was choking as he tried to remember what he was saying.

Mirahaki twirled a little as she emerged from the dressing room, apparently not noticing how Penguin was tripping over his own tongue at her appearance. The wide neckline of the fitted blouse showed off her compass rose tattoo just beneath her right clavicle nicely, and a simple pair of fitted shorts with stockings and her iconic boots completed the simple yet striking look.

“Well, what do you think?” Mirahaki asked through the mirror, frowning and adjusting the outfit as she decided how she felt about the clothes.

Shachi rolled his eyes and elbowed Penguin in the ribs hard enough that he started coughing. Peng was surprisingly similar to the Polar Tang; if it stopped working, just give it a well placed smack, see if that fixes the problem. The elbowing seemed to do the trick.

“You look great, Haki-chan,” Penguin said.

“Thanks!” Mirahaki smiled at Penguin through the mirror. “I really like how this top fits me. Also, nice pick on the shorts Ikkaku-chan!” The curly brunette nodded smugly and gave her a thumbs up.

“The stockings are also a nice touch,” Shachi added, elbowing Penguin again, this time much more subtly and wiggled his eyebrows at his friend. Penguin’s cheeks grew red and he dragged Shachi away quickly, mumbling some excuse about looking for a scarf.

Ikkaku smirked at Penguins reaction, and tugged Mirahaki to the rack.

“So, I think Penguin likes your outfit.”

Mirahaki snorted. “If he said he didn’t like it I’d punch him. Besides, he ran a way pretty fast.”

Ikkaku tsked and shook her head. “On the contrary, I don’t think he could keep his eyes off of you.” She tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow, smiling mischievously and hoping Mirahaki would get what she was hinting at.

Mirahaki simply rolled her eyes and softly shook her head, frowning. “All the guys are like that. Penguin-kun doesn’t see me like that.”

“He totally does! You think he gets tongue tangled like that for just anyone?”

“He couldn’t say the word water yesterday.”

Ikkaku huffed. “And yet, here he is, blushing like an idiot, trying to hide in the scarves.”

Mirahaki sighed. Ikkaku had been trying for quite some time now to get her to pursue something with Penguin, but what good was it? They’d known each other for a long time. She might’ve only started liking him in the last year or so, and she might not have been super obvious about it, but if he were interested, he would’ve done something by now, right?

“Whatever,” She ended up sighing. “I’m not getting my hopes up. It’s fine! I’ll just keep admiring from a distance.”

“But, imagine if you were admiring from up close.” Ikkaku grinned wickedly up at her, and laughed when her cheeks got a dusting of blush on them.

“Shut up!” She muttered, averting her eyes. Mirahaki couldn’t help her eyes from wandering over to the red pom-pom that rested atop Penguins hat. He and Shachi were whispering furiously at each other, and she wondered what they were talking about.

As she stared, she missed Ikkaku clenching her fist and taking a deep breath. Sometimes, she wondered if it’d be worth helping get these two idiots together.

“Come on, man! Just go ask Mirahaki on a date! Easy peasy!”

“Not easy peasy!” Penguin hissed, “If I ask her out and she doesn’t want to be asked out, there’s a ninety percent chance she’ll skin me alive!”

“Nah, she’d probably just… well…” Shachi frowned. “NO! No one is getting skinned! She’s probably just waiting for you to ask her! Or, drop a hint! Something! ANYTHING!” Shachi was practically begging Penguin at this point. It was bad enough that Penguin had been quietly crushing on her for like, two years now. But now that he and Ikkaku had confirmed that now Mirahaki was interested in Penguin, the mutual, dumbass pining from both sides was going to be the death of them!

Penguin tugged on the brim of his hat to hide his eyes. “If she was really interested, she probably would ask me out herself. But last I checked, she was more interested in the Cap.”

“Or maybe someone is being such an idiot about it they aren’t even noticing that they are clearly being pined over.” Shachi looked pointedly at him, only to get smacked in the chest.

“Don’t call Haki-chan an idiot! I’m the one pining like a lovesick idiot!”

It took everything in Shachi not to face palm at his friend's idiotic misinterpretation.

“It’s fine, Shach. We’re crew mates. It’s probably for the best we don’t date. There’ll be no- well, less drama that way.” Penguin sighed and glumly poked through the clothing rack. After a beat, he pulled a strapless, feathered dress from the clothing rack. “If only.”

“If only what?” Penguin nearly jumped at Mirahaki’s voice behind him. He whipped around, she was poking at a display full of sunglasses behind him. He looked at the dress in his hands and back at her.

“I know dresses aren’t your thing, hard to fight in and all, but maybe you could just try this on? I… think you’d look super cute in it.” Penguin tried for a weak smile.

Mirahaki eyed the dress and frowned. “I don’t think it’s my size, Penguin-kun. I wouldn’t want to break it.” He couldn’t really argue with that logic. She was over two meters tall, and it’d suck to pay for something you couldn’t wear. Not that they necessarily had to pay for it, being pirates and all.

“That looks like it’s Captain’s size.” Bepo reappeared.

“WHY WOULD CAPTAIN WEAR SOMETHING LIKE THIS?” Penguin and Shachi yelled at Bepo, who dropped his head dejectedly and apologized.

Mirahaki stopped looking through the sunglasses and smile slowly took over her face. She took the dress from Penguin and looked it over.

“How much do you wanna bet I can get Law to wear this?”

“Laundry duty.”

“500 beri.”

“Bathroom duty.”

“A jar of fish.”

“Extended for every hour I get him to wear it?” She grinned devilishly at her friends.

“Up to four hours!” Ikkaku consented.

Mirahaki ran out with the dress in hand, the shopkeeper's shrieking about payment falling on deaf ears. Ikkaku tossed some money for the clothes on the counter and ran after Mirahaki, Bepo close on their tail.

“Come on, Peng!” Shachi walked after them, not checking to see if his friend was following.

Penguin started to follow, but stopped and turned back to the sunglasses display. Mirahaki had been poking at a certain pair; circular, with dark, reflective lenses. Did she like them? They seemed to be her style. On impulse, he pocketed them when the shop-keep wasn’t looking and walked after his crew mates. Perhaps he’d give them to her later; hopefully, she’d like them.

#mvwriting #my writing #not my oc #friend oc #mirahaki #issatheartist #one piece oc #penguin #shachi #bepo #ikkaku #heart pirates #one piece #one piece fanfic #law #oml im sorry i work slow #but i did have so much fun writing this #and i'd love to write more for her in the future *pokes fingers together*#exchanges

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years

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Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.61

Coming back to VOLTRON was a little disappointing after the night before. Lance felt like he was walking on air right up to being greeted by Coran and Allura. Allura with a waiting blood bag, Coran with a knowing smile. Lance had had Keith drop him off, they’d showered the night before, and again in the morning before they left, but Lance figured Keith could use some time to check on Kosmo and get changed

“Well, come on my boy, you must tell us everything”

And that was that. Heading to Coran’s office, Lance let Allura have the chair as he sat on the edge of the examination bed, before twisting the top off the bag of blood

“So? Did you two have fun? What did you do?”

Coran nodded at Allura’s questioning. Both of them too obsessed with his love life

“He took me on a ride on his bike and went to the hotel. We kind of talked about things and stuff”

Allura groaned

“But did you enjoy the date?”

“Yeah. Talking was nice”

Lance wasn’t about to say that after dinner had been had and digested they’d had sex again, the laid tangled up in each other as Keith explained more about the murders and Lotor. Lance was shocked to hear Lotor’s name again. It must have been a good 2 decades since Allura mentioned him.

Burying her face in her hands, Coran wrapped his arm around Allura

“My boy. You must understand, we wanted this night to go well for you both”

“It did. I mean... the room was amazing. The food was good. The company was good, but I want to keep somethings to myself”

Sucking deeply on the blood pack, Lance didn’t want to talk about being intimate with Keith. That was something special and between them

“You two were intimate?”

Lance blushed at Coran asking. Did Keith sucking his dick count? Because fooling around was one thing. Sex was something else, especially with Keith

“Is that important?”

“Only in the terms of data. Did you experience any heat like symptoms?”

“The usual scent and stuff happened”

“And you remained clear minded?”

“In the way you’re asking... is it bad?”

“No, my boy! This is excellent. Now, Allura and I have had a little chat. We know you living with us is sadly temporary and currently unavoidable. With your permission, we would like you to help us”

Lance felt a little betrayed

“You set us up on a date so you’d make me feel obligated to say yes”

“Not at all, my boy. Both Allura and I are firm supporters of you and Keith. As the kids these days say “we ship it”. No. We were thinking it was quite unfair the time apart you spend due to your schedules. Our current investigation is failing to divulge leads as fast as fast as we would like and were wondering you’d possibly help us. This means being in contact with other vampires. We wish to perform a couple of tests on scents to ensure you won’t go into heat”

Lance crossed his arms. He wouldn’t be against it, but didn’t they have Lotor now?

“What can I do, that Lotor can’t?”

Allura finally raised her head

“Both Shiro and Keith have taken issues with Lotor. Lotor’s status ensures that he is noticed wherever he goes. We have tried to talk to him about it, but I’m afraid his ego is only fed by being half fae. I feel that we may have more chance is we run two operations, Shiro, Keith and Lotor in one location, the two of us in another”

Oh. So they needed a plain and boring vampire. Way to make a man feel special...

“What about my scent?”

“If we can capture a sample of your scent, we can analyse it and figure out a means to temporarily deaden or shift it. Keith and Shiro will both be sitting this one out with the pair of you, due to Keith’s natural scent. It’ll be you and Allura, for one night. The fact that the murder pattern is changing means something has changed with our killer. None of what I’ve told you obligates you to help”

No, but loved Coran. He’d repay the man for the warming family feeling he’d gifted upon him so easily. Waving his free hand, replied

“It’s fine. I’ll do it. But Keith won’t be happy”

“Ah yes... I do not want to complicate things between you two. Perhaps have a little think and a talk with him?”

Keith was coming back as it was... now they just had something else to talk about

“Yeah... I’m gonna head back to my room now”

And get cleaned up before Keith got there

“Long night?”

Coran sounded so pleased, like the question was going to make Lance crack and spill how nice it had been down to every detail. Throwing them a wink, Lance slid off the examination bed, thankful that blood would soon take away the lingering pain in his hips

“I’ll leave that to your imagination”

Heading down to his room, Lance was now torn between the feeling of happiness every time he thought of Keith, and his boyfriend being angry about him putting himself in danger. If he was out with Allura he should be safe... but Keith had been deeply traumatised by him being hurt. He didn’t want to put Keith through that again... but he honestly had hit his limit of feeling useless. He still hadn’t heard from Pidge and Hunk. The two never far from his thoughts for very long... Maybe he should try reaching out again? But if he was going out and there were bad guys he didn’t want to lead them home. His poor house was probably traumatised for life putting up with two werewolves... Maybe it was time to bite the bullet and just go home? If Pidge wanted to burn his house down, she would have by now. Rieva ensured him she was keeping Matt in line, but things had gotten damaged when the full moon came. It was funny. He thought he could some kind of silent protector for Garrison when Matt and Rieva first came. Like keep the big bad wolves under control. He couldn’t even keep his post for a night... He missed Matt and Rieva. He missed people... People who understood and didn’t judge... He missed Pidge and Hunk, even though he knew seeing them would probably lead to a boat load of judgment in his direction. It hurt his heart to think that maybe the pair didn’t think he cared about them because he hadn’t reached out again.

Flopping down on his bed, Blue let out a “roow” as she came flying up to jump on his stomach. His princess settling herself down to knead at his chest as she flicked her tail. She missed her house. She missed prowling around at night, and running around the house like a lunatic. If Allura and Coran wanted his help, he’d give it, but this wasn’t fair on Blue. He seriously needed to get his act together. When Keith came he’d message Pidge... after he’d asked Keith if he thought it was time for Lance to return to Garrison. He was supposed to be the adult. He was supposed to be the cooler more mature one. Ever since Keith came into his life, it’d been one thing after another... but that was okay. It was okay because he had Hunk and Pidge. It was okay because things changed and evolved with Keith. Keith’s life turned upside down because of him, but he functioned. He did what he had to do. He took pride in his job, even letting Lotor parade him around as a fake pet...

Scratching Blue between the ears, Lance drained the rest of the blood bag. Last night felt more like a dream. Him and Keith... the warmth of his boyfriend against his cold body. Laying in bed, trading secret whispers. Keith opening up to him about Lotor and work in general. He was tired of all the negative feelings in his head. He knew Pidge and Hunk wouldn’t understand or want him around. But having that cord between them cut so suddenly... Maybe he could reach out to Hunk first. Arrange a meeting. Him, Hunk, Curtis and Keith. Keith because this concerned him too. Curtis because he missed him. Curtis had his own work to do. The time they’d seen each other drastically cut. He really missed his house, but he missed those days when they were all together. He hadn’t appreciated Curtis leaving sex stuff for him and Keith, but that was Curtis being Curtis. He liked that about him. He cared. Lance knew he cared, but he didn’t know if Curtis knew he cared about him

“Blue, what do you think? Is it time we go home again?”

Blue bunted into Lance’s hand, purring loudly as she did. The glare in her eyes telling him she didn’t care. She hadn’t had her wet food and that Lance’s actions disgusted her

“Okay. Up we get. I’ll get you your food, but then you’ve got to let me sort our life out. We’re better than this, princess”

Keith had finished cleaning up Kosmo’s mess as his personal phone chimed. Shiro was still sleeping, so his return to there apartment was kind of a let down. The hunter had hoped his brother would be awake to ask him how his date went with Lance. Normally he wasn’t a “gusher”, yet he’d had such a good time with his boyfriend that he wanted to tell Shiro. He wanted his brother to ruffle his hair and tease him... but no. He’d come home to find Kosmo had chewed up a shoe, and left a trail of pee from the bathroom to the now dead shoe. Two more chimes went off, Keith having to ignore them as he took the mop and bucket to the laundry. Kosmo had a grass mat for doing his business on, but his fur son seemed to pee every time he found something exciting.

Returning from the laundry, his phone chimed again. Knowing the messages had to be from Lance, Keith scooped Kosmo up before retrieving his phone from the kitchen bench. Opening up chat, he found three new messages in group chat, and four in his personal chat with Lance. Nerves washed over him. Thumb hovering before clicking on his personal chat with Lance. Too chicken to check group chat in case it was Hunk, Shay, or Pidge saying their friendship was over.

Though he’d parted with Lance a little over an hour ago, it’d taken that long to clean up the pieces of shoes, dispose of the evidence, then mop the floor, his boyfriend hadn’t gone back to his room to rest. No. Apparently Lance had gone back to his room and started thinking. Keith didn’t have a problem with Lance thinking, what he had a problem with was “We need to talk”, “That sounds bad”, “it’s not bad”, “I don’t want to break up LOL, but we need to talk”. Most people dreaded the “we need to talk” message. Keith could imagine Lance had written a great long message, before deleting it and sending that instead, then realising how it sounded. He just didn’t know what they suddenly needed to talk about.

Gathering up his courage, he checked the group chat. “I’ll be in Garrison next week”, “I know I’ve been giving you space, but I miss you guys”, “If you’d rather I left you alone, let me know”. So Lance going back to Garrison was what they needed to talk about? Why couldn’t Lance just say it like that? Did he think Keith was going to be mad? That he wasn’t going to support him for trying to reconnect with his best friends? How could Lance think that after the night they’d spent together? He’d support him. Hell, Garrison was probably safer than Platt right now. Lance had taken the news of the vampire deaths rather well, considering. Was that why Lance was moving back home? Because he didn’t trust Keith to keep him safe? Groaning at himself in annoyance, Keith opened up his contacts list, calling Lance, only for his call to not connect. His boyfriend wasn’t elevating his worry. Who messaged someone, then turned their stupid phone off? Lance, that’s who. His boyfriend was an idiot.

Now unable to call Lance back, Keith forced himself up off the sofa and to his room. Setting Kosmo on the bed, he changed his clothes, put on his sneakers, grabbed Kosmo’s lead and sighed heavily at the thought of walking to work. He should have just gone in with Lance. Then his boyfriend wouldn’t be overthinking things and making him overthink things thanks to his thinking. Clipping Kosmo’s lead to his harness, the puppy tried to lick him to death, wagging his whole body with excitement as Keith tried to put the harness on. Slowly Kosmo seemed to be learning that harness meant an outside trip to the closest patch of grass for pees. Very slowly. Kosmo was a special kind of “smart stupid”, with Keith suspecting he was the one being trained instead of his puppy.

The walk to work was slowly, Kosmo wanted to sniff and pee on everything he could. Every stranger had the possibility of being a friend, which worried Keith enough to wonder if he should get a muzzle in case someone tried to feed Kosmo something bad as a joke. He’d never known that grapes could kill a dog. The fruit now banned from the apartment, and a list posted on their fridge so he and Shiro didn’t accidentally poison his precious pup. Shiro might grumble about Kosmo’s “accidents” and how he wasn’t responsible for Keith’s dog, but he’d caught the pair of them snuggled up sleeping on the sofa, Kosmo’s nose against Shiro’s cheeks. He now had photographic proof that he wasn’t afraid to hold over Shiro’s head the next time he complained.

Reaching the bookshop, Keith scooped Kosmo up so his son couldn’t cause chaos inside the car. He’d barely opened the door before he heard a voice that made him jump

“I don’t think they let you bring dogs in there”

What the hell was Narti doing here? It was the middle of the day. Turning towards her, he found Narti and Axca both bundle up in thick jackets, long pants, and sunglasses

“Oh? Um. Thanks for letting me know. He’s my... um... companion. I’ve brought him here before”

Leaning forward Narti sniffed at him

“You smell really good. If this place allows pets, maybe we should bring ours next time?”

Narti shouldn’t know it was him. He and Shiro kept their faces covered... so why did this impromptu meeting not feel so impromptu? He felt like a Narti was showing up deliberately to fuck with him. She was annoying like that. All Keith really knew about her was that she really liked blood and making everyone uncomfortable like it was a game. Lotor had no patience for you, yet let her get away with it all the fucking time. Keith didn’t have the patience for it

Narti reached towards Kosmo, hand stopping just short

“It’s a shame when something happens to a pet because their blind to their master’s true nature. Sometimes the closer you are, the less you see. let’s go. I don’t feel like being here anymore”

Turning away, Keith felt his eyes meet Acxa’s as she turned. Axca was still very quiet and level when they spoke, Keith felt that she was hiding something big from them. If only he could talk to her alone. Not that he was great at talking, but he was sure she had something she needed to say. Hugging Kosmo tighter, Keith stepped into the bookshop wishing he’d never bumped into those two with his face uncovered. His puppy wasn’t something he appreciated having threatened. Kosmo was his precious boy and best boy. Narti could die in a ditch for all he cared. Now he was going to have to tell Coran... and hopefully not be benched from work because of it.

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

LoL Chapter 4- Crystal Corruption

Master Post

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

Trapped in the depths of Gildara, the hermits are facing an attack on both sides. The missing villagers have appeared, but the townfolk do not seem happy to see them. Even worse, they mysterious crystal has awoken. And is about to strike.

_______________________________________

A shield rises between the hermits and the black mist. Everyone looks to see who quickdrew their magic that quickly. From beside Grian, he sees Ren’s arms raised and sweat beading across his brow. Trying to ward off the attack with the shield created from his imagination. “We need to get out of here, dudes!”

Joe grasps for his journal, pulling it free from the silty water and scribbling his quill along the paper. It’s fast, but careful. The spell casts, stretching out and encasing Ren’s shield with another layer of protection. The deeper the guild sinks, the faster the sand engulfs their bodies. Either the crystal breaks through Ren and Joe’s shield, or they become buried alive by magic.

“Doc, can you try to gain control of the townsfolk?” TFC questions, twisting and trying to pull himself free. It only makes him sink faster. The water within the quicksand chills, Stress pressing her hands into the mix of water and mud to attempt to slow them down. But she’s battling with the husked wizard, fighting for control.

“I-ugh, I’m trying, but they’re already being controlled by something!” Doc growls, yelping as the suction around him drags him deeper. He’s up to his chest now.

“I can’t- Guys!” Grian whimpers, his head craned back. Just his hands and face remain above the quicksand. Stress is in a similar position, crying out as her magic fades and she focuses exclusively on surviving. “Help!”

“Hang on y’all, I got it.” Cub, up to his waist and ignoring how quickly he’s sinking, closes his eyes. Focuses on his magic. Everyone is crying out around him, but he finds calm. Ignoring the ground swallowing him whole, faster and faster. Feeling energy build up in his body. His finger reaches out, dragging free from the grip of the mud and casting his spell. In the cavern air heavy with pressure and filled with his friend’s screams, Cub’s magic circle appears.

And when he opens his eyes, the husk people are gone. A blue portal remains where they stood, fizzling away. Cub doesn’t know where they went, but all that matters is they're gone. The quicksand solidifies to mud, inches away from swallowing the shortest members whole. Giving everyone one short breath of relief. But while one enemy is gone, there’s still another to handle.

“Great, awesome we took care of the creepy ass village people,” Ren spits, his brow knotted and sweaty, “But that didn’t stop the angry crystal walloping Joe and me!” The crystal’s smoky mist berates them again. And again. The hermits can see cracks forming on the shield spells.

“Let me take a whack at it.” Iskall grins, summoning his magic. He reels his arm back and strikes his circle. It reverberates out, crackling and sharpening into a bolt of radioactive energy. It warps around Joe and Ren’s shield, crashing into the suspended gem. The mist retreats, radiation shocking and sizzling across the smooth siding. “It’s distracted, lets get out of this corrupted crystal cave of doom!”

“Watch your toes, guys!” Scar chuckles, before casting his magic. The ground beneath them rises up, squeezing the hermits free from the sand trap that threatened to bury them. Grian and Stress retch the quicksand that invaded their throats. Scar stands free of the liquid mud, continuing to raise the ground beneath them with incredible strength. Impulse rolls to his back, aiming his magic to the roof of the cave quickly approaching them. He holds his arm steady with his opposing hand, a sly smile appearing as magic grows within his body.

Before Scar’s magic can crush them, Impulse releases his spell. Like a shot, the explosion arches into the roof, digging through the ground and bursting into the fresh open air above. Wind magic released by Grian shoves the falling debris out of their way. Cub grabs Scar as he sways to the side, about to collapse from the strength of his magic as it slows and stops above ground. The entire guild is in a moment of shock, gasping for fresh air and a moment of quiet.

“What...what was that?” Mumbo runs his hand through his hair, blinking as he tries to sort out what just happened beneath them. “What happened to those people? And that crystal?”

“I’ve never seen a crystal like this before.” TFC raises the tiny piece he’s chipped off, rubbing his chin as he looks through it in the sunset light. No light filters through it, and just holding the tiny gem feels pressuring.

“I think we have something to tell Magistrate Dolios.” Xisuma flops back, staring at the sky above him. He hates being in caves, it’s so tight and he can’t see the sky. The open void above him.

“We should head there immediately. Tell him about this...this crystal corruption. What it’s doing to the land, to the people.” Zedaph states, holding Impulse’s arm. He burned himself blasting through the ground. Grian flutters to his side, wings appearing as he begins to heal the wounds of his fellow hermits.

“You think what those people were like had to do with the crystal?” Cleo questions, rising to her feet. She pulls off her boot, draining quicksand out of her shoes.

“They had to be,” Tango nods in thanks as Grian moves on from Impulse, helping his friend stand up. “I don’t think that creepy hand wave was just coincidence.”

“Something was wrong with those people.” Doc shakes his head. “I’m sure if I wasn’t drowning in sand, I could’ve taken control of them. But something else was already forcing them to do that. For the wizard to use her magic, to attack us. They didn’t look right, you saw them? They looked like their skin was made of ash and charcoal, and flaked just the same. They were just husks, no mind or soul. Just the remains of what once was a wizard.”

TFC stands, pocketing the crystal in a small pocket of his tunic. Somewhere close where he’ll notice if it gets lost. “You all go to Milliara, tell the magistrate what we found. I’m going to return to the island and do some research of my own.”

Xisuma bites his lip, pulling off his mask. His hand runs through his ponytail, fingers catching on brown tangles and rubble in his hair. “Are you sure it’s okay for you to go back alone?”

“I’m not that old, X. I can handle twice as much as any of you youngsters.” TFC grins. “I’m sure you’ll find information while you’re there. Xisuma, you can look through the Crown Library and see if there’s any mention of a crystal like this. Doc, think you can get in contact with some of your underground buddies and see what they might know?”

“You know it, T.” A coy smile appears on Doc’s face, easing across the green skin and silver metal of his hybridized features.

Grian steps up to TFC, opening his palms. A soft white glow emanates from his hands. Flecks of energy drift upwards, leaving trails of gilded light like fireflies in the sky. “Are you hurt at all, guildmaster?”

“Nah, just a bit lightheaded.” TFC rubs his head, pushing Grian’s hands away. “Must’ve been from how heavy the pressure that crystal had. We shouldn’t waste any more time, you guys head right to the capitol, claim our reward and tell Magistrate Dolios what you saw. Send Phoebe when you get updates, and I’ll meet you all at the island. Stay safe team.” He steps back, pulling out a bead of howlite. In a flash, he’s gone.

“Best we get moving as well.” Xisuma turns back to the remaining hermits. He gave up being the guildmaster awhile ago, but he often finds he’s still the one people look up to. He just falls into a leadership role.

“But X, can’t we at least take a break?” Grian whines, flopping down next to Iskall and Mumbo. “We just fought an angry crystal and two husk people, can’t we at least rest?”

“Man, I can’t tell if that noise is my stomach or a banshee screeching.” Scar rubs his stomach and pouts. What he wouldn’t give to be back at the island, resting in his underwear and a purple robe, some fuzzy slippers and fruit.

Xisuma sighs, his shoulders falling. Exhaustion washes over him as well, dragging him towards the ground. “Let’s...Let’s at least get out of this corrupted land. Then we can all rest until tomorrow.”

Weak cheers escape the fatigued wizards. They help one another to standing, and begin their march back south. To Milliara, to the capitol. To deliver the dark news and terrifying findings to Magistrate Dolios. Hopefully he will have answers the hermits don’t, and a solution to ease their fears.

They travel beyond the swirling corruption, beyond where it could claw and reach them. Until they find an open field of grass, safe and welcoming them to sleep. The hermits don’t even dig out their tents, or even their bedrolls. Stress flops down, the soft skirt of her robes inviting others to lay atop of her. It becomes one large puddle of wizards, heads resting on stomachs and legs. The last one in the pile is Ren, clambering to the top and squeezing in the middle, tail tucked over his face as he curls up into a dreamless sleep.

#hermitcraft #LoL #light of lairyon #hermitblr #wizard au #wizard joe #wizard ren #wizard tfc #wizard xisuma #wizard impulse #wizard doc #joehills #rendog #tinfoilchef #xisumavoid #impulsesv #docm77 #wizard hermits #hermitcraft au

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winterysomnium · 4 years

Note

just realised i forgot the ship WangXian kiss print #18

slides in five months later hi hello I have answered the prompt even tho it took me like half a year I’m so sorry

it also wasn’t supposed to be this long but it sorta ran away from me and wherever your fic goes you gotta follow tbh lol. thank you so much for prompting! ♥ means so much to me.

AO3 link here

(tumblr kinda messed up the format so it might be easier to read on AO3 honestly)

—

the borders of you (untouched);WangXian; 5,900+ words;

Wei Ying creates a talisman that’s supposed to keep all the fierce corpses and beasts away. Problem is, it keeps away everyone, living people included. And worst of all? It’s not going away. (prompt 18:kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap)

—

It’s not that Wei Ying has messed up.

The ward works,works well, as it has kept Wen Ning about four feet away from him from everyangle and he hasn’t been able to break through the barrier, not even after theadded strain of several fierce corpses that have been roaming the remote villagefor days on end.

Therefore, his inscription can’t be incorrect in thatsense, no. It’s just … the ward works toowell, is the thing.

When the paper burned up and the hour mark has passed,Wen Ning is still unable to get anywhere nearer, bounced back against the invisiblebarrier like a stone, skipping across the surface of a lake. Not only that: noone else has been able to either. Notany of the villagers, their grateful bows directed towards the Lan juniors andtheir liquor bottles towards Wei Ying, not any of the juniors and not even LanShizui, increasingly worried the more the sun dips, low into the horizon.

At last, knowing that he must have made a mistake ortwo somewhere, Wei Ying watches as a birdcan’t sit on a branch when he stands underneath it, watches on as the curiouscat that has been sniffing at the robes of every unknown person, keeps pawing atthe barrier with a bit of irritation at the tip of her tail.

It isn’t trulyworrying Wei Ying yet. He can touch the liquor bottle and drink from it justfine, and some talismans were known to dissipate after half a night’s time at earliest.Maybe he added a stroke too many to his blueprint, strengthening and prolongingthe effect inadvertently.

He couldn’t have accidentally created a full on permanentbarrier, he knows that, because thereis no visible or spiritual writing anywhere on his clothes or his person andhis paper prototype has been ashes as soon as he surged his powers through itsform.

So he convinces the juniors to stay for dinner andsettle in for the night; it’s past everyone’s bedtime and the comforting scent ofsoup and roasting meat painfully flares the hunger in Wei Ying’s stomach,overriding any lasting thoughts of worry or anxious fears.

His mood doesdip slightly when he realizes he can’t truly share the table with anyone, thesweet taste of the sugar spun fruits souring in his mouth with every lonelybite. He’s gotten too used to this easy kind of company, to Lan Zhan’s quiet,steady presence, his fingers never too far from Wei Ying’s aid, from gettingtangled up with Wei Ying’s own. He’s gotten used to the bundle of juniors followinghim around during the classes he teaches (to Lan Qiren’s unending chagrin) andhe almost misses JingYi’s – a little tooloud – voice right next to his ear.

His exasperated huff must reach all the way across thetavern, because Lan Shizui stands as close as he can to his table now, hiseyebrows etched with something nervous and small. He pauses as he tests the wardonce more, with the tip of his shoe.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t head back right away,Senior Wei?” he asks, ever considerate and Wei Ying sees Lan WangJi’s teachingsfilling out A-Yuan’s shoulders, the chambers of his heart. It makes him missLan Zhan suddenly, with a pang of something sore, like swallowing a painfulgulp of water, feeling it travel all the way down his throat.

He rubs his sternum through his robes, the phantomfeeling making him feel silly (they’ve been gone for barely a day and a half) as he shakes his head.“There’s no point in leaving this late. We’ll arrive too late for breakfast ifwe do, anyway,” he reasons, but A-Yuan’s face stays cautious, eyebrows drawn. (He’stoo good of a child, honestly, Wei Ying thinks.)

“What if theward isn’t gone in the morning?” he asks and Wei Ying drinks another cup ofwine, just to dissipate the distant, cold restlessness stuck at the back of hisskull. There’s no need to be worried, yet.

But it must be a question that’s not just runningthrough Shizui’s mind, because the white robes of the juniors have gotten muchcloser now, JingYi’s questioning look clearly convicting him of eavesdropping,alongside with the others, craning their necks in a – fully inconspicuous –way.

Wei Ying feels a smile graze his face as he watchesthem quietly strain their ears, despite how obvious they are, how much he stillhas to teach them.

(Are they even trying to hide their curiosity at all?)

“Then it won’t matter if I find out here or in theJingshi,” he decides to come back to the question, answering it firmly, decisionmade.

(It’ll just worry Lan Zhan if they arrive and theeffects are not gone, he adds, for only his heart to hear.)

He gets up, brushing out his robes, stepping aroundthe table. Worrying Lan Zhan is one of the last things he ever wants to do.

Copying his movement, the juniors stand up from theirempty bowls and reserve a tired bow to the owner as they head up the stairs totheir bedrooms, quiet enough not to wake anyone else. Shizui and JingYi are thelast in line and they reluctantly look over at Wei Wuxian as he stands at theentrance of his own room, the dissatistified look on JingYi’s face so much morevisible than the slight crook of Shizui’s eyebrows, the corner of his lips.

JingYi opens his mouth, undoubtedly to argue Shizui’spoint again in a more, well, JingYiway, but Wei Ying is faster, interrupting him as soon as he takes in a slightlybigger breath.

“Go to bed. Worry about the report you’ll have towrite, if you want to think about something,” he tells them, with a smile thatis just a little bit too fond and after a moment of decision between arguingfurther and just letting it be for the night, they slowly step over thethreshold of their room, closing the door behind them, softly and slow. WeiYing lets himself collapse onto the single bed of his, a little too stiff underhis weight but clean and with thick covers and a pillow so soft it begs for himto stick his face in.

He really should take his own advice, he thinks as ayawn cracks through the bones of his jaw; his thoughts scattered across theheavy set of his mind. He thinks of Lan Zhan, of a symbol he might have torewrite on the talisman, of Lan Zhan’s chest rising and falling, the lullaby ofbeing there that he plays to Wei Yingevery night.

He doesn’t recall anything after that.

—

Wei Ying knows he’s stalling. He’s decided to stay inCaiyi Town for lunch, sending the juniors ahead and idling about the riverbank, picking all the deserted spots so as not to raise too much attention,twirling Chenqing and wondering just howhe’ll explain this to Lan Zhan so that his mouth and brows don’t curl into thatconcerned shape like they do whenever he does something detrimentally stupid,usually to himself.

He doesn’t get far beyond the edge of the town after hefinally starts up the journey up themountain when he spots him, the afternoon trailing across his robes, awakeningthe woven patterns as Lan WangJi walks towards him, regal and ethereal asalways; even more so with the sun gingerly touching his features between thetrees.

(The same sun feels suddenly way too warm on WeiYing’s own neck.)

“Lan Zhan!” He greets him, happily, despite theprevious moments of avoidance: something about this man just reassures him tothe deepest parts of his soul, calls him to be paid attention by.

Lan WangJi pauses, stands at the exact border of thecharm, tracing the unseen outlines with his eyes before he carefully extendshis fingers, the tips pressing against the ward.

“Wei Ying,” he answers, in a tone hard to describe:relief, concern, affection, each atthe tip of a different finger, a different note.

(Wei Ying’s heart is an instrument, lovingly played.)

“Don’t look so worried, Lan Zhan! My dearestHanGuangJun,” Wei Ying smiles and it’s never been so difficult to keep still,to keep away from that beautiful face in front of him, kissable and dear. “I’mperfectly fine, see? Aiya, the children must have been telling you all kinds ofgruesome stuff, haven’t they?” he twirls around just to show he can, thatthere’s nothing hurt or aching (besides his poor heart, trying to press itselfout of his ribcage, pulled towards Lan WangJi’s own).

Lan WangJi watches, a stern look slowly seeping intohis features, a sigh buried deep within his lungs. He’s not fooled and Wei Yingknows this, all too well.

“Shizui said no creature living or dead can get closeto you,” Lan WangJi answers and an aborted twitch of his arm belies the intentto hold, to try to defy the limits of whatever Wei Ying has created, despitethe impossibility of it all.

(It’s more painful than Wei Ying imagined it would be,if he’s honest with himself.)

(He’s not.)

He lets out a sigh, tracing the invention he’s stuckin through the air, each stroke a confident memory. “I must have strengthenedthe effect of the charm with a stroke too many somewhere. I already have a fewideas to try out,” he promises and while Lan WangJi still doesn’t look happy, probablythinking: how many have you tried already,unsuccessfully?, he nods anyway, aligns himself at Wei Ying’s side as closeas can be, always beside him, always a guardian of Wei Ying’s own.

“Let’s go back,” he says and the smile Wei Ying feelsblooming on his own face is positively hurting his cheeks. He grins, relieved. “Let’sgo home, Lan Zhan,” he agrees, pleased at the warm hue enveloping Lan WangJi’sears like little buds of flowers.

No touches needed for Lan Zhan’s ears to go warm, henotes, fondly amused.

(Thoroughly in love.)

—

Neither of them can sleep peacefully that night. LanWangJi forfeits his bed to sleep at the other side of the room, even when Wei Yinghimself protests profusely against it (to no avail).

If it’s the unfamiliar scenery of their empty bed orsimply being too far away from Lan WangJi himself he can’t tell, but not evenWei Ying’s usual bedtime can lull him to sleep. He misses the satisfied achesof a night well spent, of loving and being loved in Lan Zhan’s arms and feelingeach of his touches bitten into his skin; the only pain he’s currently feelingis the unpleasant twitch at his back as he slumps over the table, scribblingnonsense into his notes.

So maybe he hasmessed up. He’s studied every stroke’s direction and count on his blueprint,has corrected all the places he felt unsure about and yet, not one modificationhas worked one bit. He’s cast tens of reverse charms, trying to unweave the spellhe’s trapped himself in but nothing has changed: the space he’s isolated inhasn’t shrunk and not even one of the bunnies has been able to hop through tonibble at his robes (he’s been baiting them with carrots all evening so thatthey would actually get near enough to him, too).

Wei Ying doesn’t think he’s an impatient person. He’snot patient per se, either, but he’s able to withstand things. To persevere.He’s lived through enough to know that he’ll thrive in places others go to to becondemned and damned: he’ll root through the soil and he’ll rise like a lotusflower, crawling through to live, to resurface, to be plucked by Lan Zhan’skindness, by his heart.

Perhaps Wei Ying’s been spoiled. Spoiled by Lan Zhan’svery own hands and very own warmth: he simply doesn’t want to struggle anymore.He wants instead, yearns, he wantscomfort and softness and affection and he’s frustrated when it’s this close yetout of his reach altogether. It’s in the very room they share, in the robesthey store in the same place, in the kisses they wear on each other’s lips;they’re two strings bound together.

And now they’re like two parallel rivers, longing toget closer but held apart by earth itself, by soil and trees, the miles inbetween.

Wei Ying must have been worn down by Lan Zhan’s love,a stone sanded down to a grain, because he’s frustrated and unsettled, alonein a choice of his own making. But maybe it’s Lan Zhan’s fault too, just alittle bit, Wei Ying thinks, petulant. Just for all the ways he has indulgedWei Ying, spoiled him to pieces.

It’s completely unfair.

As if responding to his thoughts, Lan WangJi shiftsunder his blanket and his face turns towards Wei Ying’s, laid down on the table,the feeble cushion of own his arms. Lan WangJi’s still asleep and Wei Ying letsout a quiet huff, just to conquer the need to curse at his own stupid luck, thegrind of his frustration.

“Lan Zhan,” he whines, quietly, barely a sound underhis breath. “How unlucky is it of me to have you so near yet unable to touchyou at all? How miserable is this fate of ours, keeping us apart like this?Truly such rotten luck,” he complains, letting the childish words run theircourse, soothe the fear guarding the back of his throat.

He tiredly follows the slope of Lan WangJi’s nose withhis eyes, the bow of his mouth, the press of his chest, the dips and highs ofhis knuckles; falls asleep to the longing of a man dying at an empty well.

He wakes up confused and sleepy, thoughts still sunkenunder the syrupy pull of a dream, a blanket stolen from their bed slipping downhis shoulders as he raises his head and blinks: Lan WangJi is sits across fromhim, a cup of tea in hand.

“Lan Zhan, good morning,” Wei Ying, smiles, softly,but purses his lips upon noticing where he’s slept, confused. “Why am I sleepingon the table? And why are you sitting so far away and not right next to me?” heasks through a stretch and a yawn; what a strange morning it is. Usually Lan WangJinever lets him get away with falling asleep on the table or in the bathtub andalways carries him off, carries him right into their bed –

“Oh,” the memory falls on him like a bucket of water, cuttinghis stretch short. Lan WangJi simply pushes a steaming bowl across the table:the bowl inches closer over to where Wei Ying has pillowed his head on hisarms, but Lan WangJi’s own fingers cannot pass beyond the outer edge of hisnotes.

“Still here, huh,” Wei Ying comments and Lan WangJinods; pushes more insistently. It must be close to lunch time, the air insideof the Jingshi warm and fragrant, the afternoon outside inviting itself inwithin a soft breeze.

“Eat your breakfast,” Lan WangJi says, picking up hisown cup again, carefully adjusting his sleeve. Wei Ying accepts the hot bowl ofcongee, sipping at its contents and contemplates, grazing his lips across therim.

He vaguely feels fifteen again, waiting for Lan WangJito look his way, to pay attention to his whims.

“Lan Zhan. HanGuang-Jun. Did you throw this at me?” Hetouches the blanket after a moment between them stretches and laughs when LanWangJi nods, then looks at the papers strewn all over the table.

“Any progress?”

Wei Ying swallows another gulp of his congee and shakeshis head, supporting his chin with his palm. “There must be something I’m missing.Will you look at it as well for me?” He takes the papers and pushes them allthe way across and leans back, waits for Lan WangJi to accept them, follows hisface as he meticulously reads every line, studies every annotation and scribble.

His forehead ribbon is as immaculate as ever and WeiYing really wants to play with it, tug at the ends and mess up the linecrossing Lan WangJi’s forehead, hold it until all of its length is as warm asthe parts warmed by Lan WangJi’s skin.

It reminds him of the time he had a paper body,blowing Lan WangJi a kiss and crooking his ribbon, annoying Lan WangJi’s patience,when all of this between them was still unsure and hidden away.

“Lan Zhan, remember when I – wait,” Wei Ying stops, straighteningup, and Lan WangJi’s eyes flicker towards him, caught by the movement, sudden,a spring unleashed. “All this time, I’ve been trying to dispel the ward fromthe inside. But maybe it can only be reversed from the outside.” He taps his chin with a finger, already biting into histhumb. “I mean, this kind of thing doesn’t usually happen and therefore doesn’tneed to be specified, but I didspecify the outside protection so maybe I’ve only made it reversible from theoutside, as well.”

Lan WangJi opens his palm and waits for the freshlymade talisman to flutter his way, catching it smoothly between his fingers. “I’llcast it,” he nods.

“Mn, yeah. Thank you, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying smiles andthe hope swells in him like a tidal wave, like the breath you take in afterbeing submerged for minutes on end. The sound he lets out when the paper burnsout and Lan WangJi is still unable to touch him is almost pained, like all theweight of the failure dragged his heart down to his feet.

He lets out a frustrated growl instead and his headthuds against the table, nearly knocking his finished bowl of congee over.

Lan WangJi sighs too, quietly, almost like he forgotto breathe for a moment as well and just remembered, willed his lungs to let go.

“Are there more?”

Wei Ying looks up. “More reverse spells?”

“Mn.”

“I’ve written down a few.”

“I will try them as well.” Lan WangJi gathers up WeiYing’s notes again, copies down all of the talismans, no matter how minisculethe correction and uses them one by one, always pausing to test if it worked,relentlessly, without a second of complaint or anger, without losing hope.

How he’s so composed, so seemingly calm ruffles WeiYing’s feathers – he wants to ruffle Lan Zhan’s instead, but not like this, not in ways that hurt underneath: hewants to watch him flick all of them back into its place, not render him unableto fly.

Yet there’s this undeniable, irrational annoyance whenthe last talisman is gone and instead of offering alternatives, Lan WangJi proposesWei Ying should take a bath, Wei Ying’s inner robes the ones that he’s arrivedin yesterday, his hair tangled up around his ribbon in stubborn knots.

“A bath won’t solve anything,” he protests but LanWangJi’s already gotten up, leaving to fetch their bathtub and hot water,silently preparing it like he always does, like nothing’s different, payinglittle attention to Wei Ying’s protests beyond a glance.

Wei Ying keep sitting down at the table, as aprinciple, because there are more pressing matters than a dirty robe, like whyhe’s still not figured this out and why his notes aren’t clear to his own mind, why Lan Zhan’s fine with all of this, why is he notvisibly upset, why isn’t he angry with him for causing this mess.

Why, instead, he stands as close (far, far) as he can, beckoning him into the water.“Wei Ying,” he says and just stands there and watches him like Wei Ying’s the unreasonable one, theneedlessly annoyed child.

“Fine,” WeiYing huffs, giving in after a two minute stare down, jerkily taking off hisclothes right there at the table, notstomping across the room naked, plopping into the water with an unnecessarysplash.

The water presses into all of his tensed up musclesand it does clear his head as hedunks it under, refreshes parts of him he didn’t realize were this tired as hescrubs the remnants of travel and uncomfortable sleep off, decidedly notlooking Lan WangJi’s way.

He’s slowly getting unwound by the soft suds slippingoff his shoulder, the weight of his body that just always lifts when he’s inthe water, when he’s brought back to being small and never cold anymore: he canalmost feel Shijie’s careful fingers combing through his hair.

(He can almost feel Lan Zhan’s, even gentler,somehow.)

Wei Ying sighs.

He’s not sulking and he’s not feeling guilty for being petulant, for making things harder forthe one person who’s chosen every hardship just to be by his side, just toprotect what he’s already lost once before.

When he looks up, embarrassed at his own meltdown, LanWangJi is at his work table, two stacks of papers neatly pressed against eachother, one pile decidedly bigger than the second and Wei Ying’s hit with hownormal, how routine this feels: Lan Zhan grading reports as Wei Ying bathes,Wei Ying reaching over and helping when his cheeks are already pink and hisskin all scrubbed, commenting on the wonky calligraphy of one student, praisingthe neatness and detailed work of another’s next.

It’s still a long way until evening but Wei Yingshifts in the tub until he’s at the other side, wet fingers tapping at the edgeof the desk. “Let me help, Lan Zhan,” he offers, drying his hands and eventhough there’s the everlasting unnatural gap between them, it calms his heart,this quiet time of togetherness, this little piece of normalcy.

His irritation dissipates fully, sinking to the bottomof the bathwater, forsaken and ashamed.

—

Lan WangJi collects Wei Ying’s discarded clothes to bewashed, pausing at the threshold, holding the inner robe close, enclosed withinhis arms, wrinkled and worn. He lifts the cloth to his lips, inhales shakilyagainst the tightness of his pulse, the emotions knotting up his heart.

He stalls, allows himself this minute of longing, thisminute outburst of missing a person who’s standing right in front of you, sofamiliar yet strange, unreachable.

(He makes sure that Wei Ying doesn’t – that no one –sees.)

—

Another two nights pass and Wei Ying decides to stophiding in the Jingshi and doesn’t cancelhis late afternoon class like they’ve planned: he’s bored out of his mind.

(And he’s not getting any new ideas either, anyway.)

Lan WangJiwanted for them to head to the Library Pavilion right after breakfast buttruthfully, Wei Ying is going stir crazy, stuck at the table and riflingthrough notes close to two days in a row now. He needs some movement and aslovely as watching Lan WangJi is, he needs a change of scenery, too – and eventhough it’s not night, he can still teach the juniors a thing or two,especially when the sun beckons so sweetly and the news of a lone ghoul findingits way into a pond halfway to Caiyi Town has reached Gusu just days before.

(It reminds him of Yunmeng summer days, sticky and hot,with a bundle of juniors at his heels and Jiang Cheng scowling right next tohis side.)

It barely stings anymore, memories like this, so helets them pass, focuses on the uniform footsteps that follow in his wake.

“Who can tell me where we’re headed?”he turns aroundas he asks, pausing when the juniors seem to be hesitating on the cuff of the crossroad,not one disciple trying to answer his question or meeting his eyes.

He frowns. “What’s wrong with you all? Did someonespill chili powder into your breakfast?” he asks again, teasing, but his eyesnarrow when even A-Yuan shifts nervously. “Come on, spit it out. What’s thematter?” He tries for a gentler tone and unsurprisingly, it’s JingYi that stepsforward, a stubborn air to his stride.

“Why wasn’t HanGuang-Jun seeing us off today?” heaccuses, quickly, and some of the juniors nod their head along.

Wei Ying gapes.

“Huh?”

“HanGuang-Jun wasn’t –”

“I heard you, I heard you!” he interrupts, indisbelief.

No one makes a single move for what feels like anhour, no one starts laughing telling him he’s fallen for this elaborate prank,this gaggle of teens frowning upon him for not letting his husband see him off.

Okay. What’s trulygoing on?

“HanGuang-Jun hasbetter things to do than standing around watching people leave,” Wei Yingcounters, arms crossed in front of his chest. He’s never been faced with thejuniors’ disapproval like this and he’s as taken aback as he’s slightlyannoyed.

(Isn’t there a rule that says not to question yourelders about their love life or something?)

“But he always sees us off when we leave with SeniorWei,” a disciple interjects, quietly piping up from among the crowd. Thedisciples around him nod, gravely, as if they’re judges of a severe crime,ready to profess him guilty as charged.

(Wei Ying feels like he’s living through a rathersurreal dream.)

“Senior Wei, did you tell HanGuang-Jun we were leavingCloud Recesses?” Shizui asks then, kindly, with the smallest hint of hesitationthat tells Wei Ying he’s worried about something, troubled by the possibleanswer Wei Ying will give.

It softens Wei Ying’s temper, just a little bit.

“Aren’t you guys being a little too much? HanGuang-Junknows perfectly well I am teaching a class.” He doesn’t quite know Wei Ying has left Gusu, per se, true, but they’re goingbarely halfway to Caiyi Town. It doesn’t even count as a field trip.

“HanGuang-Jun always tells Senior Wei goodbye, nomatter how far we go!”

“That’s right!”

“Yeah!”

The disciples chime in and for once, Wei Ying almostregrets how openly him and Lan Zhan operate. Now even the kids think they areprivy to the details of their relationship, is it?

“We believe you didn’t tell him we were leaving CloudRecesses at all! Because the ward is still there and HanGuang-Jun wouldn’t behappy with you leaving in such a condition!” JingYi finishes for everyone andWei Ying has a moment of thorough disbelief at how transparent both his and LanZhan’s motives seem to be.

(And here he used to believe his husband was an enigmato anyone but Zewu-Jun.)

“You kids –”

“HanGuang-Jun has been really worried for Senior Wei!”

“Maybe we should head back?”

“Yeah!”

Wei Ying subtly pinches himself, making sure he trulyis not, in fact, stuck in a fever dream.

“Am I still with the obedient, quiet, good Landisciples? Or have they all been possessed?”He shakes his head, uncrossing hisarms to put them on his hips, authoritatively (he hopes).

“Now, everybody, listen up. Of course I told everyonewho needed to know where we are going. While I am objectively the safest I canbe in this state, it is you juniors we are worried about. So of course there’ssomeone who knows where we are. And I have signal flares with me in case we runinto more trouble than we can handle.” Not that it’s likely, if there truly isonly one or a couple of water ghouls – they should be perfectly capable oftaking care of a situation like that, even withouta supervising elder.

There’s a hum that sweeps through the crowd at that and with distinct relief upon nofurther protests being received, Wei Ying deems the problem settled, returningto his first, original question, repeating it just a tad louder to overpowerthe remaining echoes of suspicion and his own rattling surprise:

“Now, does really noone know where we’re headed?”

—

Naturally, Wei Ying cannot keep the children’soutburst to himself.

He’s sprawled on the ground with a cup full of wine andwith his stomach all warmed up by dinner, just spicy enough to redden hischeeks a little, just red enough to quicken his pulse (or is that all Lan Zhan,watching him so intently?)

So, naturally,Wei Ying complains, shaking his head after taking a generous, alcoholic sip. “Canyou believe the children accused me of not telling you I was leaving with themtoday? They were saying I didn’t let you tell me goodbye!”

“You didn’t,” Lan WangJi retorts, not disapprovingly,but his lips might be just a littlebit tighter, pursed the tiniest amount.

(Wei Ying wishes he could kiss them, kiss all of itoff.

Alas -)

“I told your Uncle,” he defends himself, belatedly andLan WangJi pauses as he refills his own cup of tea, herbal and scented aftermedicine, the fragrance bittersweet.

Wei Ying quickly raises his own cup, chasing the heavyscent from his throat. “And we didn’t go far! Not even as far as Caiyi Town,”he adds.

Lan WangJi takes his time with his answer, but after amoment he sighs, voice soft. “I still wish to tell you goodbye, no matter whereyou go or how long you will be gone for.” He’s talking carefully, as if he’steaching this, as if he’s intent on not being misunderstood.

It’s endearing as hell.

“That’s what the juniors said too,” Wei Ying responds,grumbling, despite the pounding of his heart.

How can any man resist a confession this sincere?

“And, well – I’m back now. Will you tell me welcomeback?” He grins. He means it as a tease, a way to change the subject of beingguilty of exactly of what he wasaccused of: but Lan Zhan’s just too good of a person, too good of a man to notdo it anyway.

“Mn. Welcome back, Wei Ying.”

God. Wei Ying’s insides hurt with how much he wants to touch him, devour him on the spot.He hurts with how much he just wants and wantsand how every time he’s being kept apart, it’s by his own doing, his ownfaults, his own actions, keeping him stranded in empty fields, in places thateat him alive.

“Lan Zhan! Iwas clearly teasing you!” he yelps and hides his flushed face behind the cup ofwine he’s emptied two times over by now; peeks over the edge.

Lan Zhan’s never letting him go.

“Mn. But greetings are polite. Wei Ying should saygoodbye properly next time, as well,” Lan WangJi says, tucking in what’s trulybothered him in such an efficient way Wei Ying just can’t help but feeladmonished and endeared – again – at the same time.

“Your notes say so, as well,” Lan WangJi adds and it’sa strange enough remark to tilt the world right into its axis again, away fromLan WangJi and words that Wei Ying can’t possibly fit all in, can’t keep all ofthem without an overflow.

(Lan WangJi is always so helpful, he truly is.)

“My notes?” Wei Ying shuffles through the – lessmessy now that Lan WangJi’s organized them – papers on the table, trying tofind what Lan WangJi means. Has he mentioned anything like that on them?

“Mn. Here. ‘Don’t forget to say goodbye.’” Lan WangJi’sfinger points to a corner of Wei Ying’s final page, underneath the finishedlayout of the ward.

Wei Ying’s heart stutters.

“… Lan… Zhan. Lan Zhan! ”He laughs, and stumbles,hastily getting up with a sudden buoyancy of hope, of a memory gasping for air.

“Of course it’s this simple!” He laughs again and his reliefcould span the universe, it’s so vast and deep. He claps and perfectlypronouncing, says: “Goodbye.” and even though he doesn’t feel any difference, inhis gut he knows: it worked. He knows because he’s remembered, he’s finally remembered and he curses his badmemory, curses working late into the night, half delirious and halfway todrunk, because it has finally bit him in the ass.

God, he really should listen to Lan Zhan more.

With a leap that might have sent all his notes flying,Wei Ying jumps into Lan WangJi’s arms, somehow already open and prepared tocatch him as he crashes into Lan WangJi’s lap heavily, kissing every inch ofLan WangJi’s cheeks and nose and temples, pecking his lips and holding onto him,desperately, holding onto the one anchor he has in this world.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” he repeats after eachkiss, chanting the words into Lan WangJi’s skin and he knows, he knows there’s no I’m sorry’s and no thank you’s between them but he’s finewith breaking the rules; he’s kissing a thankyou right into Lan Zhan’s mouth.

Lan WangJi’s fingers tremble minutely against hisback, his heart is loud under Wei Ying’s palm and Wei Ying loves him too muchto just not kiss him some more, to press himself into every little space leftbetween them, no matter how small.

Of course he’duse something so simple to break the ward. Something anyone can do. It is a talisman meant for ordinary people in thefirst place, not for cultivators: the person can best decide themself whenthey’re safe. When they do, the talisman vanishes, without any other wards,without any spiritual energy necessary. Ofcourse he’d pick something he has felt so smart about only to forget aboutit right after.

Of course.

Lan WangJi’s palm slips under his outer robe, his lipsmessing all of Wei Ying’s thoughts up – they fall apart when Lan WangJi’sfingers cross his skin and push his hips forward, keeping Wei Ying incredibly –impossibly – close.

There’s a laughhe presses into Lan WangJi’s cheek, right next to his temple, there’s anotherone trapped in the crook of Lan WangJi’s neck, airy and soft.

I have missedyou, Lan WangJi says, in a crushingly gentle hold,bruising but tender; in a kiss tracing Wei Ying’s hair, his neck, the curl ofhis shoulder.

Wei Ying’s eyes sting.

He thinks he might never let Lan Zhan go.

(He thinks Lan Zhan wouldn’t mind it either, at all.)

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.”His fingers cup Lan WangJi’s face and he can’t help himself but push againstLan WangJi’s cheeks, pressing his fingers against Lan WangJi’s perfectlyimpeccable features. “Tell me, Lan Zhan: would you have stayed even if I’venever remembered how to get rid of this? Would you have gotten sick of mehaving our bed all to myself? Would you have finally gotten angry at me forruining something good? Would you have told me to leave?Would you have saidgoodbye and found someone else to –”

“Wei Ying,” Lan WangJi interrupts him; face still alittle smushed, held fully between Wei Ying’s palms, a frown hidden deep in hisvoice. “Stop talking nonsense,” he tells him, seriously, sincere.

There are tears falling off the precipice of WeiYing’s jaw, dropping onto his arms like heated wax, a melting sob curling up inhis throat. Lan WangJi stays still under his fingertips but his thumb brushes atear away from Wei Ying’s cheek, rests underneath, waits for more sadness todispel.

“I want you, wherever you are,” he says, simply and WeiYing doesn’t know why he was crying in the first place, why he continues tofeel tears slip past his cheeks but soon after, Lan WangJi’s mouth replaces histhumb, replaces the air on Wei Ying’s own lips and they don’t quite tumble intobed: they don’t really make it that far.

For once, Wei Ying doesn’t complain about it, at all.

#Anonymous #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #mdzs #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #posting fic after half a year #wei ying has big dad energy #same as Lan WangJi #more tags on AO3 #long post

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swishandflickwit · 4 years

Text

free falling (into your arms) — 1/1

Summary: She longs for purchase and in this slippery turmoil, it is him who grounds her.

Him who is her anchor in this howling monsoon.

following the events of the southern raiders, katara & zuko steal a bit of time together before they reunite with the rest of their friends.

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 7.4k

Warnings: unbeta'd, i wrote this instead of sleeping, missing scene post-tsr, touchy-feely katara so don't read if that bothers you?, rambly iroh-channeling zuko, katara and zuko talk about bloodbending

AN: for zutara week 2020 day 5 - hesitancy

(maybe. idk. if you squint? i started this before i knew about zutara week then didn't have time to write for any of the other prompts so i just sorta... made it... work? lol)

you know what gets me about tsr every time? its when katara and zuko hug and it was like they'd done it a million times before and after that, touches between them became not frequent exactly but easy and maybe being almost murder buddies does that too but idk, she wanted to murder him .02 seconds ago and now they're co-parenting everyone else and i was like, something more had to have happened right? in the journey between whale tail island and ember island and from when zuko left katara to pick up the rest of the gaang something deeper had to have happened??? i cannot fathom it otherwise. i simply refuse. and so, this mess was born lmao. also we saw katara giving zuko a very tasteful peptalk, i wanted him to give her one too, one first? but like, make it cute and rambly.

Song Inspirations: title and lyrics (and fic inspired by) from Away From The Current by Keiko Necesario (such a zutara song, honestly), my tears ricochet by Taylor Swift

Also on: ff.net | AO3

Other writing

little by little i'm falling, deeper than the sea

maybe you can swim with me

They are gone before Yon Rha ever opens his eyes.

They dash away with a speed that leaves her breathless, everything around her a blur made even murkier given the deluge upon them.

(they run faster still yet never farther it seems, and she hates, hates, hates until the feeling chokes her, consumes her, although she doesn't know at what whom, and she hates that she hates at all)

And she cannot recall how her hand finds its way into Zuko's but she is grateful anyway—grateful because his grip is warm, pleasantly so even if they hadn't already been entrenched in the growing cold of the rain. The heat of him keeps her shivering at bay, the calluses that shape his palm slot in the grooves of her own lifelines and hold her aloft when her feet tangle in the flood and cobblestone.

She is grateful because as they race towards sanctuary his grasp—skin surprisingly rougher than how she imagines a prince's touch would be—becomes the only thing preventing her from greeting the dirt like an old friend. She is grateful, for if their fingers hadn't been twined—however clumsily—then nothing would stop her from floating away with the torrent of her element. There is smog shrouding her until both her vision and her brain is clouded. She longs for purchase and in this slippery turmoil, it is him who grounds her.

Him who is her anchor in this howling monsoon.

The thought is wild; even incomprehensible just a day ago when he was clearly the embodiment of her torment—the spawn of a tyrant, the heir of the destruction that brought about her mother's demise. His is the face of the Enemy, yet she does nothing to stop the proclamation from sharpening in her fogged-up mind.

Not now when the line between who he was and who he is grows more indistinct with every second she spends with him, not now when they have come so far with just each other to rely on. Not now when she’s lost count of how many times she nearly tumbles, her name tearing from his lips in a frayed yet concerned hiss that she knows she has not earned. And most definitely not now—not when he has witnessed her at her most cruel, engaging in an act so vile she swore never to utilize it and yet and yet and yet. She brands the word hypocrite onto her soul as penance but it is a feckless measure because she knows, even if it sickens her, that she does not—she does not—

(she might as well add coward there too, since she does not, cannot, finish this line of reasoning)

(it is quite possible though that she is being too harsh on herself, like she always is. after all, she remembers how zuko's eyes had merely widened as he understood what her bending had done, what she had done, yet he had not so much as flinched.

he simply carried on.

her guilt however, prevents her from truly conceiving this and she buries the brief awe that had sparked in the prince's gaze, then, and juxtaposes it with the terror she had expected—that which she truly deserves)

The sight of Appa has her knees weakening so that she is collapsing into the shelter of Zuko's arms. It’s as if her body likens the presence of the bison to safety, granting her permission to crumple, to break.

Not that Zuko allows her to, not really, not in the way she expects.

Appa wields the pair of them upright as Zuko braces against the bison and she against the firebender. It allows him to clutch at her with a desperation that borders on painful. With the entirety of her weight supported by him, she finds that he is just as calescent as the tenure of his hold suggests. It would console her, strange as the source of it is, were it not for the sheer, cold fright that arrests his otherwise golden orbs. The consolation does come however, when she discerns that it is not her he is frightened of, no. But he is frightened.

He is frightened for her, and the strangeness, too, evinces when she is humbled by the realization.

"Katara," he gasps when she clamps staunchly at his biceps.

"G-get me out of here," she stutters, no longer able to temper the tremble in her voice nor the shaking of her limbs, though the chilly outpour has far to do with either instance. "Get me out of here now."

He nods, the haze of distress aborting from his stare. But before he can board them both onto Appa, she transfers her clench from his arms to the collar of his drenched, ebony tunic and says, "Don't."

Don't take me back to them, she means to relay. Don't let them see me like this, she silently begs. Not yet not yet not yet, please not yet.

But the words are frozen in her throat, weighed by dark, dark things—things like shame and disgust and panic and a numbing cold—so only one word escapes her in a whisper, an aborted sob, that she does not expect him to hear. But stranger still (or, at this point she is coming to learn, maybe not so) is the increasing understanding that continues to dawn on his expression, and which manifests itself in an assertive nod.

He is scooping her into a bridal carry when a renewed hysteria grips her, her wicked musings seeing fit to torture her in her fatigue. What if he misunderstood? What if he brings me to the others? What if he tells them?

(a smaller, but no less clamorous, part of her adds, what if they hate you—what if he hates you?)

(not that she could bare the others' judgement any easier but the prospect of his hatred being directed at her in addition to theirs just grates and she feels like shattering)

With the dregs of her dwindling vigor, her digits tighten on the cloth around his neck—the movement not to harm when it comes to him for once, but a bid to further explain herself. Zuko is unfazed by the storm brewing within her, ever a growing paragon of sympathy.

"I know a place," he vouches gently—surefooted in a way that is becoming familiar to her when the early morning light comes, loathe as she is to admit it before (strengthen your root, aang)—and equally soft in her ear, "Trust me."

I do, she longs to vow, but the ice inside her grows and the promise is taken with the rushing wind as he grabs the reins and takes off.

The loss of him is jarring.

It should befuddle her. Given their less than stellar past, Zuko and proximity had always been in the context of situations she would rather forget—on battlegrounds, and glowing prisons, and more recently, safe houses with separate rooms and large common areas, along with the very saddle they sit on. Before that, it had been open fields upon which they would assemble their singular tents. They meet and they share spaces, but hardly do they ever touch.

(and while ba sing se is a memory she is coming to terms with, it is one that still slightly smarts and therefore, one she does not count)

Up until recently she was more than fine with this arrangement. They gave each other a wide berth, and everyone was, if not happy, content for it.

But in this new and mystifying After, when she falls like liquid and he is the only solid thing to catch her (and cup her and hold her and keep her together), the previous avoidance feels petty, stupid and childish—never mind that they are children.

(not that she's felt that way recently, if she ever felt that way at all)

In the After, the switch from her frigid distance to his succoring cradle, while abrupt, is the furthest thing from unwelcome.

So, she whimpers when he motions to settle her atop the bed of the saddle. The way he carries her has them the nearest they've ever been to each other—her every downy curve pressed against the hard lines of his lithe yet lean figure. She wants to lose herself in the embers of his gaze. She wants to melt into his skin. She wants to burrow in his inner warmth and never come out, anything to thaw the glacial stalactites that have snared her insides.

Later, she will acknowledge that her sudden attachment to his fire has less to do with his actual ability to provide heat so much as it has to do with her need to cauterize the atrocity that mars her soul. Now though, in this tenuous yet bright After, with him as her only source of light in the darkness that suffocates her—he seems both close and not close enough. It's any wonder then, that the moment they both touch down from Appa, she clings to him.

Though it is her who slumps into his arms again, she knows she catches him off guard. She can tell by the way his breath stutters and tension suddenly seizes his every muscle, while his heart beats a staccato rhythm in his chest. She gets the fleeting impression he is a stranger to affection despite the love he so blatantly harbors for his uncle when he speaks about him. Katara, nurturing by nature, determines right then and there to rectify this post-haste. So, cling she does, like a newborn panda-koala to its mother.

At some point in their journey, the rain abates. The air is sweltering in this Fire Nation island he has taken her to, and still, she clings some more. She is unyielding yet tender in her embrace, until she senses the incredulity dissipating from his aura, until the tautness dissolves from his bones and sinews, until his heart slows in repose, until the glaciers that make up her blood—not melt, precisely but—soften enough that she can feel beyond her trepidation, until the incalescence of him steams the water from their clothes and seeps into her skin.

It is as much awkward as it is dulcifying, but neither is inclined to let go. For the first time since they had embarked on the mission, perhaps even so far as the first time since they met… they can both finally, properly breathe.

He holds her and she holds him, until the sun from which he channels his own energy draws towards the horizon, the effulgent curves of the inflamed heavenly body sinking to kiss the sea. The cold creeps ever closer yet never over her.

How could they be so bold? When Katara falls asleep in the arms of the firebender prince.

-//////-

The moon is high when she awakens next.

Yue is full, beautiful and blinding against the inky sky and yet, she is alone.

A new bout of dread rushes through her, the ice in her veins solidifying with terrible alacrity to accompany the tumult of her insecurities.

He left, of course he left, he knows what you can do, snarls and spits the cloying thing residing within her that which she fatuously assumed had been temporary. He knows who you are, what you are, and he fears you.

He is right to do so.

A twig snaps and her head swivels towards the sound. With a shudder of relief, she alights upon the vision of Zuko appearing from the tree line that borders the inner edge of the beach, Appa not far behind him. There are offcuts of leaves in the bison's gargantuan mouth and a pile of firewood in the prince's arms. Her eyes dart briefly at the bonfire dancing sedately a few paces from where she lies, but mostly they drink him in.

Zuko had been muttering quietly to Appa but at her scrutiny, he stops. When he locks onto her, he offers a pallid smile (though with the shadows playing at his visage, the turn of his lips is more grimace than anything) and a similarly tentative, "Hey."

"You—" she murmurs, stilted and rigid as she works to swallow the residues of her panic. "Don't—" and there's that awful word again although this time, she manages to get the rest of the request, demand, plea sentence out. "Don't leave."

(the words me and again are unspoken yet heard just as loudly and acutely as if they had been shouted)

"I won't," he is quick to reply. Still, she is not assuaged, even must fight to prevent her hands from reaching for him. It makes her feel pathetic. Katara has always been free with her affections and in turn has never been in want for touch. So, to crave Zuko's—of all people—warmth is an occurrence she never could have foreseen, insatiable avarice warring against her leaden contrition especially now that she knows, with incontestable surety, how they fit together. Her rapacity presses for victory, so much so that she resorts to sitting on her hands to further quell the urge to wrap herself around him.

Assurances made, Zuko resumes tending to the fire while Katara distracts herself by ruminating on her newfound regard for the prince.

(conclusions are drawn but the significance of them has her repelling the revelations just as rapidly as they are made—to be dissected and inspected by the katara of later)

For once, she is static as Zuko navigates the tedium that comes with setting up camp. With the fire done, he unfurls their sleeping bags at a respectable distance. He follows this with a careful inventory of their provisions, and when the stock is accounted for, he dishes out the appropriate rations (seal jerky being the sole menu as they had neither time nor patience to scrounge for anything more the night they left). He even goes so far as to pet Appa and confirm the bison's comfort, a palpable if subtle bond there that she allows herself to recognize at last. There is a naturality to his gestures that would fascinate her had she happened upon it any other night. As it is, she is still a tad too miffed—her head swimming in agitation from having woken up thinking she was alone—to fully appreciate his initiative.

She reaches for her bundle of jerky when she notices the state of her hands. As a result of sheltering them amongst the fine grains of the ground, they have surfaced dusted with sand. Zuko notes this at the same time she does with a startled, "Oh!"

She is about to voice her puzzlement at his reaction or even dismiss the mess as an inconvenience easily solutioned when he jogs to the shallow depths of the sea. There he shreds parts of the bottom of his tunic before dousing them into the ocean. Upon his return he kneels before her and, with a consideration that mesmerizes her, wipes her palms with the waterlogged strips.

She novels at the various means with which he astonishes her, and might continue to astonish her, during their—now indefinitely extended—period together.

He dabs cautiously at the grime and scrapes clinging stubbornly at her flesh, something rusty yet accustomed in his body language—like the intimation is a fragment of his past, however long forgotten.

Distantly, she registers that Zuko is an older sibling. Maybe not exactly like Sokka, but a big brother all the same. She tries to picture Azula—not as the elegant, cunning, dangerous princess she knows now—but younger… softer… before power and bloodlust planted its insidious roots and sprouted weeds. Was there a time her eyes shined with fondness instead of anger? Where she had whispered sweet words, not to manipulate but, to share in her mirth? Did she ever come to Zuko like this, dirty and bleeding, certain he would know what to do to soothe her hurts away?

She tries to conjure it and fails miserably. If anything, she is more disturbed at the prospect that Zuko might view her as something like a sister. Though a part of Katara knows how irrational it is to fixate on such an inconsequential surmise, an even bigger part of her bristles.

She feels it then.

The frost that she so adamantly hoped was chased away by Zuko's fire, surges with renewed vigor inside her. It twists into that something dark and ugly, something that has been haunting her all night—one Katara knows but is reluctant, afraid, to name.

Zuko is blissfully unaware that he is the subject of her grisly musings. He runs the cloth over her palms with the same intensity he seems to tackle his every circumstance, his swipes relentless in their bid to rid her skin of impurities. Then again, she expects no less from the firebender who persistently chased them across the world only to just as doggedly proclaim his loyalty to their cause. What throws her off however, is the determined patience he exhibits so as to avoid her open cuts, for no other reason she can think of than to prevent the inevitably harsh sting of the saltwater on the wounds—never mind that the scratches are no larger than a fingernail at best and as long as that of her thumb at worst—his cleaning caress focused yet light.

The purposeful care would endear him to her, if the thought that he might see her as a sister-figure didn't enduringly unsettle her so.

He is close to finishing when the dark thing inside her rattles to make itself known.

"I can do it myself."

But the whispered grievance lacks the vehemence with which such a statement is usually made. Perhaps that is why Zuko doesn't completely halt so much as slows. His clasp on her hands grows even looser, the miniscule shift in his hold telling her that she may breakaway at her leisure.

"Right," he breathes when she doesn’t pull away. "Waterbender."

The title chafes her, glass shards piercing at her chest in a way that simultaneously encourages her rabidness and makes her want to crawl out of her body. Again, the inclination to fuse herself onto Zuko and his feverishness becomes an unbearable need. Now that she has gotten a little more than a couple of hours of sleep, she has enough sense to be embarrassed for her rather enthusiastic tenacity to adhere herself to him earlier. She should be loathe to so much as breathe the same air as him, yet here she is again, just as eager and willing to meld into his incandescence with nary a thought to his convenience.

(it’s situations like these that she cannot deny her relation to sokka—much to her chagrin—because clearly, she is an idiot)

But her pride and common sense impede her impulse for now so, on somewhat imperceptibly wobbly legs she walks to the shoreline, hoping the proximity to her element will infuse her with tranquility.

(or in this case, what little is left of her sanity)

Shoes tossed aside and her ankles deep in the water, Katara moves into her stances with an almost paralleled elegance to her element. The exhaustion that has latched onto every inch of her, down to the very marrow of her bones, hardly strains her when the moon imparts her with the strength she necessitates to go through the entirety of her bending repertoire. More than anything, she is further compelled by the prospect that the familiar maneuvers will dispel the slithering sickness that pervades her.

Except… she can feel him, his breath, his blood, his stare. He is watching, just watching, and it unnerves her so much that she loses her instinctual fluidity the more complicated her katas become, no matter that as a master she could easily do them in her sleep.

Just then, a particularly exuberant tide slams into her knees and disquiets her balance just as she is approaching the pinnacle of her most complex stance. And although she wavers only a little, her toes immediately hasping onto the seabed, it's as if a dam inside her caves. The profundity of the night's events crashes into her so it is less like she had stumbled and more like she had capsized as a ship does from the enormity of a storm—turbulent and impuissant against the raging current.

What have I done? she sobs in her mind, even as her power—exorbitant from the fullness of Yue's grace—crests in response to her distress. It thrums like wildfire through her veins, yet she has never felt further from calidity.

No, it is not a fever that grabs hold of her.

What have I done? she asks again when it is the deadly frost of winter that bites at her soul. From the ocean of her anguish, her grief, ascends a tempestuous tide that shapes into that of her repulsiveness. Everything about herself that she abhors, every repugnant crack that splinters at her perfection, at her supposed goodness, all the jagged pieces she runs herself ragged to keep smooth and hidden, boils to the surface in choppy torrents of her bending.

With the endless expanse of the sea at her disposal, Katara crimps her fingers until she traps herself in a barricade of ice. The structure is flawless, her reflection undisturbed and perfect.

How she hates and hates and hates.

With a scream, Katara raises her arms above her head, the roughness of her motility entirely contrary to her element. The ice around her begins to fracture then, her image fragmenting so that the ugliness carefully concealed in her interior is mirrored upon her exterior, free from the shadows at last.

This, she decides, this is what I have done.

A swelter licks at her back but it barely warrants her contemplation. The entirety of her attention is fixated on how the fissures distorting her glass shadow paint her in harsh, unflattering angles, and yet she has never felt more right.

She wonders what that says about herself… how she very well knows even as she asks it, and what scares her isn’t that she is afraid of the answer but that she is not.

“Enough.”

His command, soft and gentle as the steam it is carried on so it is less edict and more entreaty, pierces the condensation she hadn’t heeded was gathering at her feet until it is right in front of her. She should be vexed, maybe even surprised.

But Zuko always did have a way of making himself seen—of making himself known.

“That’s enough,” his rasp is even deeper, seared as it is by his concern of which she is still unused to receiving. His fingers on her shoulder are preternaturally warm this time, but it takes all of her not to lean into it regardless. “You’ll hurt yourself!”

“Isn’t that what I deserve?” she growls, tearing away from his grasp only to turn towards him so that he bears the omneity of her depravity.

The time for hiding, at least when it comes to the prince, has long since come to an end.

His eyes widen, and she almost smiles at his predictable fear—except he is reaching for her once more, a mixture of confusion and vehemence dripping from his inflection instead when he exclaims, “Of course not! What are you talking about?”

Something like hurt flashes across his eyes when she jerks from him again, her back thudding forcefully against her ice wall. His perplexity echoes throughout her so that she retorts, just as stridently, “What am I talking about? What are you?”

The question in his eyes is genuine and unfading, and Katara wants to fall into him all over again just for that. But she holds on to her anger, coats it around her like she would glazed armor to defend against the sheer magnitude of him.

“Y-you saw what I did,” she hisses but when he shakes his head again, she falters against the smooth, rime palisade. Who knew all it took to defeat her was a pair of amber eyes molten with sincerity? And that it would hurt her if when the seafret weight of it—cozy like a blanket made from her Gran-Gran’s hand as opposed to the armor she sheaths herself in—slips from her fingers like vapor, gone as quickly as she had it, if she ever had it at all?

She wonders why she cares.

(except she knows the answer to that, too)

“You know what I am,” she mumbles dejectedly.

“And what is that?” he whispers, equally muted.

It is only when she stills at the question that she notices she was quivering in the first place. She closes her eyes, like the act might suppress the truth despite how fully aware she is of its inevitability.

She stalls. A step, a pulse, a blink, and then—

“Monster,” she breathes.

She convinces herself that she is not petrified of what she will see when she meets his gaze, so she forces herself to look.

To her surprise, he isn’t looking at her at all and it confounds her so much she forgets to be relieved.

It is their sorry encampment he is facing when he says, “Come by the fire,” and he doesn’t check if she follows but he does incline his head over his shoulder enough to add, “I don’t want you to freeze any more than you already have.”

She wants to tell him that should be the least of his worries, that ice would be the furthest breach to her downfall. But the quip sounds paltry even in her head, and the fact that he still worries silences her just as effectively.

She doesn’t know what to do with herself when he sits but the nonchalance in his demeanor—legs held loosely in the lotus position, his arms propped lazily behind him, and his head tipped placidly at the sky—presents an invitation. Even if it isn’t, his propinquity tempts her.

He is gravity and, as she has well proven, she is helpless against his pull.

“Say something,” she implores from beside him, the bonfire void when nothing but a foot separates them, the emanating heat she siphons from his skin is more than adequate to fend off the brisk, night air.

“Yon Rha is alive.”

“Death would have been too kind for a spineless vermin like him,” she blazes through gritted teeth, before the fight leaves her altogether. “But that’s not—” she sighs. “He’s not why.”

“You’re talking about the soldier on the ship.”

“I swore,” her speech is warbled even in susurration, “I swore I would never call upon my power that way. I promised, with my brother and my best friends as my witnesses, but the first opportunity away from them presents itself and what do I do?” Her eyes are red-rimmed and crusty from the volume of tears she had shed the previous night, and yet a fountain must reside within her for tiny rivulets of them stream down her cheeks anyway—the more she wipes them away, the faster they fall. It is her turn to shake her head. “You must think I’m a monster too.”

His scrutiny is scorching when he abandons his seemingly languid perch to render the plenitude of his attention on her.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responds evenly.

“I don’t? How dare you!” the resuscitation of a still embittered memory has her erupting from her position and kicking up sand as she abruptly rises to her feet. That he remains seated, countenance so calculatingly neutral his resemblance to his sister has never seemed more evident, only fuels her ire. “I took this man’s will. I reached into his blood, his life source, and I commanded it as my own. I corrupted my bending and nearly defiled him for it. And maybe he wasn’t innocent, but he was innocent to me. Who knows what I would have done if I hadn’t realized he was the wrong man? Would you have stopped me then? I can’t imagine you would have when you just stood by as I almost murdered another man in cold blood! What then?” her chest is heaving with her fervency, but her declamation is a mellifluous contrast to her beginning parlance. “What then?" she sags back down to the ground in a boneless heap, rubbing at her wet cheeks in vain, and she is so tired of crying. "It was monstrous. I’m monstrous.”

“Maybe you did do a monstrous thing,” he starts solemnly, “but that doesn’t make you a monster,” his inflection is just as subdued as hers, and it doesn’t escape her that this entire night he has matched—if not capitulated to—her, motion by motion, tone for tone; that he ducks low when she aims high, is cool when she runs hot, and spirited when she falls into despair. It’s like he views them on equal footing, like he never intends to be above her, only with her. She finds that she is moved by this revelation, something emotive and electric pulsing rapturously at her fingertips. But before she can further delve on it, he continues, and the poignancy scatters like ashes in the wind in the wake of the sorrow on his tongue.

“I should know, I grew up around them,” he laughs but it is the sound of broken glass, so pained and humorless it scrapes against the cusped contours of her own smattered heart. “There are days when even I can’t distinguish myself from them. So, believe me,” his fingers ghosting his scar. “There are worse things a monster can do than grant mercy.”

“I’m sorry,” she conveys staunchly, and she means it. They have danced this dance before, so she is no stranger to the ridges that separate smooth skin from marred one when her digits trace the worn pathways. “I’m sorry,” she repeats.

“Don’t,” he gives her hand a squeeze when he slips it from beneath hers, before placing it on her knee with some semblance of propriety, remnants from his days of royalty she supposes.

(she refuses to entertain the more conceivable possibility that it is a repeated unaccustomedness to touch, lest she track down the firelord and prematurely end this war, avatar or not)

“Don't be. Not for me, not for tonight, not for anything.”

She doesn’t know why she protests but she does. Is this not what she wants to hear? Does she not want this vindication?

“But the bloodbending—”

“Is just another part of you.”

“A bad part,” she mutters, demeaningly.

His cautious veneer ruptures at this, the sneer contorting his mouth so evocative of the days when he was her adversary that she almost summons a spear of ice out of habit. But the ardor in his aurelian orbs and the passion in his smoke-encased voice arrests her in the present, so that there is no mistaking the reproach in his homily, yes, but the acceptance too.

“Could the nomads not command the very air that passes through your lungs? Had the Dai Li not thought twice about burying you alive? Wouldn’t you be able to drown a foe just as easily as you could conjure your healing water to save them? Is destruction all there is to fire, when it can also warm you and cook your food?” he snarls and as if in demonstration, the roaring pit before them blazes for a fraction of a second before resuming its indolent conflagration. “Every element has their strengths and their weaknesses, every person their good and bad side,” he stares at his hands, elbows propped limply upon his bent knees, and something despondent and regretful dulling the sparkling tinder in his eyes. “Some bad sides, stronger than others,” he finishes quietly.

“I don’t regret it,” she confesses, and she should be humiliated by this admission that has been clawing at her chest and choking at her throat. But all she is is unbothered, unbound—more airbender than water for the first time in her life, and is this how Aang constantly feels? Is this what propelled him to leave the day his destiny was revealed to him? Not that she did then but how could she ever blame him now, when this liberation was so exhilarating?

“Still doesn’t make you a monster, though.”

“But does it make me a good person?”

He sighs, rubbing at his nose in a pantomime so boyish, it disarms her. For a moment she forgets who he is and who she is and who they are to each other.

And what is that exactly?

“I think it just means you’re trying,” he shrugs. “We've all got the potential for darkness and lightness within us, our powers just as capable of tipping towards either side. But I guess the question for every moment is, to which side are you going to choose to be a vessel for? Or—or maybe it isn't so clean cut. Maybe it's just about finding the in-between, the…” he trails off, appearing lost in thought as his gaze trains on the skyline, like he might find the wayward reverie there.

She thinks back to the aftermath of the siege of the North, remembers Aang orating similar advice.

Push and pull… he had imparted, yin and yang…

“Balance,” she hums.

He gives her an appreciative glance that she perceives all the way to her bones.

“Yes,” he agrees. She can almost sense the connections cultivating in his brain and she lets it, not daring to interrupt him when she is so enchanted by this scarce sight of an artless but enthusiastic Zuko. “No one is wholly good or evil, but it’s the choices you make in seeking your inner balance that will ultimately define you, right? And I know what you’re gonna ask—did you make the right choices last night? Honestly, I couldn’t say. I think you’re the only one who can really answer that.” He takes a deep breath, biting at his lips before venturing gingerly, “Far be it from me to pass judgement, but I need you to know that I could never… see you like that. You’re scary, sure, and I think you like that,” she hides a satisfied smile at that, at how he reads her. “But a monster? Spirits, never.” He runs a hand through his hair, before rubbing at the nape of his neck. “You didn’t have to spare that—that—asshole, but you did.” There’s a blush to his cheeks that she only understands when he remarks, “And not that my opinion really matters to you but, you’re seriously one of the strongest people I know.”

And something inside her clicks into place as the validation she didn’t know she was seeking washes over her in gentle eddies. She doesn’t feel strong just then, the total opposite, in fact. But his unyielding support sedates the foreboding mass of algid tenebrosity inside her, if only for a little while, so that she resembles something a little like solid.

“Actually,” she gibes, however feebly. “I was gonna ask how a hothead like you got so wise.”

The little gust of wind that escapes him is not exactly a laugh, but she counts it as a victory all the same. “My uncle would have better insight for you. I mean, it would probably be wrapped in an enigma tied in a tea-related metaphor, but no less helpful.”

"I don't know," she drawls, though not unkindly, as she bumps her shoulder amiably against his. She relishes the contact when he doesn’t shift away. "You're not so bad."

"I'm not?"

The vulnerability in his resonance tells her his inquiry goes beyond his ability to provide advice, and after everything he's given her this night alone, it is only fitting that she is more than willing to reciprocate.

“No, no I don’t think that at all. I dare say,” she smiles, sinking into his side. “You, Prince Zuko, are good.”

“Good,” he mouths disbelievingly, as if he never thought the word could be tethered to him, like no one’s ever called him that. Maybe they haven’t, which saddens her because she may as well have been one of the reasons for that. It's just another thing to add to her growing list of what she hopes to do for the fire prince who has not received enough warmth and kindness in his life, as she is gradually discovering. “Never really been good at being… good,” the upturn of his lips is self-deprecating but the candor of it lends a light to his face that makes its former absence even starker, but no less stunning in its rarity. “You know that more than anyone, and for that I’m sorry. Truly, I am.”

“You’re trying,” she parrots, and his smile widens minutely, but it is enough. She akins it to the sun, peeking from the horizon after days sequestered forlornly behind storm clouds, and she is esurient for the homeliness his warmth is sure to supply. She doesn’t know it, but it will be a long time before she sees even a glimmer of it again. For now, she basks in his glow, until the ice strangling her core melts into liquid into mist except before she can evaporate, he is there to moor her to the safety of port.

Her fingers drift within reach of his scar and this close to him, breaths mingling and noses a hairsbreadth apart, she can make out the misshapen shape of a hand. There is a story there, a tragic one, no doubt. And she hopes he trusts her the same way she unequivocally does him (for how can she not after what they have been through and what they have exchanged? and she will tell him, she will) to one day divulge, but not tonight. She does not want to taint the effulgence of this moment with any more talk of darkness.

She only wants his charming guilelessness, no matter how unintentional, and his graceless chatter. She wants the domesticity of his hands and the honor of his brand of protection. And if you had asked her two days ago, her answer would have been completely different but now, now she revels in his mercurial temper as much as she values his ardent humility.

She just wants to be present as he continues to try, and what more could she desire from a friend?

It shouldn’t, but it hits her like a riptide; he’s her friend. And it’s been inclement waters seeing as they had to maneuver all the way from opposite sides of the battlefield to a necessary alliance to a revenge-driven field trip. And it shouldn’t be the most peculiar thought of the night, certainly not the most astounding, but it is. It is.

After so long chasing each other across the world, he is here. He is here and he is her friend, one who is privy to a side of her she had kept shackled and secreted, even from herself and still he understands, still—

He stays.

“I know I’ve asked so much of you already, but can I ask just once more?”

He doesn’t hesitate. He’s her friend and she is his and it is nothing like she has ever known before. It is hard-earned and precious and marvelous.

It is everything.

“Anything you need, Katara,” he avers most earnestly, eyes burning with companionship and hands outstretched in pillars of support. “Anything I can give and it’s yours.”

(and, if the buoyant churning in her gut is any indication, maybe even more and oh, Tui and La, but she is in trouble—)

She follows the elongated indents of his left palm, tracking the lines there that had aligned so exquisitely with hers as he banished every reluctancy and held her hand even then, and is overtaken by a flashback—to a village bordered by a volcano, a similar position but in reverse, a powerful bender suddenly thunderous in her head.

(—not that she’s ever buckled from a challenge before)

Yue’s brilliance is kind on him, coloring his pale skin ethereal so that it shimmers otherworldly against her own sun-kissed flesh. The nobility of his lineage is subtle, found mostly in the sharp slant of his nose, his jaw and his cheekbones. But his beauty and his potency lies in the abstruse, the unseen. It is in the way he makes awful tea and shares jokes of which he only knows the punchline because he knows it is the best way to honor the person he loves most in this world. It is in his pursuit to make amends even when the road to redemption is shabby and difficult, or that redemption means cleansing the grime from the hands of a slip of a girl who once hated him. It’s his tenacity to get up no matter how many times he is beaten down.

“I don’t need anything,” she reassures him, her cadence shy when she requests, “I would like it if we stayed here though.” Her timidity, so inimical from her former gusto, almost paralyzes her now but she braves cupping his left cheek anyway, fingers cosseting the edge of his mark. “The two of us, just a little longer.”

“We’ll stay as long as you want,” he accedes. This time, he isn’t a spectator to the affection, nor does he recede from it. To her delight, he leans into it, to her, going so far as to envelope her hand with his so that her touch becomes a halcyon balm upon his scored side. “Anything, and it’s yours,” he recurs with quiet insistence.

He is the sun, unfailing and true, and it is from his radiance that she allows the yearning to bloom.

And you? her heart is a riot beneath her ribcage, but—in the aftermath of so much struggling, both of the internal and external kind—her smile is miraculous in its serenity. What if it’s you that I want?

“Good,” she says instead, wishing with all her might that he hears the veracity behind her hushed yet no less steely declaration. “So very good.”

The way those pools of gold soften, his other hand brushing delicately at the last of her errant tears, tells her he does… that he might just believe.

-//////-

As much as she wants to suspend time, war stops for no one and she can no longer ignore the suffering that rages on beyond them.

She knows who to blame for the impetuous loss of her innocence, that it is the cowardice of power-hungry despots that have forced children like her to the frontlines of this hundred-year persecution. She knows the futility of this knowledge because justice is not hers to serve in this case, it is a burden she shares with thousands upon thousands of others. And when judgement comes for the depraved likes of Yon Rha, Zhao, and Ozai, she will have to contend with the bile that bubbles in the back of her throat and the sin splicing her soul because for them, she has no forgiveness to spare.

But Zuko…

I’m sorry. Truly, I am.

“I am ready to forgive you.”

After, the last of her abiding hesitancy to accept him bleeds into purpose-filled promise when she throws her arms around him—her head at his shoulder, cheek nestled at the hollow of his throat, his breath hot on her neck, and his hands large and comforting at the small of her back—it is as natural as breathing and as prevailing as her heartbeat. This is how she breaks—a tundra seizing her lungs and a storm in her mind that threatens to drown out the light until the inferno in his touch razes the darkness and reminds her to breathe, to reach out, to stand tall, stand steady, and this is how she mends, too—her waters fresh against his raging anger, cool and calm and healing the burns that have pained him, mind and heart, body and soul. It is pieces of her latching onto the pieces of him, until they are in adept symmetry, crowning harmony.

A perfect balance.

And although it is him seeking forgiveness, she cannot help but feel that it is her who finds absolution.

Right in the circle of his arms.

in the cold, i feel your warmth

i’m free falling into your arms

AN: first zutara fic asdfghjkl hope you enjoyed it!

lets cry about zutara together sksksksk so pls come say hi to me!

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yezielmoore · 4 years

Text

Prompt #12: Tooth and Nail

Put under cut because this has some vague 5.3 spoilers. Vague, as in the kind of spoilers someone who hasn’t played yet and doesnt bother to avoid them may know. (like me! lol)

Of all the things you were expecting as you made your way back from the Tower, precious cargo in hand, a slumber party was not one of those.

When you finally enter the Rising Stones, you're received by muted cheers, not because they aren’t ecstatic at the Scions revival, but exactly because of that, because the rejoining of mind and soul to body had been taxing and everyone is utterly drained. Tataru is also waiting for you and right next to her is Krile. Krile, who immediately zeroes on the body you're carrying on your back.

"Is he…" alive, she doesn't say, doubt and hesitation plain in her face, even though she should know better. She does know better. She can see and feel his aether after all, deeper and richer than before, but still the same hue it’s always been. But maybe that's why, the miqo'te on your back probably feels little like the young man she knew. Like the friend she thought lost forever.

He may not be lost, but he certainly isn’t the same man, and for all that Krile has known that all along, it’s a hard truth to reconcile when finally presented with undeniable proof.

“Tired,” you say.

Before the start of this journey, G'raha had explained his experience to you, what it had felt like to wake up 200 years in the future, how weak he had been despite the fact that his body was perfectly preserved; how tired he had been, as if 200 years of slumber had just been a two minutes’ catnap after a two days’ bender.

This time it wasn’t nearly as long, barely three years and change, but the feeling is much the same. Or so he had said, face pressed to the floor on Xande’s throne room, after his failed attempt at standing on his own two feet landed him there.

Krile hovers around you for a moment, uncharacteristically anxious and solemn. You don’t know her well enough to guess at her thoughts but you don’t think you imagine the relief in her gaze, the fondness in the slant of her mouth, the worry hidden underneath it all.

After a moment or two, she shakes herself and turns away in a direction you know by heart. “Come, the others are already resting.”

You follow behind her, despite the fact that the path towards the Scion’s temporary lodgings is burned in your memory. You say nothing, for if there’s a thing you have in common with her is your love for these people and you understand in a visceral way the urge to check and recheck that they’re alive and here and present.

That this is not a dream.

If the life you now carry on your back hadn’t been on the line, you would have never left their sides, not until they got tired of your hovering and sent you on your way.

You weren’t expecting the slumber party.

The beds had been stripped bare and pushed against the walls, and in the middle of the room, in a nest made of mattresses and every single piece of bedding in the room, was the cutest, most wholesome image you had ever seen in your life. occupying a place of honor in the middle were the twins, Alphinaud face up and Alisae half draped over him like the most belligerent and most protective blanket in all worlds. To one side, not quite touching but definitely turned towards the youngest members, was Urianger. Thancred was on the other side, arm extended over the twins and unconsciously reaching towards the one person not in touching distance. Finally, Y’shtola was drapped over Thancred’s back like a lazy cat, tail swishing contentedly.

She’s the only one that stirs at your entrance, opening a blind eye in your direction. She doesn’t speak, as that would only disturb the precarious balance. She hums and smirks in your direction and then closes her eye again, breath evening out.

Next to you, Krile huffs, part amusement, part exasperation. “We told all of them to rest,” she whispers, not really upset.

You hold back a snort. As if Y’shtola would ever do something just because she’s told it’s in her best interests.

You move forward and proceed to carefully disentangle G’raha dead weight from your back and onto a free spot close to Urianger. You don’t plan to stay, as you don’t need rest like they do used as you are to traversing the rift. But before you can get up, G’raha’s hand weakly tangles in yours, pining you as surely as if he had casted a spell on you.

“My… friend?” he asks, voice rough with sleep. You see him visibly struggle to wake up and you can almost see his thoughts running around in a panic because if you’re leaving then there’s a job to do, an enemy to fight or a friend to assist and he can help. He can help.

“Fine. I’m. Fine,” you say softly. He languidly blinks up red, red eyes up at you, adorably confused and so visibly exhausted you feel tired just looking at him. “Rest.”

“But…”

“I… stay,” you assure him, “rest.”

“...okay,” he mumbles and just like that he’s once again unconscious.

So that’s how you sit watch over your family that night.

G’raha never liberates your hand and at some point he moves and curls until his head rest on your knee, which you know must be uncomfortable as hell, but he seems more content that ever so you let him be. Instead you use your free hand to pick apart his braid and proceed to run your fingers through his hair, marveling at its softness as well as its rich red color, not a single white tip in sight. He curls closer to you at this, but doesn’t stir.

You look up and you feel the same marvel at the sight of your family, reunited in the correct world at last, finally out of (immediate) danger. Something tight and hot in your chest loosens its hold on your heart, until you can finally take the first full breath you have had since Thancred collapsed in front of you, so long ago. You’re here, you’re all here, safe and sound. Alive. It’s a marvelous thing, a miracle you sometimes didn’t feel you could pull off and then your failure would signify the deaths of this patchwork family you somehow managed to build.

It’d have killed you.

But you fought, and moved and ran and fought some more; with the Empire self-destructing and wreaking havoc on one side, the threat of Zenos looming on the other, and Elidibus doing his damned best to ruin it all. You fought tooth and nail through it all so that you could get this miracle, your friends and family at your back, as always lending you their wisdom and strength to continue, and you did it. You all did it.

You can hardly believe it, even with the evidence right in front of you. But it is true, and somehow you let yourself relax, you let yourself live in this moment where you’re all safe and reunited.

There’s more, much more to do, but for now, for tonight, you let yourself breathe, you let yourself just be.

Unseen, Krile smiles as the most bull-headed member of the group finally surrenders to her well-earned rest. She closes the door with utmost care and finally lets out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Sweet dreams,” she whispers to the empty hallway.

#FFxivWrite2020 #FFxivWrite #ffxiv #yeziel writes #my writing #x'lial ris #g'raha tia #the resct of the scions #fluff #vague spoilers

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gothedistance-herc · 4 years

Text

A Star is Born ⚡ [Self Para]

In which the Amazons make good on their word to train Hercules...[takes place sometime in the summer, lol.]

[tw -- ...uh some fish were definitely harmed in the making of this para]

The first day of his training, Hercules awoke early in the morning, kissed Georgette goodbye and carried her good luck with him. His heart thundered in his chest as he crossed the field between the houses, towards where four of the Amazons were standing idly. Waiting for him, he assumed. He felt eyes on him as he moved, women standing in doorways. The eyes were suspicious. Admittedly, Hercules was used to that.

Hercules had lived his whole life with eyes on him. Suspicious eyes. Distrustful eyes. Terrified eyes.

What he wouldn’t give for more people to look at him the way Georgette looked at him. Like somewhere safe. That was all Hercules wanted to be for people. Somewhere safe.

So, even though he rubbed his hands together nervously as he approached the group of women--

He was ready for this. For whatever they would have him do. He couldn’t imagine what that was, to be frank. Hercules had spent his whole life with this strength that defied logic. That hid within him but did not present itself in rippling pectorals. He had a slight build to him, despite being tall, he was lanky and nonthreatening. Until he tore a door off its hinges or accidentally crunched his phone in his hand. It had always felt so hopeless. His magic was wild, unruly...dangerous.

“Good morning, Hercules,” Diana said, smiling fondly and brushing her hand against his arm.

Hercules stiffened slightly but managed to smile. “Morning.”

“Are you ready?” asked Iphito, raising her chin slightly.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“It is time to begin.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and began to jog through the trees. Hercules’ sister, Melanippe, followed, and Lykopis after her.

“Wha--”

“Just follow them,” Diana said.

Hercules nodded and broke out into a run himself. Their feet pounded rhythmically across the thick jungle floor. They lept over fallen trees, they skirted around tangled bushes and vines, following a clear, winding path through the greenery. The sun shown hot above them, dazzling in and out of the leaves as the canopy hung thick around them. It smelt of wet earth. Birds called back to each other, their voices high and clear.

It was peaceful, which surprised Hercules. He felt himself getting lost in the pounding feet and birdsong. Never much one for exercise, he had never realized how calming it could be--to just run, feeling the stretch in your legs and the fresh air in your lungs. No one spoke and, after a while, Hercules forgot what they had set out to do: train him.

A while after that, he realized…

His lungs were burning. That was a new sensation, but one he remembered from not having his powers. He blinked and a bead of sweat ran from his hairline down the side of his face, dripping off of him. Soon after, there was a burn in his calves and his thighs. Hercules pulled up short.

It was Melanippe, who he had passed some time ago, who passed him on the outside. She threw a smirk over her shoulder at him. “Hurts doesn’t it?”

“I--”

She had already disappeared into the brush.

Diana came next, stopping next to him. “Keep going,” she told him.

“But I--”

“I know. Keep going.”

Hercules searched her dark eyes, but they held steady and true. Gritting his jaw, he nodded, and continued along the path.

Eventually, he stumbled from the forest, back to where they started. His hands were on his knees and he was panting. “What the--fuck?” he said, lifting his head to look at each of the four women in turn. Lykopis chuckled at him and grinned. Iphito stood with her arms crossed, behind her head, the sun was setting, casting the sky in brilliant orange.

“What--what time is it?” Hercules asked as he caught his breath.

Diana handed him a water skin and he took a long sip. “Almost time for dinner.”

“We were running all day?”

“We will do so again tomorrow. Don’t be late.” Iphito turned and headed towards where everyone else was gathering, Lykopis and Melanippe following behind.

And they did. They ran and they ran. Every day for two weeks. From sun up until sun down, Hercules’ legs trembling, muscles burning, lungs screaming by the end of each day.

~~~

Hercules had lost count of the days. He just knew that the Amazons were torturing him. Or fucking with him. Either way, he was pissed. He wasn’t going to stand for it any longer. He had come to them, supplementing himself, asking for help--wretched and miserable.

They mocked him.

It was ending today. He had woken with the resolve (after much encouragement from Georgette the night before) that he was going to demand they train him. No more of this messing around. He needed to get back to his life. Georgette needed to get back to hers.

He stomped his way across the field towards the three women.

“Look--”

“Today, we go to the river,” Iphito announced, cutting him off.

Hercules pulled up short, blinking in confusion. The heat of the storm that he had brewed in his chest, tending to like a little fire that needed it’s flames fanned, died. He stood, his mouth parted slightly as he looked at all four women.

“Let us go.” Iphito turned and Hercules followed, now thrown off. Baffled.

“It will all make sense,” Diana told him, smiling kindly.

“The fish spawn in the river this time of year. There are hundreds. So many that they clog the river like the bodies of Trojans.”

“Is that an Iliad reference?” Hercules asked as they made their way through the underbrush towards the roaring rush of the river.

“The wolves and tigers help clear the water ways, and still, there are more fish than one can count,” Iphito continued.

They came to a stop near the edge of the river. The water rushed and beneath the surface glinted the bright silver-blue scales of fish. Iphito was right. They stretched as far as Hercules could see, moving as one entity, until one broke from the group, jumping into the air, twisting.

Melanippe leaned down to roll up the cuffs of her pants and then, she waded into the river. The current frothed around her calves, and then her thighs, but she held steady. She stood still, waiting for something, Hercules could tell, but he was unsure what. Then, a fish lept into the air and she reached out and caught it with one hand, holding it to the light. It glinted and sparkled in the hot, bright sun as it twitched and flipped.

Opening her hands, Melanippe dropped the fish back into the river.

“Now, your turn,” Iphito instructed.

“Er, okay,” Hercules replied dubiously. He rolled up the cuffs of his own trackies and then waded into the river with his half-sister. The water pulled at his legs and he felt the fish ebbing and flowing around him, bumping into him as they tried to make their way upstream.

Hercules took a breath, watching the water--

A fish jumped and Hercules reached out to catch it but missed, ripping pieces of its tail as the fish flipped out of his grip and back into the water. Hercules stomach rolled as he turned his hand over and watched the glinting scales stuck to his fingers. Lykopis laughed from where she’d taken a seat along the bank.

“It’s not funny,” snapped Hercules as he hoped a fish could still move without some of the fins of its tail fanned out properly. He washed the pieces off into the fast moving water.

Another fish jumped, right in front of him this time--

Hercules took a step, reaching out with both hands. The fish’s body slid against his palms, slippery, wet, and wild. His heart gave a beat of triumph as he attempted to grasp the fish more firmly--

He felt it break apart in his hands. An explosion of white flesh and guts flew from the fish as it slumped into Hercules’ hands.

“Ah!” he cried and dropped it into the water.

“Gross,” huffed Melanippe, who was closest and bore the brunt of the carnage. She wiped off a piece of fish gut that had landed on her arm with a sneer.

Hercules stared at his hands, covered in blood, feces, flesh, and guts. His mind found himself looking at the pummel of stone he’d crumbled in his hands before, the twisted metal he’d broken before, Georgette’s dead, broken body. Stumbling backwards, he looked up, horrified.

“What--what is the point of this? It’s cruel.”

“No, it will teach you,” Iphito told him.

“Teach me what?!” Hercules shouted back. Despite the rushing water around him, he felt that fire burn back bright. “You’re not telling me anything!”

“Control, boy. It will teach you control.”

Control. All Hercules had ever wanted was control. To not be afraid of grabbing something as delicate as a fish.

“Then teach me! This isn’t teaching! This is setting me up to fail!” His hands flailed about, showering Melanippe with another round of fish flesh and guts.

“Just--relax!” Melanippe snipped at him.

“I won’t kill another fish!”

“No, I’m telling you: relax. Of course you’re going to squeeze a fish to death if you’re so stressed out. Just--take a deep breath. Focus on something else. The rush of the water.”

“The cool of the river,” supplemented Lykopis from the bank where her teasing smile had faded somewhat.

“The warmth of the sun,” added Diana.

Hercules looked between all of them, his brow furrowed. Then, his head turned towards the sun, squinting up at it. It stayed steady and bright in the sky. Lowering his head again, Hercules shook it and then took a deep breath.

“Alright. Once more.” He let the breath out and focused on the feeling of the sun tickling at the back of his neck.

A fish jumped, twirling, catching the glint of the sun. It fell right into Hercules’ waiting hands. Without waiting a moment, it began to wiggle and he closed his fingers over it, gently, concentrating hard, caging it in his fingers.

“Now release it,” called Iphito.

Hercules did so. As soon as the fish hit the water, the anger boiled back. “How is this any different from what I had been doing?!”

“It wasn’t. You were concentrating too much on your own movements and less on your own calm. Do not concern yourself with yourself. Concern yourself with the fish. Concern yourself with the sun. The water.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Again,” commanded Iphito.

“What? No! I didn’t learn anything.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “Hercules, son of Diana. Again.”

Hercules’ nostrils flared but he focused again on the feeling of the beating down on him and he caught another fish from the sky.

For days and weeks, until Hercules lost track, he came to the river, and he caught fish. Several more died, when his concentration broke or he was surprised. But soon--

“Wait, you don’t have cell phones?” Hercules asked, with a laugh as he caught a fish in midair and released it back into the water in one fluid motion.

“Why would we need cell phones?” Lykopis asked with a little shrug.

“I--” Hercules caught another fish, holding this one in his hand, gesturing with it a bit as he shrugged. “I guess that’s a fair point. You do know what it is, though.” He gently released the fish back into the water.

“Yes, I know what--”

“Hercules, catch!” called Melanippe with delight and he turned, flinching back as another fish arched towards him.

He reached up and caught it without a thought, knowing it was far too high in the air to come down without getting hurt. “Melanippe, what the fuck?”

Iphito smirked from where she was lounging in the grass. “Congratulations. Tomorrow, we begin your final task.”

~~~

And so they did.

This one was more involved. It required Hercules holding an egg gently in the palm of his hand and the Amazons attacking him from all sides.

The first few tries were horrible. It only took one swing of a spear for Hercules to forget--to drop the egg and cause it to splatter on the floor of the forest or for him to squeeze it tight in his hand in shock and explode it all over himself and whoever was in the near vicinity. But as he repeated these tasks, over and over--he went longer, was able to move more.

Again and again and again they practiced. Day fading into day. Georgette growing restless, Hercules growing frustrated.

Hercules stood, poised and quiet in the middle of the forest, holding an egg between two of his fingers. There was no noise, except for the beating of his own heart and the sounds in the canopy. In fact, it was actually very loud—monkeys braying and birds singing and insects chirping. However, his concentration was such that he barely heard this ambiance. It had faded into the atmosphere for him.

And then, quite out of nowhere a flock of birds broke from the trees and took to the skies, as one of the Amazons broke from the treeline with a warrior’s yell, startling Hercules. The egg fumbled in his fingers as he dodged the swipe of a spear. Then another. His footwork fast, but not as fast as the Amazon’s. She kept coming, pushing him back and back. Hercules watched her swings, counting the beats in the muscles of his calves until he found a good moment.

Reaching out with the hand not holding the egg, he grabbed the shaft of the spear and squeezed, splintering the wood in his grasp. With a smirk, he yanked the part with the spearhead away from the Amazon and held it under her chin.

“Very good,” smirked Melanippe. She stepped back and so did he, dropping the spear to the forest floor. Her eyes dropped from his to his hand.

Hercules lifted it and unfolded his clenched fist. Inside it lay the egg, perfectly preserved. “I did it!” Hercules shouted with glee, holding the egg up into the sky like a trophy with a triumphant yowl.

“You did. That’s enough for today, I think.”

Iphito stepped out from the brush too and she was wearing a rare smile. Diana was at her side, dark eyes twinkling bright. “There is no more I can teach you,” the wisened Amazon said with an incline of her head. “You may have had less time than any Amazon in history, but for what you need. There is no more you need to learn.”

“What?”

Diana, who until now, had been quiet, had tears in her eyes. “You’ve done it, my son.” She came towards him and lifted onto her toes, kissing one of his cheeks, and then the other. “I’m so proud of you.”

Hercules smiled and let out a bewildered breath. Though, it was not Diana’s pride that he sought. It was Georgette’s. “I-I have to tell Georgette. I--thank you,” he said this mostly to Diana, reaching to touch her shoulder, but he looked at Iphito, then Melanippe too. “I appreciate your help. I will--cherish it, but--I must return.”

“To where you belong, yes,” Diana said and sniffled a bit.

Hercules nodded. And then, he couldn’t help but grin again. He felt his whole life stretch out before him now. All those things that had once felt impossible now just within his grasp. For a moment, he did not know what that weightless feeling that began to fill him was. It almost frightened him with how strong it was. It almost knocked him off his feet, as if he were only a feather.

It was hope.

The hope that he could live his life the way he wanted now. Get a job he loved. Marry Georgette. Live a life where stares did not follow him everywhere he went.

Where he could be just like anyone else.

#self para #a star is born #my BABY BOY #baby boy baby boy ;-;#i will miss you #my son ughhh #ughhhhh my heart #<3333 #this was joyous to write tho #it made me emotional #and i also had a lot of fun #we love action!

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shineonyoucrazyyandere · 5 years

Note

Hi! Do you think I can have some yandere poly Sorbet/Gelato with mermaid reader that continually gifts them treasure. They stumbled upon reader by accident one night. Reader takes a liking for them (she never seen humans before and curious creature) & always gives them things she finds underwater. And they want to keep her and end up forcing her to live in their tub lol. Or she gets human legs when she’s out of the water. And they keep her chained up.

Self indulgent town here I come, I’ve been itching to do something mermaid related recently for some reason. Here’s your poly Yandere!

Yandere! Gelato x Mermaid! Fem! Reader x Yandere! Sorbet

Merfolk were always wary about approaching humans, it was always hammered down to stay away from them in large numbers. You recall being told this when you were younger but you couldn’t help but feel curious about them. The tales of men on ships walking about pointing to your kind made your eyes widen in bewilderment. Though there were always egregious stories of mermen or mermaids alike dissapearing for good upon encountering humans.

However, off you went to the coast of Italy, your eyes catching interest in two men standing near the waters edge. They were holding their hands while looking over the sea. Something that particularly warmed your heart. Eventually over time you found yourself swimming closer and closer.

“Gelato...” a deep voice soothed out softly “We have an unexpected guest lurking in the water”

The blond instinctively moved quickly catching you in the act of staring at them. He would normally tell off those who wouldn’t mind their own business to buzz off but he found something was strange with you. His eyes narrowed scrutinizing you for a moment,

“Would you mind telling us why you were staring at us” Gelato asked in a soft yet snippy tone.

You skunk back into the water nervously at his slightly threatening tone.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize...humans don’t like being stared from afar that much” you apologized meekly.

You saw the blond glance at his partner who looked just as flabbergasted hearing that come from your mouth. Eventually he himself came over, noticing something wasn’t quite right about how you swam.

“Where are you from?” The black haired man asked briskly

“Not from anywhere on land” you spoke softly poking a part of your tail out of the water discreetly as possible towards them.

You could already hear the scolding from your family if they ever heard this conversation. Yet, you were too intrigued by the men to think functionally about your safety. You should’ve dove in the water when you had the chance, and swam away never returning again.

“This...has to be some sort of joke” Gelato mused at first before suddenly pausing. He seemed to be processing everything that happened in those short few moments. It was oddly cute to see a human confused on your existence. The blank stare he gave made you giggle slightly.

“What do you think Sorbet?” The blond titled his head towards his boyfriend, inching closer for you to not hear what he was about to ask.

“Do you think she’s a stand user?” He mumbled seductively to his partner

Sorbet tilted his head against Gelato’s “I don’t get the feeling they are...but we should get out of here for now just in case”

The two of them stared at you for a moment with intrigue, it was difficult to tell if you were clearly putting up a ruse. But they decided to trust the fact you were rather lacking experience. So they told you that they would come back sometime in the next couple days. All to get to know you better in the grand scheme of things.

You eagerly agreed that you would approach the shore again but a little later in the evening. Eventually you both watched them head up onto firm land before disappearing in the streets of human built structures.

That first meeting was rather thrilling, and they didn’t even harm you!

But they could bring more humans to expose you to the world...though you really didn’t want to believe that. It was a rather naive thought, relying on two humans out of many to be kind enough to keep your existence hidden from the rest. However you already blew it in keeping yourself out of sight in the first place. At this point you didn’t see why you couldn’t keep interacting with them.

For now you settled in looking for something special to give them, to show you meant no harm. They seemed to be a little hesitant of you maybe attacking them, which you didn’t blame that conclusion one bit.

A couple days pass and on that evening Sorbet and Gelato come to the secluded area they usually visited. Shortly they saw the water separating in small splashes, your whole body could be seen beneath the surface preparing to come up. This time however you had something in your hand, eager to give them as a peace offering.

It was a conch shell, completely intact without a single chip off of it. Sorbet and Gelato both took turns holding it in awe before eventually setting it aside for save keeping. They were both genuinely impressed by your little gift.

“You’d give something this pristine away?” Sorbet inquired

“It’s got a unique color to it and I thought it would be fitting for both of you” You shrugged nonchalantly “I didn’t want to give you both something that’s probably run of the mill for you”

That was only the beginning of the little trinkets you decided to gift them. You’d go to your little cave and take things out that you thought they might enjoy. From pearls to pieces of gold from jewelry you stumbled upon. Other times it was sea glass that looked absolutely appealing to the naked eye. They both seemed to like it so you kept on doing to impress them.

“Her eyes are so adorable when they light up at our reaction” Gelato mused with a smooth smile on his lips.

“Like a puppy’s almost” Sorbet retorted

“Absolutely...It’s starting to become difficult only seeing her every few days” Gelato sighed “That look in her eyes reminds me of you, you know”

“In how you want more of it to soak up?” The ravenette growled softly in a romantic fashion to his lover. His body seizing up against Gelato’s own.

“Imagine her in between us...it’d be a dream come true” The blond cooed into his partner’s ears. ““We could both whisper in her ear from either side, nipping at her neck, complimenting her beautiful eyes...”

“Please Gelato, get a hold of yourself that’s just a fever dream” Sorbet responded with heavy restraint.

The blond smirked with a mischievous smile “I know you want her too, I always notice how long your eyes stay trained on her until she’s well gone”

The black haired male sighed allowing his boyfriend’s hand to settle on his chest. He was trying to be slightly logical in this instance, but Gelato always managed to pull out his own desires with terrifying ease.

“Her scales are beautiful against the sun...” he grumbled softly “I’d love to caress them myself”

“Wonderful...you get it don’t you Sorbetto~” Gelato purred

“I suppose” a half smile appeared on Sorbet’s lips

Another evening approached and with an unusual eagerness in your swimming you popped up to Sorbet and Gelato (as they had introduced theirselves) sitting. You could tell they had warmed up to you very well and you enjoyed every moment of their kindness in turn. It was attention you weren’t used to getting from a human being under normal circumstances.

This time around Gelato asked if you ever had your hair brushed before. You nodded telling him that you’ve used things other humans had dropped before to do so. Your people had similar things to brush their hair as well, it was just made out of completely different material. The blond then asked if you could kindly Beach yourself closer to the shore explaining he wanted to do it himself.

You listened complacent in his instructions, he and Sorbet quickly knelt beside you. The blond was the first to brush one side of your hair in soft even strokes. While Sorbet focused on some untangling so it wouldn’t pull too hard.

“Do you ever decorate your hair sometimes?” Sorbet wondered

“Just little things like small seashells, though I have gotten my hands on some pretty jewels people have dropped in the water”

Suddenly Gelato gets closer to you “What about trash that ends up in the sea? Many humans are careless about tossing things where they don’t belong”

You look at him perplexed for a moment “I have seen animals get tangled in some human made things...I didn’t realize it’s what you call trash”

Sorbet came from the other side gently putting his hand on your shoulder. “You know things like soda can holders, plastic bags, fishing nets...it’s all sorts of worthless things unlike the pearls and natural things you brought us”

“Huh...” You mused “that makes sense”

“Now, have you ever hurt yourself on something man-made?” Gelato suddenly spoke

“Oh uhm, only little knicks here and there from metal materials I think” You shrug “I really try to avoid that kind of stuff when I can though”

You could feel your h/c locks be casually played with from behind. Both Gelato and Sorbet were doing it as far as you could tell. It felt oddly soothing and they were oddly skilled at it as well.

“You know we’d hate if something happened to you y/n...especially with new dangers you have to adjust to out on the sea” Gelato piped up suddenly clenching your arm softly. “Would you ever consider somewhere safer...so you don’t have to watch your back so much?”

Tensing at his grip you looked at him inquisitively “I...guess I would”

“You might even have the chance to see us more often, I’m sure you’d love that wouldn’t you?” Sorbet proceeded to hold you by the waist, you shifted with some discomfort. Even with them being generous towards you, there was a distinct air about them that felt off. A feeling that told you needed to swim away immediately without a delay.

Maybe you could make an excuse to leave...

“I’d love to see you both more often...but you know I should really leave...for now and we can save this conversation for another day!” You chuckled nervously.

Abruptly you were dragged from the water, enough you couldn’t return to it quickly. Your heart sunk at the thought of what was going to happen with you being beached purposely.

“Oh come now, you can’t leave so soon we’re just getting started sweetheart” Gelato hummed with a click of his tongue as Sorbet’s arms clung to you tighter.

“It’s a dangerous world out there and we’re just trying to keep such a sweet creature from getting killed by anything else” Sorbet stated

“Wait, what do you think you’re doing?” You panicked “just please put me back where I belong you don’t need to do this!” You attempted to bargain with them but it all fell on deaf ears.

“Don’t worry you might actually like this” Gelato cooed “You won’t have to worry about a thing where we’re taking you”

You didn’t get another chance to argue your way out of danger. Something pinched your arm and within moments your words became slurred nonsense until fading into the dark.

By the time you woke up you were freaking out at the strange white thing your body was in. It was deep enough filled with water that most of your body was sufficiently covered. The receptacle itself was strangely cubed but deep, you weren’t sure what the small circles with holes in them were, but that was the least of your worries.

Where were you? This wasn’t even close to anything you had ever seen before. But at the least you could say it was some kind of room.

You heard something click and jiggle, you jumped and receded as far into the bottom as you could. Unfortunately you couldn’t just disappear like you usually did in the open water, this reservoir of water prevented you from doing so. It was like a prison of water being used against you.

There was a shadow casted over you in the artificial light of the room. The dark hair immediately recognizable. No, you didn’t want to talk you just wanted to stay underneath here without communication. Then maybe you could figure a way out of here and get back to the sea...

You were lifted a bit against your will by the man you thought was a friend.

“You can’t just avoid us like that you know” Sorbet softly whispered

“Take me home, please” You whimpered gripping the black haired male’s shirt with your hands.

“I can’t do that” He curtly told you ““Gelato and I risked a hell of a lot bringing you here”

You collapsed softly but the male merely held you against his chest rubbing your hair softly in turn.

“We’ll take wonderful care for you I promise...”

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