#suddenly hit with this overwhelming wave of both pride for them and also grief that he wasn’t there to help them transition. and then

[quietwingsinthesky]

human!au raphael getting an intervention from lucifer and gabriel except it’s not an intervention, it’s a kidnapping to take them on a roadtrip vacation, and they manage to get raphael out of their bed and down the hall before they break gabriel’s nose, and lucifer (<- this was entirely his idea and he thought it was a great one) starts trying to explain what’s happening before they kick him down to the floor too, because who the fuck is that guy, they don’t know him, they don’t recognize his face or his voice since lucifer transitioned after their dad kicked him out of the house and cut contact.

and then that’s when michael shows up at the other end of the hall holding A Fucking Sword that he grabbed off the wall because their house is filled with weirdass shit, flips on the light switch to find gabriel bleeding all over his hands and the floor, lucifer flat on his back still trying to tell raphael who he is, and raphael having a panic attack because THEY WERE BEING KIDNAPPED. by their brothers. BUT STILL.

family reunion <3 (<- adam is also there. he was not supposed to be. michael snuck him in through the window because raphael doesn’t like him.)

[pot-of-terv]

Disclaimer: This starts soft but very quickly goes to a place I did NOT expect it to go so, just, be prepared. I guess there were some things my muse just couldn’t leave untouched :_D There’s also an additional drawing in there somewhere among the text. The ending is kind of a cliffhanger (dun dun duuun... part three is coming!!) but it’s happy (hurt/comfort y’all, MY BRAND)!

Also I have to say- oh my goodness this ended up having over 2,000 words and I’ve never written a fic this long! This feels pretty amazing but also, very scary, because as you know I’m a Finn so English is not my first language and this far I’ve stuck to just writing itty bitty things. Writing a story with multiple parts is also new to me, so wow, actually, thank you PuzzleJune for making me challenge myself in fresh and exciting ways 🥺

tw: breakdown

PuzzleJune2021, Week Two: Space (Quiet)

It is mesmerising. Intoxicating, even, Atem muses as he reaches up to rub his own sleep-soft face, eyes never leaving the still sleeping figure beside him. He shifts to lay on his side, slowly, with deliberate movements, trying to not disturb the quiet of the early morning.

Watching him sleep like this... I can feel the bed move when he moves and his warmth whenever he's close enough. I never had that before, he thinks and his heart clenches. I have it now.

Yuugi snorts in his sleep and Atem can't help but smile. That boy... no, that young man, has been through so much, too much, and yet he still sleeps so soundly. It's nothing short of incredible and the pharaoh wonders if he's ever met anyone more deserving of respect and admiration. Their journey thus far has only lasted for a couple of years and during that short time, the former spirit of the Millenium Puzzle has had the first-row seat to witnessing Yuugi's strength, his growth - how he slowly but surely had begun to trust himself.

Atem turns his gaze away from Yuugi and mulls over that thought. It hurts him somewhere deep in his core to remember how little worth Yuugi had seen in himself during those first months after Atem's consciousness awakened. He touches his chest where his heart is and leaves his hand there, feeling the slow rhythm beating under his palm.

That feeling of self-doubt could as well be his own, for he did think he was Yuugi for a while back then. It's a troubling realisation and he frowns at the ceiling. Despite not having any memories, how many of those insecurities had been Atem's own that he subconsciously reflected towards Yuugi's heart and by doing so unknowingly meddled with Yuugi's self-image as a whole? Objectively he knows that his emergence helped Yuugi gain confidence even though he didn't remember those first few times Atem took his place, but subjectively...? Atem's brows knit tighter together and he balls the hand that rests on his chest into a fist.

To call these thoughts troubling is an understatement. Suddenly Atem feels uncomfortably restless, he can't keep still, he needs space, he has to move. But moving would mean leaving the warm blankets and the even warmer form next to him and risk waking him in the process.

His chest feels so tight and it aches in a way Atem hasn't felt in millennia and he squeezes his eyes shut, holds his breath and with one swift movement pushes the blankets off of himself, sits up and rolls to the side to plant his feet onto the floor. The wood is cool under the bare soles of his feet and that sudden feeling makes him pause for a moment. He releases the breath he was holding.

It's almost funny how he already feels better. He glances over his shoulder to see if he had woken Yuugi up but the other youth seems undisturbed, still fast asleep. Relieved, Atem stands up... and doesn't know what to do. It's still practically night time and the house is silent. Mama Mutou and Grandpa will be getting up in one to two hours and Yuugi much later than that if his previous findings are to be trusted. Normally he would happily snooze the morning away with Yuugi but he doesn't want to go back to bed, the restlessness still buzzing under his skin even though that unpleasant tightness in his chest has ebbed and is now just a nuisance instead of actual, painful anxiety.

He turns around to face the bed so he can take another look at Yuugi, properly. A glance wasn't enough. Will never be enough, he realises all of a sudden. I want to be looking at Yuugi, and only Yuugi, forever. How can his heart feel so big and full but so small at the same time?

Atem is overwhelmed, not yet used to the absolute link between his feelings and his physical senses, and he lifts his hand once more to his chest, almost desperately grasping his shirt and pressing his fist against his heart, to feel the beat of it, and the warmth of his body.

He has this body now and he should be so, so thankful for it, but at this moment he can only feel guilt. He loves Yuugi but has still put him through so much and he knows, oh how he knows, that the trip to Egypt broke him. Atem had felt Yuugi mourn him weeks beforehand, felt his grief he so valiantly tried to conceal - too bad their bond at that point was the strongest it had ever been and Atem knew. It took everything in him to keep on going, to keep on telling himself that this was the right thing to do, this was how he could repay Yuugi's kindness and let him go on with his life, let him be free. He had heard the modern phrase “if you love them let them go”, and wouldn't that have been so grand? To prove his love in such a poetic, profound way?

All that in spite of Yuugi's feelings screaming at him that to be separated was the last thing he wanted.

Atem chuckles, a bitter taste in his mouth. Despite having shared such an extraordinary bond, communication had never been their strongest point, duels usually excluded, and talking about their feelings was not an exception. Still isn’t. They both had just kept on doing what they thought was the best for the other and in the process ended up wounding each other in ways that Atem isn't sure he can ever truly understand. Yesterday he had come down to the kitchen to find Yuugi folding laundry, eyes puffy and red, yet when he talked he sounded so happy. Atem had left it at that because there's nothing he could do when confronted by that smile that can put even the Sun in shade.

Slowly he realises that he's been staring at his partner for such a long time that it must be bordering on creepy. How did he get here from that warmth he first woke up to, from that love he so deeply feels for Yuugi? Why hasn’t he thought about these things before? It's like all he has in his head are questions with no answers to calm his mind. It's only been a week since... since it all should've ended, but didn't, all because of Atem's selfishness. Selfishness... and love. His own heart had broken when his life points counted down to zero and he saw the utter hopelessness he felt surface in his heart reflected right back at him on Yuugi's face. The memory of it is still so strong that he has to grit his teeth together to keep his jaw from trembling.

He hadn’t been able to stand that expression, to stand the knowledge that he was the cause of it. He wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough. The pride he had felt toward Yuugi's skill was completely overshadowed by the grief that hit him in waves, his legs feeling like lead as he slowly walked to Yuugi, his own voice distant to his ears as he offered words of consolation and praise. Empty words, they were, he knew it then and he knows it now. How could he ever leave this person who had gone through so much for him, because of him, who had loved him so fully, who had risked it all to be there for him in his quest to regain his memories even when knowing that the price for that would be too steep to consider if Yuugi ever stopped to do that?

Atem had never wanted to leave. He had learned to live again, to have friends, and grow as a person, no matter how minuscule that growth might have been. Yuugi had been him and then Yuugi had become his world. There's no other way to explain it. As much as Atem had longed for his memories, for those people he loved and lost all those thousands of years ago, he couldn't bear the thought of losing another family. Even when the prize would be to regain his first one. 

But he had to. He had thought he had to.

Yet when he was just about to take the last step, he had faltered. Had wondered - does it have to be this way? What if there's another choice he could make?

And the gods had answered him. He didn't have to beg, he didn't have to fight, he just had to ask.

Just ask.

It had been so simple, in the end, so effortless. Of course, Atem asked for that third choice - or didn't really even ask, he didn't dare, he wished for it, his heart on the verge of breaking a second time. He had been painfully aware of his friends behind him, holding their breaths, waiting for the end. Atem felt their feelings wrap around him like a cloak and he bore the weight of it, accepted it, as he couldn't quite believe that it would be that easy to stay. So he had wished.

And that wish had been granted.

And now he is here.

Standing in the middle of the floor in Yuugi's room while Yuugi sleeps, hands closed into fists, both grasping his shirt now, holding back tears that threaten to spill forth. Wondering why did he even put Yuugi through all that, when in the end, it was for nothing? Oh, he thinks, oh, how it hurts. His own shortcomings, his own pain, the pain that he had caused others. Especially the pain that he had caused Yuugi. He hadn’t deserved it, he never deserved something so cruel and insincere as Atem's decision to leave had been.

A sob wrangles itself up and out of his mouth, he's not able to stop it in time and that breaks his resolve. He sways on his feet as tears force their way out and streak his cheeks, fall into his shirt and seep into the fabric as he hiccups and tries half-heartedly to stop it. He shouldn't be crying, not after everything he’s done. He doesn’t deserve to feel so sorry for himself - he should be the one to take responsibility, to carry that burden without a hitch. But, the thing is… at this moment, he’s no longer the prince-then-pharaoh from 3000 years ago. He’s no longer the amnesiac spirit occupying the Puzzle. He’s not the King of Games.

At this moment, he’s just a 16-year-old boy who is desperately trying to deal with every responsibility he’s imagined are only his to bear and failing spectacularly. So he cries, and cries, and he can no longer see with how blurry his eyes have gone. He prays Yuugi won't wake up to it, he just has to suffer through it and he'll be fine. Crying is fine, actually. He would laugh at himself if he could - aren't tears an actual luxury, after all? He wasn't able to cry his own tears with his own body before, but now he can.

There's a hand on his shoulder and Atem's heart drops into his stomach - oh no, now he's woken up - then another on the other side, then a tug, and Atem follows blindly. He's guided back to the bed and coaxed to sit down where a warm body presses against him and he's enveloped in an embrace.

Atem finds that he can't talk, he tries to draw breath to get the words out but sobs are the only thing he can produce and finally, he hears a voice call his name. It's so soft and warm and loving that Atem somehow feels worse and buries his head into Yuugi’s shoulder, his chest heaving and he almost wails from the struggle of it.

“Shh, other me. Cry it out. It helps. I know.”

He listens to Yuugi and does just that. It’s not easy to give up the reins but with Yuugi by his side, he finds the will to allow himself to succumb. He clutches his partner's shirt, holds him and is held in return, and lets himself cry. Lets his tears come like he's never done before and faced with the force of them, he feels like there's no end to it.

But there is an end. After a period of time that feels like an eternity, his sobs subside, his tears slow down, and he feels like he can finally loosen his hold of Yuugi's shirt to let blood flow into his fingers again. His nose feels snotty and he's sure there's no dry spot left on his partner's clothes and somehow that thought makes him laugh.

“See? All better now,” Yuugi murmurs against his temple and presses his lips there. That sign of affection almost makes Atem's eyes well up but he squeezes them shut, refusing to start crying all over again. He feels drained and empty and he's pretty sure he should be ashamed. He had woken Yuugi up and made him comfort him without asking but all he can feel is gratitude. Gratitude and love and endless adoration.

“Aibou,” he sniffles, voice congested and raw. He means to thank him but his throat closes up, yet Yuugi seems to catch his meaning.

“No need,” the shorter of the two says and Atem can feel his smile against his skin, “it's okay. You're okay, we're okay, everything's okay.”

Atem wants to argue but finds no energy for it. And - as he thinks about it, he realises that Yuugi is right.

They're okay.

He wraps his arms properly around Yuugi and squeezes, sighing softly. His mind is comfortably quiet now and he presses his ear against Yuugi's chest, listening to the beat of his heart (his heart's heart?) and feeling his own fall smoothly into the same rhythm. It's natural, it's right.

“I think,” he manages to croak out, “that we need to talk.”

Yuugi holds him closer and nods before pressing his face into Atem’s hair.

“Yeah,” he replies, sounding relieved, “we sure do, other me.”

[tarisilmarwen]

*slides into your inbox* Soooo. . . You got any Teen Titans/Pacific Rim AU you'd like to share? ;D

Whoops I slipped, have an excerpt:

—

“How’s she feeling so far?”

He glanced down at his harness, testing his mobility in the new cockpit drivers.

“There’s not as much drag,” he observed.

The voice in his radio headpiece positively gushed with pride as it explained, “Yeah, for the Mark Vs we completely redesigned the pilot interface for maximum flexibility.  Makes the Jaeger faster, more mobile, lessens the force of impact when you get tossed around out there.”

The teen grinned.  "Can it do a double handspring now?“ he asked.

“Not quite yet, but we’re working on adding shock absorbers to the legs and feet,” came the joking reply.

“If you two are done goofing around,” the gruff voice of Bruce interrupted.  “We have a test run to perform.”

“Sorry, Sir.”  There was the sound of a clearing throat.  “All right then Grayson, Anders, get ready for neural handshake.  T-minus one minute.”

“Roger that, Vic.  T-minus one minute,” he acknowledged.

The Jaeger thrummed to life around them, lights blinking on and components sliding into place.

Dick glanced across at his nervous co-pilot.  Kory was fiddling with the straps of her harness.  Her fingers fumbled and shook as she tightened them.  He felt another pang of sympathy for her, remembering back to his own rookie years, the anxious anticipation of being inside someone else’s head for the first time, and he felt compelled to put her at ease.

“The first drift is always the hardest,” he told her, speaking up suddenly.

She started at the sound of his voice and looked up at him with anxious eyes.

He smiled at her, reassuringly.  "Just relax and let the memories flow,“ he said warmly, trying to keep the mood light.

"O-okay…” she stammered.  She ducked her head apologetically, with a bashful expression.  "I am sorry,“ she said.  "I am quite nervous.  Supposing I go out of synch?  Do you think they will expel me from the program?” she asked, sounding for all the world like she genuinely believed Marshall Kent would do that.  Dick almost laughed.  Her worry was adorable.

He reached across the space between them to take hold of her hand, and he squeezed it once, gently.[1]

“You’ll do fine,” he assured her.

She gazed into his eyes a moment and then smiled faintly at him in silent gratitude.  The hand that he was holding stopped trembling; he could feel it even through their metal-and-leather gauntlets.  He squeezed it one last time and then let go, settling into ready position.

Machinery whirred and charged, and the computer recited the countdown in their ears.  Dick leaned back and closed his eyes, exhaling.  He wasn’t too worried.  This wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before.  He could handle this.  Bruce would see it.

Three… two… one… he counted along inside his head.

“Neural Handshake initiating.”

***

When the first deluge of memories and thoughts began to flood his mind, Dick nearly staggered under the weight of Kory’s sheer, undiluted emotion.  The pictures that flashed before his eyes were impossibly vivid, crystal clear and intrinsically tied into how Kory was feeling at the time.  So when he saw her as a small, terrified ten-year-old cowering in a dark underground shelter, her tiny hands clutched around her sister, both of them whimpering and shrieking as the sound of thunderous footsteps, deafening roars, splintering glass, and crumbling brick raged on outside, above their heads, he felt her fear and helplessness as acutely as if it had been his own.  As sharply as if he’d experienced it yesterday.  He felt, too, her incurable anxiety as she walked along a seaside pier, looking out towards the ocean and afraid of seeing the monstrous form of another Kaiju rising from the waves.  He felt her excitement and adoration when she sat at a confetti-covered restaurant table with her family, celebrating her sister’s acceptance into the Jaeger program, the smell of fried food and warm bread filling her nose.  He felt her own pride and joy and elation as she opened the envelope with shaking hands and screamed in delight, having been accepted into the program herself.

Kory’s memories held a vitality he’d never experienced before in all his years of drifting with Bruce, and then later with Roy, and Raven.[2]  There was none of the expected memory fog that clouded and colored her recollections.  Instead, Kory’s memories were bright, the colors sharper and more intense, the sounds and smells keen.

Dick was carried away by the rush of it, unable to hold still in the current of emotions.  Years of drifting could not have prepared him for this.  Raven and Bruce had carried as little emotion into the drift as possible.  He himself had tampered down on his feelings as much as he could.  But now he was overwhelmed.  Swept up.  He felt for her.  He felt with her.

So whenever the Drift started shuffling through his own memories, he saw them with fresh eyes, fresh feelings.

His latest argument with Bruce.  Irritation burning in his veins.  "What is your problem?“ he heard himself demanding again.  "You don’t think I can handle myself with a new copilot, is that it?”

He saw the scene play out as if through a distant window, saw the guarded, uncomfortable look in Bruce’s face as he replied, “It’s not your performance I’m worried about.  It’s hers.”

The sting in his heart was sharper this time.  Kory felt it too; Dick could sense her acute dismay and hurt at his mentor’s mistrust of her and remembered anew his own indigence and offense, his immediate defensiveness and need to stand up for her.

Later pieces of the argument blurred together as the Drift washed over him.  A bitter, “You don’t trust anyone but yourself!” and then he was back in Kory’s head, watching her struggle her way through her first training sim.  Then her as a child, crying because her sister had made fun of her.

His memories danced in and among them, and with them flared up raw, intense emotions.

Narcing on Roy, the bald look of betrayal on the other boy’s face as Dick confessed what he’d been seeing in their Drift, what he’d witnessed his copilot taking.  Guilt and remorse weighing heavily on his heart.  Anguish at having to tell on his best friend’s misdeeds.[3]

Earlier than that, his first kill with Bruce, jittery excitement combining with his lingering terror in an adrenaline-powered cocktail.

Even earlier, the soft melodic notes of a lullaby.  Then…

Bright lights.  A colorful bigtop tent.  Fraying rope and two figures spinning and twirling between trapeze bars.  He and Kory watched the scene with shared horror as the figures plummeted from the air.

A grief so sudden and acute it was like a physical blow to his gut hit him.  Dick gasped, felt himself double over, all the wind rushing out of his lungs like it had been punched out of him.  Pain in his heart threatened to burst him open.  For a moment he felt like he would teeter off the edge and be lost to it.

But then Kory’s warm mental touch brushed against him, pulling him back from the brink.  Sympathy radiated off her.  She felt his pain, shared it, wrapped him in a blanket of comfort and understanding.  Dick melted into her mental embrace, his thoughts merging with hers, intertwining and mingling until–

Dick’s eyes started open and he gasped, feeling the neural link lock in place, holding steady and strong.

All he could do was gape for a moment, panting, still tingling from the rollercoaster of emotions that had rocked him not a few seconds ago.  Such sadness.  Such joy.  His head was still spinning from it.  It was like a bottle inside him had been uncorked, everything poured out.  Everything he had ever buried–every hurt, every disappointment–had bubbled to the surface once again, as if freed from the deep dark prison Bruce had told him to lock it in.  The sting of his parents’ deaths was fresh and raw in his heart.  He remembered anew, also, every triumph, every proud moment, and the pure satisfaction of punching a Kaiju in the face.

And it felt… exhilarating.

He was so wrapped up and overwhelmed he didn’t even realize he was crying until he saw the tear streaks in the reflection of his helmet, running down his face.

Kory was looking at him in concern, worry bubbling across to him through their link.  "Are you… okay?“ she asked.

It took a moment for him to answer.

"…Yeah,” he breathed.

Covertly, he slipped his arm out of the rig for a moment, reached up under his helmet and rubbed his eyes.  He slid his arm back into the rig, gripping the controls tightly as he looked left and flashed her a smile, happiness reverberating through the Drift.

“Yeah.  I am,” he told her.

***

Through the glass window they saw the brightly painted Jaeger flex its hands, beginning to test out its maneuverability.

Marshall Kent’s chair gave a squeak as he rolled it back, swiveling around to cross his arms and give Bruce a smug, self-satisfied look.

“Told you they were drift compatible,” he said with a grin.

The only reply the Ranger made was a pensive, “Hmm.” as he watched the test proceeding outside.

Phoenix Rising raised its arms, beginning to run through a series of test movements.  According to all the graphs and monitors, the neural link was steady.  And remarkably strong.

Still, Bruce couldn’t shake his reservations, frowning anxiously at the window as though he could peer in through the Jaeger’s outer shell at the pilots within.

“Are you sure it’s safe to carry that much raw passion into the Drift?” he asked the Marshall.  "I don’t like pairing a veteren like Grayson with an emotionally uninhibited newcomer.  She’s too intense.  They’ll get hot-headed and cocky out there.  It’ll get them killed.“

Clark turned to face him again, more seriously this time, a sober expression on his face.

"Bruce… when was the last time you asked Dick how he was doing?” he asked.

Bruce stared blankly as though he didn’t understand the question.  "He does his job.  Better than most of the younger pilots.  His killcount is–“

"I mean emotionally, Bruce,” Clark interrupted, exasperated.  "When have you last asked him how he’s feeling?“

The Ranger grimaced, recalling the months of chilly tensions.  "It’s… been a while,” he admitted.[4]

“Well, I’ve been watching him.  And ever since the incident with Harper there just hasn’t been the same… edge to his fighting.”  Clark shook his head.  "I still remember the early years, how bright and eager he was when he first started.  A lot like Anders.“

The lines in Bruce’s face hardened.  "He was too impulsive.  Reckless.  He would let his emotions cloud his focus.  If I hadn’t reigned him in, he’d have gotten hurt.”

“Maybe,” Clark allowed.  "But he lost something in the process.  Something that makes him… him.“  He spun back toward the window, the chair squealing cheerfully.  "This’ll be good for him.  Get him out of his shell,” he said confidently, watching with pride as the Mark V hit every barometer perfectly.

Bruce frowned uncertainly, but crossed his arms and joined his superior in observation.  "I guess we’ll see,“ he said.

Outside in the hanger the Jaeger finished its test moves, curling up and striking a fighting pose with all the grace and poise of a hundred foot tall Olympic athlete.

—

[1] The Mark V’s are designed with the ability for the pilot to more easily detach from the rig, in case they need to escape a damaged Jaeger quickly or avoid an injury through the neural interface.  This does require being able to predict if one such incapacitating attack is coming.  It also allows for more hand-holding. XD

[2] Bruce and Dick piloted Mark I Dark Knight in the first year of the Kaiju War, later replaced by Mark II Striking Shadow for years two and three.  Dick and Roy Harper piloted the Mark III Archer Zeta during year four.  Dick and Raven Roth piloted the Mark IV Demonfang during year five.

[3] Roy Harper’s heroin addiction makes its way into this AU.  He was expelled from the Jaeger program for a while after Dick told on him, but Marshall Kent let him back in once he’d been through rehab and gotten clean.  Now pilots Archer Zeta with Garth.

[4] Batdad and Batson are having some tensions.  XD  Has mostly to do with Bruce’s overprotective control issues and Dick’s rebellious spirit.  They’ll make it up eventually.

[legault]

Galdrar (FE Rarepair Week Day 1: Blessed/Curse, Tibarn/Reyson)

Title: Galdrar

Author: legault/pinksnowboots (fic blog)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, non-explicit sexual content

Words: 3306

Summary: Most beorc and laguz are under the incorrect impression that because herons are beings of order, and beautiful to boot, they cannot harbor darkness inside of them. Tibarn used to labor under that same misapprehension, but that was before he met Reyson.

AKA a more serious take on the infamous “ I had to tie him [Reyson] down to a bed to keep him there” line.

Written for Day 1 of @ferarepair-week2k17 for the prompts blessed/curse. Thanks so much to the mods for holding this event and to everyone contributing to it, I’m incredibly pumped about participating!

Also read on AO3!

Most beorc and laguz are under the incorrect impression that because herons are beings of order, and beautiful to boot, they cannot harbor darkness inside of them. Tibarn used to labor under that same misapprehension, but that was before he met Reyson.

Reyson is so beautiful that sometimes it hurts to look at him, but even that pain is only the merest shadow of what Reyson can truly do.

Tibarn is among those who pluck the last remaining herons out of the burned wreckage of their home. Lorazieh is unresponsive and barely breathing.  Reyson, on the other hand, is very much alive and looks like he survived the fire by absorbing it, eyes blazing and wings covered in soot, vowing that whoever wrought this destruction on him and his people would face the same destruction in return.

Reyson insists on flying with them rather than being carried like his father and sister and glares at anyone who suggests otherwise. Tibarn lets him try, watching him rise erratically, looking for all the world like an avatar of vengeance.

He makes it several feet before his strength gives out and he begins to plummet through the air, looking for all the world like a particularly angry fallen angel.

Tibarn catches him well before he hits the ground. Reyson is incredibly light, so light that he almost feels unreal, like he lacks something grounding him on this mundane world.

Reyson’s eyes flutter, exhaustion and grief beginning to creep in as his adrenaline runs out.

“I did not ask you to do this.” He rasps, eyes flashing angrily at Tibarn and at his own helplessness.

“I know. But I am not going to let you fall.” Tibarn tells him, unsure if he is referring to saving Reyson from crashing to the forest floor or making a promise of a much wider scope.

“Chief!” One of Tibarn’s men calls to him. “What are we going to do with the herons?”

Tibarn looks at Lorazieh, barely clinging to life. He looks at the ruins of what was once the brightest and most peaceful of the laguz kingdoms. He looks at Reyson in his arms, struggling to maintain consciousness, skin burning with rage and grief.

“We’re taking them home.” Tibarn declares, sending a wave of mutters through his troops. Tibarn is still a relatively new king, and taking in refugee herons is a bold move, especially given that Phoenicis is not particularly friendly to outsiders.

“My home is gone.” Reyson murmurs, as if speaking from a dream.

“Yes.” Tibarn says, tightening his arms around Reyson. Even if the truth is harsh, it is better than telling a lie. “But I hope that will not always be the case.”

Reyson does not reply, having finally slipped into unconsciousness.

Reyson eventually becomes accustomed to Phoenicis, but Phoenicis never truly becomes accustomed to Reyson. Lorazieh fits their image of what herons are supposed to be like: beautiful, docile, and quiet. Although Reyson is beautiful, he is willful and imperious. He orders Tibarn’s servants around and wanders around the country without regards to his own safety, requiring several of Tibarn’s men to serve as escorts. He observes the customs and speech of hawks and tries to imitate them, sometimes injuring himself in the process. He even speaks frankly to the the king himself, adressing him as an equal and not as a king. Reyson may be a prince, but his kingdom is gone, and to the citizens of Phoenicis, it looks like he is ungrateful for the help that Tibarn has so graciously provided.

Reyson is grateful, but he does not show it in words. He shows it by slipping phrases borrowed from Tibarn into his own speech, by trailing Tibarn and watching as he spars with his men, by attempting to grow stronger at the expense of his own body, unsuited as it is for a lifestyle of meat-eating and vigorous exercise.

“You don’t have to be a fighter to be valuable, Reyson.” Tibarn tells him, for the umpteenth time. “Everyone has their own strengths, and none are more valuable than the next.”

“Perhaps in theory. But physical prowess is the language of battle.” Reyson replies, in the tone that Tibarn has come to know means that he will not be budged.

“That may be, but if you continue to push your body to do things it was not intended to do, you’ll be no use to anyone.” Tibarn says. “Besides, you don’t need to worry about battle. For that, you have me and all of Phoenicis behind you. If you ever need someone roughed up, just say the word and I’ll take care  of it.”

“That’s not the point!” Reyson says, voice uncharacteristically shrill. “I owe you a great debt for saving my life and taking my family and me in, and I will not ever be able to repay it if I have you fight all my battles for me.”

“Are you still going on about that debt thing? I’ve told you, you don’t owe me nothing. And even if you did, you’d have paid it ten times over with your companionship.” Tibarn says. “If you feel like you need to do more, you could try singing for us once in a while.”

“I do not sing any longer.” Reyson says, voice suddenly hard. “Besides, I have other reasons for wanting to grow stronger.”

“Is this about revenge?” Tibarn asks cautiously.

Reyson says nothing.

Years pass, and Tibarn begins to hope that perhaps Reyson’s soul is beginning to heal. He retains his fiery temper, but vengeance is no longer at the forefront of his mind. He spends his days with Tibarn and does not speak of debt. Although he still does not sing, he smiles often and even begins to laugh, and when he does he seems to radiate light.

(“Why don’t you sing anymore?” Tibarn asks. “I thought herons were famous for their song.”

“Herons are creatures of balance, and the power of the galdrar comes from the balance in our hearts.” Reyson says. “But I have not felt balance since the destruction of Serenes Forest. If I were to attempt to sing a galdrar now, I do not know what sort of destruction it might bring about.”)

Tibarn cannot imagine life without him, and he often wonders if Reyson’s heron empathy means that he knows the immense and overwhelming fondness that Tibarn holds for him.

Then one day Reyson disappears, and Tibarn’s world seems to spin off its axis. Reyson leaves a note saying that he will return, but he does not say when, and although Tibarn trusts him, he cannot shake his feeling of unease.

Then Nealuchi comes and tells them what has happened: Reyson had been sold to the Duke of Tanas by Naesala, king of Kilvas and Reyson’s supposed friend. Perhaps the king of Kilvas had planned to rescue him, but it has become irrelevant because Reyson has escaped on his own.

Tibarn’s restlessness turns to white-hot rage at the king of Kilvas and the duke of Tanas, with a flash of pride that Reyson escaped without needing to be rescued. This news is not good news, but it gives him focus, and a deadly sense of calm. All there is to do is find Reyson, and he will do just that. (And then he will visit Naesala and well...Reyson is not the only one who aches for vengeance.)

They find Reyson in what’s left of Serenes Forest, and suddenly it all makes perfect sense. When he asks Reyson if he is considering singing a galdrar of destruction, he is only seeking confirmation for what he already knows.

“Yes.” Reyson says, fearsome in his resolve. “The humans will pay for the genocide that they have committed against my people.”

“Reyson, this isn’t right.” Tibarn tries to reason with him. “Herons are creatures of balance, and the galdrar was not mean to be used this way.”

“Balance is something I have not had for twenty years now, and I have not missed it.” Reyson says, defiant. “But what I have missed is justice, and I will mete it out while I have the chance.”

Reyson’s eyes flash in a way that Tibarn has not seen since the day he pulled Reyson out of the rubble and Tibarn sees that he has to try a new tactic.

“Reyson, you’re right.” He says. “You’re right. The humans destroyed your forest, and they killed your people, and they deserve any justice that you can deliver. But these humans are not the humans who killed your family, and now is not the time. Come home, and I promise that whatever you want to do to get your revenge, you have my support and the support of all of Phoenicis.”

Reyson looks at Tibarn, eyes boring into his. “Do you promise?”

“Yes.” Tibarn says, promising recklessly. “Anything you want Reyson, I promise.”

Reyson does not reply for a moment, thinking, then finally says. “Alright.”

Reyson flies over to them and Tibarn releases all the tension he did not realize he’d been holding in his muscles. “Thank you, Reyson.”

“Let’s go home.” Reyson says, and Tibarn’s heart leaps because Reyson has never referred to Phoenicis as home before.

Somehow before they return home, they discover Reyson’s supposedly-dead sister and get caught up in a continent-wide war. But more importantly, Tibarn finally gets to hear Reyson sing, and it is more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. When Reyson and Leanne sing, the forest literally comes alive, color and life returning to what was once barren and dark, and Tibarn feels his heart swelling as he watches the plants grow.

One war ends and another begins, and throughout all the political turmoil, Reyson is his constant in his life, beautiful and stubborn and passionate. He begins to sing again, both in the course of battle and in the quiet moments in between, and he focuses his anger more specifically, onto the beorc who wrong him rather than onto all beorc.

One thing that does not change is his stubbornness. Herons are not meant for war; the chaos of the battlefield saps their strength and their bodies are too frail to withstand more than a single hit from an axe or an arrow. Despite all this, Reyson insists on flying into battle with them, confident that Tibarn will protect him and insistent that he will contribute in whatever way he can.

Tibarn usually does not even try to refuse him, unwilling to patronize him and knowing that it’s a lost cause anyway, but when Reyson passes out hours before they are supposed to meet Ike for battle, Tibarn decides that Reyson is not going onto the battlefield when his body cannot even keep him awake. They have been fighting constantly, so much that even Tibarn, who is usually invigorated by battle, is exhausted, which means that Reyson must be on the bring of collapse.

He pulls a blanket over Reyson and is about to leave when he realizes that if Reyson wakes up, he will follow them. In a fit of desperation, he spies a length of ropes and uses it to loosely tie Reyson’s wrists to the bed, hoping that Reyson will still be asleep when he returns.

Reyson is not asleep when he returns.

Reyson is the first thing that he checks on when he returns from battle, wings still smelling of blood and running on battle endorphins and nothing else. When he enters the tent, he encounters a very awake and very angry Reyson.

“Tibarn.” Reyson says, voice cold and firm. “Untie me now.”

Tibarn does, undoing the knows in a matter of seconds. As soon as Reyson has his hands free, he slaps Tibarn across the face, hard. He can see Reyson wince in pain as his hand strikes Tibarn’s cheek, but Tibarn does not feel any physical pain, only the sting of being slapped by the person whose opinion he valued most.

“What were you thinking?” Reyson hisses.

“I was thinking that I didn’t want you to die today.” Tibarn shoots back, suddenly angry.

“I think that should be a decision for me to make, not you.” Reyson says. “All my life, laguz who were not herons have treated me as someone fragile, who cannot take care of himself and cannot be trusted to make his own decisions. You have never treated me like that.” Reyson fixes him with a cold glare. “Until today.”

“Reyson, you were already asleep.” Tibarn says. “If you were to wake up and head to the battlefield, not only would you risk your own life but you’d risk mine, Janaff’s, and Ulki’s.”

“Well then perhaps you should wake me up before flying into battle!” Reyson shouts, stunning Tibarn into silence.

The air is thicker with tension than it has ever been between them as they look at each other, unsure of how to continue.

Reyson breaks the silence. “Tibarn, I know you mean well. I know you meant to protect me. But what you did made me feel like I am a bauble for you to protect, and that is something that I will not bear. Naesala treated me like a bartering tool when he sold me to advance his own ends. Duke Tanas-” Reyson spits the name, voice dripping with venom. “-saw me as a prized piece of art, to be insured and appreciated. More than anything else, I cannot abide being treated like I am an object, no matter how treasured, and especially not by you.”

“I’m sorry.” Tibarn reaches out, slowly to give Reyson the chance to back away, resting his hand on Reyson’s when he does not back away. “I didn’t realize how it would feel to you, because believe me, I never want to make you feel that way. I was only thinking of how I thought I lost you once, when Naesala-” Tibarn says his name with as much venom as Reyson says the name Duke Tanas. “-sold you, and I couldn’t bear to have that happen again.”

“I know that sometimes I am a liability on the battlefield rather than an asset.” Reyson admits. “But I hate to be left behind.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you on the battlefield.” Tibarn says, squeezing Reyson’s hand. “In fact, I’d rather have you where I can see you so I can personally watch your back. I fight better when you’re around too, if you haven’t noticed. I don’t know if you realize it, but we all rely a lot on you and your galdrar in battle.”

“But no one can fight every battle without rest, and I know that the chaos has been taking a toll on you. I won’t force you to stay back again, but I do hope that you’ll rest when you need it. We need you on the battlefield with us, but we need you alive even more.” Tibarn pauses. “I need you alive even more.”

Reyson suddenly kisses him softly, free hand cupping Tibarn’s cheek where he had slapped it before.

“What was that for?” Tibarn asks when he pulls back. “Not that I’m complaining.” He adds, smile edging into his voice.

“An apology.” Reyson says. “For not realizing that my own reckless behavior was causing you pain.”

Reyson draws back, extricating his hand from Tibarn’s, but Tibarn loops an arm around Reyson’s slender waist and draws Reyson back to him, kisses him long and hard and deep, one hand on the small of Reyson’s back and the other in his hair.

When they pull apart, Reyson is breathing heavily, eyes dazed. “Was that an apology too?” He asks.

“No.” Tibarn says. “It was a promise. Firstly, that I will never try to make your decisions for you again.”

“And secondly,” Tibarn kisses him again. “That no matter what manner of reckless thing that you do, I will always be by your side.”

"Thank you.” Reyson says, catching one of Tibarn’s hands in his own, lacing his slim fingers between Tibarn’s much larger ones. “Thank you.”

They fall into bed together, and as Tibarn undresses Reyson with a sense of almost-reverence, he realizes that it feels like they have always been heading to this place, to the two of them, together in every sense of the word. That it was never a question of whether they would take this step, only how and when.

Tibarn wants to take his time to explore every inch of Reyson’s body, running calloused hands along his lithe frame and peppering soft kisses along Reyson’s even softer skin, but Reyson is impatient, insistently drawing Tibarn back up, kissing him with the un-heron-like fierceness that has always defined Reyson, hands roaming wildly over the vast expanses of Tibarn’s chest.

Reyson moves his mouth to Tibarn’s neck and bites down, hard. Tibarn welcomes the pain, just as he welcomes any sensation, any feeling that Reyson brings.

“You don’t have to be so gentle.” Reyson whispers, lips brushing his ear with every word. “I am not breakable.”

“You are the least fragile person that I have ever met.” Tibarn replies, running his hands through Reyson’s long hair, fascinated. “I’m not gentle because I think I could break you. I’m gentle because I think the world has already brought you enough pain, and I don’t want to ever cause you any more. I want you to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you are loved.”

Reyson’s eyes glint with feeling and he says no more about pain or gentleness, only kisses Tibarn again.

Reyson lets Tibarn press him into the mattress and fuck him slowly and gently, wings brushing Reyson’s with every thrust, eyes never leaving his. Tibarn strokes him firmly with his hands, strong and callused but still gentle, and when Reyson cries out his release it feels like a galdrar, not a dirge of ruin or an aria of rebirth, but something that rings much truer in his ears and in his heart.

“You do know that I love you, right?” Tibarn asks, arms and wings enfolding Reyson in a warm embrace that makes Reyson feel safer than he ever has before.

“Of course.” Reyson says, unable to stop the smile that finds it way onto his face as he feels Tibarn press a kiss to the top of his head.

“Good.” Tibarn says. “I figured you did, what with your heron empathy powers and all that, but I had to check.”

“Actually, it’s not because of my powers.” Reyson says. “I have never told anyone this, but my empathy has always been stronger for negative emotions than it has for positive ones.”

“That sounds frustrating.” Tibarn remarks.

“Quite.” Reyson agrees. “Especially since herons are supposed to be beings of peace. But it does mean that I know that you feel frustrated with me sometimes, but you worry when I am in danger, and that you feel my pain as if it was your own. I cannot feel your love for me directly through my empathy, but your words and your actions have left me with no doubt.”

“And here I was thinking you’ve known all along that I’ve had the hots for you for almost twenty years now.” Tibarn chuckles.

“Tibarn,” Reyson says, voice suddenly serious. “I hope you realize that I love you as well.”

“I guessed as much, but I’m not sure I’m convinced.” Tibarn says, a smile in his voice. “I might need you to say it again.”

“Oh no,” Reyson says. “If you want to hear it again, you’re going to have to work for it.”

Reyson smiles at him wickedly, and it’s such a far cry from the times when Reyson barely talked, would not smile, and would not sing and Tibarn’s heart has never been fuller.

“I think that I’m up for the challenge.”