#they wont leave regardless of how far away i put them outside

[gwensy]

five slugs of various sizes in my laundry room. family reunion ??

[quokkacore]

with great power I [lee jeno]

summary: there are two things jeno loves most about his life. one being spiderman, the other being you, his best friend. there’s just one issue: after your father’s death, you decide you hate both spiderman and yourself.

pairing: lee jeno x reader

genre: superhero au, high school au, coming of age, best friends to strangers(ish) to lovers, fluff, ANGST, minor crack

warnings (for this chapter): language, violence, gun violence, the mafia, parental death, police presence, sexual references, bullying (ily san im sorry), the dreamies being dicks to each other, police corruption, towards the end jeno experiences something similar to sensory overload, americanized names, pop culture references, VERY jeno centric

song rec: we go up - nct dream // any song - zico // 21 questions - waterparks // talk (remix feat. megan thee stallion & yo gotti) - khalid // sunrise - ateez // i really like you - carly rae jepsen // dare - gorillaz // stray kids - the tortoise and the hare

word count: 10.5k

a/n: this is so late...... i blame attack on titan. but hey!! better late than never :] a huge thanks to @doderyscoffee​ for beta reading <3

main masterlist // story masterlist

chapter one: jeno and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week

Jeno despised Tuesdays. He was pretty sure that Tuesdays despised Jeno as well because all of his worst days just so happen to be Tuesdays. He was 96% sure that, if there was a god, his day off was on Tuesdays, or that the planets aligned in such a manner on Tuesdays that it caused universal despair and misery. If he was to take Donghyuck's word for it, his chakra attracted negative energy the most on Tuesdays.

When Jeno was 5, his goldfish Pippin had died on a Tuesday. When he had his ass handed to him on the playground by San Choi in the third grade, it was a Tuesday. And in the seventh grade, he'd failed his Spanish test, missed his bus and walked home in the rain only to find out that his Aunt Sunny was at work, he'd left his keys in his locker and that had to wait an hour before she got home to unlock it for him, all on a Tuesday. 

And wouldn't you know it, here he was, late for the first day of senior year, which was, of all days, a godforsaken Tuesday.

In his eternal wisdom, he'd stayed up gaming with Renjun until two in the morning, and because of it, slept through his three alarms, one set at six-thirty, the other at 6:45, the last one at 7:00. 

He'd woken up at 7:17, to the sound of his elderly neighbor's pet chihuahua barking at a pigeon, checked the time, immediately panicked, sped into the shower, gotten dressed in a haste, grabbed a few granola bars from the pantry, and ran out the door while trying to jam his backpack closed, and managed to catch the train at 7:40, which took about twenty minutes to get to his stop, plus a ten-minute walk to school, and class started at 8:10. Not to mention he’d have to stop by the office and pick up his schedule. At best, he’d be five minutes late to his first class. But tardies were tardies, regardless, and the last thing he needed was to lose his perfect attendance streak. 

He fished out his phone while standing on the train, waiting for his stop, scrolling through Instagram, and liking random pictures. A ping! from his phone caught his attention, then two, then a third. He smiled softly when your name popped up on his screen.

[7:48 AM]

y/n: pssst

y/n: shithead

y/n: where r u ????

[7:49 AM] 

y/n: i can sEE u online on ig u know

jeno: …… i'm on the train

jeno: woke up late

y/n: YOURE GONNA BE LATR

y/n: LATE*

y/n: ON THE FIRST DAY OF SENIOR YEAR

[7:50]

jeno: probably, yeah

jeno: it's the school district's fault, why would they make the first day of school on a fkn TUESDAY 

y/n: ohhh yeahh its terrible tuesday

y/n: [sent an attachment!]

[7:51 AM]

jeno: SHUT UP

jeno: you're not funny >:(

jeno: how dare you laugh at my misfortune

y/n: au contraire im hilarious

jeno: meanie :(

jeno: im gonna be late i hate it here

jeno: it'll end up on my permanent record and i'm not gonna get into college and then i'm gonna die,,,

[7:52 AM] 

y/n: sometimes ur worse than hyuck i swear 

y/n: FIRST OF ALL permanent records dont even exist !!!!!! its propaganda duh

y/n: also ur literally never late 

y/n: im sure o n e tardy wont do anything chill

y/n: dont be stupid youll be fine

Don’t be stupid. Too little, too late, he thought, already having got off the train at a previous stop. Now, he was looking for an unoccupied street or alleyway, which, for once, was easy, taking a deep breath before he did the exact opposite of what you’d told him not to do. Don’t be stupid. 

The buildings are low, he thought to himself, it’ll be easier to see me. 

Don’t be stupid.

Too late!

Thwip!

Jeno didn’t hesitate to use the web fluid to pull himself up onto the wall, climbing in a haste, before running and jumping onto the next building. He quickly built up a quick pace, using the web fluid occasionally to swing onto a building slightly out of jumping range. 

Signs in English, Chinese, Korean, and Spanish flew past him as he seemingly flew over the Queens traffic, leaving Flushing behind and crossing quickly into College Point quicker than he would if he took the train. He glanced to his left and caught a view of the bay, and far across it, the LaGuardia airport watchtower.

Jeno had lived in New York City his entire life. He knew Queens like the back of his hand, knew every dingy alleyway, every sketchy street, which restaurants to avoid if you didn’t want to get food poisoning, which convenience store aunties were the nicest and didn’t pinch his cheeks too hard. It was his home, and most likely would be for the rest of his life. 

But seeing it like this, flying past him below as he glided with ease from building to building would never cease to be a sight to him. It was like watching from the perspective of an outsider, seeing people in their cars, walking along the street gave him a brand new perspective. A Jeno’s eye view, he called it, since he was pretty sure he was the only one in New York City.

Another noise from his phone brought him back to reality. He shook his head, stopping briefly to catch his breath and fish out his phone briefly. 

[7:57 AM] 

y/n: let me know when u get here !!!

No time to respond, he put away the phone and continued his trek to school. He had less than ten minutes to get there. But he knew he was already at least five minutes away, much quicker than he would be if he had decided to stick to the train. He smiled a bit to himself, feeling ever so slightly smug.

The hustle and bustle of the city definitely proved challenging to find a place to land without many eyes, but he figured it out eventually, landing behind a dumpster in an alleyway behind a restaurant that he knew was about three or four blocks from the school. He figured it would be a lot better to take it on foot from here. The notebooks he was carrying in his backpack bounced up and down with every step he took. 

After what seemed like forever, the gates to the school appeared in his view, and Jeno felt a joy in his heaving chest, something he would have never thought would happen upon seeing the absolute hellhole that was Samuel Morse High School. 

[8:06 AM]

jeno: just did >:D

Picking up his schedule was both quick and insanely long. He couldn’t stop himself from tapping his left foot while the secretary found his schedule and handed it to him. “Kibum, please hurry,” He muttered, and Kibum raised an eyebrow at him, but his gaze was teasing. “That’s Mr. Kim to you, in school at least.” 

He handed Jeno his schedule a few seconds later. “Tell your Aunt to come pick up her casserole dish, by the way. She left it at my house after my last viewing party.”

“The Bachelor?”

“Please. We’re too classy for that. Drag Race.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Jeno,” Kibum said, staring up at him from his desk, his gaze now much more serious, “Get to class. Happy first day of senior year.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim.”

He managed to make it to chemistry class at 8:09 with seconds to spare. His eyes quickly scanned the room upon entering, hoping his friends were in the class with him. He caught a few familiar faces, most of which, like San Choi's, he wished to avoid. No one paid him any mind. Everyone was still speaking to the people next to them, no doubt exchanging stories of summer vacation. 

  A hand shot up towards the back, waving at him. A smile stretched across his face as he registered your face, feet not hesitating to carry him towards the empty seat next to you. His heart skipped a beat at seeing your smile, and he tried his best to ignore it.

“Hey,” You greeted, “That was fast. I thought you said you were gonna be late.”

Jeno shrugged, eyes landing on the dark shade of the lab table. “The train was a lot faster than I expected, apparently.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Why do you smell so bad?”

“I, uh… ran a little.” 

You grimaced, and Jeno tried to casually sniff at his slightly sweaty clothes. It’s not that bad. “I still don’t understand why you won’t let me drive you to school. You’re literally next door.”

“I don’t know,” He answered, rolling his eyes, “Maybe it’s because when it comes to that truck, you are absolutely insane. You won’t even let me drink water in that thing.”

The truck in question, a faded red 1998 Chevrolet S-10, had been your gift to yourself for your 17th birthday. You’d spent two summers saving up to buy yourself a truck, and that was what you were able to get for what you had. To say it was a huge piece of junk on wheels was an understatement. 

The thing smelled like mothballs no matter how many air fresheners you bought it, the engine sounded like an old man having a coughing fit, and there was a very suspicious stain in the backseat that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times you scrubbed it. But for some reason, you treated it like it was your own baby. The amount of times you’d yelled at Jaemin for trying to put his feet on the dashboard was too high to count.

You mirrored his movement, eyes rolling as you sighed. “At least let me drive you home after school today. Maybe you can stay and we can finally watch Blade Runner.”

You’d been trying to get him to watch the film for almost a month now, begging and pleading because you insisted that he’d love it. He offered an awkward stare, before opening his backpack and pulling out a notebook. “Can’t,” He mumbled, “I’m headed into Manhattan. I have my internship afterwards.”

“Oh, yeah,” You said nonchalantly, eyebrows shooting up as you remembered, “Park Industries.” 

He was about to reply when Mrs. Baker, the chemistry teacher, finally entered. She’d been working at SMHS for 30 years and had never, apparently, been nice, if his Aunt Sunny’s stories were anything to go by. However, she had apparently always spoken as if she smoked two packs a day. She was rambling about the importance of making the most of senior year academically, adult responsibilities, college, and whatnot. You and Jeno exchanged glances often throughout the monologue, hoping it would end soon. 

“Enough of that,” She said after what seemed like an eternity, “Everyone quiet down, I’m going to call roll.”

Names were quickly called, and Jeno was ready to pull out a pencil and start working with you until Mrs Baker demanded a switch in seats, beginning to call on random names in an effort to deter everyone from speaking. 

"Please not with Choi, please not with Choi," Jeno muttered under his breath, glancing warily at San, who was staring ahead, looking bored. 

San had had it out for Jeno ever since day one, in first grade. For some reason, everything Jeno did seemed to annoy the other boy. He wasn't funny enough, or too nerdy, or too quiet. Jeno was always too much or too little for him. 

You touched his forearm, and he looked towards you. 

“You’ll be fine,” You said softly, trying not to alert the teacher, “You’re not gonna get paired up with him, and you can take it to the office if you need to.” “Yeah, because I’m sure Coach Peralta would be thrilled if someone tried to get his precious midfielder in trouble.”

“Choi, San,” Mrs Baker’s voice rang throughout the room, and Jeno braced himself for the worst, eyebrows furrowing with worry. 

“You’ll be sitting with… L/N, Y/N.” 

Jeno’s shoulders slumped, but your face remained impassive. You picked up your stuff, and pouted silently at Jeno in apology, before making your way to the front. 

“Lee, Jeno,” Mrs Baker called a few minutes later, “You’ll be sitting with Jang, Yeeun.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief. Yeeun is nice, Jeno thought to himself, I could sit with Yeeun. She wasn’t part of his main friend group, but he had tutored her in math during sophomore year in exchange for her helping him with Spanish, and they’d been pretty friendly ever since. 

“Hey,” Yeeun greeted as Jeno sat down, and Jeno smiled at her. 

“Remember, these will be your assigned lab partners for the rest of the semester. No changes, no exceptions.” Mrs. Baker sat down at her desk, before beginning to talk about something Jeno didn’t really pay attention to.

You exchanged glances with Jeno, and he gave you a look of sympathy as you gestured at San with your eyes. San was talking to you about something—probably bragging about some soccer achievement—but you weren’t paying him much attention. Jeno swallowed something growing in his throat as he looked at how your hair looked today. 

It was nothing relatively new, the same hairstyle you used on most days. But still, there was a bit of a shine to it. He wondered vaguely if you had changed your shampoo, the other day you’d been complaining about how itchy your normal shampoo made your scalp—

“You still haven’t told her about how you feel?” Yeeun asked quietly, and Jeno’s head snapped back to look at her, eyes wide.

“W-what? Me. Like Y/N…” He laughed nervously, trying to keep his voice down. He scratched the back of his head, avoiding Yeeun’s accusatory stare. “You’re hilarious, Yeeun. Tell another one.”

Yeeun shook her head. “You’d better hurry before someone else snatches her up, Jen. She’s not gonna wait around for you forever.”

 “I don’t like her, Yeeun.” 

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Hey! Jeno Lee!”

“Hey! Jaemin Na! What do you want!” Jeno answered as he sat down, mimicking Jaemin’s tone next to him.

“Well, for starters, a million dollars, and second, a date with Yiren Wang, but I doubt you can help me with either of those, so...”

Jeno glanced at the rest of the table. Along with Jaemin, Mark,  Renjun, Donghyuck, and you were watching the interaction between the pair. “Where are the munchkins?” Jeno asked, noticing Chenle and Jisung’s absence. No one could really call them munchkins anymore. That nickname dated back to middle school, before the two underclassmen had gone through growth spurts.

“Eh, they should be here soon,” Renjun said, chewing on a french fry, “How’s your day been?”

“Pretty good so far, I guess. I got AP Calc with Mr. Washington later, though. That man wants me dead.”

You rolled your eyes. “He doesn’t want you dead. I’m telling you, you and Hyuck have been spending way too much time together. You’re being more dramatic than usual and Hyuck’s being more… weird than usual.”

“And just what is so weird about being enthusiastic about senior year, Y/N?” Donghyuck asked, shaking his head, “It’s our last year in this hellhole, I’m excited that we’re finally getting out of here. And besides—”

“Please don’t bring up the fact that you’re abandoning us next year.” Chenle seemingly appeared out of nowhere, sitting next to Renjun, Jisung following quickly behind him.

“Hi, Sungie,” You said with a smile, and Jisung smiled back. “Hi, Y/N.”

“What were you saying, Hyuck?” Jaemin looked at Donghyuck, who had taken the quick interaction as an opportunity to take a bite of his sandwich. His wide eyes darted to the slim boy, cheeks stuffed with chicken. 

“Oh,” He replied after swallowing, “This is gonna be my year. I’m getting male lead for the winter musical and no one is gonna stop me.”

“Do you even know what musical you guys are doing yet?” Mark asked, “What if it’s like… Shrek?”

Jisung made a face. “There’s a Shrek musical?”

Mark nodded, and Renjun laughed.

“I don’t know about male lead, if it’s Shrek. You should try out for Donkey,” The Chinese boy joked, “With those front teeth, you’re a shoo-in.”

The entire table was silent for a moment, before snorts and chortles started pouring out from everyone except Donghyuck.

“Fuck you, Huang.” 

Renjun flashed the friendliest smile he could muster. “Not if you paid me a million dollars.”

The subject remained on extracurriculars, everyone in your group except for Chenle and Jisung now wary of college applications. Donghyuck had been in theater ever since middle school, Renjun was in the robotics club and the debate team with Jaemin, who was also in the student council. Mark was on the math team with Jeno, and you had founded the film club. 

"You're not gonna believe who asked to sign up for film," You huffed, looking kind of confused. The rest of the table looked at you expectantly, and you pursed your lips, almost as if you were trying not to laugh.

"San Choi."

Renjun scoffed. Jaemin raised his eyebrows before letting out a single, humorless laugh. Jeno made a face, poking his plastic fork at you. 

"What is San Choi doing asking to sign up for film?"

"Fuck if I know. He said he needed one more extracurricular if he wanted to get into some college in Florida and he liked going to the movies, so he wanted to try out film."

Mark rolled his eyes. "I swear there's nothing in that guy's head but hot gas. It blows my mind."

"He's a dick," Chenle grumbled, "I'm still not over how he and Wooyoung taped Jisung to the flagpole last year."

Jisung scowled. "I thought we agreed to never bring that up again."

“Do you think they’ll finally calm the fuck down this year?” Jaemin wondered, looking wistful.

You took a sip of your coke and shook your head. “Doubt it. They’re not the hateful eight for a reason.”

The mood at the table turned tense, until Jaemin frowned at his french fries, before sighing and clapping his hands together dramatically. “I would like to hear,” He mused, “About the nuance that theatre gives the cinematic masterpiece that is Shrek when converted into musical form.”

Donghyuck beamed. “Oh, it’s amazing. You see…”

If it was difficult to get Donghyuck to stop talking in general, it was impossible when it was about theater.

The conversation continued on until the bell rang, and the eight of you had to go your separate ways. Jaemin and Jeno had the same class, so they both walked together down a relatively calm hallway. Jaemin looked both ways, before finally lowering his voice. 

“So, you’re going to see Mr. Park today?”

Jeno nodded, looking down at his shoes. “He said he wanted to give me an assignment. Says there’s something big going on.”

Jaemin’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Did he say what kind of something?” 

Jeno shook his head, pouting slightly. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.” 

Once school was out, Jeno was getting ready to get onto the subway once again, this time heading towards Midtown. It was only day one and, as Jeno had predicted, Mr. Washington probably was out to get him, because he’d swamped the class with homework.

As he left the school, he spotted you in the parking lot, leaning against your car door, texting someone. He glanced at his phone. He still had plenty of time, he figured. He walked over to you, and when you looked up, you smiled. 

“Hey!” Your voice had that signature tone of enthusiasm to it, and Jeno smiled back immediately. 

“Hello,” He sing-songed. “So, I was thinking… are you free on Friday night?”

You looked somewhere above his head, furrowing your eyebrows before you perked up again and nodded. “Yep! Why?”

“I’m free after nine. Maybe then I could come over to your house? So I can finally get you to stop harassing me about Blade Runner.”

You grinned, pumping your fists enthusiastically. “Hell yes,” You answered, “Do you want me to get like, some frozen pizzas or something?” 

“Pizza sounds good,” He said. “Who are you even waiting for?” 

You made a face that made it seem as if you’d just gotten a whiff of rotten milk. “Well—”

Your response was interrupted when the school doors slammed open, and eight figures poured out, carrying themselves with confidence Jeno both envied and despised. He frowned, trying not to react at their loud whooping and laughing. The Hateful Eight.

“Oh.” Jeno averted his gaze, meeting your eyes again.

“Yeah. If you don’t hear from me later it’s because I jumped out of my truck because I don’t wanna work with—”

“Well, hello, gorgeous!” San’s voice filled the parking lot, and Jeno took a deep breath. Your mouth stretched into a tight-lipped smile at the unwanted ‘compliment’. 

“Hey, San.” Your friendly passive aggressive tone almost made Jeno smile. “I’ve been waiting here for like, fifteen minutes. You could have just given me your number and asked me to send you pictures of my notes, you know.”

He shrugged, turning his body so that his back was turned to Jeno. “Sorry, babe. Coach wanted to talk to us about the upcoming season. When he gets going, it’s hard to get him to stop. And besides, where’s the fun in just asking for pictures when I could come here, talk to you, and take the pictures myself?”

You didn’t respond, but rather pulled out your backpack and began digging through it. When you pulled out your notebook, you handed it to San, who flashed a wink at you. You barely held back a gag. 

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll just be a minute.” 

He walked over to the hood of your truck, and just as you were about to continue your conversation, two figures slung their arms around both of Jeno’s shoulders, causing him to flinch. 

Out of the fifteen soccer players on the team, San and his best friends—seven of them, to be precise—were the worst. The others were pretty nice. But right now, seeing two of those seven surround your best friend made you uneasy. 

Wooyoung was loud. He was also a temperamental brat. His dad owned three used car dealerships over in Brooklyn, so naturally, he thought he owned the entire world. He wasn’t someone who would get too physical in fights, like San, or Jongho, or Yeosang. But when he was angry, he could easily get you to jump into the stratosphere by yelling at you once. Over the years, he’d made several teaching assistants and substitute teachers cry, only getting let off with a slap on the wrist every time. 

 Yunho was terrifying for completely different reasons. He was friendly, but a little too friendly to the people he wanted to control. He could read people like books and could easily manipulate whoever he wanted. But he wasn’t afraid of getting physical either, especially not when he was built like a goddamn Power Rangers Megazord. 

All in all, they definitely weren't anyone you wanted near you, near your friends. Especially considering how much they had it out for your friends. 

"Hey, buddy," Yunho said, looking down at Jeno with a wide smile. "How was summer vacation?"

Jeno gnawed on the side of his cheek as he considered his answer. "Um, it was okay." He looked at you to catch your eyes darting between San, Yunho and Wooyoung, like you were analyzing the situation. "I kinda stayed in and played video games most of the t—"

"Cool, cool," Yunho answered, carding his free hand through his bleach blond hair. "What about you, Woo?"

"Oh, dude, it was so cool," He bragged, "I went to Brazil for like, a month. I went clubbing with Instagram models and shit, it was wild."

You stared at him as he patted Jeno on the back rather aggressively. "Where did you go? Have you ever even left New York?" 

You knew the answer. Only a few times when the debate team went to compete in different states. Jeno spoke up again. "Well, yeah a few t—"

"Doubt it," Yunho scoffed. He craned his head back. "San, you done yet?"

"Almost!" San answered. Yunho turned to face you, and for some reason his smile seemed genuinely kind. “What about you, Y/N?”

You never understood why it was that the soccer team hated your entire friend group, but seemed to tolerate you. It made no sense.

So you shrugged. “Not a lot, I guess. Did my summer reading. Hung out with my friends.” You flashed a reassuring smile at Jeno. “Right, Jen?”

Immediately, he relaxed a little bit. “Yeah.”

San appeared from behind Yunho, Jeno and Wooyoung. “Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.”

You waved your hand, wanting them to get rid of them quickly. “Don’t mention it. But next time, just text me for my notes. I have to get to work, so…”

“Oh! My bad,” He answered with fake remorse, before unlocking his phone and handing it over to you. “Here. For next time.”

You stifled a deep sigh, punching in the numbers hesitantly. “Just for homework, got it?”

San took his phone back, holding a hand over his heart and raised his head. “On a gentleman's honor,” He declared, and you bit back a laugh. Jeno looked like he was going to hurl.

“San!” The team captain—Hongjoong—called from a few feet away, “Are you guys done yet or what?”

“Coming!” San yelled back.

“Alright, we’ll let you go,” Wooyoung said, patting Jeno on the back again, a bit too harsh for comfort. “Bye, Y/N! See you around.”

 The three of them stalked off, leaving you and a very frazzled Jeno. “Dicks,” You muttered once they were out of earshot. “You good?”

Jeno shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

You tilted your head, frowning. “Jeno—”

“I gotta go,” He said quickly. “I’ll see you later?”

You nodded, offering a lopsided smile. “Yeah. Be careful!” 

Jeno offered a deep bow, fluttering his eyelashes. “On a gentleman’s honor,” He sighed, adding a very bad British accent to it. You burst out laughing, eyes squeezing shut.

You didn’t catch the way Jeno’s shoulders relaxed at the sound.

I want you to know now

Baby, it could go down

I don’t wanna talk about it

Baby, let’s just go now

The train ride into Midtown didn’t take too long. He spent it digging through his backpack for his Park Industries lanyard, listening to music and thinking about you.

When you talk right to me 

You gon’ have to do me

Every time you think you’re leaving 

You running back to me

You’d met Jeno when you were six. Truth be told, he didn’t really remember. For him it was like you weren’t there at one point and by the time you were, you were thicker than thieves. It was a difficult time for him. He had just lost both of his parents, and was moving in with his Aunt Sunny and his Uncle Jinki, who were barely out of college at the time. He’d had to move to a new school and basically restart his entire life. You were the first sense of stability in his life for months. 

Your mom lived next to his aunt and uncle. So naturally, you went to the same school and went on the same bus. And somewhere along the way, you two clicked. You’d introduced him to Renjun, Jaemin and Donghyuck. You were there to comfort him whenever he got pushed off the slide by San or Wooyoung. 

He was there for you when your stepdad and stepbrother moved in when you were nine and you weren’t sure how to deal with it. He was there when your mom died when you were thirteen. He’d introduced you and your friends to Mark, Chenle and Jisung. 

And you were there when his Uncle Jinki got killed when he was fifteen. And because fate had an especially cruel sense of irony, it had happened on a Tuesday. You didn’t know, but at the time, he had just gotten his powers. Your comfort and words unknowingly had a secondary effect: he made the decision to use them for good, and… well. The rest was history. 

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Talk about where we're goin'

Before we get lost, lend me your thoughts

Can't get what we want without knowin'

Just like when he met you, he didn’t recall an exact moment where he realized he’d fallen in love with you. He knew there was a world where he loved you, but wasn’t in love with you. And he knew that there was a world here he’d fallen in love with you—he was living in that world now. He realized he was living in that world maybe when he was sixteen, and had been stuck in it ever since. 

You were it for him. He’d had crushes before. But never something like this, where he was so aware of your presence around him. It wasn’t the way he was hyper aware of someone like San, or like Yunho or Jongho. It wasn’t out of anxiety or fear, where a shift in mood activated his fight or flight. He was aware of you in a way that only people who truly know each other do, where he could pick up on subtle changes in your behavior, but not out of fear. Rather, out of a desire to take care of you and to not have you worry about anything. 

I've never felt like this before

I apologize if I'm movin' too far

Can we just talk? Can we just talk?

Figure out where we're goin'...

As the train rolled into the station that was a fifteen minute walk from Park Tower, Jeno put away his headphones and took a deep breath.

The “Jeno Tingle” as his Aunt Sunny called it—Jeno hated the term—had taken him a few years to gain control of. And while he could never truly turn it off, he could at least tune it out enough to be more at ease. The only time he did so was at school or when he was studying, just because he wanted to feel normal, and because being aware of everything going on around him really messed with his concentration. 

Jaemin didn’t understand. “If I was able to tell whenever Seonghwa was behind me because he wanted to scare me into doing his chemistry homework, I’d never turn that shit off,” He’d said once. But truthfully, Jeno didn’t really care. Because while yes, he was still slightly scared of the “hateful eight”, he knew damn well that if things got to be too much, he could kick their asses if he wanted to. 

It was his friends he worried about. He couldn’t be around them 24/7. You, not so much. He knew you knew how to fight. Even worse, he knew that San had the hots for you so you were off limits to the rest of them, be it bullying or flirting. But for everyone else… Well. He couldn’t hover over them like some guardian angel. 

Now that the “Jeno Tingle” was on, it allowed him to sense everyone within a certain range around him. He could zero in on certain sounds with ease, and his reflexes became heightened. Halfway on his walk up Park Avenue, he jumped away from a chihuahua on its leash a second before it started barking at him.

When he entered the first floor lobby of the Park Building, he scoured the crowd of employees and visitors until he landed on one familiar face. 

He'd met Doyoung about a year after his dad started dating your mom. Things between your parents were starting to get serious, and Doyoung was four years older than you were. When they moved into your house, Doyoung as your new stepbrother became the de facto chaperone and babysitter. If you wanted to go to the mall with Jeno, he had to take you. Every time you dragged Jeno to the movies, Doyoung had to go also. 

To an extent, it wasn't that bad. Doyoung was cool, and he was smart—he was the one who got Jeno interested in computers and chemistry. He graduated high school at 16, and finished his bachelor's degree at 19. He'd also interned at Park Industries, and secured a job there almost immediately after college. 

To an extent, he was the whole reason Mr. Park knew who he was, because of one incident. It was relatively soon after he started the whole vigilante thing. Jeno, still figuring out how to maneuver on the webs that shot out of his wrists, had accidentally crashed into your backyard late at night, when only Doyoung was awake. He was standing in the back door while he was waiting for his dog to finish peeing. 

Initially, the older boy had freaked out, thinking that it was a burglar or something. When he yelled out that his dad was a cop and was asleep in the house, Jeno panicked, and pulled off his mask, holding up his hands.

“Woah, woahwoahwoah! Doyoung! It’s me, it’s me!” 

Doyoung’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers, paying no mind to the dog as it sauntered up to Jeno, before turning onto its back in a request for belly rubs.

"You're the spider guy everyone's been talking about!?"

"Spider man," Jeno had answered, voice cracking as he dusted himself off. He cringed at the sound of his voice. "...and yes."

Of course, his cover was blown, and he'd begged Doyoung not to tell anyone, especially not you. And while Doyoung had promised not to tell you, it didn't stop him from telling his boss. 

That had been almost three years ago now. The rest was history, and after that Jeno didn’t have to run around in bright red sweatpants and dollar store swimming goggles. Now, he had a nanotech suit that allowed him to activate protocols of the suit through voice commands using something top-secret Mr. Park called D.R.E.A.M technology. Direct Response Engaged As Machine—yeah, Jeno didn’t get it either. 

Doyoung offered Jeno a smile as he escorted Jeno past security, showing them his employee clearance pass. "Hey. How have you been?"

Jeno shrugged, recounting his day in minor detail as he was led into an elevator labeled authorized personnel only. 

This elevator only went up to the 35th floor, seeing as everything past that was only cleared for a certain list of people approved by Mr. Park and his security team, and everything past the 90th floor were Mr. Park's private living quarters. 

Now, as Doyoung led him to another elevator to head up to the 85th floor, which was always where Jeno got to meet with Mr. Park—which wasn't often, maybe once or twice a year—he wondered where he would be if he hadn’t surprised Doyoung that night. He would probably still be using those ugly red sweatpants as part of his disguise.

"How's Y/N?" Doyoung asked. 

"Oh, she seems okay. That guy who hates me keeps coming onto her though. He's a huge douchebag."

Doyoung frowned. "He's not harassing her, is he? Because if he is—"

"He just won't stop flirting, even though she clearly isn't interested," Jeno said bitterly, "He isn't physical or anything. Trust me, it wouldn't end well for him if he was."

Doyoung wasn't quite sure how to respond to the younger boy's dark tone. He looked down, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“So… how’s the apartment?” Jeno asked. Doyoung perked up instantly.

“Oh, now that Taeyong’s moved in and did his interior design thing, it looks great. He’s really done a great job at it.”

“When am I gonna meet this guy? He sounds cool.”

“He’s really cool,” Doyoung hummed, cheeks heating up. “Things are getting really serious.”

Jeno smiled at how flustered Doyoung, who was normally so level headed and calm, became at the mention of his boyfriend.

“You guys sound like a really good couple,” He said. Doyoung chuckled, waving his hand. “Oh, well—” 

 The elevator dinged, and Doyoung sighed. “I’ll tell you later. C’mon.”

The hallway it opened up to was lined with pictures of the company's history, starting from pictures of black and white of people in vintage clothing, to pictures in sepia tones to finally pictures of the current CEO at locations around the world: Chanyeol Park.

Jeno walked behind Doyoung as he led him down the hallway, before stopping in front of a door, and a friendly looking man in a suit. 

Junmyeon was a part of Chanyeol’s Security and Intelligence team, and often sat in on these meetings with Jeno. The chain of contact also included him. If Jeno couldn’t contact Doyoung (which rarely happened), he’d contact Junmyeon. And if he couldn’t contact either of them, or it was an emergency, only then could he contact Chanyeol. So far, that had only happened once.

"Hey, Junmyeon," Doyoung said, "Mr. Park's 4:30 is here." 

Junmyeon nodded, before smiling at Jeno and giving him a wave. "Hey, kid."

Jeno offered an awkward grin. "Hi, Mr. Kim."

Junmyeon rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Kid, you're making me feel ancient. I've told you a million times, just call me Junmyeon."

Jeno shuffled awkwardly, before nodding at the older man, watching as he pressed a button on his earpiece. "Hey, Yeol. Jeno's here."

The muffled response was barely heard, but Jeno automatically understood what Mr. Park said. Junmyeon turned to open the door, and let the pair inside. The “office”—if it could even be called that—opened up to more of a lounge, than anything. A wall of glass overlooked the Manhattan skyline, but Jeno knew that from the outside it looked only like a wall, due to camouflage technology developed by Mr. Park himself. As Doyoung and Junmyeon stayed back, closer to the door, Jeno took a few steps toward the man in question.

Chanyeol was standing a few feet in front of the glass window, working on a holographic model of a new piece of tech. His face was turned downward in a concentrated frown. He barely spared the teenager a glance as he said fondly, “Hey, kid.”

Jeno was used to this. Chanyeol wasn’t cold per se, but he wasn’t warm at all. He knew that Chanyeol cared about him, even if he didn’t really show it in a conventional way. Chanyeol was a very… eccentric man, so he had his own way of saying and doing things. 

“Hi, Mr. Park. Um… you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yep! Needed some help from the friendly neighborhood Spiderman… A little birdie told me about something going on in Queens.”

“Queens?” Jeno asked, gripping the straps of his backpack. “You mean, other than the usual stuff?”

“Other than the usual stuff,” Chanyeol repeated, nodding. With a wave of his hand, the hologram disappeared, and another one appeared in its place. This time, instead of a 3D model, a few pictures and another, smaller 3D model appeared. Chanyeol turned to face him, frown deepening. He pointed at the model—a long, shiny oval-shaped purple stone. It reminded Jeno of an amethyst, but instead of turning white at the base, it turned to an iridescent jade tone. “You know what this is, right?”

Jeno nodded, remembering seeing the rocks all over the news when he was a kid. “That’s… that’s a Chitauri stone. From the invasion a few years back.”

Chanyeol nodded, standing up straight. “These stones have the potential to power weapons with no need to recharge, or change them out. They’re an infinite, extremely strong power source, Jeno, and in the wrong hands can be very dangerous.”

Jeno took a deep breath, feeling his stomach sink slowly. Chanyeol sighed. “Cleanup of the city after the invasion was long, and difficult, and obviously the government and the company weren’t able to get everything. It caused a black market to pop up. Now, the NYPD has been investigating it for years, but they have their limits… that’s where you come in.”

“M-me, Mr. Park?”

Chanyeol gave him a crooked, reassuring smile. He pointed at one of the pictures, which was of a man who most likely didn’t know he was photographed. He was walking somewhere, face looking angry and stern.

“You don’t know who this is, right?”

Jeno shook his head, and Chanyeol turned his head to nod at Junmyeon. “You’re up, tough guy.”

Junmyeon huffed, before walking up to Jeno. He put his hand on Jeno’s shoulder as if he could tell that he was growing anxious. 

“Jeno, that’s Henry Duke. From what we understand on the intel team, he’s one of the cornerstones of the alien tech black market. He’s one of the top dogs. From what we understand, he likes to be present for all major negotiations that his group makes. A source of ours told us that there’s going to be a negotiation on Friday night not too far away from LaGuardia. We want you to go out there and just get a feel of what’s going on.”

“Just watch them, right?” Jeno looked at Junmyeon, who patted his back reassuringly. “Just watch. Don’t engage unless you absolutely have to.”

“You can do that, right?” Chanyeol said quietly, crossing his arms. “Because if not, then it’s totally—”

“Yeah, of course I can! Friday—shit, Friday. At what time are they supposed to be meeting up?”

Junmyeon furrowed his eyebrows, before answering, “Around eight or nine.”

Jeno bit his lip, thinking about the promise he’d made to you. It would just have to wait, he supposed. Chanyeol rarely asked anything this big of him.

“Alright,” Jeno agreed, “I’ll do it.”

Chanyeol grinned, clapping his hands together. 

“Perfect.” 

They discussed logistics briefly after. Doyoung would be on call with Jeno, his custom made suit allowing them to communicate, letting Doyoung see everything Jeno was seeing via a video feed coming from the ultra thin lenses placed in the white eye sockets of the mask. Doyoung would then report to Junmyeon, who would report to Chanyeol, who would probably report to the FBI. Jeno was only to engage if absolutely necessary.

After that, he set out on patrol. He usually found some discreet place to hide his backpack, and then went all over Queens looking for trouble, quite literally. Around five thirty, he stopped a robbery in Murray Hill. Then, around seven, he stopped a man from stealing a woman’s purse in Elmhurst. Nothing too much.

Around eight, he finally headed home, this time dressed normally, using the train and not web fluid. He walked home, tired, knowing that he’d immediately have to do that cursed AP calc homework. When he got home, he opened his backpack pocket to look for his keys, rummaging between his notebooks and other things. 

Shuffling through his stuff, he furrowed his eyebrows as he couldn’t find them. Thinking back, he remembered this morning, when he’d left in a rush… and had very obviously left his keys on his desk.

“Shit,” He muttered to himself. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, remembering that Aunt Sunny had said she’d be working overtime tonight. He could very easily sneak in through his window, but he was pretty sure he’d locked it the night before, and it was too early. People’s lights were still on—anyone could see him if they just looked up, and then he would be screwed. 

Huffing and zipping his backpack up, he marched up to your house, before ringing the doorbell. He shifted his weight back and forth, from his heels to the balls of his feet, until the door opened up. A familiar man with a face just like Doyoung's, but older, with graying hair and arms scarred and muscled from years of working on the police force stood in the doorway.

“Jeno?” Your dad offered him a warm smile. “Hey, kiddo, what’s up?”

“Hi, Mr. Kim,” Jeno said, smiling back. He shifted nervously. “I, um… I left my keys in my room this morning, and my aunt’s working late, so… could I… maybe wait here? Y/N’s home, right?” 

The man nodded. “Of course, of course. Come in!” 

Your dad had always been super friendly, even from the day Jeno had first met him. You'd told Jeno once that he was the only real father figure you'd ever had. Once everything settled after him and your mom got married, you started calling him dad altogether. And since you and Jeno were practically glued at the hip, he got along with your dad almost as well as you did.

“Okay.” Jeno stepped in and set down his backpack at the base of the coat rack next to the door, as he’d done a million times before. Jeno stepped into the living room, and sat down on the couch. He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at your dad.

"I think Y/N's in the shower, but she should be done soon. You can just wait here if you want… have you eaten anything yet?”

“Uh, I had a granola bar on the train, but that’s it.”

“We have some leftover pasta here, if you want—”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim, really! I’m fine.”

Your dad nodded, sitting down on his recliner. “So, have you started your college list, yet? Y/N said you wanted to stay here in New York.”

Jeno nodded, pushing some hair out of his face. “Well, yeah. It would make things a lot easier, I think. I might want to apply to NYU, but I think I’ll just go to community college, or something.”

Your dad shook his head. “You’re a pretty smart kid, Jeno. I think you could get into Columbia if you set out to. Plus, Chanyeol Park doesn’t give out internships to anybody. That’s your secret weapon.”

Jeno smiled. “Well, you’ve got a point.” 

Your dad gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Come on, trying won’t hurt!” Your dad made a face, and then rubbed his knuckles. “Have you been working out? Those muscles weren’t there the last time I did that.”

Jeno laughed, trying to think of an excuse. “Oh, a little bit? The house needed some fixing up over the summer, and I wanted to help Aunt Sunny, so…”

“Jeno?” 

He turned immediately, eyes landing on you at the base of the staircase. You’d changed into an old t-shirt and pajama pants. Your hair was slightly damp. “What are you doing here?” You asked, with a curious smile.

His shoulders slumped, and he grinned sheepishly. “Terrible Tuesday strikes again. I forgot my keys.”

You grimaced. “Brutal, dude. You wanna come up?” Your eyes moved to your dad. “Or am I interrupting guy time?”

“Oh, definitely,” Jeno answered, playing along. He took a cocky tone as he rested his hands on the back of his neck. “Your dad was just telling me about how much the NYPD needs me.” 

You stifled a laugh. You dad seemed to be holding back a laugh too. "Hey, you're joking, but if you keep working out like that, and if by some impossible chance, the college thing doesn't work out… We might just be able to catch Spiderman if we finally got some brain cells on the force."

"Ugh, dad," You groaned, unaware of Jeno's gut twisting, "Not again."

"Yeah, Mr. Kim," Jeno said, scratching the back of his head, "He's not that bad."

Your dad shook his head. "Look, I don't hate the guy. In all honesty, crime rates have dropped since he started doing his thing. But he thinks he's above the law, and his methods can be a bit… unorthodox sometimes. He’s been undermining us for years and his tech is state of the art. Makes me wonder about what we should do to modernize the force."

Jeno looked downward, wondering what would happen if your dad knew the truth.

"Well, I guess we may just never find out. Jeno'd make a horrible cop. He couldn't hurt a fly if you paid him a million dollars."

But you came to the rescue as you grabbed his backpack, and soon enough he was up the stairs with you, heading into your bedroom, laughing to yourselves when you heard your dad jokingly call out, "Fifteen inch distance, you two! Door stays open!"

He sat on your desk chair while you lay on your bed, limbs splaying out. 

"So you left your keys."

Jeno groaned. "Don't remind me. I was in such a rush to leave, that I… I forgot. I'm so stupid."

You rolled your eyes, rolling over onto your stomach to look at him. "You're not stupid, Jen. You made an honest mistake because you were in a hurry." 

Standing up, you walked over to him and leaned against the desk. "Seriously, Jeno. What's gotten into you, lately? You freak out about every little thing. It's starting to worry me." 

Jeno shook his head. "I don't know," He admitted. "I think I'm just scared about how after this year, everything changes. Renjun’s headed upstate. Jaemin’s going to Boston. You want to go to LA. I think Hyuck and I are the only ones who want to stay here. I just… I don't want things to change." 

Your expression turned sad as he continued. "Everyone is expecting great things from me. You're smart, Jeno. You can get into an Ivy. Or, you have a Park internship, you'll be fine. What if I don't want things to be fine? What if I want them to just stay the same?"

You stayed silent for a few moments, trying to think of what to say. Jeno was relatively level headed for someone your age, but even he had moments of doubt and panic. It made moments like these difficult.  You sighed before grabbing him by the hand. Wordlessly, you tugged him over to the bed, sitting him down and leaning your head on his shoulder. He could feel the dampness in your hair seeping slowly into his shirt.

"I guess I understand what you mean," You mumbled, trying to reason with him, "But come on. You wouldn't really want everything to stay the same. You can't tell me you want to keep getting AP calc homework. And I definitely doubt that you'd want to have your ass kicked by San for the rest of your life."

Jeno looked at the floor. "You're right. But you know that's not what I mean—"

"I know," You huffed, "I'm just saying. Change… it's inevitable. The longer you fight it, the harder it is."

Jeno nodded. "This sucks."

"It does," You agreed, taking his hand in yours. "But at least we have each other's backs, y'know?"

Something of a smile appeared on his face. You were so close to him, leaning on him, stroking his knuckles with your thumb. He hoped you couldn't hear his heart pounding in his chest. 

"We really do, huh?" His voice turned quiet, with a bit of a sleepy lull to it. He allowed his head to rest on yours. "You're so comfortable. Can I like, use you as a pillow for the rest of my life?"

You giggled. "I'll consider it on two conditions."

"Oh, you'll consider. How generous of you."

"Yes, I'll consider. Now, do you wanna hear my terms or not?" 

Jeno raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead," He said, before putting on his best Marlon Brando voice, "Make me an offer I can't refuse."

Snorting, you lifted your head off of his. "Okay. One, you finish your calculus homework here before Sunny gets home."

He pursed his lips. "Okay, I could probably do that. What's the other one?"

"Let me drive you to school for the rest of the year." 

Jeno stared at you, and you nodded, eyes wide. "Trust me, Jen. You wouldn't need to wake up so early! And plus, you can't text the guy manning the subway asking him to give you five minutes because you need to find your keys."

Jeno gnawed on the inside of his cheek. You did have a point, and to be honest, he could probably refrain from putting his feet up on your dashboard.

"Deal." 

You grinned. "Awesome," You answered, before nodding towards his backpack. "Now get to work, Einstein."

The rest of the week wasn't that bad. Yes, you were absolutely batshit insane about your truck in the morning, but he soon realized he didn't really mind. Not when it allowed you both to spend some twenty extra minutes together in the mornings, and they were spent joking around and listening to your extremely varied playlist. 

On the other hand, he was saddled with more and more homework, greater and greater expectations. The looming threat of Friday's mission rolled around, and it made Jeno feel like time was passing much too slowly but also way too quickly. There was so much on his mind. He had chemistry with you on Thursdays in the afternoon, which also meant that San was there. Which also meant that sometimes, his heightened senses would pick up on San dropping a tacky pick up line which made Jeno want to punch him in the jaw.

Finally, finally, Friday afternoon rolled around. As he bid you goodbye and promised to see you later, he tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach. The feeling that something was about to go very, very wrong. He went out on patrol, ready for Doyoung to set up the call and tell him where he needed to go. It didn’t help that there wasn’t a lot for him to do that day. Crime had seemed to slow down altogether. 

When the time finally came, and the sun was beginning to set, Doyoung rang in at about 7, telling him the location. An old warehouse near LaGuardia airport, hidden from prying eyes. Jeno made his way to the place, avoiding security cameras Doyoung warned him about, and found a place to hide. There was a hole in the warehouse roof, which allowed him to peer right into the building without being seen. It was about thirty feet from the ground.

“Why is it always old, abandoned warehouses?” Jeno grumbled. He heard Doyoung laugh quietly. 

“Beats me,” Doyoung sighed. 

And so they waited. Jeno wondered vaguely if you were still working. He wasn’t sure. They made time talking quietly, until a black SUV rolled into the warehouse. “Woah, Doyoung,” He murmured, “Hold up.”

Jeno leaned forward, but quickly realized he probably wouldn’t be able to hear what was being said. “D.R.E.A.M, activate Heightened Intelligence Protocol.”

Activating Heightened Intelligence Protocol.

The protocol allowed Jeno to use the lenses over his eyes to zoom in on specific targets, as well as use a microphone embedded in the suit to pick up audio from far away and feed it directly into his ears.

He watched as three figures got out of the car, a fourth remaining in the driver’s seat. The trio stood in front of the car, and Jeno recognized the man in the middle as the man Junmyeon had been talking about.

“Alright, there’s Henry Duke,” He said, “The one in the middle.”

 “Got it,” Doyoung replied, sounding satisfied. “Now all we have to do is wait for the other party.”

“Did Junmyeon’s sources say anything about who it would be?”

“No. They weren’t able to find that out. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Jeno’s eyes never left the man. “Do you think it’s something international?”

Doyoung sighed. “I’m not sure. If it is international, then you need to be even more careful.”

“Got it. I think—Wait, here they come.” 

A second vehicle, this one another black SUV, rolled up not too far away from the first car. The lights turned off and the engine sputtered to a stop, and four men stepped out of the vehicle.

Jeno’s stomach dropped, and of its own accord, his mouth let loose a quiet, “What the fuck,” as he registered the person leading them. 

“What?” Doyoung asked, before realizing what—who—he was looking at. “...Is that my dad?”

“I think it is,” Jeno whispered, fingertips suddenly numb. Who was he kidding? They both knew who it was. 

“So,” One of the men next to your dad said, “You show us yours, we’ll show you ours?”

Henry Duke clapped his hands together with an impish grin. “I suppose. Reagan, get the case.”

One of the two men standing beside him started off toward the trunk of the car. “It caught me off guard when I heard that the force wanted to purchase these. Almost made me wonder if this was your attempt at a sting operation.”

“What made you change your mind?” Your dad asked. Jeno swallowed at how cold he sounded. This wasn’t your dad, and it didn’t seem like Officer Kim either. This was someone Jeno had never met before. 

“Honestly, Kim?” Duke raised an eyebrow, shrugging. “It was you. Your cooperativeness and willing to feed us information, as well as your… insurance agreement. And besides, you made a very interesting point when you said that the Avengers Initiative and Park’s alum Spiderman is ruining the way the law operates around here. That type of bitterness… hard to fake.”

Your dad huffed. “We’re fucking tired of it.”

The man leaning against the car your dad had stepped out of scoffed. “If this helps us catch the little asshole, then so be it.”

Jeno frowned. “I’m not little—”

“Jeno, shut up!” Doyoung snapped. 

“—Alright, then.” The man holding the briefcase—Reagan—clicked it open, as if it were a prize reveal on The Price is Right. Five guns, all modified to hold glowing Chitauri stones were placed carefully together side by side.

“You know the basics. No radiation. Keep it away from security scanners and x-rays. They will blow up. And second of all, these are at half the price, along with the promise from the chief of police that my business won’t be touched, and will only be distributed to officers in on the operation and have agreed to turn off their body cameras when they decide to use these weapons. Should this not be a sting operation, we’ll be back here to negotiate.”

Jeno leaned forward, watching anxiously.

“Yes, sir,” Your dad answered, nodding. “We have the money here.”

“Hand it over, then.”

That was when Jeno made his mistake. He leaned forward too much, and proceeded to fall right through the hole, bringing down some scraps of the roof with him. As he tumbled through the air, the zoom on his lenses caused him to grow dizzy as he had no idea what he was looking at. He caught himself before he could fall, clumsily commanding D.R.E.A.M to go back to turn off the current protocol. His vision returned to normal, and he swung up onto a rafter holding the warehouse up.

“So, we have company.” Duke didn’t sound as amused as he had before. His face turned into a sneer. “Get him.”

In less than a second, before Jeno could say anything, five guns were pointed directly at him. He managed to swing away before any bullets could hit him. 

“Jeno, get out of there now,” Doyoung ordered. 

“What about the guns?” Jeno asked, swinging to another rafter. “They know I’m here, I might as well get them before I go—”

“No! Jeno, listen to what I’m telling you. You’ve done more than enough, and you need to let it g—”

Your dad aimed, and a bullet fired right at Jeno’s chest. For a second, he forgot that the chest area of the suit was lined with bulletproof material. While it didn’t shoot into his chest, it ricocheted right off him, and since he was in motion, it somehow caused the bullet to bounce back in the direction in which it came. 

The wind was knocked out of Jeno, but it was nothing compared to watching the bullet land in the middle of your father’s chest. On the other line, he heard Doyoung yell, followed by the sound of something falling. And then, as he made his way back towards the hole he’d fallen out of, he couldn’t rip his eyes away from the body as it crumpled to the ground. 

The others around him scrambled to get back into their respective cars. Jeno was back on the roof now, trying not to hyperventilate. “I’m sorry,” He gasped, “Do—Doyoung, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to—”

“Jeno, you need to get out of there, now,” Doyoung said, voice raspy. “GO!” 

So he did, and Doyoung cut off the call once he was out of the vicinity. Jeno didn’t blame him. He swung across buildings, feeling numb as he looked for the apartment complex roof where he’d decided to hide his backpack.

When he finally did, he changed in a hurry, before slumping against the wall and forcing himself to take deep breaths. 

Doyoung’s dad—your dad—was dead. And it was all his fault. 

He cried on the way down the staircase. He cried on his way to the subway. The entire time, he ignored people’s stares. Suddenly everything was too loud, and if he met someone in the eyes he’d just about break down in the middle of the station. 

As he got onto the train, Jeno thought about all of the things your dad had done for you, and for Jeno. All the times he'd taken you both to Coney Island in the summer when you were younger. The year Pokemon Go came out he took the both of you driving around in his car so you and Jeno could catch as many Pokemon as you could. 

He’d formally adopted you when you were thirteen. You were his daughter in nearly every sense of the word, regardless of blood. And now he was dead, because of a stupid mistake that Jeno had made.

What would you say if you knew? He didn’t want to know. Checking the time on his phone, he saw he’d gotten a message from you just three minutes ago.

[8:36 PM]

y/n: lemme know when ur outside!! :)

“Fuck,” He murmured, wiping his eyes. He knew he needed to stop crying before he got to your house, and he had about ten minutes before he got to his stop, and then another five minute walk to the neighborhood. He focused on taking deep breaths and taking long swigs from his water bottle in the meantime, trying to tune out the sound of other people talking and the sound of the train on the rails.

The walk was the longest five minute walk he’d ever taken. The flashing lights of convenience stores did nothing to calm him down. As the stores in his peripheral vision began transitioning into suburban homes, he felt his heart speed up again. The constant movement as he walked meant he missed his phone vibrating in his backpack as you rang his number.

After what seemed like an eternity, two familiar houses came into his line of vision, and his shoulders slumped as he spotted you on your porch, looking small and teary, curled up into a little ball. In one hand, you were clutching your phone.

His stomach twisted as he put on a confused tone, even though he knew damn well that you knew. “...Y/N?”

You stood up, running to him and burying yourself into his chest, crumpling into his arms. You would have fell over if Jeno hadn’t held both of you up. 

“Jeno,” You sobbed, “You’re n-not go-onna believe it.”

He brought a hand up to caress your hair, holding back tears of his own as he asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“Y/N, what happened?”

taglist: @decembermoonskz @itsapapisongo @lenaluvs​ @crescentjen​

[chronicbatfictioner]

Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 20

The dinner was just as Jason expected, bland, dull, a lot of formalities in which Bane was visibly struggling with and did not even bother to pretend to know the difference between steak or salad forks. Jason, Dick, and Tim managed to keep the conversation alive and light, somehow without offending the formality of the dinner. Good thing, Jason thought, that The League had taught him of formal dinner etiquette and whatnot, otherwise he would have been slurping the baiwang with the soup spoon instead of the Chinese soup spoon provided by Alfred - like Bane.

Dick, for all of his lack of etiquette education, won in the manners division - regardless of the fact that Tim was helping him by pointing out which cutlery should be used for what. At the very least, he was not beneath asking what he wasn't sure of. 

The day after was a little duller. Alfred merely informed them that the police were there along with the District Attorney, Harvey Dent, to arrest Bane on several counts of murder. Bane was arrested nearly without a fight - he had been purged of his venom strength and knew that he had no chance against some of the cops who were ready to taser him.

Jason was... frankly, a little disappointed.

"Would've been nice if there was a brawl or something," Dick voiced Jason's thought out loud just as he walked outside.

"Oh, goodness, I'm just glad this is over," Bruce commented, glaring apprehensively at Dick's back as the latter walked away with Damian. There was a good long silence before he added, "I presume now that Bane is out of this house, Damian will no longer need you two? I mean, he has me now - and his grandparents." he pointed out.

"I have vowed to guard Damian until he is an adult," Jason replied simply. Ignoring Bruce's sudden change of expression. "it is my order."

"Well, Talia... no offense. But Talia won't-- is no longer around to hold you accountable." Bruce argued.

"No, she's not. But Damian is." Jason looked at the child, sitting under one of the Manor's massive trees with a thick sketchbook before him. Dick, Jason knew, was on the tree. Even with Bane arrested, Oracle had warned that as long as he's not fully incarcerated in a maximum-security facility, he could still either get out and hurt the Waynes - including Damian. Therefore Jason asked Dick to remain with them for a little while longer. Thankfully, Dick didn't mind.

"He's a child. Children adapt well with changes of environments," Bruce said. "and if you're afraid that Bane would come back, I can hire some bodyguards for him."

Jason managed to hold back his smirk. People always thought that he was there to protect Damian; not realizing that he was protecting others from Damian's temper. Instead, he smarted, "like you protected your parents by sending them overseas."

"Oh, now, that's not fair." Bruce protested. "It was... we all thought that... at least mother and I..." he didn't finish his sentence as he exhaled exasperatedly. "His DNA check is back," he continued after a few moments of silence.

"Obviously, he hasn't a drop of Wayne blood in him," Jason suggested, a little dryly. "Something anyone with knowledge of the molecular structure of DNA would have known right away. You accepted Damian right away because you saw he has your mother's ears, in spite of his green eyes. Yet you doubted your father's denial in spite of the fact that there is nothing on Bane that resembled any of you - including about all of the portraits of your ancestors.

"And then there's something else I realized. Bane came with nothing; whereas Damian came with the Al Ghul wealth. You were more accepting because Damian would not equal splitting the Wayne wealth..."

"That is not true!" Bruce growled. "I would not have turned Damian away even if he was not Talia's child. He is my child, and I know that he is!"

"Then we're back to my initial point: You were unable to defend your parents because you did not have 100% faith in their virtues. The Al Ghuls are known leaders of the League of Assassins, to which the leadership shall now be Damian's. What will be your argument, when he decides to take over the League fully? 'Oh, I can't be associated with criminals, even if said crimes were just allegation and not a video recording of someone snapping off another person's neck'?" Jason sneered. "Now, Mister Wayne. I also would like to remind you, that I have Damian's legal custody. If you insist I should leave, I shall bring him along."

"You can't do that," Bruce scowled. "He's my biological child..."

"You have studied your country's laws, Mister Wayne. But you forgot the one crucial thing: Damian is not your country's boy by any means other than your claim." Jason mentally realized that he has placed one of his ace cards onto the table. But he honestly prefers this kind of conversation not to be had when Damian is present. And from the looks of it, he has packed his sketching materials and was making his way back indoors. "Do not try to deny Damian's access to me, or the League, Mr Wayne. He is not yours to manipulate," he added softly while Damian was still out of range.

"Hey guys, Damian and I are hungry," Dick announced as they went past the door. "Think Alfred would let us have cookies?"

"He's the one who is hungry, Todd," Damian told Jason. "I shall wait until tea time for the cookies. It is only a mere hour away."

"Why don't you scrub up a little? Tea should be ready by the time you're done." Bruce suggested.

Damian's scowl could have killed a cobra. "While I am planning on refreshing myself, father, it would be kind of you to cease directing me as if I am an imbecile," he stated, and for the second time in less than 10 minutes, Jason bit the inside of his cheek to stop a snicker.

Bruce, however, was not amused at Damian. "Well! That is not what a child should say to his father!" he admonished.

"Todd," Damian glared at Jason. "Did you not inform Mr Wayne here that I merely referred to him as 'father' due to common societal practices?" he asked with air quotes around the word 'father'.

"I have informed him that, Damian," Jason assured him.

"Do remind him on a daily basis that I am not obliged to remain here beyond what is demanded by his country's societal norms." Damian continued.

"I shall, Damian," Jason replied.

"Very well, I shall be in my quarters until tea time. You might consider feeding Grayson here, Todd," Damian said dismissively.

"I actually have some matters to discuss with you, Damian, if you don't mind. I think Grayson can fend for himself just fine," Jason told him.

"I don't mind. Let us, then." Damian said, leading the way back to his room.

Jason nodded politely to Bruce and motioned Dick to join him. "Mr Wayne, Grayson."

As they left Bruce, still standing in confusion - probably - Dick remarked, "ouch," softly.

"Go on and get your own cookies, Grayson," Jason remarked.

"I need to discuss something with you, too. You two, actually, somewhere safe." Dick said. Both Jason and Damian paused their steps. "Yeah, and we might need to call upon a certain bird for backup," Dick added, almost nonchalantly. It was not until then that Jason noticed the tenseness on his shoulders. He remembered that Dick, too, was trained to keep an eye out for danger.

"You go on ahead with Damian, I'll ask Alfred if he may have tea in his quarters." Jason decided. Damian nodded, realizing the urgency in Dick's posture, and stepped a little closer to Dick as Jason turned the other way.

Whatever it is Dick has to say, Jason could be certain now that besides himself, Dick would protect Damian fiercely. And/or protect other, possibly innocent people, from Damian's tempers.

He was just wondering why did it seem that Bruce Wayne was so intent on removing him.

And why Dr and Mrs Wayne would suddenly take a trip to Europe right after they were proverbially and literally freed from Bane.

Alfred, as usual, was in the kitchen preparing for tea time. In spite of being Americans, the Waynes seemed to like the habit of afternoon tea time.

Jason told Alfred of Damian's request, and Alfred nodded slowly. "Is Master Bruce still in the sun-room, then?" he asked.

"Last time I saw him, yeah."

"Ah, then... young Jason, may an old man request something from you and your vast knowledge of herbs?" Alfred's face was as impassive as ever when he said that, just a shade before he returned to his task of preparing some small sandwiches. But Jason was a little confused. Why would Alfred ask him for herbs? As far as Jason could tell, he was as healthy as... well, someone Jason's age, which has got to be at least a third of Alfred's; half at most. Jason didn't think that Alfred was any older than mid- to late-40s.

"Sure, how can I help?" he answered, anyway.

"Oh, I was wondering if there is any method you may suggest to... how do I put it... Chafe off surgical remains within oneself? I have had work done for my nose, you see, on a whim as a young lad; and I do not believe it looks becoming on me as I age. I feel as if it makes me look like another person is inhabiting my body, as Master Bruce was wont to say."

Jason blinked, and partially wished Dick was there to confirm his thoughts. In spite of being the exact same height as Jason, Alfred was bowing his head a little as he spoke; and Jason knew that there was a surveillance camera that would be able to record their conversation in the kitchen. His shoulders were tenser than the task of cutting bread would have required.

"Well, wow... okay. I'll need to actually search my books. You know some of the ladies back then would apply something to their skin for scars or bruises. But I'm not sure if it'll work on surgical stuff. I'll let you know?" Jason replied carefully.

"Thank you, Jason, for considering. While it shames me for being vain, it is... rather crucial." Alfred smiled at him.

"No problem, Alf," Jason patted him on the shoulder and made his way back to Damian's room - where each and every surveillance device has been disabled and/or misdirected by the combination of Tim, Barbara, and Damian's own skills.

Once Jason walked in and closed the doors of Damian's room behind him, he was greeted by both Damian and Dick's voices.

"That man is not my father, Todd! I believe my grandparents may still be in danger!" Damian exclaimed as Dick stormed over and announced 'There was an increase of drone activities outside, that's why I brought Damian in!' - followed by Damian and Dick glaring at each other, and Damian said, "Todd, we might need to acquire some new exit strategy!" at the same time as Dick saying, 'I've sent a text to Tim, but he hasn't answered. I've texted Babs, though!'

Jason cringed at them. "Whoa! Hold up! If this is how you two kids report, nobody would need surveillance equipment to hear you from Gotham Harbor!" he snarled. The two promptly stopped and glared at each other again, as if they both were hoping to have Superman's laser vision or something. "Okay, I've heard you both, and I'm upping the ante. Alfred just asked me practically for a method to dissolve foreign objects inside someone's body and allude that someone in the house is not who they seemed. And said someone might be Bruce."

Damian threw his fist to the air, stating, "I knew it!"

Dick's eyes were wide as saucers. "Okay... I would... I've wanted to say the same thing since we got in. But I was kinda scared I might be wrong. What makes you sure?"

"Alfred referred to Bruce in the past tense when talking to me," Jason said. "You? --wait, no, Damian first."

"He looked and behaved differently than the videos mother had shown me," Damian replied.

"I second Damian on this. Well, dude... we need to communicate better, don't we?" Dick said, telling the last bit toward Damian. "I've only met him once, way back when-- when my parents were... you know. But like I've told you, I remember everything from that day as if it has just happened. I remember Bruce Wayne was there with a blonde girl wearing chinchilla fur, a 50s hairdo, and an actual pearl pin. But when my parents... right after, I saw him directing traffic of people out of the tent calmly. His presence then was literally calming, like, everyone was looking at him for direction. This Bruce... generally, looked too nervous on everything; if that makes sense."

Jason thought a moment. Dick was really good at reading people's body language - even the most stoic Alfred. Before Bane was removed, Dick's assessment of Alfred was that he was uncomfortable with Bane, yet very welcoming of Damian. Thus his immediate trust in Alfred. However, since Bane was arrested and proven to not have been a Wayne; Jason hasn't got the chance to ask Dick to re-assess Alfred.

"Okay, I'll retrieve the video footage of your dad from 10 years ago from the League's servers. We'll cross-check. We'll tell the Birds once we're sure, yeah?" Jason suggested.

"Agreed," Damian nodded slowly.

"I'll have Tim keeping an eye on the Doc and Missus while we're at it, though. I mean, you know, precautions and all." Dick suggested.

"Okay, call Tim. If he doesn't answer, call Babs or his mom. I'd like this whole thing settled quickly before Bruce can do anything to harm Damian." Jason huffed a breath slowly, wondering what the hell is it with the Waynes that seemed to run on endless conspiracy theories, anyway.

[contrabandhothead]

Hi! I have a request for Band of Brothers. How Easy company would treat the reader when this person is sick. I hope this works! I love everything you have written, thank you!

in sickness and health - band of brothers

- [ BUCK COMPTON ]

PANICS

this man smothers you with attention

he’s waiting on you hand and foot every single second of the day, and he does not care if he gets sick

he’s literally so sweet, even though he still tries to kiss you

like Buck, no, it’s probably contagious

holds your hand while you wait for the medic

tells the medic all of your symptoms for you while you sleep on his shoulder

he actually learned how to cook just so he could make you some food when you got the flu once

he tells you he needs you to get better so he can take you out on dates and spoil you Buck, we’re in the middle of a war

he acts like he doesn’t spoil you already

- [ CHUCK GRANT ]

will beat your ass if you’re not in bed

don’t even try to resist him taking care of you, he will not be having it

actually super soft as long as you don’t fight him about taking some time off the line

chews people out for being too loud while you’re trying to sleep

brings all of your meals to your room and eats with you, making sure you finish every part of your meal

LOTS OF CUDDLES

he’s quite careful not to get sick though

don’t ever try and deny that you’re sick, seriously

“fine? FINE? baby, i just saw you throw up.”

constantly checks your forehead to make sure you’re not burning up

- [ BILL GUARNERE ]

he has a lot of siblings, he knows what he’s doing

i feel like he’s less aggressive about it than some of the other men, but he’s gonna tell you you’re dumb for getting sick at least 2 times

he genuinely tries to be super sweet when you’re not feeling well, so give him a break

cooks you lots of his mom’s family recipes (how’d he find the ingredients?? we don’t know how, but he did)

you’re gonna eat every meal he makes you or you’re gonna get force-fed

carries you everywhere, even if you don’t ask him to

SO MUCH HAIR STROKING

he loves to pet your head until you fall asleep

expect lots of sleepy cuddles

definitely contracts whatever you had, so expect to get a whiny Bill that wants you to take care of him

- [ BABE HEFFRON ]

PANICS LIKE BUCK BUT EVEN WORSE

constantly has Roe checking on you, making sure that you’re getting better

will indeed rub your back while you throw up, and even hold your hair back if necessary

he’s constantly moping because he wants cuddles and kisses, but he knows he can’t have any until you’re not sick anymore

he’s surprisingly calm on the outside, but on the inside he’s panicking because he’s so worried

brings you tonssss of extra blankets that he collected from the other replacements

this man brings in the whole battalion to help you get better, he’s out here begging everyone for supplies

even though you’re sick, he’s still gonna hold your hand

sorry, but he needs at least a little affection

get ready to be absolutely smothered when you’re no longer sick

- [ JOE LIEBGOTT ]

he’s not as aggressive about it as he would be if you got hurt, but expect lots of teasing

he’s gonna call you a dumbass at least once, okay?

will NOT leave you alone for a single SECOND

he’s worried that you’re gonna start throwing up when he leaves the room and then choke to death on your own vomit

gives you all of his food, even if you don’t want it

don’t try and act like you’re not sick, he will yell at you (he’s not playing around)

gets so frustrated with you when you won’t take your medicine, so he has to have Roe give it to you

he doesn’t like being super soft in front of the guys, but if you have the chills, he will not hesitate to cuddle you

he’ll literally let you get away with ANYTHING if you’re sick

like i’m not even joking, he’d literally let you use his shirt as a tissue if you needed to

- [ CARWOOD LIPTON ]

SO SOFT

yells at the guys to be quiet so that you can get more sleep

if a trooper isn’t whispering while you’re trying to sleep, no one will ever find that man’s body

LOTSSS of forehead kisses

will not let you do anything

not even if you bring up the time that he got a pneumonia (he just glares at you until you yield)

he makes sure that everyone treats you with extra caution, especially if it’s hard for you to walk

he gets soooo worried if you have a coughing fit

he just panics whenever it happens while rubbing your back and offering you water

lets you burrow into his chest while you rest

- [ GEORGE LUZ ]

tries to make jokes so that he can help you feel better

i feel like George has absolutely no idea what the hell he’s doing

asks Roe a million questions about what he should do to help you

if this isn’t your first time being sick around him, then he’s already gonna have a set plan on how to help you get better

steals a lot of extra food for you, especially hershey bars

whines that he doesn’t get any kisses now that you’re sick

he thinks it’s his job to take care of you, so he feels really bad that there’s not much he can do

he does get supplies from replacements, but unlike Babe, he steals them

will kiss you regardless of if you’re contagious or not

now you have to take care of him while he whines and complains about how stuffy his nose is

- [ DONALD MALARKEY ]

so SOFT UGHHHHH

he takes over your duties as well as his own just so that you get enough time to recover

brings lots of blankets, the softest ones he could find in the whole entire town

holds your hand a lotttt

he spoons you (which is rare because Don Malarkey = little spoon) when your sleep schedules match up, and he buries his head between your shoulders

omg if you have something bad like a pneumonia he’s literally so scared that you might die

like you wake up to him sobbing into your back, and when you turn around he just tells you to go back to sleep

but you just pull his face close, and tell him you aren’t going anywhere and that you’ll never leave him

he feels a lot better after that, and he does his best when taking care of you

he’s literally so happy once you’ve fully recovered that he picks you up and twirls you around

- [ JOHNNY MARTIN ]

acts like he’s annoyed that you got sick, but he’s secretly very concerned

he makes some very passive aggressive comments at first, but once he realizes how awful you look, he feels really bad

starts treating you like a princess after that

he keeps you slightly isolated from the rest of the men, as he doesn’t want you to accidentally give them whatever you have

brings you anything you could ever need, you’ll never have to take a step out of bed

checking to make sure your fever is gone

he restrains himself from PDA during this time, so expect absolutely no kisses until you get better

he tells you that it’s your “punishment” for getting sick

if you tell him you’re sore or something aches, expect a massage

give him a kiss for all his efforts afterwards, you’ll see a rare smile cross his face

- [ SKIP MUCK ]

like George, he tells you jokes to help you get better

unlike George, however, he tells you shitty ones so that you’ll get better faster because absolutely no one wants to listen to them

not gonna lie to you, this little bastard is not very helpful

Malarkey and Penkala tell Roe about it once Skip finally realizes how bad your illness is getting

he feels really awful later on because he realizes if he told Eugene sooner then you wouldn’t be lying in bed, coughing your lungs out

spoils you after that because of how bad he feels

he won’t give you his own food, but he will steal extra meals for you

honestly he’s more mad that you’re sick than you are, he wants you to get better IMMEDIATELY

tells you about his day immediately after you’ve woken up from your nap

expect cuddles, kisses, hugs, and other physical affection he should not be giving you while you’re ill

- [ LEWIS NIXON ]

literally offers you alcohol at the beginning of your sickness

the man can’t even take care of himself, how the hell is he gonna take care of you

asks Winters a lot of questions, to the point where it’s basically Richard taking care of you

it’s fine, they come as a pair

lets you sleep in his office while he does whatever he has to do

gives you his most expensive blanket to keep warm

is actually very worried even though he puts on quite the humorous facade

he just wants you to be okay

he eventually calms down though, he knows a virus wont take you away from him

not even a war or an entire ocean could, so what’s the flu gonna do?

- [ FRANK PERCONTE ]

he probably thinks you’re sick because you forgot to brush your teeth ONE TIME after you were drunk

germaphobe to the MAX

sorry, but you’re not gonna see this man until you are in 100% healthy condition

he feels bad about it, but he doesn’t want whatever you have

he doesn’t believe Doc when he says it’s not contagious, which is stupid because Roe is literally a MEDIC-

i’m not even joking, this man will literally have Luz deliver you the hershey bars he wanted to give you

he’s basically quarantined you and there’s nothing you can do about it

everyone’s like: .... bruh... isn’t this a little too far???

but he’s just like: i have no idea what you’re talking about

it’s fine, he makes it up to you by literally smothering you once you’re all better

- [ SHIFTY POWERS ]

KING OF CODDLING

practically waits on you hand and foot for an entire week

blows on your soup to cool it down before feeding it to you

he’s scared you’re gonna burn your tongue, then you’ll be sick AND have a burnt tongue

lets you clutch on to his hand when your chills get worse

probably thinks you’re dying, which just makes him FREAK OUT

brushes your hair off your face when your fever is running high

always has a wet washcloth to place on your forehead

lets you burrow into his coat after your fever goes away

he rests his head on top of yours when you’re bundled up in his coat

- [ EUGENE ROE ]

HOVERS LIKE A GODDAMN MOTHER HEN

constantly taking your temperature, giving you more blankets, feeding you, making sure you stay hydrated, etc.

OH AND YOU BETTER STAY HYDRATED

throws a hissy fit that you got sick because he needs you to take better care of yourself

not extremely touchy because he doesn’t want to catch whatever you have, which is like actually painful for him

constantly giving you tea & other hot beverages to drink

spoon feeds you because he doesn’t want you to lift a single finger

will tie you to the bed to make sure that you rest

don’t test him, he’s serious about your speedy recovery

“mon amour, you need to rest or else i won’t be able to give you kisses”

- [ BULL RANDLEMAN ]

gentle giant

makes sure you’re eating lots of healthy food (or the healthiest you can get) & staying hydrated

does tasks like cleaning your bayonet and your gun so you can go to bed earlier

lots of forehead kisses when you wake up from sick naps

instructs all of the replacements on how to take care of you while he’s away

they’re actually very helpful and you treat them all like your kids

when Bull comes back and sees this, he thinks it’s adorable

but then he realizes that you’re sick and they might catch the same thing you have if they get to close

spends a lot of time shooing people out of your room

rubs your knuckles to lull you to sleep

- [ RONALD SPEIRS ]

oh god, he tries to act like it’s all good but he’s falling apart because you just look so fucking tired

SUPER SOFT with you

carries you to bed, even though you try to tell him you’re fine

steals a tonnnn of supplies for you, especially the finest quality cough drops he could find

whispers to you how much he cares about you when he thinks you’re asleep

spoiler alert: you’re not, but the stuff he says makes you feel so warm and fuzzy inside that you don’t want him to stop

thinks he has a superior immune system and that he won’t get sick, so it doesn’t matter if he kisses you or not

oh and he DEMANDS kisses even though you’re sick, he just can’t live without ‘em

he didn’t get sick, and you’re still bitter about it

he’s so doting, it’s the only time you’ll ever see him this soft

- [ FLOYD TALBERT ]

he’s so smug that you’re sick and he’s not

it’s genuinely annoying, but you get back at him by revoking his kisses because you’re sick

he is super bitter and will not talk to you for the first few days

around the third day, he’ll start to cave in, and he’ll be spending every waking moment at your side

it’s mostly him whining that you won’t give him any smooches, but he’s actually quite helpful when you ask him to get you things

finds only the BEST materials for his baby to get better

he will settle for nothing less

he has Trigger stay with you when he’s gone, just so that he knows you’re safe

when you’re finally better, he will not stop kissing you on the lips

the other men keep telling you two to get a room, but he genuinely does not care... he just tells them they’re all jealous

- [ JOE TOYE ]

the most surprisingly doting out of all the men

constantly asking you “are you okay? can i get you anything?”

will beat up anyone that tries to take your extra food or blankets

very wholesome, spoons you when you sleep

lots of neck and shoulder kisses because he cannot kiss you on the lips

constantly making sure you’re comfortable

not at all opposed to giving you piggyback rides so that you can get to places faster

plus, it’s a good opportunity for him to show off his muscles and strength to you

gives you all of his chocolate

kisses your nose because it’s red

- [ RICHARD WINTERS ]

tucks your blanket around you so that you are all cozy when you sleep

tries to dote on you as much as possible, but it’s very hard with his busy schedule sometimes

also lets you sleep in his office, you just have a big pile of blankets and pillows

no one else comes in there anyways so like... who cares?

does basic things that you don’t feel like doing (ex: brushing your hair) for you

assigns a paratrooper to look over you when he’s gone

it’s usually Tab, but sometimes it’s someone else

the only person he doesn’t assign is Nix, and that’s because Nix is a human train wreck

anyways, he wants lots of snuggles in your pile of blankets

i hate the way this turned out, but i’m not gonna beat myself up over it because i tried. i hope you liked this at least, sorry i’m a little slow with my requests right now. there’s a lot going on, but i’m trying my best. i should be posting a lot more in the next couple days! thank you for your patience and for your request 💕

[simple-ponderings]

Universal Guidance- Pick a Card

Welcome back to another pick a card. This is one is mostly centered on where you are on your journey right now and the advice The Divine wants to relay to you. This time Ive done something different. Ive done some shufflemancy and added songs for you to listen for any additional messages. These messages may or may not resonate as its a general reading and thats ok. There are always messages being sent but they wont always be for you. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and ask God or whoever you feel a bond most strongly with, to help you choose a pile. 

+++PLEASE READ! Before you go down to your reading, I wanted to say that the most prevalent theme happening for all groups is that you’re all going through significant change. The Death card and The Last Judgement card came out for all three readings. All of us are experiencing change in different ways. I believe this is something being Divinely orchestrated. Things that need to end and also come to fruition will come to pass, whether you are ready or not. Hang in there everyone. We will get through this.++++++

 Pile 1: 

While shuffling I saw and got the notion of a journey, or the beginning of one. Traveling. There were sperm whales, mermaid tails, deep sea. Traveling on a rocky mountain, like in LOTR. I also saw a volcano. There was a weird wooden gate, with black bolts that looked like the Dolce & Gabana logo. 

Im getting the feeling of stubbornness. Almost as if there is something you know you need to be doing or not doing, and then you dont do it or do it anyway. The Death card was overall energy and then when I went to clarify Princess of Pentacles it came out again- quite quickly too. Is there an ending you are hesitant to release? Maybe it has to do with your habits, mindsets, aspects of yourself, or the people who have served their purpose in your spiritual journey. Regardless, something needs to come to close so that other cycles in your life-whether its having new friends, obtaining a new job, or learning something new, or anything, may begin. It can even be so simple as “The New You” emerging. Its like youre stuck in the past I think, with memories of someone or how you used to be, and now that that has been taken away youre kind of unsure of yourself and where to go. Maybe you feel a little ungrounded and not really confident?...Im really starting to get the feeling that this was a person you were dealing with, and they just couldnt really deliver. Its like being around them for so long has sucked you into weird environments that arent really in your best interests. I know this is a general reading but this is a feeling I cant shake, I apologize if this message does not resonate with you. If it doesnt resonate then it is not for you. This person, was most likely sent for your activation and transformation. Im sorry that its so unpleasant :(. You need to break free from this. Its like youve experienced both the really dark aspects, and now are coming to experience the really light aspects. I think this is what new cycle awaits you, but you are hesitant to let it because you’ve been exposed to that darkness for sometime. Maybe you even comfortable in it because it may be what you expect? This is just one stop on your journey, even though it feels as if it’ll stretch on and on and on. Give yourself time to grieve that which was lost. But remember you must get back up eventually, and begin building your new reality. You arent alone in this. You will soon leave the desolate rocky terrain and move into beautiful meadows filled with flowers. But its up to YOU to go out there and create your reality- your life, your legacy that makes you happy and is for your highest good. You are being pointed in the right direction, you are always being guided. Believe that for yourself no matter what others tell you, or no matter how things seem, or no matter what even you think. Dont let the negativity of others stop your abundance, your uniqueness, and most of all the beauty of your soul. There are some important things for you to consider: 777 and Volcanoes. Also you might wanna give the song “No Running Water” by The Flashbulb a listen for additional messages. Thank you for reading Feedback would be greatly appreciated!! 

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Pile 2:

 While shuffling, I saw an open path with wild grass on either side. The road was made of dirt. There was the word DATE written in red with other words. It looked like some sort of official document. I saw Space, and a blue light being. This pile felt a little dark, like some heavy energy but not too heavy- more like somberness. 

I feel like theres this onset of spiritual power, but you may feel as if youre not ready for it or its too much. Or it could even be that you experience emotion very deeply. And so you kind of focus on the material and logical aspects of yourself, almost kind of “rejecting” that spiritual and emotional side. I think you have alot of spiritual gifts, but you dont want to go “too deep”. You are comfortable with seeing tangibility and are used to seeing whats right in front of you. But I believe the doors to the Unknown are being revealed to you. You see all these phenomena happening and you just “Observe” it kind of. Theres this feeling of not wanting to get too involved so you just keep your distance. By that I mean, you just watch and observe things and try to remain unaffected. Its almost as if you putting your spiritual self at arms length is your way of self-defense if that makes sense? Its like youre trying hard to cling to the old you, how you and your life used to be, before all THIS happened. What are you afraid of? Perhaps you are a person who wonders if there is any merit or tangible reward for diving deep and I think if you do decide to dive deep it will feel that way. “Whats the point of it all?” But its to help you embrace your Fire, your gifts so to speak. If you do decide to walk this path of spirituality and embracing yourself, getting comfortable with the unknown, I feel you will be a completely different person. A Complete Rebirth so to speak. And maybe you are scared of that. I think The Divine is trying to point you in this direction. It will get easier. As you begin to walk this path, things will become Clearer. And I feel you will feel so much more “In Tune” with The Divine or whoever you believe in. I see a link, essences intertwining. Whats meant to happen will happen. Fate. Be kind to yourself during this period. Make sure you take the time to ground yourself and even go outside and get a breath of fresh air. It will help clear your head and balance yourself. You are Loved no matter what. You arent alone, you can let your guard down. Important things to consider: Angel Number 66. Pay attention to how you feel, whether it be around others or the emotions you feel in general. I think being near bodies of water, or even moon gazing may help you. I even think carrying selenite around may be of help to you. Remember to take care of yourself mentally and physically! Keep yourself balanced. Also give “Severed” by The Flashbulb a listen for any additional messages. I hope you enjoyed this reading and feedback is always appreciated!

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Pile 3:

I felt bliss and happiness. I saw a plant growing. There is this feeling of building something thats here to stay.

Im thinking you guys went through hell and back despite that feeling of bliss I felt when shuffling. Overall theres a overarching theme of having everything in life be on track, but when it comes to love it seems that thats where you begin to run into problems. It could even just be relationships in general. Or rather everything is finally going right, but theres this feeling of something coming to “haunt” you. Something that you’ve thought was over with and finished but manages to come back into your life. I feel like you’ve been through some tough shit and have tried your damned best to make the situation better. Like you’ve broken free from some sort of attachment or restriction but there is still a lingering feeling of obligation, almost as if you still feel the need to give it your energy. Maybe things didnt end on the right foot. Maybe there were things left unsaid. There is a message of unfinished business. But this part of your life will soon be wrapping up. After this hurdle, something new will arise from it. An opportunity that will sprout its way into the physical world. Its very weird, theres this notion of finally seeing the light of day after being surrounded by the night. The first light of the Dawn. Its as if youre running a marathon and youve made it through all these obstacles to reach the finish line.  Youre almost there, just a little more. This experience you went through, gave you the wisdom you needed to be where you are in life. It made you who are you are. You have gone through much transformation. Im really proud of you. But The Divine is saying you have to go through this for just a little longer. To Be who you were meant to Be. Understand that whatever happens, it is always within your power to decide how you want to act. You always have the power to choose differently. Always choose what feels right for you. Always choose what you know to be true. What has this journey taught you so far? What lessons have you learned? How have you changed? Use these teachings and apply them to your life and how you want to live. Important things for you to consider: 1010 is significant for you. I believe after this ordeal things will only get better for you. When you feel things are getting out of control or too much, take deep breaths and bring yourself back to the present- back to balance. Remember you are in control of how you respond, you always have a choice. Take it one step at a time too, its ok if you dont get it right away. We have the utmost patience and love for you. Also give “Home” by Brian Mcknight a listen as there may be additional messages for you. I hope you enjoyed this reading. I really hope I was able to offer you some clarity. Feedback is always appreciated!  

[coffeefairy]

Writer’s Month August 2020 - Day 7

Day seven of the challenge, late, because I am a helpless procrastinator

Day 7, Hurt/comfort

Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation

Ship: Daforge, or just Data & Geordi

Rating: General audiences

Summary: The Enterprise passes through a tachyon irregularity that affects Geordi's eyes and starts regenerating the cells in his eyes. At the prospect of his life changing irrevocably, he could use a little support. Luckily his best friend doesn't have to be human to know how to make him feel better. Can be read as Pre-Daforge or not.

Excerpt:

“I am this far from you, on the left.” He put Geordi’s hand to his shoulder so he could feel the distance. About two feet. A bit higher up, but not a lot as the bed’s top end was raised.

It was ironic that Data, who possessed no natural empathy, only what he’d been programmed to, could understand better than anyone on the ship what to say and do to make Geordi feel at ease.

Tags: hurt/comfort

Through Your Eyes

Geordi tried to focus, all of his attention needed purely to stay upright as paid spiked through his temples. Like sharp ice it nailed through bones and paralysed him. Sensing Data’s arm under his, strong enough to support most of his weight this way, he called for a medical emergency. 

“It’s...okay. Just give me a hand to MedBay, will you?”

“Geordi, I do not believe it is advisable for you to move. The med team will be here shortly.”

“Data, I…” A wave of pain shocked him and he doubled over. The android’s arm circled around his back to keep him upright.  Fisting a handful of the commander’s uniform he hissed, “Get me out of here. I don’t want my team to...to see me like this.”

“Geordi, you are in pain, the engineering team will hardly-”

“Data, please. Help me out of here.”

He hesitated for a moment. “Very well.”

About to hoist him up off his feet, Geordi protested.

“Just help me to the door. Walking.”

It felt like an eternity and he had his team’s worried eyes on him the whole way. Data was thankfully not giving any indication that he was basically supporting all of Geordi’s weight.

“Return to your duties. I will see to Commander LaForge,” the android instructed. 

The door whooshed closed as his team returned to their duties.The moment it closed he sagged against Data, no longer able to keep himself upright. It had taken all his will to not collapse in main engineering.

“Would you please allow me to get you to Med Bay now?”

He managed a nod and in the next instant he’d been pulled up into the android’s arms.

“How are you feeling?”

“It’s...bad. Something’s wrong. It’s painful and I...there are lights flashing?”

“Do not worry. We are almost at the Med Bay.”

“Are people..staring at me...getting carried around like some princess from a fairy tale?” He managed a weak chuckle.

“People are regarding you with concern, not amusement, Geordi.”

“Small blessings.”

The next wave of pain crashed over him and stole the air from his lungs. Consciousness slipped from him like sand through a closed fist.

Data arrived with Geordi in his arms just as Doctor Crusher was about to leave for engineering. 

“Data! Why did you bring him?”

“He insisted,” the android replied simply. He stepped in and Crusher directed him to a bed to put the unconscious Chief Engineer on.

“What happened?”

“As the tachyon pulse increased, Geordi was beset by severe pains. He stated he had a headache “like ice picks to his eyes”. I called for you but Geordi insisted he did not want to appear incapacitated in front of his team. So I escorted him here.”

He stepped back and Crusher began running her tricorder in even movements around Geordi.

“If you have duties, we are fine here, Data.”

“I would prefer to stay if that is all right.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

o.O.o

When Geordi woke the pain had subsided from a raging, shrieking tear to a duller, pulsing one. Without his VISOR the dark was still impenetrable but it was somehow moving, vibrating. 

Crusher had just told him that his vision was improving. Drastically. 

Geordi had been told by many physicians over the years that he would soon be able to see. When he was younger it was something he had hoped for but as he grew older, he realized that having sight would change who he was. His world as he knew it would suddenly be different and he would have to adapt in whole new ways. Considering it, after another disappointing procedure failed to produce a response, he had decided he didn’t want to spend his life trying to change himself. 

He’d been fifteen then, and since, he hadn’t wished himself to be different.

“Thanks, Beverly.” 

She squeezed his arm, knowing he wasn’t thanking her for the random spike in tachyon particles that had led to the change, but for telling him the truth. She was well-aware Geordi wasn’t longing for change. 

“Data is here as well, would you like me to let him in to see you?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

A few moments later he heard the door open and close, then the android’s touch on his arm. Gerdi had only mentioned it to Data once that he felt lost without his VISOR and that touch reassured him of the other person’s presence in relation to his. The android, unlike humans, had never forgotten. 

“Hello, Geordi.”

“Hi Data.” He turned his head towards where his voice sounded. 

“Are you feeling better?”

“In a way. It’s a less sharp pain. Where are we?”

Once more Data knew he wasn’t asking for the response “in Med Bay” but for help identifying and visualising his surroundings so he could picture where he was. He felt safer with at lleast an idea of his surroundings. 

“We’re out of the emergency room in MedBay, in one of the recuperation rooms. Number 3, the closest one to the outer deck four corridor. Your bed is facing away from the window and the room is four foot by seven. A nightstand with an alarm button is on your right and I am on your left.”

Geordi relaxed slightly. He’d never been into the recuperation rooms himself but he knew where they were and calling a blueprint of the ship to his mind’s eye he plotted the outline of the room. 

“Thanks, Data.”

“You are welcome. Would it be all right if I stayed with you for a little while?”

“Yeah, of course. You’re not on shift?”

“No. It is 22:53 and I am on duty again at 10:00.”

“You don’t have to stay, if you have...things to do.”

“Geordi, do you not want me to stay?” He didn’t see or hear it, but he knew Data had tilted his head as he was wont to do when processing at a higher speed. As he did when attempting to parse human emotions.

“No, no, I’d like it if you would but...Do you want to?”

“Of course. When someone is unwell it is customary for friends and family to visit and keep them company.”

“That’s true.”

“And we’re friends.”

Geordi smiled. Many of his colleagues may not understand it, but he knew it was the truth.“Yes, we are. You’re my best friend, Data.”

“I am honored to be considered such by you.” Data took his hand, the grip warm and comforting. 

“That’s all right, buddy,” Geordi mumbled.

“I also know being without your VISOR makes you uncomfortable. If you wish, I will stay until you fall asleep.”

Data couldn’t laugh at him, couldn’t find him childish for it. He couldn’t consider him weak or less for feeling adrift and uncertain when he didn’t have his VISOR on.

“I...That would be...Thanks, Data.”

“You are welcome once more. I will get a chair. One moment.”

Something scraped over the floor, then Data’s hand returned over his.

“I am this far from you, on the left.” He put Geordi’s hand to his shoulder so he could feel the distance. About two feet. A bit higher up, but not a lot as the bed’s top end was raised.

It was ironic that Data, who possessed no natural empathy, only what he’d been programmed to, could understand better than anyone on the ship what to say and do to make Geordi feel at ease. Without making him feel different or awkward in any way, he still responded to his needs and never forgot. 

Geordi had once asked him if he had support functions built in, like a medical robotic assistant but Data had just shaken his head. He said he’d once, just after they’d met, tried to envision what blindness would be like. He’d turned off his visionary input, parts of his spatial awareness, the ship’s layout and locked all functions for five minutes. After, he’d stated that while he couldn’t be emotionally uncomfortable he had found it disorienting, frustrating and difficult on a purely practical level. He’d added he had nothing but the greatest respect for Geordi for managing and understanding for him not caring for being without his VISOR.

To actually go to the length of trying to be blind was more than any of his other friends had ever done for him, and Data had done it after a casual conversation with a colleague. 

“Dr Crusher said you are regaining your sight due to the temporal distortion regenerating the cells in your eyes.”

“That’s what she says.”

“You do not sound as if you believe her?”

“I…” He shifted in bed a little. “I don’t doubt her skills or her knowledge, it’s just that I...I’ve heard it before. Doctors have been telling me all my life they’ve found something now, something life changing and that it’s going to give me my sight back. But I haven’t wished for that for years. While I don’t necessarily like being without my VISOR, having it is how I want to see. It’s how...It’s how I see, and if that changes, I believe that I would change too.”

“I believe I understand. It is akin to my wish to experience emotion, however it would irrevocably change my understanding of the world.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it.”

“I see. But the outside forces are regenerating the cells regardless of our intervention.”

“I know,” Geordi sighed. “I am hoping it will wear off as we pass the area.”

“And if it does not?”

“I have learned from many hospitals and examination rooms that patience and not taking the worst case out in advance is the best way to deal with change.”

“I would venture that is a wise approach.”

Geordi realized Data’s hand was still wrapped around his on the bed. It was comforting. His presence, the slight body heat coming off his, the sounds of his breaths in the dark, all enforced the sense of his being in the room. Despite not requiring any of those apparent biological functions like humans did, he still needed them - to control the heat around his processing core and maintain an optimal operating temperature. It also made humans around him more comfortable that he was warm, breathed and blinked.

“Data, would you...would you keep your hand there until I fall asleep?”

It might not be a request a grown man made of his friend often but Geordi couldn’t help it. If his life was about to change, he needed a little more than patience today.

“As you wish. Is it helping you?”

“Yes. It...anchors me in the room. Makes me feel less...isolated.”

“Then I am glad.”

Dr Crusher had to have given him something to make him sleep when she was in as tiredness rolled in, sudden and heavy.

“Oh, and Data…”

“Yes?”

“Could you file what I’ve said to you and asked you for under private settings?”

“Of course. One moment. I have removed them from the accessible memory cores.”

“Thank you.”

Data squeezed his hand in response and it was the last thing he was aware of before falling asleep.

[vespertineflora]

Hi! I see you're looking for xiyao prompts? Because I can't stop thinking about Jin Rusong's funeral and Jin Guangyao needing Lan Xichen to comfort him, because, yes he orchestrated A-Song's death but he was still his baby... Hope you don't mind the angst bomb!

OOF i don’t mind at ALL, thank you for the submission! 

Something I have a love/hate relationship with in MDZS is the ambiguity of some of Jin Guangyao’s crimes. It is not actually confirmed or not whether he had a hand in killing Jin Rusong? He does list him in among the deaths he feels responsible for, but whether he did it himself, hired an assassin, or just feels guilty that it happened (because he felt like Rusong would have needed to die regardless, even though there’s a fairly high percentage chance there would be no ill effects despite the incest bc jgy and qs were only half-siblings) is a bit ambiguous.

I love it because it means the fans get to play around with different versions of those realities. I hate it because WHAT IS THE TRUTHHHHHHH???? I usually like having stable facts to work with hahaha. Long story short, for this version of reality, we’ll assume he did have a direct hand in Jin Rusong’s death.

~~~

The body was sent away to be prepared for burial and never returned to Carp Tower.

There was no wake.

No funeral rites were read, no prayers were uttered, no joss paper was burned, no offerings were made. Shou ling was a rite elders earned from their children, their grandchildren, not the other way around. Children were not to be mourned--or at least, if they were, they were mourned only in silence.

On the day Jin Rusong was to be buried, Jin Guangyao and Qin Su rode to the graveyard together, alone. They stood beside their son’s grave and hung their heads silently as he was lowered into the ground. Tears hung in Jin Guangyao’s eyes and streaked slowly down Qin Su’s face, but even their crying was done in silence, not a word said to their precious A-Song or spoken between them. They had hardly spoken at all in these past few days, since the morning they had woken to the frantic cries of the servants, the pounding of panicked footsteps through the courtyard outside of their bedrooms, and finally the disturbance, the announcement that Jin Rusong had been found in his bed, his throat slit.

Even knowing the death was coming, Jin Guangyao had still found himself unprepared to receive the news.

Continue Reading on AO3 or below the cut

The only sound in the graveyard was the whistling of the winds through the trees and the rhythmic shoveling of dirt into Jin Rusong’s grave, slowly burying one of Jin Guangyao’s many, many regrets.

Though there was little he was allowed to do, Jin Guangyao made sure that Jin Rusong was buried with his favorite toys; two exquisitely detailed dragons carved from a deep mahogany that Lan Xichen had given him for his birthday not three months before. It felt like the least Jin Guangyao could do.

Once the deed was done, they piled back into the carriage and returned to Carp Tower, though once they had arrived, only Jin Guangyao climbed out of it. A travelling bag was loaded into the carriage in his place, and after the most solemn and briefest of farewells, the carriage set off once more, headed in the direction of Laoling. After such a trying time, Qin Su had wished to spend a few days away from Carp Tower, at home with her father, and Jin Guangyao had seen no reason not to grant her such a small reprieve.

Jin Guangyao headed inside. His thoughts felt unusually bogged down, the world around him felt heavy and slow--a servant said something to him, but he heard the words as if his head was wrapped in thick linen, caught nothing more than the indication he had a guest waiting for him and allowed himself to be led, fighting past the fog to put on some semblance of normality for whoever it was he was supposed to be receiving; catering to guests was what he did best after all, and he thought, vaguely, that it might be nice to have some distraction.

As soon as the servant opened the door for him and allowed him to step inside--Jin Guangyao froze, the attempt at a smile faltering completely on his face as his eyes fell upon his guest.

Lan Xichen rose quickly to his feet at the sight of him, his too kind eyes swollen and outlined in red, pain stitched into the furrow of his brow. His robes were entirely white and almost plain, lacking any of the normal embellishments he was normally seen wearing: dressed in funeral attire, despite the distinct lack of a funeral.

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen said, and never had two syllable been more full of distress, full of longing, full of sympathy.

Jin Guangyao opened his lips to speak... and found for the first time in a very long time, he didn’t know what to say.

Before Jin Guangyao could even find his voice, Lan Xichen had crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him tight to his chest, pressing his face to the top of Jin Guangyao’s head, leaving Jin Guangyao stunned all over again.

“A-Yao, I’m so sorry,” Lan Xichen lamented, sounding strained and muffled from where his mouth was pressed against him. “I just received your letter this morning, I came as quickly as I could.”

Ah, yes, the letter. There had been no formal announcement of Jin Rusong’s death yet, as there was no need to announce a funeral that wouldn’t occur, but the day it had happened, Jin Guangyao had written a brief letter to Lan Xichen--because if anyone should know, should be told before the news spread as gossip inevitably would, it was Lan Xichen. He was the boy’s uncle, as much as he possibly could be. Over the years, with nearly every visit of his to Lanling, he would take time to play with A-Song, bring him toys, tell him stories. Lan Xichen had... loved him, Jin Guangyao was sure of that, and he’d deserved to be informed personally of his passing.

“We buried him this morning,” Jin Guangyao said, his voice sounding hollow, even to his own ears. He felt his eyes stinging, moisture welling in them, though still no tears fell, as had been the case over and over in these last few days. He hadn’t cried yet in all that time.

He wasn’t sure he deserved to cry, considering.

“Oh, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen heaved, his grip on him tightening, a slight tremor in his strong arms giving away his sorrow. “I wanted to be here for you, I’m so sorry I missed it.”

Jin Guangyao shook his head vaguely. There would have been no point in Lan Xichen being there for the burial, as it had been hardly more than watching dirt get pushed into a hole in the ground. He said blankly, “There was nothing to miss.”                                                                            

The deed was done, the evidence now deep underground. Jin Rusong was... a liability. Despite his sweet face, his cheerful grin, his gentle nature, he had been dangerous. He’d been... a threat to everything Jin Guangyao had worked so hard to attain up until now, he’d been evidence of the nature of his relationship to Qin Su, and now that he was gone, it was one less loose end left to unravel him.

That was all this was. He’d told himself that over and over. That was all Jin Rusong was. He wasn’t something to be missed.

After all, Jin Guangyao had dreaded him from the moment Madam Qin had come to speak him before the wedding and revealed the truth; he’d prayed the baby wouldn’t make it from the womb, that he would die during birth, that some sickness would come to take him, as sickness was wont to do with children so young, or some injury would befall him... The older he grew and the stranger he seemed, the deeper Jin Guangyao’s fears ran that his mere existence would topple everything, and it had gotten to the point where he felt as if he’d been backed into a corner, with no choice left but to do what fate hadn’t seen fit to.

Jin Guangyao should feel relieved now. Part of him did. But the other part...

The other part kept flashing back to the silly grin A-Song wore while playing with his toys, to memories of his first words, A-Song reaching for him and babbling for his papa. He thought of Qin Su rocking him gently to sleep at night, of Jin Ling laughing as A-Song took his first wobbly steps in the effort to chase him, and of Lan Xichen holding A-Song in his lap as he spun him some fantastic tale that left the young boy’s eyes sparkling with wonder and delight.

Before all this, before the tragedy of truth had struck him, back when Jin Guangyao had first learned that Qin Su was pregnant, he’d been so happy, so overjoyed. His heart had been full of hope, he’d started making premature plans to lay out the future he might have with his child, and thought endlessly about how much he’d try to show his love for the tiny life he was helping bring into the world. He’d wanted to be there for his child, to support them and love them unconditionally, to be the type of father that Jin Guangshan had never been for him, and yet...

Somehow, somehow, he’d managed to be worse.

And just like that, Jin Guangyao finally felt it, felt the tears bubbling up in his chest, in his eyes, finally spilling over, running down his cheeks until he pressed his face against Lan Xichen’s robes to let them soak up the moisture instead. His breathing clipped, exhales getting harder until he was choked by a sob. His arms, which had been hanging limply at his sides, were suddenly motivated enough to wrap around Lan Xichen’s back in return.

“I’m here now,” Lan Xichen told him, soft and sweet, nearly a whisper. His hands rubbed gently over Jin Guangyao’s back, giving him comfort that Jin Guangyao didn’t deserve. “I’ve got you.”

Jin Guangyao was nearly tempted to shove Lan Xichen away, to rip himself from his arms and peel away to some distance part of the grounds, somewhere far from the gentle warmth of Lan Xichen’s kindness--but Jin Guangyao was nothing if not selfish. He had arranged the execution of his own son, he had the nerve to be upset over it, and now he was going to take comfort from one of the people in the world who had loved A-Song the most.

The sobs came hard, and Lan Xichen held him tight. Jin Guangyao wasn’t even completely sure who he was crying for. He’d kept his distance from Jin Rusong; he’d been too painfully aware of the boy’s ultimate fate to allow himself to grow that close to him, to spend more time with him than he had to. It was hard to feel attached to something you knew you’d have to let go of--but it was impossible to avoid completely. Jin Rusong had been his son, his flesh and blood, his one chance at a legacy beyond the scope of his own life. He’d cradled his tiny body in his arms and had feared and loved him all at once.

He wasn’t sure it was A-Song he was mourning so much as... the life he should have had, the son he should have had, a son not born of unwitting incest, a son who he could have cherished and loved and raised to be smart and clever and kind and perhaps even good in a way that Jin Guangyao had never been afforded the chance to be. That was what Jin Guangyao had wanted for his child, and that was the chance he'd been denied.

Because this, too, was just another facet of his life that Jin Guangshan had ruined for him, had tainted beyond all recognition into something dirty and irredeemable. His pride, his sworn brothers, his marriage, his child... there was nothing of his that Jin Guangshan hadn’t ground into the dirt beneath his heel, and nothing that Jin Guangyao could pick up and wipe completely clean again.

Killing Jin Guangshan was the one death to his name that Jin Guangyao would never regret, not in a thousand years, a thousand lifetimes. He’d gotten exactly what he’d deserved.

Jin Guangyao hadn’t been aware of it in the depths of his sobbing, but at some point his hat must had fallen away, because he felt Lan Xichen’s fingers stroking over his hair, cradling his head to his chest, a chest that Jin Guangyao felt shaking in return, making it all too clear what Lan Xichen was doing for him. Lan Xichen was holding back his own tears, his own pain, in favor of comforting him.

That made him feel more guilt than anything else did. Of everything he had, of everyone in his life... it was Lan Xichen he loved the most, who had done the most for him, and knowing he’d hurt him was just as gut-wrenching as the actual murder of Jin Rusong, even though it was far too late to take any of it back.

It took a few hard minutes for his cries to soften, his thoughts still somber. Whether or not he deserved comfort, he knew it would only hurt Lan Xichen more if he were to extract himself from it--no, this, letting Lan Xichen hold him close and give him comfort, was for the best. It was the kindest thing he could do for Lan Xichen in the wake of yet another atrocity committed by his hand.

That was, unfortunately, something Jin Guangyao knew from experience.

When he could bring himself to move again, he pulled Lan Xichen over to the daybed, sitting down with him upon it as they rearranged their arms to continue holding each other as close as they possibly could, both shedding quiet tears, and Jin Guangyao trying to return as much comfort as he was given. Eventually, Lan Xichen managed to ask about Qin Su... and when Jin Guangyao explained her trip to see her father, Lan Xichen committed to staying in Lanling with him until her return.

Over the next few days, their grief poured out of them in quiet, twisted up moments, more tears shed between them than could ever be counted. They spent parts of those days and nearly all of their nights tangled in one another’s embrace and taking as much comfort as they could in the solid warmth of their bodies pressed together.

By the time Lan Xichen left, his heart seemed a bit less shattered than when he’d arrived; it was the slightest of blessings, but it was the most Jin Guangyao could have hoped for.

As for Jin Guangyao’s own heart... well, it was hard to say. It hadn’t been in one solid piece in years, in decades, and at this point, enough of it was missing that it didn’t seem worth the effort of repairing. A piece of it had been buried with his mother, and another piece had been buried, strangely, with Nie Mingjue; a piece now rested in the grave alongside his A-Song... and Lan Xichen, knowingly or not, always took a piece with him when he left.

[pinnithin-writes]

Good Jokes

Chapter 1

The new posters on the board in the break room had Tommy in stitches.

Who put this up here? They were huge sheets of paper, large enough to cover the rest of the flyers that were tacked on first. The printer’s settings were fucked, apparently, and it had rolled out three crisp eleven by seventeens of incomprehensible inky bullshit.

Tommy stood in front of the bulletin laughing for thirty straight seconds when he first walked in for his break. The fact that someone had printed out this garbage and still put in the effort to post them here was cracking him up. His coworkers, humorless as ever, were giving him strange looks for the fit of giggles he was in, so he popped the tab on a can of Sprite from the vending machine to try and calm down.

Distantly, he heard an unfamiliar, animated voice echo further down the hall. Right, the new guy was here today. The guy who was going to put on the fancy orange suit and risk his life for science. Tommy was supposed to be working on that project, too, making observations from behind a sheet of safety glass.

He wandered down the hall toward the voice, figuring he might as well be polite and introduce himself. Not a lot of folks around here liked to talk much, and he could hear the discouraged faltering in the man’s words as he tried and failed to make conversation. Maybe it would be nice to have a talker around. Keep things interesting.

When he rounded the corner, Tommy had to pause and regain his bearings. So the new guy was cute. He had dark curly hair, a beard that was neat-but-not-too-neat, and a charming smile that showed off his dimples. His face was framed by a tasteful pair of glasses and he walked like he had places to go, people to see. Friendly, but studious. Tommy wanted to derail him from his quest immediately.

“Hello,” he cast a greeting down the hall.

The new guy paused mid-stride, somewhat startled. “Hello.” What was his name again? Freeman? He was an MIT boy, if Tommy recalled correctly, a physicist who had published a thesis that was so long Tommy had stopped paying attention halfway through the title. A man of many words. A man of too many words, perhaps.

Oh, shit, he was walking over here.

“I’m new,” Tommy blurted, even though he wasn’t. Good job, idiot.

“You’re new here? Me, too, I think,” the new guy replied, brow wrinkled studiously as he approached.

I think? Maybe they were both idiots. Tommy gave the man a quick up-and-down look. He was a big guy, but well built. Athletic. Hard to believe he transferred from the education sector.

“What’s your name?” Tommy asked.

“Gordon Freeman.”

Right, that was it. Tommy remembered looking at his file now. “My name’s Tommy,” he told him, his grip tight on his Sprite can.

Gordon Freeman raised his eyebrows, like he was surprised someone had bothered to talk to him. “Tommy?” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Tommy,” he went on. “Are you - what department are you in? Where are you supposed to be right now? You headed to the break room?”

Wow, this guy asked a lot of questions. He looked adorably lost. Tommy could point him in the right direction, but his mention of the break room reminded him of the nonsense on the wall in there, and he fought down a snort of laughter. Maybe the new guy would appreciate the signs.

“Yeah,” he affirmed. “I like to read the billboards there.”

‘Billboards’ wasn’t right. It was a bulletin board; Tommy caught it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. But it made Gordon laugh in a puzzled sort of way, and it was such a lovely sound that Tommy left it.

“The - the billboards? In the break room?” he asked in bewilderment. “Are they - putting ads up in there?”

Tommy was fighting back another snicker. “Yeah,” he said, turning away to hide the grin on his face. “Follow me.”

He led the new guy down the hall and to the break room, passing the greasy microwave and the gaggle of disinterested coworkers. Man, those posters were even funnier the second time. Tommy wanted to find the person who had tacked them up and shake their hand.

“Oh, is this what you were talking about?” Gordon asked, realization dawning as he saw the bulletin. He cast Tommy a prompting look. “The billboards ?” He asked, politely giving him a chance to correct himself.

That was considerate of him, Tommy thought, but he stuck to his guns - he was already too far in the bit. “Yeah, tell me what it says,” he threw back.

He was going to pop a blood vessel trying not to laugh, and Gordon could clearly tell by now. Letting out a breathy chuckle, he glanced up at the bulletin and played along.

“Yeah, I can’t read it either, dude,” Gordon said, dark eyes passing over the nonsense in front of him. “Maybe he can?” He tossed the question to one of the scientists loitering nearby, who muttered something rude under his breath. Gordon turned an unflappable smile back to Tommy, ignoring his coworker. “Yeah, maybe.”

Oh, Tommy liked this one. He wanted to keep him for himself. Nobody around here appreciated his jokes, much less ran with them.

“I don’t know what it - can you read?” Gordon went on.

It took Tommy a half second to parse if he was serious or not, and realized the question was a continuation of the joke. He mimed a studious pose, taking a thoughtful sip from his Sprite as he pretended to decipher the clouds of ink.

“I’m trying, but it’s very - I -” He was breaking - he couldn’t help it - snorting out a laugh.  “The person who printed all these papers really fucked up.”

Gordon was grinning fully now, shading his eyes from a nonexistent sun as he glanced back at the notice board. “I think they used like, one DPI? Y’know - you know how a printer works? Like, dots per inch? I don’t think they got any - like - the right amount of dots - I can’t read any of this.” He gave another prompting glance to Tommy, clearly enjoying their little vignette. “What do you make of that?”

This man spoke like a machine gun, and it delighted Tommy. The words just came firing out of him with barely any comprehensive thread between them, a steady stream of consciousness straight from his brain to his mouth. It was wonderful. He shook his head in disbelief that someone so fun had just fallen into his lap.

“I don’t know,” was all he could reply.

Still chuckling, but still in a hurry, Gordon did his best to excuse himself politely. He had a test chamber to get to. “Are you staying here?” he asked.

Tommy wanted to follow him, but he had no real reason to outside of his attraction to the guy, so he nodded. “I’m on,” he faltered, glancing down at the Sprite in his hand, “lunch break.”

Gordon’s laughter staccatoed his farewell. “Okay, we’ll see - I’ll s- I’ll catch you later, Tommy.”

Tommy was grinning like a fool as he watched him leave the break room. Charming guy. Hilarious. Sharp as a tack, if a little scattered. His laugh sounded like bells ringing and he loved it.

“I drink soda for lunch,” he called down the hall after him, one last attempt to pull that laugh from him before he saw him again.

Gordon must not have heard him, because he didn’t reply. That was fine. They’d cross paths again. Tommy would be watching him very closely as they ran the test today.

---

The test chamber in the Anomalous Materials department wasn’t Tommy’s favorite place in the world. He thought the spectrometer was grandiose in a spooky sort of way, its rotating claw hanging menacingly from the ceiling. He was glad Gordon Freeman was the one going in the barrel instead of him.

Everyone who worked down here had a grim purpose about them, and it weirded Tommy out. There were many times during his research that he tried to lighten the mood, but most of his jokes sailed over his coworkers’ heads. Or they were rudely ignoring him. At this point, either option was plausible.

He stood behind the reinforced safety glass alongside the other members of the research team. All of them were older than he was, the majority born in the facility, which Tommy concluded was the only quality they really had in common. He was well qualified for the job with his range of experience and his Ph.D. in nuclear engineering, but whispers of nepotism still sometimes circulated.

Tommy ignored them for the most part. Everyone who worked for Black Mesa was stuck living in an underground bunker regardless of pay grade, so it wasn’t like he was any better off than his peers in that regard. He didn’t make anyone call him Dr. Coolatta, either, because that just sounded fucking stupid. Dr. Thomas Coolatta? Please. Tommy was fine.

He was zoning out, lost in his thoughts, when he noticed a blip in on the ground floor of the test chamber. The blip took the form of a short man in a blue uniform, and suddenly Tommy was very uneasy. He knew that guy.

Seconds later, the doors to the chamber whirred open, and Gordon Freeman strolled in. Tommy watched him gesticulate angrily at the security guard who had spontaneously manifested inside the spectrometer. He put two and two together and figured Benrey had been following Gordon for some time, riling the other man up as he was so wont to do to people. This could be bad. He reached over on the control panel and hit the broadcast button on the mic, ignoring the murmurs of indignation from his colleagues.

“Hello?”

Both of the men in the barrel whipped their heads up to the control room. Tommy raised a hand in a grim wave.

Benrey cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered back at him, voice grating in his ears, shivering down his spine. “Tommy!”

He had to handle this carefully. The entity in the chamber with Gordon was an anomaly that Tommy should have considered, but he hadn’t predicted Benrey would have latched himself onto the new guy so quickly. He darted a glance to his coworkers, who were all staring at Tommy expectantly, and then down to the scene below. There were things Tommy knew that the others weren’t allowed to know.

His hand was still on the intercom. “Gordon,” he began carefully.

“Tommy,” Benrey cut him off, a threat in his voice. The two of them stared one another down through the pane of glass, unspoken words passing between them. Finally, he sighed heavily. “Hi,” he muttered.

“Tommy, do you know this man?” the scientist beside him asked.

He was an older gentleman, the product of an experiment that probably had a name at one point, but had gone by ‘Bubby’ for as long as Tommy could remember. Tommy would have thought the nickname was a joke if Bubby had a single humorous bone in his body, which he didn’t. Well, unless he counted his humerus. Which he also didn’t.

Tommy killed the mic and fixed Bubby with a careful look. “He’s not a man,” he said without elaboration. He didn’t have to. Bubby could connect the dots well enough on his own.

On Tommy’s left, another colleague jockeyed beside him to hit the intercom button. He was a cheerful fellow, empty-eyed and cotton-headed. Tommy recalled that his name was Coomer. He also recalled that brawl in the dining facility a while back where he had knocked a fully grown man out with one punch.

“You know, he didn’t bring his passport,” Dr. Coomer informed the team brightly over the loudspeaker, even though they were all standing in the same room with him.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “I heard you don’t have your passport,” he said dryly down to Gordon.

But the new guy was occupied with the entity standing next to him, gesturing in agitation as he spoke with him, pointing to the chamber door. Probably was trying to get Benrey out of there. Worried about his safety. It would be a reasonable request made by any decent human, one that should have been backed up by the rest of the staff.

Several pairs of eyes were watching Tommy, knowing his security clearance, waiting for his decision. Benrey would be fine; he couldn’t be killed by any normal means. Tommy’s concern was for Gordon, bright orange and oblivious in his HEV suit below. If something went wrong, he would be paying for it.

He looked at Bubby again. “Standard procedure,” he told him.

If Benrey was up to no good, which he almost always was, Tommy could stop him. He could blink down there in an instant and kick him into another dimension for a while. Not fun, not easy, but he could do it. He moved closer to the glass, deciding to watch and wait.

The two figures dicked around in the test chamber for an insufferable amount of time, a fact that Tommy would find incredibly funny if it weren’t Benrey in there with Gordon. His colleagues were backing up Tommy’s decision, assuring Dr. Freeman that this was all normal and part of the process, while Gordon grew increasingly agitated. Poor guy. He had no idea what was going on.

Tommy decided to throw him a bone, leaning into the mic again. “Gordon?” he prompted. “Do you see the next step?”

The grinding of machinery in the room drowned out most of his response, but Tommy caught what he needed to. Push the shit into the thing. So easy an MIT grad could do it.

“Yes,” he affirmed.

“Very carefully,” Bubby said seriously over Tommy’s shoulder, miffed that he had been nudged away from the mic.

“Very carefully,” Tommy agreed. “Slower than molasses drips off a spoon,” he added, simply because he couldn’t help himself, ignoring the puzzled looks the other scientists passed in his direction.

He couldn’t really hear Gordon’s laughter, but he saw the man’s shoulders shake with mirth and his even teeth flashing that pretty smile. Tommy grinned. Worth it.

That was the only bright spot Tommy got to have before everything went to shit. Benrey was hassling Gordon mercilessly, Bubby was grinding insults into the mic, and Dr. Freeman was losing his mind. Tommy was standing there, taut like a mousetrap. Laser focused on Benrey. He was not paying attention to Gordon, or the glass shattering in front of him, or the error alarm blaring over the loudspeakers.

He did, however, catch the flashbang of light from the spectrometer. The ghost-white form of Bubby vaulting over the console and through the broken window. He tore his eyes away from his target for a second, and then there was electricity raising his hair and voltage shivering through the building and an acid-green shockwave flashing over all of them.

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Benrey was nowhere to be seen. Tommy gripped the edge of the window, ignoring the slice of broken glass into his palms. Bubby looked… utterly dead, in a crumpled heap below him. Shock was forcing a waterfall of panicked words out of Gordon as he watched everything crash down around his head.

The machine groaned and surged outward. Tommy had seconds to choose: find where the fuck the entity went and snap him out of existence, or shield the new guy before he turned into a smoking crater on the ground.

Tommy made a decision. The world ripped apart.

---> Chapter 2

[modernagesomniari]

Fic - ‘That Ocean Carries Everyone’

So the absolutely lovely @siberianspring gave me a prompt for this title, based on the quote from Solas highlighted in the conversation below with Cole.  Babe, I have no idea whether this is what you had in mind, but it gripped me by the metaphorical balls and wouldn’t let me go until it happened.  Thank you, thank you for the prompt!

If you prefer AO3, you can read it here.

~3000 words

(background) Solavellan, Solaveli (My Eli x Solas - Yes, I’m giving them a name of their own I have no shame)

Includes elements of the future, so I guess kind of AU cos we have no idea.  More a ‘what if?’.

R (no particular warnings, but this is a bleak war)

That Ocean Carries Everyone

Cole: You are quiet, Solas.

Solas: Unless I have something to say, yes.

Cole: No, inside. I don't hear your hurt as much. Your song is softer, subtler, not silent but still.

Solas: How small the pain of one man seems when weighed against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence. That ocean carries everyone. And those of us who learn to see its currents move through life with their fewer ripples.

Cole: There is pain though, still within you.

Solas: And I never said that there was not.

*******************************

He walked the Vir Dirthara.

The ancient library was as it ever had been since he had destroyed it; fragmented and heart breaking.  The Archivists that hung in the air taunted him with their ruin, their pitiful attempts to please, to be what they had always meant to be.

He deserved every twist of white-hot guilt that churned in his gut.  He walked this place to feel these things, to remind himself of what he had done, to remind himself of what he had to do.  How could he leave this place the way it was - broken pieces of masonry slavishly responding to whoever was lucky or foolish enough to come across how they were stitched together?  How could he not do everything in his power to heal it, no matter the cost?  Surely it was no greater than what had already had been paid.

As he walked a broken path between packed shelves of books that no longer held pages, he took a breath to steady himself.  He could not lie to himself, not now.  If he was to do what he had set out to do, he must do it with his mind and eyes open.  Do not shirk from the pain he will cause, do not close his eyes against the suffering of thousands for what he believed to be the right cause.  To do so would be to become what he had fought against for Ages.  He would not be so.

So he admitted to himself, as a shadow of a child laughed and scampered around a stack of historical tomes, that he came here for solace.  For reassurance.  If one tempered and honed the mind, one could experience the memories here like they were one’s own (and if he avoided those memories that the Archivists seemed to assume he wanted to see lately, in those places where he had spent the time to paint, to wallow and to agonise, he could not be to blame, not when he had now chosen his path, reaffirmed his purpose).  So, as he walked, he opened his heart, freed his soul from where he kept it tightly hidden from the people that followed him outside of the Crossroads.  He listened.  He needed it today, of all days.  The Anchor sat new and restless somewhere just below his breastbone.  Her screams still echoed in his ears.  At least they drowned out her words.

In front of this array of religious texts sat a scholar, feverishly writing.  Opening himself to the echo, Solas himself felt the kindling of the fire of curiosity at what he was discovering.  Digging further, he felt the barren ache in his own heart as he left his Bonded bed, his wife cold to his own touch even though he could all but feel the heat of another.  His own identity blurred now, he smiled slightly at the gentle warmth of this man’s child in his arms, the boy surprised by his father’s embrace.  Could feel, too, the steely core of determination behind this father’s delicate affection - he would not be to his son what his own father had been to him.  One life, among many.  Who could dare to judge it unimportant?

Around this corner, now sheer into the abyss with the destruction, a young woman.  Afraid and alone, but this determination tasted like sulphur and  lemons in his mouth - a bitter victory over a mistress who denied her everything.  He could reach in and sample from the first moment this girl felt her mother’s wet kiss on her brow, to the pain on her bottom from the last time her mistress had her brother beat her.  Another life to add to the weight pressed upon him.  Was he being dramatic, putting too much on himself?  Another memory, the same girl.  Fear, blistering and all-encompassing - the sky was falling in, she had only snuck out for a moment, no one would have noticed only the sky was falling in, this didn’t usually happen did it? Mistress would know what to do, where was she, where was anyone?  Anyone?  Anyone?  Please?

He stayed with this girl (Alleria, was her name) until he could feel the area settle, the Archivist beside him like a maternal parasite, soaking up the girl’s history until she became part of this mutated garden of knowledge.  Only when there was nothing left, when the last remaining life of this person was faded into his memory and the memory of the Vir Dirthara, did he move on.

He descended what had used to be a sweeping staircase and moved through an Eluvian to a Nexus.  The Librarian here was newly dead, and he had just enough time to marvel at who might have done it before another memory presented itself, one he hadn’t come across before.

It was a shemlen child, dark skinned with lush, black hair.  He was weeping, a broken apparatus of some sort in front of him and the dim echoes of quiet, disappointed words ringing around his ears.  Solas couldn’t quite tell what the words were saying, but he felt the sharp edge of them like a scalpel at his heart.  Another, later, this boy now a man joltingly familiar, raging at the owner of this voice like a tempest, another young man behind him, half-naked and shamefaced.  Solas felt his own cheeks heat with sympathetic embarrassment and the feeling was almost enough to replace the shock he felt to his bones at what, at who, he was seeing.  Another shift to overwhelming gratitude, as his new friend spoke a elvhen word for a relationship he hadn’t known existed before, another shift that stole his breath and tightened his balls in a rush as he felt silken rope against his wrists and a hot mouth on his chest.  Another memory, newer, his gut hardened into rage and fierce protection, fighting against a shapeless horror within this very library and shamelessly putting a face on it just so he could get it out of his system.  She needed him to be supportive, not vengeful.

The vision left him with chills spreading over his body from the base of his spine.

Dorian.

Of course he had been here.  She had known Solas for who he had been when she arrived, he knew she had been here.  So of course they would have been here, too.  It explained the dead Librarian - they were one of the few groups of people who would have had the power to defeat one.  But he had received the vision like he had received every other vision here.  He had seen punctuations in the life of a mere shadow in the same way that he had seen the life of a man who had lived the way this world had always intended to be.

As was his wont of late, a thought occurred just behind his consciousness.  A place where thoughts could come and stay without interfering with his own self.  A place where they were, if not safe, then contained.  He did not think.  But he did move.

As he walked to the bookshelves opposite where Dorian had forced an imprint of Solas’ own face on the now dead Librarian, the shelves in front of him melted away to reveal another Eluvian.  Finding these secret things was so easy now, the Archivists didn’t even try to stop him.  They hadn’t retained enough of themselves to.  As he walked, he turned his mind to all the memories he had seen just this one day - how many more were within this library, caught in the moment the Veil fell, beyond where the Veil fell?  This was the Vir Dirthara, he could find anyone here, if only their record had survived.  For whatever reason he was putting one foot in front of the other in this particular direction, regardless of the knot of ice in his gut and the blazing, barely contained roar of inferno in his heart, nothing could compare with all of these.  For whatever he felt now, they had felt.  And they were legion.

The place he came to broke his heart, just a little more.  It was humble; there were only the splintered remnants of plain wooden boards, the dust settling amongst the cracks. The musty thickness of air filled with too many books filled his lungs.  This was the most protected of all the Archives.  It was also why the Archivists were so revered and so venerated.

Every book on these shelves hummed.  He could hardly bear to see them, ruined as they were.  No one entered the library without giving of themselves to knowledge.  And Knowledge kept records.  If there were memories left in the library it was because they were caught in the liminal space between occurrence and classification.  Or they had bled out of the books cracked open like wounds, bleeding the life of whomever they belonged to onto the parched wood and through the fissures into the swirling air of the Vir Dirthara until they landed, to be scooped up by anyone who passed.  Row after row, column after column - even if they were damaged beyond repair, there were thousands.  He stood for a moment, breathed in dust and paper and life, let his nostrils fill with the stench of ruin, his gut broiling like he had breathed in the raw decay of a long dead corpse.

That place that had germinated the thought that brought him here stirred and no matter how desperately he tried, not even he could control his own senses.  Far down along the seemingly endless wall of books was a harsh end, a cut off from where he had severed all ties between this place and anything truly living.  Only, where there should be nothing but a tattered, frayed edge of reality, were four new books.  They pulsed with life, garish in their colouring, warped and different in shape and size from any of the others.  But they were there.

He was paralysed with indecision, caught with his mind pinned between what he must be and this place where the shadows of the last three years dwelt.  And howled.

If he turned his head he would see them fully.  If he saw them fully then he would have to see them within their context - as part of this library, broken as it was.  Their lives, their memories, their reality sitting nestled in amongst those that came before like they belonged there.  

But if they belonged there, if they were part of this ocean of life and love and pain, then that would mean things that he could not admit.  At least, not that he could admit and do what needed to be done.

On the other hand, if he didn’t turn his head, then he would not see them.  And if he decided he did not see them, then he was deciding to ignore reality in order to make his own selfish choices easier.  He had fought for so long, so very, very long…

He closed his eyes.  He breathed.  He squared his shoulders.

He turned away.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was Bull the next time.  A hard woman with a heart of wool, that picked up the blocks he had just knocked down, laughing in her joy and pride morphed into larger man, soft around his belly, but his words were like knives in his own mind, rummaging around and slicing at any soft tissue he found until there was nothing but purpose.  How ironic that the only man sitting alone at this bar was a Vint.  How soft his hands, hard like diamonds his words.  How fragile his heart.  Fuck but why did she have to be so damn tiny - hard as a rock in his britches as the dragon above him roared and he heard her yell right back, this could almost be better than sex.  Certainty, obvious enough to make him weep when the bitch offered him a choice, because time was relative here and Solas felt the bone-numbing realisation of parallel Bull had made between the two of them before the Vidassala had ever dared offer him the deal.  He shied away then and pretended he hadn’t.  Fled from the floating feeling of unwanted freedom as Bull and he watched the ship blow, heard the triumphant cries of the men that were only supposed to be his in name.  

The thought chased him through the library until he had stepped out of the Eluvian to the unsettlingly reverent gaze of his people.

Until those men had become more real than the ship.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Varric took him in the middle of watching a pair of scholars make their slow, tantalising way to a tryst between the stacks, fuelled by mutual academic passion.  One moment he was watching them dance shyly around each other and the next it was the woman from Kirkwall and the mage he didn’t like to think about too much for all that he had accidentally come too close to truths this world couldn’t uncover unless…unless…

Only then it was Fenris and Varric was helpless, watching this doomed triad stumble their way towards an inevitable messy end and hoping against hope that the lack of contact he’d had from them all recently meant they were somehow all right.  The weight of feeling in the man was almost too much to bear and yet, perhaps because the last few weeks had not been easy and he had not slept for days, he stood there and took it.  Perhaps, if he accepted enough pain from these shadows of shadows (the four new books lurked restlessly in the back of his mind) he wouldn’t see the fourth.  Let him not see the fourth.  Desperate as he was, he watched Varric bid farewell to his beloved again.  And again.  And again.  It became almost atavistic, he revelled in the echoed heartbreak until he felt dirty and petty.  Then he left.

He didn’t come back for a very, very long time.  He told himself it was because the war kept him too busy.  He certainly didn’t listen to the part of him that told him, brutal in its honesty, that his reluctance to come to this place now was the same reluctance that stopped him from wanting to sleep, to risk that brief couple of moments before oblivion where every ghost you had would come to haunt you.  As if she didn’t do that every turn he made, every manoeuvre he thought he’d used to outplay her.  Every dream he tried to pretend wasn’t real, until he had fallen asleep beside his lieutenant and woken to find her flattered and happy, rubbing up against him because she thought it was for her.

No, he had no intention of coming here again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The bare wood is harsh against his knees as he lets himself fall.  He is hollow, please let him be hollow.  The shadows have grown in their place beside his conscious thoughts, pressing against his mind like rabid dogs.

Children.  She had used children against him.  Seen that there was no chance of evacuation and used the time she’d had to go around every house and bring out the children to play on the green.  She’d stood, eyes frightened, fierce and unmoving as she looked straight at where she knew he and his men were preparing for the Fade-Pillar.  The Pillar that needed the weakening of the Veil under this village and which needed the bodies of the villagers to take what would come through.  He had tried to find another site for it, he had really truly tried.  She had raised her head as if she was looking straight at him.  And she had dared him to cut the children down as they played.

He doesn’t realize his face is in his hands until his fingers press hard enough into the softness of his eyelids he sees nauseating bursts of colour.  The books above him quiver, whatever life is in them shivering in the face of the torment he is confronting them with.  He is numb.  He must be numb.  Something tugs at his consciousness, almost inaudible through the chaos.  Even though it has been months, even though within those months has been enough story to fill a stack of its own, the place in his mind where the shadows dwell remembers.  He knows, without taking his palms from his face, that this place will have moved in response to his need.  Whatever he is trying to desperately to forget is no longer far away at the edge of the bookcase.  There are four of them and he knows if he looks up they will be in front of him on the shelf.  Within his grasp. It cannot not be his need to have them here.  It cannot.  

The fourth book had been the colour of moss in the deep of trees marked by time only in their greatness.  If the embossed gold intricacies of pattern looked like anything he’d recognised from Elvhenan, they had morphed in front of his eyes (that had not looked, had definitely, desperately not looked) into something quite unique.  Her very own.  He sees it in his mind now and he is too tired to make himself decide he hasn’t seen it.  His own voice is loud and unrecognisable in his ears.  Surely only animals make such a sound.

On the patchy grass of the village green, one of the smaller boys had tried to leap frog another and fallen.  An older girl, with dull hair and a gap in her teeth, had come over and taunted him into trying again, carrying him over and then pretending to the other children that he’d done it himself.  Solas had seen it so clearly, like an imprint of them on the world that could never be unseen by anyone who had witnessed it.  No one would write this moment, but it was etched into his gut deeper and more permanent than any ink.

The time for the Fade-Pillar to be brought down had come.  And then it had passed.

He knows he will see moss-green and gold before he looks up.  The four books are still acid-bright in their colour.  So very, very different from what he knows.

He reaches for them.

[mcgrillzdumpinc]

Further Ahead - a Madame Lan fic

Summary: Lan Chunhua became wife to Qingheng-jun through no will of her own. She bore his children and held her own against the strict Lan sect. In her time spent in the Gentian House, she planned an escape that would allow her to leave with her sons. Little did she know that she would find herself thirty years into the future.

Word count: 5517

Rating: T

ao3 link

Inspired by an idea from fallenwithstyle!

She wakes up with a gasp.  Ripples of energy pulse through her body, unyielding and nauseating.  She nearly falls over, catches herself with her hands, resists the urge to empty her stomach as she breathes and calculates and settles herself.

Did it work?

She looks around the room.  It is almost the same as the one she started in.  Spacious, barely decorated, every bit a Lan house.  Except the flowers are different.  Instead of spring annuals, there are winter flowers in the vases.  A light coat of dust covers every surface.  Her working desk is empty of any of her documents.

The ritual worked.

~~~

Fu Chunhua was just past seventeen years of age when she decided to visit Caiyi Town. She had heard many things about Gusu, about the canals and the resplendent beauty of the Lan sect.  As a rogue cultivator from a border town far north, she carried little care for a monastic order turned cultivation sect. Her interests lay purely in travel, in the ways she could help as a singular woman, values that had been passed to her by her late parents.  So she joined a caravan of merchants on the promise of pay for her protection of them.

In some stories, she would have felt dread upon entering Caiyi.  Something would have told her to turn away.  But this is no such story.  Nothing was amiss during her few days stay.  She rested, stocked up on her supplies, and was about to leave for another destination when she collided with a young man.

He was a fine young thing, even when disheveled upon the ground.  He truly appeared like a being made out of finest of jade, ethereal like falling snow and more beautiful than the rising sun.  Like the moon had blessed him and his stark white robes.

“Are you hurt?” he immediately asked, scrambling to his feet to help her up.

“I am uninjured,” she replied as she took his hands.

“I apologize for not seeing you sooner,” the stranger said, releasing her hands to bow to her.  “And…forgive me for asking so soon, but what is your name, young madame?” he asked her. There were stars forming in his dark brown eyes.

Fu Chunhua knew this dance.  A young man, struck by her loveliness, jumping to conclusions within seconds of knowing her. It had happened so many times before, and she expected it would happen so many times again.  She introduced herself, and he introduced himself in turn. Qingheng-jun, they called him. Lan Guoliang, sect leader of the Gusu Lan.

“I didn’t expect I would be meeting an esteemed sect leader on this day,” Fu Chunhua said, even though she was ready to leave.  She couldn’t be rude to someone of such high status, especially in his own territory.

“It must be an auspicious day,” Lan Guoliang replied, “since I am meeting a beauty such as yourself.”

“Ah… I am not so beautiful, Qingheng-jun.  I am certain there are much more resplendent beauties within your sect.”

“But none who can match you.”

“…Thank you. If you’ll forgive my absence, I must hurry to my next location.”

Then she tried to leave.  She was successful, for a time.  She managed to reach the city gates, was about to mount her sword, was about to escape yet another hopeless romantic, when suddenly Qingheng-jun grabbed her by her arm.

“I am so sorry, Fu-xiaojie.  I am stubborn to a fault.  Please offer me a chance to prove myself.”

The persistent type, then.  Well, nothing she hadn’t handled before.  She offered for him to join her on a night hunt.  So many had lost interest once they saw her fighting style—barbaric, they called it.  In truth, they could not imagine a woman stronger than them, one who could hold her own against a hundred beasts and not care for the blood spilt on her robes. She doubted this Lan Guoliang would be any different.

Except, he would. After the monster was vanquished, she found herself stone still before the bowing young man, who begged for her hand. ‘Love at first sight,’ he called it. ‘A love made for the gods,’ he claimed. He called her the perfect wife for him, without once asking if she cared a drop for him.

She refused. Of course she did.  Without a thought towards his heartbroken tears, Fu Chunhua mounted her sword and left him behind.  That should have been the last of it.  Nobody in their right mind would chase such a harsh woman.

She should have known, though.  She really should have known.

He found her less than a month later.  Another town, not far from Gusu but closer to Yunmeng territory.  She could easily chalk it up to coincidence.  There was significant ghost activity, enough to warrant the attention of a major cultivation sect.  But she still kept her distance, best she could, even though he would search her out in crowds and kept close during night hunts.  She could tolerate it.  Just until the all ghosts were vanquished.  Then maybe she would visit lands outside of imperial bounds. For a year, at the very least. Surely he would lose interest by then.

But she would not get the chance to escape.  One night, the cultivators that had gathered agreed to split up, take up investigation on their own terms and then reconvene by dawn.  They all had signal flares on hand in case they ran into trouble.  Fu Chunhua took her own route, as she was wont to do.  The silence of the woods was a welcome respite.  So welcome, in fact, that she failed to notice her company.

The man who had followed her was a Lan, but was not Qingheng-jun.  He was one of Lan Guoliang’s teachers, apparently.  Lan Lijun.  A much older fellow, not nearly as strong as his pupil or even Fu Chunhua. But he was gentler than a spring breeze in the way he spoke.  Sweeter than a plum in the way he carried himself.  So all her walls were down when he drew his sword on her.

He called her a curse.  A temptation that drew Qingheng-jun from his studies, from his duties as a righteous sect leader.  As the old man shouted and slashed, he made it blindingly clear that nothing short of her death would serve to save Qingheng-jun from the plight of her mere existence.

Fu Chunhua fought back.  Fu Chunhua killed the old man.  Fu Chunhua did the right thing and turned herself in.

Then she became Lan Chunhua.  Married to protect her life.  Kept captive in a scenic prison.  When her husband came to her, she surrendered.  She allowed him her body, however long or often he wanted.  Despite how much she cried, or how much she ached for any form of freedom, she did not kill the spawn of their union.  Not the first, nor the second.  She did not fight when they took the children from her. She did not argue for the right to see them more often.  She mothered from a distance, paid her wifely dues, and planned her escape in secret.

There was a maid. A young, bright thing.  Lan Meilin.  Besides Xichen and Wangji, Lan Meilin was the brightest part of Lan Chunhua’s poor excuse for a life.  She was not like most Lans—her voice was always an octave too loud, her posture slacked when no one was looking, she actually talked to Lan Chunhua for more than necessity.  When she could get permission, they would talk about everything and nothing for hours into the night.  She was a wonder.  And she was more than willing to help Lan Chunhua.  In fact, the escape plan was hers and hers alone.

“You’re quite a skilled cultivator, aren’t you, Lan-furen?”

“My older brother gained access to the secret rooms in the Library Pavilion!  There are all sorts of techniques stashed there!  Shhh, but don’t tell anyone I told you, okay?  He only told me because I wouldn’t stop pestering him!”

“Lan-furen… my brother found research on time travel.  I don’t know how to tell him not to think too much into it.  It’s impossible, right?”

“Lan-furen. This may not be for me to speak of… But I heard of a story, recently.  A captive woman who found freedom.  They say a dragon saved her.  Others say she rescued herself.  Would you like to hear the story?”

“Lan-furen… I’m sorry to scare you, I know it’s late.  But I’m sure it won’t be long until they find out.  I snuck into the Library Pavilion.  I copied down everything I could about transportation, even those studies on time travel.  Please, use them.  It is the last thing this young fool will be able to do for you.”

Lan Chunhua did not hear a thing about Lan Meilin after that night.  Any questions were met with silence and avoidance.  Dead, alive, punished—she would never know her maid’s fate. But there was one truth she could know, and that was how to leave her cage.

But she couldn’t leave without her sons.  Regardless of their parentage, Xichen and Wangji were her little treasures.  Xichen with his unrelenting kindness and emotional insight.  Wangji with his hilariously withdrawn nature and stubborn loyalty.  She couldn’t leave them behind, not for the world and all its riches.

But there was no transportation talisman that would allow her to transport all three of them, not without giving up her whole golden core and perhaps even her life. And there was no guarantee they would go with her, or that they wouldn’t be caught.  The only way was forward.  The only way was forward.

So she took the way forward.  She studied and experimented and improved.  And then, one night, it wasn’t a flower or a vial that was put in the middle of the array. It was her, and she was ready.

~~~

Now the only trouble is moving.  Much as Lan Chunhua tries, she cannot find her footing, let alone sit up.  The best she can do is drag herself by her arms. But that will not get her anywhere quick, least of all surreptitiously.

So focused she is on gathering her strength at least enough to hide herself, she does not notice that company has arrived on her doorstep.  She’s a far distance from the closest adjoining room when the door to her cottage opens.  Her guest is a young man, much to her surprise.  Has so much time passed that the Lan sect has done away with separation of sexes?  She doubts it—an entire century could pass before a single elder would consider altering a single rule.  What’s more, despite the blue and white Lan robes the young man wears, he isn’t wearing a headband.  The only decoration to his hair is a bright red ribbon.  A guest cultivator, then.  One that is doubtlessly trespassing.

Well, if she needed someone who wouldn’t dare to cause a ruckus and would have good reason to be furtive, she certainly wouldn’t be able to find someone better than him.

“You!” she exclaims, pointing at him.

He furrows his brows, pointing at himself.  His back bends with the motion.  “Me…?”

“You will help me!” she commands, dragging herself however lamely in his direction.

He raises his hands and takes a step back.  “I don’t know how much help I could be.  Who are you, anyway?  What are you doing in Lan-furen’s quarters?”

“I can ask you the same thing.”

A quip is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it and reconsiders.  A tilt of his head to the left, then the right, then he says, “That’s fair.  Here, let’s start with introductions, then!  My name is Wei Wuxian, husband to the standing sect leader, Lan Wangji.”

Lan Wangi! Her stoic, warm, darling Wangji, married?  To a man who carries himself like he has the sun at his back!  Lan Chunhua must restrain the tears that prick at her eyes. She has so many questions and just as many felicitations to wish, but there is time yet for those.  Surely, the appearance of her Wangji’s husband as her savior must be the will of the heavens.

“And you are?” Wei Wuxian asks with a welcoming, close-lipped smile.

“…Lan Chunhua,” she answers truthfully.  “Your husband’s mother.  Please, if you can—” Before she can finish her sentence, an implication catches her. And it settles in her like a tiger’s maw on her heart.  “You said standing sect leader… What happened to Lan Huan?  Lan Xichen?  What has happened to my son, nuzu?”

He blinks at her, face and shoulders and arms falling like weights are attached to his skin. “You…?  Lan Zhan’s mother?  That’s not possible!”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes.  There’s much more pressing matters at hand.  “You do not have to believe me when I say I traveled through time.  But I assure you, I am very much A-Zhan’s mother. Do you need me to prove it?  Check all you like, but you must bring me to my children.”

“I—” He looks around, finger pointed upwards at nothing in particular.  “Hold on!”

He runs rather fast, she has to say.  If worry for her Xichen wasn’t weighing on her so heavily, she might just laugh at the character her Wangji decided to marry.  He must be so terribly happy, she realizes with a wistful sigh.

~~~

“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan!”

Normally, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t interrupt training, least of all when his wonderful husband is the teacher of the day.  Lan Wangi has more than enough troubles on his mind, as Wei Wuxian often has to remind him when sect leader duties leave him weary to the bone.  As his husband (and as part of proving that he’s ‘rehabilitated’, as Nie Huaisang likes to call it), Wei Wuxian does what he can to keep the Cloud Recesses running.  Repairs and construction jobs, maintaining some trade negotiations, entertaining the more restless of the disciples—Wei Wuxian does what he can to lighten the load.

That’s why, today, he snuck into the late Lan-furen’s quarters.  He was hoping to find something to brighten Lan Wangji’s mood, which has been truly dismal ever since Lan Xichen started turning away his own brother.  What he found instead, well, he can only hope it will turn out for the better.

He jumps towards Lan Wangji.  Without even looking away from the disciples, Lan Wangji catches him with one arm. “Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian repeats, circling his arms around his husband’s neck, “I have something important to show you! It can’t wait!”

Lan Wangi glances at him with the slightest hint of a smile.  He calls over a nearby senior disciple to take over then walks the same direction Wei Wuxian came.  Wei Wuxian has to kick his legs to convince Lan Wangji to let him down, but he keeps a hand against his husband’s back as they walk together.

“So,” Wei Wuxian starts, “I came across a big surprise today.”

“What is it?” Lan Wangji asks, smiling down at him indulgently.

“Guess!” Wei Wuxian replies with doe eyes.

Lan Wangji considers for a long time.  They’re already nearing the Gentian House when he replies, “You found a mate for Lil’ Apple?”

Wei Wuxian snorts.  “Is that the best you could come up with?!  So unimaginative, Lan-er-gege.”

A familiar hunger ignites in Lan Wangji’s eyes.  Before he can be pulled aside for some truly ancestor-shaming activities, Wei Wuxian grabs his husband’s wrist and pulls him to their destination.  “No, it’s something much more dramatic.”  They reach the steps and Lan Wangji’s posture shifts immediately—shoulders tense, eyes focused.  Wei Wuxian slides his hand down to intertwine his fingers with Lan Wangji’s.  “I know I’m not allowed here, but I wanted to find a present for you.  But I found something else.  There’s a woman in there, she claims to be your mother.”

Immediately, Lan Wangji’s eyes widen.  He looks between Wei Wuxian, then to the entrance door.  Back to Wei Wuxian, then he very nearly runs inside.

~~~

The doors open with force.  Lan Chunhua looks up.  There’s another man standing in the entryway and he looks so much like Qingheng-jun that she nearly throws a vase at him.  But quickly she realizes his eyes match hers—golden.  He is slimmer than his father, his face more delicate in features, and she recognizes those heavy set of brows that pull his expressions into stone.

“A-Zhan!” she cries.  She reaches out her arms, begging, desperate, joyful. “Mama,” he replies as he sinks into her embrace.  His voice is so much deeper now, his arms can wrap around her entire torso now, he’s so much stronger now.  But there is gentleness and anxiety in his hug, like when he was a child and feared the second he would be taken from her.  She holds him all the tighter for it.

“I’m so sorry, my darling.  Please forgive your Mama for disappearing from you.”

There is a wetness pooling on her shoulder.  She cards her fingers through his hair, lets him cry without acknowledgment, as she looks up at her savior, Wei Wuxian.  ‘Thank you’, she mouths to him, and he smiles and bows in return.

“Why did you go…?” she hears her son mutter.

She shushes him and begins to rock side to side, just as he liked as a child.  “I had to leave, baobei.  A bird cannot survive for long in a cage.”

He seems to take that for a satisfactory answer.  Wei Wuxian closes the doors and settles to Wangji’s right.  His eyes are trained entirely on Wangji, a loving warmth in his smile, and Lan Chunhua once again finds herself thankful that her son found such a perfect husband.

Lan Chunhua does not realize she fell asleep in her Wangji’s hold until she comes to in his lap.  The sunlight filtering through the windows is a deep orange—the afternoon has come and gone and the dusk is nearly upon them.

“It seems I must apologize to you again, A-Zhan.  I was more tired than I realized.”

“Mn,” is his reply.  Lan Chunhua nearly laughs at the familiarity.  “You were low on spiritual power.  Wei Ying is working on getting you food now.”

She looks down at where Wangji’s fingers are pressed to her wrist pulse.  “You must have cultivated a truly strong golden core to feed me for so long.  Thank you, baobei.”

The tips of his ears turn pink.  This time, she does laugh.

“Oh, don’t be so shy!”  She reaches up and pats his cheek twice.  “So many years, and you’re still the same.”

“…I am not the same,” he argues, somewhat lamely.

Lan Chunhua laughs again.  “I guess you are right.  I certainly could not imagine my little A-Zhan marrying such a lively man.”  She sits up and catches his smile.  “Tell me, A-Zhan, how did you meet him?”

“We met during the yearly lessons.  He was a nuisance.”

“That’s what drew you to him, isn’t it?  You always loved the brightest things.  What sect did he belong to?”

Something unpleasant crosses Wangji’s expression, but it quickly dissipates.  “The Yunmeng Jiang.  He was their head disciple.”

Lan Chunhua’s memories of the Yunmeng Jiang are few.  She never lingered anywhere long enough to meet most of the cultivation world’s sect leaders, so the majority of her memories from Yunmeng are of the territory itself and not the sect that called it home.  But she can recall seeing Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan on a few night hunts.  One was too placid, the other too fiery.  She cannot imagine their head disciple would have lived in a pleasant environment.

“Is he happy here?” she asks as she takes her son’s hand.  “This sect does not stifle him?”

“Nobody can stifle him,” Wangji answers, threading his long fingers with hers.  “I would not let them.  He can only be happy.”

So her son has become the type who would sooner break the world than let his loved one suffer. “I am proud of you.  I left you so early but still you became such a good man.”

He smiles. “I am glad you have returned.  I have missed you.”

The door opens. Wei Wuxian has arrived with dinner for all three of them.  She dare not think of how he must have wheedled so much food from the chefs, let alone managed to transport all of it to her house without being noticed.  She can only be thankful for his incredible sense of timing, for she’s certain she would have fallen asleep again if he had taken another minute.

They eat steadily and quietly.  Shamelessly, Wangji and Wei Wuxian sit glued to each other’s side.  Lan Chunhua decides to not comment and waits until they finish dinner to answer their questions about how she traveled.  Then, she asks something that has been buzzing persistently at the back of her mind.

“A-Zhan, tell me about A-Huan.  Wuxian called you the standing sect leader… What happened to A-Huan?  Shouldn’t he be the sect leader?  Or…” She steels herself for this thought, “is your father still breathing, while A-Huan is not?”

A chill sweeps through the room.  Before her nerves can jump to the worst conclusion, Wei Wuxian answers.  “Qingheng-jun passed away many years ago.  Your son, Lan Xichen, became sect leader.  He was very capable and truly an exemplary sect leader, but…”

“Tragedy struck him,” Wangji continues.  He does not meet Lan Chunhua’s eyes as he says, “A friend betrayed him and killed someone he cared deeply for.  Brother has gone into seclusion while I handle the sect in his stead.”

The irony does not go unnoticed.  The story is so similar to her own circumstances, at least in summary.  She knows well that Lan Qiren ran the sect while his brother secluded himself.  She knows well that her first son might be following in his father’s footsteps despite her best wishes.

“It is best you hear the story from him,” Wangji finishes.  “Will you meet with him tonight?”

~~~

As usual, the Cloud Recesses falls into an almost complete slumber at nine that night. They wait an extra thirty minutes before leaving the cabin and hurrying to Lan Huan’s quarters.

Before going in, however, Wangji pulls Lan Chunhua aside while Wei Wuxian keeps a lookout. “He is not well, mother.  He has begun to turn everyone away.  Please do not judge him if he is harsh to you.”

Lan Chunhua cups her youngest son’s cheek, rubbing away his worry with her thumb. “I could never judge him, A-Zhan. He is my firstborn.”

Wangji nods, minutely, before hugging her.  He lets go before she can return the embrace.  Then he hurries inside to wake his brother.  She gives Wei Wuxian a squeeze to the arm as thanks before following Wangji inside.

Xichen’s quarters are spacious, much more than her own.  It occurs to her that these must have been his father’s, but she does not see a touch of Qingheng-jun anywhere.  All of Xichen’s favorite things—instruments, books of poetry, scrolls of art, among other things—dot the walls.  She sees his work desk, where a xiao she recognizes as Liebing sits. Worryingly, on the desk as well are several unclean dishes, as though he had failed to bring them to his door to be taken away by the servants.  Or, worse, has refused to let anyone move for him.  Before she can follow the instinct to clean them up, she hears Wangji wake his brother farther into the room.  She moves towards her youngest son’s voice into a partitioned-off part of the room, behind which lays a bed.

The area here is in a much worse state than the rest of his quarters.  Where everything else was mostly clean, here paper is strewn across the floor.  Even in the dim light, she can see sword slashes on the mat.  The bed is in equal disarray and the man who sits upon it has lost any light in his eyes.

Lan Chunhua’s stomach sinks.  Her son did not become his father.  Rather, he became her.

“Brother,” Wangji begins, “I am sorry for waking you, but someone important has come to see us.”

Xichen rubs at his eyes, chasing away the last of his sleep with a yawn.  “Who is it, Wangji?”

Lan Chunhua holds her breath when her firstborn looks up and meets her eyes.  Silence engulfs the room, suffocating in its stillness. She is thankful when he speaks.

“…Mother?” he whispers.  He leaves the bed, stumbles just slightly, and creeps towards her.  He reaches out his hand, stops himself just short of her face.

“I am real, A-Huan,” she promises.  “I am real.”

He cups her cheek.  His hand is large enough to cover her entire face.  She holds his arm with both her hands, leans into the touch.  “Why are you here?  You are supposed to be dead.”

“She traveled,” Wangji explains in her stead.  He walks over to her left side and stares, quite intensely, at her. Deliberating, Lan Chunhua realizes after a second.  “She never died.”

“How?” Xichen immediately asks without breaking eye contact with her.  Then, as though a string finally broke, tears begin to fall from his eyes, quickly and without any restraint as his face scrunches up. He curls into himself, curls over her, and Lan Chunhua is quick to pull him to her, hugging her son who is now twice her size.  “Why weren’t you here?” he asks through a broken voice.

“I couldn’t stay,” she answers again.  She traces the tips of her fingernails up and down his back, creating patterns for his nerves to follow.  “A tiger belongs in the wild.”

Xichen grips her, tight, almost enough to hurt.  Wangji, apparently done deliberating, pulls them both into a hug.

“Why weren’t you here sooner?” Xichen asks.  “You should have been here sooner.”

“I know,” Lan Chunhua replies.  She holds him tighter.  “I wish I had come back sooner.”  She sighs, threads her fingers into his hair to cup the back of his head.  “You both grew up without me.  I am ashamed to call myself your mother when I failed to raise you.”

“Do not,” Wangji interrupts.  He rests his cheek on top of her head.  “You are here now.  That is what matters most.”

That statement alone fills her chest with warmth.  “Thank you, my son.  I am here now, and I have no intention of leaving you again.”

Xichen breaks into a wail.  He begins to fall, and both she and Wangji steadily sink to the ground with him. Xichen shifts his grip so he has a hand on Wangji’s waist while the other is pressed against Lan Chunhua’s back. “I have made so many mistakes.  I am ashamed to call myself your son!”

Lan Chunhua shushes him.  “Breathe first, A-Huan.  Breathe first, then think.”

He follows her instructions.  It takes several starts and stops and more than one instance of pulling him back when he tries to pull away.  But he gets there, eventually.  By then, Wangji has had to take a break outside, only to return some minutes later with Wei Wuxian in tow.

Now the four of them are sitting at Xichen’s working desk.  Wei Wuxian has prepared tea while Wangji works on cleaning up his elder brother’s face.  Xichen sits opposite Lan Chunhua, cradling his cup of tea and leaning into the warmth.

“…I must apologize for my earlier state,” Xichen starts.  “I should have greeted you with more composure.”

Lan Chunhua clicks her tongue.  “There is no such thing as composure around your mother,” she scolds.  “You could have come to me with the air of a god and I would still see my little A-Huan.”

He smiles, just slightly, at that.  She hears Wei Wuxian snicker.  Wangji starts to undo his brother’s sleeping braid as Xichen continues speaking. “Even still…”  He pauses, putting his words in order.  “Despite my earlier discomposure, I must admit there was some truth to my words.”  He meets Lan Chunhua’s eyes with intensity.  “Why are you here now, mother?”

“I do not know,” she admits easily.  “The array I used was purely experimental.  I had hoped I would skip to when you and A-Zhan were at least ten years old, just old enough to escape with me.  You were too young when I put the array to use.  I did not expect I would return when you were adults.”

Xichen tightens his grip on his teacup.  Wangji starts to comb his brother’s hair.  “So it was an escape plan, then.”  There are more words on his tongue, Lan Chunhua can tell, by the way he swallows and carefully puts his teacup down.  He hasn’t taken a sip of tea.

“I do not plan to leave now,” she tells him.  “You both have your places here—”

“So you will leave us behind again?” Xichen interrupts.

“Brother,” Wangji gently scolds.  He stops combing in order to rub a hand up and down Xichen’s back.  Wei Wuxian shifts so that he is sitting closer to his husband.

“I know,” Xichen responds.  “I know…” A deep breath, and he crumples into himself again.

“…You’ve been hurt,” Lan Chunhua observes.  “Quite deeply, it seems.”

“I have,” Xichen says.  “There… There were two men I cared deeply for.”  He grabs the teacup again, quickly empties it.  Wei Wuxian immediately refills it.  Xichen bends over the heat.  “They held my heart in equal amounts.  But I did not believe one, while I blindly believed the other.  It cost many, many lives, including both of their own.  In your absence, I have failed so many.”

She realizes something in the hunch of his shoulders.  “Do you expect me to scold you?  Hate you?”

His silence is all the answer she needs.

“A-Huan,” she reproaches.  “I could never hate you.  Look at me.”

With much reluctance, he complies.  Wangji begins to redo his sleeping braid.

“You were my firstborn.  There were many before you who did not make it.  To me, you are a precious existence.  You could fall into the deepest depths of sin and still I would love you. That is my duty and my joy as your mother.  And never again shall I abandon you and your brother.  I am here to stay.”

“Mother…” Xichen whispers.  He and his brother share the same teary eyes.

With no more time she is willing to waste, Lan Chunhua stands up and crosses to the other side of the table.  She pulls her sons of blood and marriage into a hug, holding them all as tight as her small arms will allow.

“I will stay here,” she promises.  “For as long as the heavens allow.”

~~~

It takes another year for Xichen to leave seclusion.  Time, Lan Chunhua must remind Wangji and Wuxian, he needs to take his time. But on the meritorious day he announces his seclusion done, Xichen looks ten times stronger than the night of their reunion.  Lan Chunhua is there to greet her son and sect leader with a smile.

The period of her readjustment and reintroduction is not an easy one.  The elders still remember her, still scream for her banishment just as strongly as the day Qingheng-jun brought her here.  But her sons protect her and vouch for her.  To her great surprise, Lan Qiren eventually, though reluctantly, takes her side as well.  “The boys have suffered enough,” he tells her in private.  “I would not take their happiness from them again.”

What comes as the biggest surprise is meeting Wangji and Wuxian’s son.  Lan Sizhui is a perfect angel with a backbone to rival his fathers’.  He comes a set pair, as well, apparently.  Lan Chunhua rarely sees him without his friend, Lan Jingyi, who is truly the loudest and most boisterous boy the Lans could have possibly produced. Lan Chunhua loves them both instantly. And it comes as little surprise to her, in the end, when she finally learns who Jingyi’s mother is.

(“Lan-furen, it is a pleasure to see you again.  No words can describe the joy of knowing our plan worked.”)

Lan Chunhua learns in time of Wuxian’s past transgressions.  Through that, she learns of the men who broke Xichen’s heart in three. She aches relentlessly for them both. And when finally she meets Wen Ning, she is sure to gift him with robes she crafted herself.

There are days still when her bones ache for her to run.  Escape the Lans, escape Gusu, escape to the border town she once called home. Sometimes she catches glares that make her wish to scream.  But she settles herself in her new home, far from the gentians, attended upon by those Wangji ensured would not hurt her.  She will travel again one day, she is sure.  A dragon must soar, unbidden by earthly needs.  But, for now, this is enough.  Seeing her sons smile again is more than enough.

[fistsoflightning]

23: i wanna know what you’re doing tonight

prompt: shuffle || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 2796

Does writing music based on things your friend said count as flirting?

It’s AU brainworm time everybody >:3 This “main street” AU is basically balefire/mom squad’s ‘what if we made a bunch of small town romance ideas and mashed them together’ which turns out to be a lot more hilarious than it should be. Featuring (chat) cameos from @windupcatgirl @to-the-voiceless @windupnamazu @verbroil and @winduphaurchefant because why not. Title from this song!

For all intents and purposes, Zaya enjoys autumn; summer heat cooling off into a pleasant chill, the sunlight that lingers enough to keep warm in the early weeks. The trees may die, but in doing so they grow colorful, and though the flowers in A’dewah’s little shop don’t do the same he changes which ones are on display to match better with the tree outside. It does mean Krile—and more recently, one G’raha Tia—have to return to Mor Dhona, their studies resuming, but it’s not like they can’t chat.

It does, however, mean the return of autumn showers—and they don’t even hate rain that much—and fortunately Zaya managed to forget their poncho just as the first big storm pulled in. Mor Dhona wasn’t that far of a drive away, really, just two or three hours on a road Zaya had taken enough times before, but in the middle of a rainstorm? Without a rainproof coat?

Well, at least Miss Eldfalk’s documents are staying dry in the carrier at Zaya’s back, even if the chill of the rain has already soaked through the wool of their jacket and started to dampen their shirt by the time they pull into the parking garage just a block or so away from the museum waiting on Sjanna’s delivery. Thankfully the inn is just an elevator away and not on the other side of the road; they should keep a spare poncho or umbrella in the motorcycle luggage next time.

Zaya pushes the thought aside as they slip off their helmet and the phone in their pocket begins to buzz about, safely tucked within the canvas pocket of their overalls and hopefully not just as soaked as their hands are. Wiping their palms and fingers on the inside of their legs, they unzip the soggy jacket and tug out the borrowed phone to see the numerous Linkcord notifications—of course.

Leaning onto the front of their motorcycle, Zaya hardly takes a second glance up to the storm just out the window behind them as a few taps and a swipe unlocks the screen, opening up to the Linkcord discussion of the day (night? Night.)

[ text channel #mom-panic; 9:47 PM ]

banned for baby crimes zayaaaaaa i miss you Hanami Hagane You are just saying that because you have no one to drag around the fair. Hanami Hagane Besides, they will be back tomorrow afternoon. banned for baby crimes no i’m not!! that’s too long!! i brought ihget but he’s being stupid and wont ride the ferris wheel with me :’) banned for baby crimes i cant find lunya and reese either so now im stuck with himbo here local breadhead we’re just by the cotton candy stand! lunya’s waving at you ;) banned for baby crimes OH THERE YOU ARE HOW DID I MISS YOU        hold on i gotta grab the chad first local breadhead 😊 banned for baby crimes but i really miss zaya even if they’re just over in mor dhona.. so does ochir he- i- banned for baby crimes has anyone seen ochir ihget lost him in the crowd- this says zaya 😱 reese is in pieces :O( YOU WHAT?? local breadhead oh dear lmao reese is in pieces :O( i hope no one tries to take him :( reese is in pieces :O( lunya says if your stupid catboy loses zaya’s bird shes not going to make you two the mini versions of zaya’s courier hat banned for baby crimes IT SNTO MY FAULT ZAYA JR HERE WAS BEIGNB ROODY ADN LOOKED AWAY         NOOOOOOO,,, Hanami Hagane Why bring the bird with you, anyways. Zaya lent you Ochir’s cage. banned for baby crimes he made sad noises when ihget n i were abt to leave,,,,

The chat quickly devolves from there into Sati panicking about Zaya’s violet-backed starling going rogue and everyone else jumping in and hells, they are not in the mood to manage that. Drops of water fall from their chin onto the screen; they hastily wipe it away before shoving the phone back into their pocket and hop off their motorcycle. A few quick movements with the key round their wrist opens up the luggage attachment with the satchel of papers inside—blessedly dry, thank the gods they splurged on a decent one instead—which they swing over their shoulder as they start walking to the elevator.

A dripping trail has probably followed them all the way from the parking garage to the lobby, they think in passing as they stop at the front desk, waiting for the receptionist to turn around. Their hand goes to fiddle with the small keychain on their keyring as they wait, still dripping their own personal puddle around them.

“Hello, hello! Welcome to the Seventh Heaven, how may I—” Tataru turns around, small smile widening into a sunny bright grin when she sees them, even if they’re dripping all over the lobby. “Zaya! Good to see you back again; need a room for the night, then?”

A curt nod (that sends water droplets onto the surface of Tataru’s desk) is all she needs to hop off her stepping stool and onto the ground, waving Zaya along before she cheerily marches down the halls with a keyring jingling in her hand. Not even the gloomy rainstorm thundering outside can put a damper on her mood, it seems.

“Payment for the night’s stay may be given in the form of Gannet Bay gossip, alright?” Tataru unlocks the door to a nicely decorated room with a quick turn of her hand, playfully winking over her shoulder as she does. Her violet eyes glimmer almost the same as Lunya’s, really; filled with teasing joy and secrets. “I’ve heard from the grapevine about a certain catboy quite enjoying the atmosphere out there, now!”

She steps aside as the door swings fully open, giving a little curtsy, and Zaya gives her an energetic thumbs-up as they walk past her into the room, pleasantly warm and bright from the small fireplace in the corner of the room, banked low so its amber glow only flickers across the floor.

First things first: getting out of all the soggy clothing they’re wearing.

They hang their satchel (papers still neatly bound inside, good) on the wall hook by the door and haphazardly strip off their shoes and socks, followed by the once-warm and fluffy jacket as they look about for spare hangers.

Ah; Tataru always has their back. Hanging on the end of the bed are a set of four or so hangers, which Zaya snaps up with ease, carefully slipping the wooden hangers through sleeves and loops as they finally get to their undershirt—blissfully dry, if not a bit cold. Their overalls aren’t all that damp on the top but are more than soaked the further down the legs one looks… hopefully that dries quick enough.

Just as they finish kicking their ankle-high boots to the mat by the door, a quiet yet unfamiliar chime fills the room, and Zaya nearly thinks to check outside the door for the noise when the light vibrations trickle up their arm. The soft ringtone—someone humming along to a muffled orchestra, maybe; not the smartest of choices for a calling ringtone—grows louder as Zaya stares down at their collection of soggy clothing.

...Alright, second: answer the damn phone?

Zaya nearly fumbles all the hangers to grab their phone from the pockets of their overalls and accept the call, only briefly reading the name from the screen before his face pops up in its place. White hair and a charming grin, perhaps—that is, to anyone who hadn’t heard the words that fall from his mouth like gentle rain.

(Okay, well, maybe that just helped. Zaya wasn’t going to say that out loud to anybody regardless; it didn’t matter what they thought of Thancred’s charms. Probably.)

“...I’d say ‘good evening’ but I wager you are having anything but just by the water dripping off your hair,” Thancred says in lieu of greeting, his voice warm and surrounded by the distant sounds of the usual fall fair attractions. “So instead, I’ll say this; is that old phone serving you well enough?”

Zaya nods; given, this one’s a bit clunky, but the lightness of their actual tomephone may have indirectly been the reason that they’d dropped it while helping out around town and eventually cracked the screen. At least Thancred had offered to lend them his old one for the trip to Mor Dhona in case, just on the off chance someone truly needed their attention, like for lost birds and ways to punish a distracted idiot.

They set it on the table, the front camera facing towards the window as Zaya steps into frame, still fiddling with the hangers in their hands. Mor Dhona may be covered in a gloomy storm, but the golden lights from the buildings around Revenant’s Toll Square still glow brightly in the distance, a refuge from the biting torrent of cold rain.

“Survived the water,” they sign slowly, stepping closer to the fireplace in a subtle attempt to dry off a bit quicker, almost fumbling when their fingers stiffen, chilled to the bone. Thancred laughs, the bridge of his nose crinkling just a tad like how it does when he can’t stop cracking himself up. “Still has power, too.”

“Glad to see it has survived, then.” There’s a slight pause where Thancred stops talking (and laughing) to catch his breath, the small silence filled with Zaya leaving frame to go hang their soaked clothes over the fireplace to hopefully dry for tomorrow. When they come back to look at the camera, a kaleidoscope of colorful lights dance across Thancred’s face, some colorfully lit attraction before him leaving his platinum blonde hair awash with a rainbow of color. “The storm there should burn off by early dawn, though; hopefully you will not have to drag yourself home dripping wet from your business in Mor Dhona.”

Ah, good. They yawn as discreetly as someone who’s on a video call can—which is to say, not very, and a rosy flush must spread on their face when Thancred chuckles under his breath, low and steady. 

“Forgive me,” he says next, voice lowered as if he were disturbing someone’s rest. “I must be keeping you from collapsing; I can’t imagine a drive in the freezing rain and getting soaked is the least draining way to spend one’s night.”

In-between stretching out the tense muscles in their back and neck do they grunt some noise of agreement, the strain flaring momentarily before melting into a drowsy warmth that drips down the ridges of their spine. Really, spending time in Mor Dhona at all is a draining waste of time—when you make your home in somewhere as vibrantly quiet as Gannet Bay it’s hard to want the big city over the comforts of familiarity, of knowing each shop and its owners personally, of being able to help them all and see their smiles.

At least they can see one person from home, now.

“ ‘S fine,” they mumble softly, heart stuttering when Thancred’s smile widens at the sound of their voice. Part of them wishes they were there to playfully elbow him for that—it’s not that rare tha they’ll speak—and the other part of them they are desperately trying to ignore. “How’s th’ fair.”

“Wonderful.” He looks up for a moment as Zaya wraps themselves in the bed coverings, presumably to whatever booth or stall is shining down on his face with fluorescent lights. “Ryne’s had a wonderful time, I think. I haven’t seen your friends around, but would you like to hear about the odd variety of attractions around?”

Zaya hums sleepily, waiting for him to continue. They hardly even notices when their eyelids grow heavy and their fingers return to their usual warmth, entranced enough by the fond familiarity of Thancred’s voice as they drift off to sleep.

…

The next morning, Zaya wakes with the dawn that rises across Mor Dhona, the bright golden sunrise sneaking through the cracks of the large curtains to tickle their bedsheets. The cityscape outside the window is covered by low autumn morning fog, glimmering as the sunlight dances over it and the puddles the passing storm had left behind in its wake. Outside, it is nearly silent, only a few passing cars and hardly any pedestrians around when Zaya does their morning stretches by the window.

As is always with a trip into the city, they fall into an easy routine; wake with the sun, stretch out whatever they can without breaking something, get dressed and hastily grab everything before rushing out the door, wave Tataru a rushed but genuine goodbye. Trot down to the parking garage, check the bike, throw the satchel back into the luggage on the back as they slip on their stereo cuffs and flick through playlists on their phone before going to get breakfast at the Bismarck—

Zaya pauses their flick-tap scroll through the playlists on their phone when they catch one with their name. Odd; Thancred did always have the habit of making his friends their own personal playlists, but they’d like to think they didn’t give him that much of a read on their tastes just yet.

Shrugging to no one but themselves, they tap on the playlist and let it begin to play as they slide the phone back into their overall pocket, starting up their motorcycle’s engine just as the song begins to play.

They stop. 

[ DM history with @superbolide; 7:36 AM]

zayaya ❓ zayaya 🌅😊❗🎵🎧💿❓❓ superbolide good morning to you too :) you’re up rather early superbolide something the matter? superbolide ah          i haven’t got another song for you yet, if that’s the question   rest assured, i’ll find something yet! zayaya 🙅

It hardly takes them more than a few seconds to grab a small screenshot of the playlist in question, sending it and another screenshot back to Thancred as they quietly listen to the same song Rjoli and Reese had playing near constantly for last Valentione’s Day in the bakery—still manages to be catchy, somehow. Let it not be said that acoustic covers were not their favorite.

The notification ringtone chimes when Thancred responds, cheery and bright.

Zaya goes a bit bug-eyed at what he types next, the song fading off as the next one on shuffle comes up—piano, humming, Thancred’s voice—

Thankfully, for it being so early in the morning, there’s no one around in the parking garage to judge the frankly embarrassing noise they make at their phone, or the bright flush that spreads across their face.

It isn’t like that, they remember saying, sputtering like a fish out of water when Lunya had barely insinuated that Thancred’s small wave as he walked past was a bit more than friendly. There’s no way he’d be interested in the courier that helped him choose out a ribbon at the local boutique, of all people! He doesn’t even know where I work!

Zaya drops their forehead onto the dash of their motorcycle, careful not to hit their horns against anything as they do.

Looks like they were wrong, about it ‘not being like that’. Maybe.

(Oh gods, they really hope they’re wrong.)

…

[ text channel #mom-panic; 8:03 AM]

💬 this says zaya is typing...

this says zaya😑 this says zaya💭🌑💘 🤟 ❓ banned for baby crimes DOES HTAT MEAN WHAT I THINK IT DOES closest to hell zaya qestir i swear on your lover boy’s life clarify for the peanut gallery local breadhead :0 reese is in pieces :O( i think            hm reese is in pieces :O( zaya did thancred just confess or did somethign else happen this says zaya [ superbolide: oh haha i must have forgotten to upload those to my lifestream] this says zaya [ superbolide: there are some songs i did save, but all the clips there were lyrics i thought of after chatting w/ you 😉] this says zaya [ superbolide: i could make an EP dedicated to you w/ the inspo you gave me] this says zaya [ superbolide: that is, if you don’t mind] Hanami Hagane I told you he was obvious. closest to hell SATINA YOU OWE ME GUMMIES FROM SHOOTING STAR I CALLED IT closest to hell IT WAS OBVIOUS THE MUSIC HES MAKING WAS BC OF THEM local breadhead oh bless… that’s v sweet… banned for baby crimes HBHBHHB NOOO MY HARD EARNED GIL,,, banned for baby crimes BUT WE ALL WERE RIGHT ABOUT HIM THO reese is in pieces :O( awwwauaua!! banned for baby crimes so banned for baby crimes zaya banned for baby crimes when’s the wedding this says zaya 😡😡😡 closest to hell me🤝sati “when’s the wedding” this says zaya 👆💀🏡 Hanami Hagane You two better start running. banned for baby crimes WAIT ZAYA NO-

[mainly-kpop]

A pirates life for me

Part fifteen

pairing: BtsXfemale reader Summary:  They just wanted ransom money for a princess, you just wanted to be free of palace walls. You are not what he wanted and he was nothing like you anticipated. Word count:2k Warnings: none to note, maybe some swears

It took Lucas three days to march to the palace. Through villages and towns, through markets and hoards of people. He trudged, fuelled only by his unfiltered rage. Arriving at the palace was most definitely easier than getting in however, standing in front of the gates, two guards on either side, he tried to get in.

‘Let me PAST! Do you even know who I am?!’ He sneered, the guards rolling their eyes as he huffed and barged.

‘You can’t enter without authorisation from the royal family, without that you have to leave.’ The guard punctuated almost every word with a shove, trying with all his might to be rid of this filthy peasant.

‘The advisor, does he still work here? Fuck what’s the lowlife’s name. ROBERT, is Robert still here.’ He tried to calm down, realising he wasn’t getting past them with the attitude he had right now. The guards looked at each other, trying to figure out what to do. Wordlessly, one turned to walk through the gates motioning for him to follow. He didn’t speak to the man, nor the man making any effort to speak to him. He didn’t mind, would rather let the rage burn inside of him than talk to someone useless. After all, this man was but a single guard, only able to throw him out or let him in. Without command from the royals, he couldn’t do him any harm. Finally, he reached a meeting room, only knowing due to the desk surrounded by books. He pulled one off the shelf, flipping the cover open, flicking through the pages. Books, how ridiculously mundane. He sighed, placing it back on the shelf, running his fingers over the desk. Some expensive looking things sat along the top of the expensive wood, he wondered if anyone would notice if he just-

‘I heard you were asking for me?’ Robert spoke, throwing the door open, motioning for the guard to stand outside. He nodded, closing the door for the advisor. Robert eyed the man in front of him, trying to figure out who he was. Clearly, he knew him, asking for him by name, but he wasn’t sure if he really knew the person before him.

‘So nice to see you after all this time.’ The man standing in front of Lucas had not changed at all. If anything, he had more grey hairs, tidier facial hair, he was older, rounder. Yet facially, he was the same bitter old man who threw him out that night. Truthfully, he would admit he wasn’t in love with you. It was infatuation, you being the only girl to ever look his way. He liked the idea of you, of being able to spoil someone, but any whore would do that for him. Any bitch would take whatever he offered for a pretty little bracelet. You were almost one of those, if this dickhead hadn’t showed up that night. At least; that’s what he continued to tell himself.

‘Do you not remember me? How upsetting.’ The man taunted, putting down the paperweight in his hand. He sat in the chair, swinging his legs up on the desk. Robert squinted, trying to place the man, still failing. Whoever he was, he smelled like the back of a donkey, looks not fairing too much better either.

‘I was the old stable boy. Lucas?’ He sneered, basically spitting at the man standing across the room at him. Robert finally caught on, still not actually sure where this was going, what the man wanted with him. He raised his eyebrow, laughing internally, externally natural.  He was almost proud of himself, chasing the boy away that night.

Lucas had potential to be a beautiful boy, to be warm and kind hearted. Had the potential for all of that, with you. Without you, he went down a lonely path, setting up a shop at a young age, he stole from near islands, little towns and grabbed a few things from the palace before he ran. He set up his shop a few islands over, staying far from you and the palace, not wanting anything to do with it. He became a slob, stopped trying to be perfect, stopped waiting for the right girl to come along, he stopped waiting for you. You should have run together, should have come to find you, should have hid. He didn’t need you, he always told himself. Always drilled into his head you were just a girl, just a stupid little girl. He almost believed it to, almost believed you were nothing to him. Until you appeared that day, he really hadn’t recognised you. Really growing into yourself, a confident and beautiful young woman. He was intimidated by you, not sure what you were doing in his little store. Then you showed him the bracelet, clearly not looking for a match. You were a distraction, a ploy. You were never there for him, even after you figured out who he was, you didn’t care.

‘Why are you here Lucas?’ He groaned, skimming through the books behind the desk, not worried about what the man wanted. You weren’t here anymore, and if that’s what Lucas wanted, he was out of luck. Well and truly.

‘Let me tell you of something that happened three days ago.’ He began, recounting the whole story.

‘Princess?’ A voice spoke after three consecutive knocks. She nodded for the maid to answer the door, letting the guard in. She smiled at him, urging him to continue.

‘Good afternoon your majesty, I apologise for interrupting you.’ He bowed, Amelia smiled, standing in front of him. He stood straight once more, not looking her in the eye.

‘What brings you here today?’ She questioned, giving him a moment to gather himself. He wasn’t one of the regular guards she dealt with, so she assumed he might be a little bit anxious.

‘A gentleman came to the gates today. He requested to see Advisor Robert instantly, we are not sure what he is after.’ He told her, the princesses eyes narrowing. Not at the guard, but more at the fact this man just demanded to see someone, yet no one knew what he wanted yet.

‘Where are they?’ She stoically replied, letting the maid pull her robe off her shoulders, slipping on a different dress. This seemed like formal business, not really something she could just run to in her pyjamas.

‘The small office your majesty, with the library.’ He replied, regardless of leading the way for her. He went to open the door for her but she put her hand up stopping him. She placed her ear to the door, trying to listen in to the conversation.

‘So, you want what from me?’ Robert replied, clearly bored out of his mind. Was he conducting a trade meeting without her? In an old library?

‘I want, you to pay me back for this. She fucking cracked me across the head!’ The other man yelled; she recognised the voice quickly. It was hard to not to recognise the voice that she heard for four hours every day. That was until he vanished.

‘This isn’t funny! Listen, I could have loved her but you chased me away. You did this to me and now you will pay for it!’ He yelled again, deciding enough was enough, she motioned for the guards to swing the doors open. This was her favourite part, she felt powerful, important. She was, but it was nice to have it made obvious sometimes. The second the doors swung open both men turned to look at her. Robert bowed instantly, Lucas on the other hand smirked over at her, looking her up and down. She scoffed at the man, crossing her hands over her chest, thank god you didn’t end up with this man.

‘Have some respect Lucas. Wont you bow to the future queen. Especially since you are trying to get something from us.’ She replied, looking the man up and down, slightly more judgingly than he had. The man scoffed, stepping towards Amelia, trying to be threatening, but she was not the little girl that would back down, she wasn’t what he remembered her to be. Where as before, if Lucas had yelled at her or told her off, she would cower, maybe even cry. He was her teacher after all, it made sense. Now however, he was nothing but a store owner, she was a princess.

‘That’s not the point. He threw me out on the streets because I loved his-‘

‘Stop speaking. Your voice is not something I’m remembering enjoying.’ She replied, waving a hand at the man, he seemed to get more infuriated, Robert trying his best to hide the laugh bubbling in his throat.

‘Princess!’ He yelled, frustration and anger fizzling over. She rolled her eyes, hushing him one more time.

‘Speak out of place one more time and I’ll have to locked away.’ She fumed, done with this insolent man who didn’t know his place.

‘With regards to us owing you, we are required to give you nothing. You do not belong to this island; therefore, this family has no obligation to help you. Also, with regards to how you became banished from this palace. It is none of my business, nor, quite frankly, do I care. However, it would have been for a good reason, I wish to hear no more from you. Please sir, do have a good day.’ She replied, clapping her hands, standing off to the side. Letting the guards escort the man out, he kicked and screamed, not happy with the decision.

‘I was chased out! This is preposterous!’ He kicked and screamed, she held her hand up one more time. The guards stopping and turning the man to face her.

‘You’re the one who ran. She loved you and you lost your chance. I don’t care the circumstances; a man stands his ground.’ She spat, looking down her nose at him. When the man was fully out of the way, Robert tried to explain himself.

‘I’m sorry princess, I wasn’t sure who it was so I assumed I could handle it.’ Robert spoke instantly, bowing once more. She requested him to stand, as she sat on the couch.

‘Sit with me Robert, we must chat about something.’ She spoke, patting the cushion beside her. He gulped, doing as he was told regardless.

‘She knows.’ The words fell from her lips before she had the chance to think them over. She could have phrased it better, but by the look on Robert’s face, he knew exactly what she meant. Even if he was going to try to pass it off.

‘What do you mean Princess?’ He questioned, voice wobbling slightly. Amelia rolled her eyes, almost tutting at the man.

‘You know what I mean Robert. Y/N knows you’re her father, you made it pretty obvious.’ He sat back on the couch, letting the information sink in. Amelia on the other hand, sat upright as usual, not letting herself relax for a second.

‘How long?’ He questioned, voice no more than a whisper, unable to make it reach any further. She thought back, realistically how long have you been gone? She wasn’t actually sure, not wanting to really put a time on it.

‘I can’t tell you an exact time. She knew for sure just before she was taken. If it’s any conciliation, she wasn’t mad, more upset you never told her sooner. Do with this information as you will, I just thought you aught to know.’ She clarified, standing to leave the room.

‘Princess?’ She turned to look at him, already half way out the door. ‘Thank you.’ She smiled kindly at him, bowing her head to leave him alone with his thoughts.

He didn’t need time to think though, the second he was sure you knew; he was certain he was leaving. Quickly he went to the nearest pub, finding the men he was looking for. Slamming his hands down on the table, he startled the group of men before him.

‘I need you to help me. Please.’

[mistbornthefinal]

Madoka Magica Anniversary Analysis: Part 3

The part where the fanbase lost their heads.

(spoilers for the show if for some reason you haven’t watched it in the 10 years since it came out.) 

We open in Kyousuke’s hospital room with Sayaka hiding just outside the door for a moment while she gathers her courage. Kyouske is happy to see her and her gift of CDs, offering to share the earbuds. It’s clear from her reaction to that Sayaka has a crush. It’s clear from Kyouske’s reaction that he is completely oblivious.

We get a flash of a much younger Kuouske performing before a concert hall while a young Sayaka watches. We cut back and Kyouske is looking away from the camera (and Sayaka) it doesn’t hid his tears. A shot of his bandaged hand tells us all we need to know. (Cue Connect)

After the opening ends we launch immediately into Mami conjuring her giant cannon, winking at the camera, and blowing away a hapless familiar. Sayaka complements Mami on her showmanship but she reminds her that what they are doing is dangerous. Madoka comments on the lack of Grief Seed.

Kyubey explains that since what Mami just destroyed was not a witch but rather a familiar that got separated from its’ master. Thus destroying it yielded no profit. Sayaka comments that it seem they’ve been fighting a lot of duds lately. (presumably off-screen) Mami asserts they can’t simply let lone familiars be as they can eventualy become witches themselves. (Quite neatly this gives us an origin for witches to throw us off from the origin of witches)

Mami asks the girls if they’ve settled on what they want to wish for, prompting Madoka to as what it was she wished for. Mami stops cold prompting Madoka to withdraw her question. But Mami is ready to share her orgin story regardless. Kuybey appeared before her in the aftermath of the car accident that killed her parents.

She didn’t have time to think and made a contract to save herself. (I have to point out how creepy Kyubey if framed in the scene with his shadow falling across Mami’s face) Mami says that she doesn’t regret it as the alternative was dying, but Madoka and Sayaka have a choice and time to mull things over so they ought to think carefully.

Sayaka asks if the wish has to be for themselves. Madoka immediately cottons to this being about Kyousuke despite Sayaka’s denial. Kyubey says of course someone else can be the target of your wish. Mami say she doesn’t like the prospect asking if Sayaka want that persons wish to come true of if she wants that person to be indebted to her. Sayaka is chastened (for the moment).

Mami reiterates that this an important decision that they shouldn’t rush into though as far as Kyubey is concerned the sooner the better. 

Back at her home Madoka is mulling over her options, stumped by what to wish for with Kyubey saying it’s against his rules to offer suggestions. Madoka floats the possibility of simply wishing to be a magical girl. Kyubey asks if what Madoka wants is power. Madoka initially waves the notion of but then reconsiders. In her view she’s weak and lacking in talent, the possibility of becoming someone like Mami would be enough for her happiness.

Kyubey reveals that in his estimate Madoka could be vastly stronger than Mami. While power varies depending on the wish Madoka has higher potential than anyone Kyubey has encountered before. Madoka demures and their conversation is interrupted by a knock on the door. 

Junko has come off badly from Japans terrible workplace culture and it’s mandatory after-work binge drinking. So Madoka is called upon by her dad to help her too bed. This prompts Madoka to ask her dad why Junko loves her job when working at that particular company was never her dream.

 Tomohisa says that it’s not so much the job itself that Junko loves, rather the chance to test her drive and find satisfaction in her accomplishments. It’s that drive that keeps her power through even when there are parts of her job she doesn’t like. Madoka is intrigued by the idea of a dream not being an single even but a way of living. 

Meanwhile Mami meets Homura in a deserted plaza. Homura opens on an aggressive note by chastising Mami for putting civilians in danger. Mami counters that those “innocent civilians” have been chosen by Kyubey. Homra cuts to the chase Mami is leading Madoka and Sayaka towards being Magical Girls, and that she objects to Madoka specifically becoming one. Mami draws the wrong if understandable conclusion that Homura is threatened by Madoka’s potential. Mami makes it clear that the next time the two of them meet it will be as enemies. 

The next day the hospital elevator opens on a disappointed Sayaka. She rejoins Madoka in the hospital waiting room. Kyousuke isn’t seeing visitors today it seems. On the way out of the hospital Madoka notices something, a Grief Seed. According to Kyubey it’s about to hatch. Unfortunately they don’t have Mami’s cell number so the decide to have Sayaka watch the Seed with Kyubey while Madoka goes to fetch Mami.

After Madoka leaves the Grief Seed pules one last time and the barrier goes up. The new labyrinth is a mix between a hospital and candyland but it’s denizens don’t seem to be hostile yet. Kyubey reminds Sayaka that were she to come up with a wish he could make her a Magical Girl right now. Sayaka defers for the time being. 

Madoka returns to the scene with Mami in tow and opens the door into the labyrinth. They gets a status update from Kyubey and Sayaka immediately, the witch remains dormant for the time being. Kyubey suggest to keep the magic to a minimum and walk to the center of the maze without provoking it’s occupant. 

After they enter it’s soon apparent that once again Homura was following, much to Mami’s displeasure. Homura say’s she will handle things this time. Mami says that Sayaka is in danger and that she is unwilling to trust Homura, then she cuts negotiations short by uses her ribbons to bind Homura. Homura protests that this Witch is particularly strong, but Mami doesn’t seem interested in hearing about it.

As the sneak through the labyrinth Madoka tells Mami that she has been thinking about her wish, what she desires more than anything else is to help people. To simply become a hero like Mami will be enough to satisfy her. Mami tells her once again that the life of a Magical girl is hard. She gets her often and has little time for love or friendship. Madoka says that she still wants to be like her, prompted Mami to finally lower her mask. 

“Nobody should become someone like me. I’m just acting cool, but I have no one to talk too when I’m scared or sad... I’m force to cry alone. Being a magical girl really isn’t that great.”

Tragically Madoka tells Mami the one thing she wanted to hear. She’s not alone anymore, she will fight alongside her. Mami tearfully takes her hands, but then on a lighter note says Madoka should still find something to wish for, putting to her a faux ultimatum. If she can’t think of something else by the time Mami has defeated the witch she’ll wish for an extravagant cake to celebrate them becoming a magical girl team.

Then the witch begins to awaken and it’s showtime. Buoyed by the prospect of someone by her side Mami makes quick work of the familiars. The Witch herself well..

She doesn’t cut the most imposing of figures. Mami smacks it’s doll-like form around a bit before calling forth the largest Tiro Finale yet. It’s not very effective as some kind of giant clown worm erupts from the dolls mouth and then

The ribbons binding Homura dissolve. In the process seeming to turn to blood. Homura is horrified, she know what just happened. Mami is gone. 

As Madoka and Sayaka look on in horror Charlotte devours the body. Kyubey seemingly frantic calls on them to make a contact to save themselves. 

“That wont be necessary” says Homura. While a Charlotte makes a valiant effort to chomp another magical girl all she gets is a mouth full of bomb. The explosions rip the Witch apart leaving behind her Grief Seed and a broken teacup full of blood. Homura tells Madoka (and Sayaka) to burn this moment into their mind, this is that fate of Magical Girls.

As Houmra picks up the Grief Seed Sayaka tells her it belongs to Mami, futile as such a statement is. Homura says that such things are only for magical girls. Madoka is in her grief unable to speak. Then Magia makes its’ debut as the series true ending theme.

Needless to say this episode blew everyone away and spawned a ton of memes when if first came out. Indeed Mami’s death still dominates the discourse around her character and the series to a lesser extent even 10 years later. 

But much like another prominent beheading victim it’s not like it was totally out of left field. While the marketing paints Mami as one protagonist out of a group of four in the show itself this isn’t really the case. Like papa Stark Mami takes the roles of a mentor to the other girls, and the mentor types have a tendency to bite it before their time. 

[slushrottweiler]

Main 6 when MC has a cold

Coz I'm sick and I want to be looked after

Asra

You being sick is actually his worst nightmare. So a little cough and a sniffle and he's in full on panic mode.

What if it's the plague again? No, the cured that, so it's something else. What if he brought back something from his travels and it made you sick? What if it's worse than the plague? How could he do this to you again!

It takes a bit of coaxing, but after you convince him it's just a cold, he does calm down

Enter Nurse Asra mode

Do you need anything? Are you too hot? Too cold? Do you want something to eat? Drink?

He makes herbal teas with soothing properties, until he finds the mix you like best

Faust curls up around your neck like a snakey scarf, trying to keep you warm. (Yes she is cold blooded, no it hasn't occurred to her that she isnt really helping)

Once you have everything you could possibly need, Asra will curl up in bed with you and read your favourite books aloud. His voice is as soothing as honey and soon your drifting off to sleep

He knows you wont kiss him on the lips, in case you pass on your cold. So he showers your cheeks and forehead with tender kisses. Faust snisses your chin.

Nadia

Has noticed you're coming down with something for a while now, and is prepared.

Once you start exhibiting symptoms, she calls in the royal physicians and immediately excuses you from any tasks you have scheduled.

No amount of whining will make her budge, so you begrudgingly allow her doctors to check you over.

When all the professionals have left, Nadia takes care of you personally.

Long, hot baths scented with eucalyptus oil to help your sinuses, round the clock honey tea and mild soups. She wants to keep you hydrated and warm

She will absolutely get into the bath with you. She will settle you in her lap and massage your temples, hoping to soothe any aches you might have.

When you're tucked into her bed, she will cradle your sore head against her chest and hum a Prakran lullaby to pull you to sleep.

No kisses until you're well. It's almost a tease and it drives you keep taking your medicine and rest. The sooner you're better, the sooner you can kiss your wife!

She won't admit it to anyone but you, but she actually finds your whiny sick persona quite cute, like a sulking puppy. If you call her one of when you're well, she blushes like crazy.

Julian

Dramatic boy is dramatic

Initially he's worried, but after a quick check he determines you just have a cold and that tempers his concern.

Activate doctor mode

He confines you to your bed, and proceeds to plough you with every cure for the common cold he knows.

You have had to talk him down from leeches once

"The medical shamans of Southern Nevivon grind the bark of this tree and mix it with molasses. It's supposed to help bring down a fever"

For the most part, his treatments are actually quite sane. A damn cloth on your forehead to cool you down, ice chips to keep you hydrated, warm, hearty broth and sweet tea to help your throat.

He will stand over you and make you take your medicine, arms crossed. You can distract him with a flirty smile and a pureed "Yes doctor."

He offers to help you use a neti pot, but you end up chucking pillows at him until he lets you do it yourself

As you start to heal, he becomes less stern and more playful in his caring. "One more spoonful and I'll give you a treat darling"

Knows he shouldn't, but he still gives you kisses anyway.

Usually ends up sick just after you, and is a much less co-operative patient.

Muriel

You are doing him a concern

He doesn't know what to do with his tiny human who is simultaneously demanding cuddles and telling him to leave them alone, he'll get sick too

After one last pitiful sniffle, Muriel has had enough.

He stormed over to you and simple scoops you off your feet, the dumps you onto his bed and begins piling furs on top of you

When you splitter and ask what he's doing, his only reply is a grunt and a curt "Stay."

He then disappears outside, leaving you trapped under the furs.

Eventually he returns with a bucket of fresh water and a fistful of herbs. Inanna trots in behind him

Muriel knows how to care for sick animals, so he proceeds to treat you the same way he would treat any other mammal.

Water, food and heat. He lets you chew some of the herbs he brought when you're in pain, or your fever gets too high.

He sends Inanna to snuggle with you, but that just results with two sets of puppy dog eyes asking for cuddles

Eventually he caves

He carries you everywhere. To the bathroom. Outside for some fresh air. Even to sit infront of the fire. When asked why, he blushes madly and says you need to rest.

At night, he will gently play with your hair as your drift off to sleep.

Can be bribed into kisses by saying "it'll help me get better."

Portia

This is a woman on a mission

"No way are you going anywhere, get back into that bed right now!"

She tends to give off mazelinka vibes. It's kinda terrifying.

Once you're bundled up in bed, she sets about efficiently treating your cold.

Herbal teas, cool water, nutritious meals and lots of rest. She picks up a balm from Asra to rub on your chest. She efficiently takes your temperature every few hours and alters her treatment to match.

No amount of sulking or pouting will deter her

"Oh dear God, you're worse than Ilya! Just sit down and shut it and let me take care of you!"

If you told her she was cute when she was forceful, she'd blush and flick you on the ear

No kisses on the lips,but she will rain kisses all over your face just to see you smile

Pepi is now your permanent companion. She curls up on the pillow beside you and snoozes.

She juggles her duties at the palace and taking care of you quite well

At night, she still crawls into bed with you and snuggles close, regardless of how clammy you are. If you tell her to stay away in case she gets sick, she just scoffs.

"A little cold isn't gonna keep me from the love of my life."

Lucio

Doesn't realise you're sick until you're groaning and coughing in bed one morning.

"Everyone Out! You, get me the physician. You, fetch the softest sleep robes we have. Everyone else get the hell out!"

Stands guard as the doctors look over you, leaning against the far wall and scowling every time you so much as whimper.

Under the bluster and bravado, he's terrified.

What if you're really sick

What if he did this to you. After all, he caused the plague.

He has various servants cater to your every need and desire. Fresh pillows, flavoured water, fresh squeezed juice. All the while he keeps his distance.

He's stays at the door, shaking at how small you look curled up on his bed.

With some prompting, eventually he'll  come over. He eventually caves and explains why he has been avoiding you

You snort, and call him a dumbass. Assuring him its just a cold, he pouts at you for teasing him, but is obviously relieved.

Will 100% crawl into bed with you and pull you close, gently running his metal hand through your hair

Said metal hand feels great on your feverish skin, so cool. Your not above draping over your forehead like a cold compress

Mercedes and Melichor try to jump onto the bed with you, but Lucio puts a stop to it

"No. No! Mummy/Bibi/Daddy/etc is not feeling well, you two lay off."

Stays with you for all further doctors checks, hugging you from behind with his arms wrapped around you

Nothing will stop this man from kissing you. Nothing at all.

[diamondnokouzai]

talking abt the visual novel characters under the cut <3

mayhart player character. red-haired human commoner, youngest child of her family, last child born of her mother before mother died and father remarried. shorter than average (5′2″ as female, 5′5″ as male) named mayhart because she was born on the fourth of may. wild & uncontrollable, bearing a rage that she herself doesn’t even understand. grew up a commoner alongside her childhood friend yerick. widely rumored in town to be a changeling- she doesn’t act the way a normal human should, never knowing when to leave well enough alone or how to calm down and settle for her lot in life (the number of times when she, accompanied with yerick, has been chased back to town by some beast she provoked in the woods is uncountable). was recently conscripted into the army and adopted by the duchess koballe after her latent magic appeared. one of very few people who can use offensive magic and not purely reconnaissance/traveling magic. finally has an outlet for her rage, and somewhat hates the things she does. wears standard military uniform but badly- doesnt entirely understand how all the straps & bindings work and will not learn :) as the player character, she can be male or female. as a male, his rage turns inward, and as a result he is less open with his own emotions and keeps all his feelings hidden within himself. openly contemptuous of the war, but far more polite than his female counterpart. neither version holds any respect for anyone who hurts the weak. neither can hold their liquor either. 21 in human years

demavieve eldest princess of the draconic realm- as such, the future sovereign. the draconic realm is the only country allied with perine in this war which makes several people very nervous (its like if the us allied with luxembourg in a war against belgium france germany & the uk excep the us was the only country with nukes). demavieve has a very strong sense of honor though so constrains herself to a human form along with swordplay. this is less dangerous than it seems because if demavieves human form dies then she just turns back into her draconic form. her human form also has red hair, but its far more tameable than mayhart’s. she wears it tied back in a ponytail in general. she wears a perine knight’s uniform with vestments from the draconic realm to signify that she is (a) a foreign-lent soldier and (b) a commander. her human form is muscular and about 6′6″. hot and well aware of it.arrogant but also very friendly about it- ‘you love me? haha, of course you are! you seem great too!’. kind of sees this whole thing as a game- dragons live a lot longer than humans, and something like this is just a blip on her radar. very low empathy until someone she cares about is hurt at which point everything goes out the window (and she cares about pretty much all the perine soldiers- not in a very respectful way, but she loves them all and she goes apeshit sometimes). very friendly with serenina. can absolutely hold her liquor. only romanceable as f!mayhart. 23 in human years, ~150 in real time.

serenina the only princess of the former emperor and empress. i spoke about her in more detail in another post so this is gonna mostly be glossed over. wears her hair in afropuffs cause she does her own hair and shes proud of it. temporal (reconnaissance) magic. desperate to please. legally only friends with demavieve, although also friendly with yerick. about 5′0″ although she desperately wants to grow taller (unlikely). her eyes look like theyre black but if you look closely (which she probably wont let you do) theyre actually purple/indigo. is completely out of touch with the rest of the world because shes a princess but she is also very sincere and tries her best to be helpful when she can. very expressionless and sensible. not very well-liked as the former princess of the warmongering emperor and empress. actually very touch starved. does not wear standard military uniform outside of mage’s robes, which she wears over tea dresses (which is another reason some soldiers dislike her) is kept away from alcohol as much as grayson can and as such will get drunk off half a cup of wine. sleepy drunk. 18 in human years.

grayson the bastard son of the former emperor, sereninas older half-brother. grew up as a commoner in the same area as serenina & yerick until he was brought into the royal castle at age 9. fiercely protective of serenina. faux affable- you know the ‘expressionless smile’ princes from otome games/manga always have? thats graysons face pretty much always. legally not eligible to the crown (due to some religious issues with committing patricide & stepmatricide) but like. like hes already doing everything? yk how it is. highest commander of his troops attempting to broker peace with the other countries perine was at war with (most noticeably alloue, nawolem, & farik in order to attack caledonia, which was the puppeteer behind the former reign) but is not above underhanded methods/tactics including attacking noncombatant targets (they dont even have geneva). very intelligent & very calculating- consistently calculates highest reward/lowest risk maneuvers and has them executed flawlessly. his own cunning scares him on occasion, but he mostly locks that away- theres no time for those kinds of feelings in war. a foil to f!mayhart- she is wild, he is restrained; she shows her true feelings regardless, he always acts at a happy neutral; mayhart confronts her uncomfortable feelings, grayson hides them from everyone. about 5′11″, has long dreads that he keeps tied back. dressed in perfect military regalia, including commander’s cape & military crown (basically just a circlet). also cant hold his liquor- hes nearly as bad as serenina. 25 in human years.

izyn the son of count dau claire, the only noble house in perine that has been loyal to grayson since before the deaths of the former emperor and empress. very quiet because he has social anxiety. completely brainless. very friendly but his height (6′4″) and imposing aura (he gets nervous) means that the only people who can easily communicate with him are yerick and grayson. black hair, cropped short, and green eyes. skilled swordsman, mid-commander. will get trapped in an unwinnable situation which yerick needs to save him from. wears his military uniform right but...........not really? he wears the base uniform right but always forgets his commander’s cape. has a dedicated fanbase that came about when he did his training shirtless. literally doesnt think that any of his problems are that deep (honestly doesnt think anything is that deep). suffice to say, theres a reason why count dau claire never shows up and doesnt seem to be involved in any of the decision making of the count’s matters. very protective of yerick (younger brother). is the most visibly affected by the war- as the one who is usually in the center of the violence and doesnt have a survival cheat like demavieve, he has pretty bad ptsd which coupled with his anxiety issues make him a hot mess. his hobbies include hiding in dark rooms that have been reinforced to the point where literally only yerick can get in. despite his size he gets drunk very easily- not as bad as grayson & serenina, but 1-2 mugs of beer puts him out. 26 in human years. only romanceable as m!mayhart

yerick adopted son of count dau clarie. childhood friend of mayhart. born an orphan, an old woman took care of him til he was 4 and she died. stuck around mayharts town cause their family would give him food whenever he stopped by. still ended up fairly malnourished. small but vicious- hes screamed at mayhart lots of times for the stupid shit they would get him into and is not afraid to smack some sense into them. however he is not a good fighter because hes physically very weak- most of his energy in developing went to his magical capabilities, which came to fruition when he was 6. about a year after that (with a great deal more shunning from the townsfolk besides mayhart), he was adopted by count dau claire. was sealed with a subordination seal (used in order to ensure compliance with reasonable requests as long as a reasonable argument is made) for a year to ensure that he wouldnt run away. izyn liked him right away, but it took about 18 months for yerick to not be completely vicious whenever he was approached. as of the modern day of the vn, yerick is as protective over izyn as izyn is him- yerick has seen some of the worst of the world, and in his opinion izyn has not (this is despite the fact that izyn helped overthrow the royal family at age 15 but in fairness to him izyn told yerick none of this) so he wants to make sure his big brother stays happy. yerick holds absolutely no loyalty towards count dau claire or even to grayson- he is loyal to his own needs first, with a decent second being izyn and an even further distant third being mayhart & their family. very prickly & well acquainted with the fact that most people are inherently selfish and would turn away from an orphan on the streets. abandonment issues. his spatial magic is mostly used on rescue ops (mostly mostly getting izyn out of situations where hes surrounded by enemy soldiers but this extends to other perine soldiers). wears his uniform properly, including mage’s robes & commander’s cape over the standard perine uniform. hates to ever appear weak ever, so when he has to go to the medical tent izyn has to either force him there or pretend to be tsundere and throw bandages at him. izyn desperately wants to dote on him but that is one of yericks Hard Boundaries. theres like ONE time when yerick falls asleep because of arcane overexertion and izyn piggybacks him back to camp and yerick acts like its the most shameful secret in the world. foil to m!mayhart- very open with his anger & feelings and shows when he is angry and accepts that part of himself, open with his loyalties and doesnt give a fuck about it, doesnt like the war but does respect it. despite his size, it takes easily 3 barrels of alcohol to even get him tipsy, izyns lack of alcohol tolerance pisses him off cause he has to walk him back to his tent. 5′4″ and wants to grow taller but has accepted his fate. 19 in human years.

eliya legally not a combatant. former princess of caledonia, was discovered at 12 to hold the power of the divine will and so was sent away from her mother and father (who she perceived as loving) to be raised within the church as a holy sacrifice (those who hold the power of the divine will release a huge psychic shockwave when theyre killed, so she was basically raised to be a holy tyke bomb). has a lot of religious obsession, prays 3x a day and has been brainwashed into believing in the power of holy judgement- essentially, her church handler (aka the deacon of the church where she was raised) has raised her to believe that if she commits a sin she’ll be killed so she has a LOT of anxiety over doing the right thing.at the same time shes been brainwashed into believing that doing anything in the service of the throne of caledonia is morally & theologically correct. shes also had occasional contact with her parents (like a yearly dinner or smth) and so still has a lot of loyalty to them due to how they manipulated her and her relationship with her little siblings (7 yrs younger x 2, 2 yrs younger, 13 yrs younger). completely devoted to her church, would gladly martyr herself for them (however this wouldnt trigger the shockwave needed by the army). is loyal to her parents, the deacon, and then the church. is captured by the perine army after a raid on a noncombatant area and spends a lot of time figuring herself out. foil to serenina (esp in terms of loyalty & parents/siblings, emotions (eliya has a lot of them and shows them, serenina is the opposite), their royal treatment, their relationship with trust (serenina doesnt, eliya does and worringly easily). long golden hair, light blue eyes. wears neither a military uniform nor a priests’ uniform, instead wears a one-piece white ‘dress’ (really more a tunic/oversized shirt) & is barefoot. desperate for attention, praise, love, etc. widely disliked due to her POW status but she really thinks shes making all these friends. has quite literally not been able to make her own choices since she was 12 years old. above average alcohol tolerance but nowhere near yerick. 19 in human years.

[rose-ellis]

They Will Rise Again

I think I may start posting some of my writing on Tumblr. Here is a little piece (~1500 words) that I wrote for a fiction workshop last fall. I sort of had a gender neutral Crowley and fem Aziraphale in mind when I wrote this, but the general story itself has nothing to do with Good Omens. I didn’t have a solid idea when I started it so I kind of just put down whatever came to mind, but I actually like how it turned out.

I love getting feedback, so let me know what you think!

Title: They Will Rise Again

Type: Angst/Fluff? (I honestly have no idea)

Warnings: None

Word count: 1480

~~~~~

     There are several things that one can do in the English countryside that the streets of London simply do not allow. Breathing, for example – rather important, that one. Another is sitting in near-complete silence in the middle of the day.

     A young woman of some twenty years sat alone in a small cottage in the north of Oxfordshire, taking advantage of both of those simple pleasures. The town in which she resided is not important; very few apart from the locals would recognise the name. Surrounded by sprawling fields of wheat and corn, it was the sort of place that was easily passed through without sparing it a glance, and so unremarkable that those who did take note usually forgot about it soon after leaving the town limits.

     This meant that apart from the cattle and chickens belonging to the family next door, and the occasional yelling from Mrs. Simmons across the way when she forgot to turn on her hearing aids, there was very little outside the cottage to disturb the peaceful quiet that usually settled over the property.

     This was not to suggest that there was never trouble in the village. Those who move from the city to the country should not be (yet invariably are) surprised to learn that people, regardless of where they live, are human. And quite often, humans are assholes.

     That morning, however, had passed with no apparent trouble as far as the young woman was aware. The sun had risen as it is wont to do, and the birds that had nested in the eaves (despite many efforts to relocate them) had sung their tune to their hearts’ content. Breakfast had been made and eaten, and the woman now lounged in the kitchen, where the only sounds to be heard were the rumbling of the electric kettle and the rustling of paper as she flipped through the weekly news.

     It had become a Saturday ritual – get up late, read the paper, drink tea, stay inside, and pray that no visitors came. So far, everything had gone to plan. She was still dressed in her pyjamas from the night before with no intention to change out of them. Tight, frizzy curls protruded every which way from where her dark hair was piled messily atop her head.

     She hummed to herself as an article caught her attention. The legs of her round-framed glasses were just slightly too long, causing the specs to slowly slip down the arch of her pointed nose. Every few moments she would nudge them back into place, her eyes never pausing as they roamed across the pages. She was so engrossed in the words that she hardly noticed the way that her lips moved silently as she read – a habit that she adamantly denied having, even after catching herself on more than one occasion. She sighed in content.

     The peaceful atmosphere was suddenly broken a moment later when the outside door was violently flung open. It swung back on its hinges until it collided with the wall, banging loudly upon impact. Another dent was added to the ever-growing collection left behind by the doorknob. The young woman had given up trying to fix them long ago, knowing that more would appear soon after.

     Just inside the door there stood a rather striking individual. They were tall – so much so that they had needed to stoop to enter the cottage. Their slender figure, clad in all black, only emphasized this further. A deadly looking scowl hung on their lips and they muttered complaints and vague threats under their breath.

     It was hardly the first time that the figure had burst in, impassioned by some unknown source. So regular an occurrence was this that the young woman did not even flinch at the noise. Her eyes never strayed from the print before her, nor did she acknowledge the slew of words that would have made poor old Mrs. Simmons want to turn off her hearing aids for good. She simply turned the page of her newspaper, continuing to read the article on the other side as she waited for the explanation that would inevitably come.

     Despite their sudden appearance and apparent eagerness, they took their time to close the door and saunter over to the table. There was such a swing to their gait that it led most to believe that they had either been seriously injured or had become well acquainted with the contents of the liquor cabinet. Both were incorrect, but only one person had ever been brave enough to ask.

     The woman rose from her seat as the kettle shut itself off, intending to fix herself some tea. Instinctively, she reached into the cupboard to retrieve a second cup. Her companion slipped by her on their way to the table, dropped the post from the box on the counter, then dramatically threw themselves down onto a chair.

     “If I ever get my hands on those bastards, I’ll tear their heads clean off their bodies,” they seethed, white-knuckled as they slammed their fists onto the wooden surface. Their dark eyes blazed with untamed rage.

     “That’s called murder, dear,” the woman reminded them patiently, pouring hot water into the pair cups. “Quite frowned upon, I’m afraid. Tea?”

     Her partner grumbled in response and a moment later, a dainty porcelain cup and saucer were placed before them on the table. Their long, boney fingers tried clumsily to pick it up by the small handle, nearly spilling it in the process. Upon successfully lifting it to their lips, they found that the correct amount of sugar (two heaping spoons) and a splash of milk – not one drop more – had been added.

     “You think they cared about it being bloody frowned upon?” They shook their head. “Murderers – beasts, the lot of them. Didn’t even hesitate, ripping them apart and throwing their heads in the mud.”

     As she settled back into her seat, the woman’s gaze wandered to the nearby vase. In seconds, realization dawned over her. “I understand that you’re upset, darling, but don’t you think you’re being tad bit dramatic? It’s probably just the children, after all.”

     Her companion narrowed their eyes at the accusation. “That’s hardly an excuse – they’re hellions, I tell you! Savages!” Impassioned, their hand came down onto the table once more, their cup roughly clanking onto its saucer.

     “You’ve gotten yourself all in a tizz. Now, calm down and finish your tea.” When they tried to protest, the woman pointed a stern finger in their direction. “And if you break one more of my teacups, those ‘hellions’ will be the least of your worries.”

     “Yes dear.” The cup was gingerly returned to its saucer.

     Unbeknownst to them, their conversation had not been private. A delivery man, new to the job, had chosen a rather unfortunate time to drop off a package. He stood outside their door, slack jawed as he tried to process what he had heard. As far as he could tell, there had been multiple murders in the town – committed by children, no less – and someone inside the cottage was more concerned about their teacup than the fact that people’s heads had been ripped off and thrown in the mud.

     He quickly retreated to his lorry, his eyes darting mistrustfully to the two young boys who skated past on the opposite side of the laneway. The package was still clutched in his hands. Some other unlucky sod could be the one to deliver it.

     The couple inside the cottage was unaware of the vehicle as it sped away. They sat in silence as they continued to sip their tea. The woman observed as the tension slowly retreated from her companion’s shoulders, leaving them to sag dejectedly. A pout had replaced the scowl on their lips, and sorrow had drowned out the last embers of rage that had burned in their eyes.

     Reaching across the table, she rested her hand atop her partner’s, holding it carefully as she caressed it with her thumb. “I know you loved them, darling,” she said, “I did too.”

     “It’s not just that.” They slouched forward to rest their chin on their crossed arms.

     “Then what is it?”

     “They were for you,” her lover replied, a sad smile passing over their face. “And those little bastards just threw them aside like they were nothing.”

     “Are they still out there?” She received a curious nod in reply. “Then we shall lay them to rest.”

     That Saturday, they left their cottage, hand in hand, to approach their flower garden. Dozens of sunflowers had been uprooted, their stems torn to pieces and their heads discarded in the mud along the side of the lane. Tenderly, they cleaned up the site of the massacre, evened out the soil, and buried the dead. Soon enough, they would rise again.