#while five was FULLY AWARE he was the one meant to kill him

[highlyincorrect]

Viktor: Let’s play two truths and a lie!

Klaus: Cool! Fivey, you go first!

Five: Fine… I like peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches, I nearly assasinated JFK and my eyes are blue

Viktor: C’mon, that’s way too easy-

Klaus: His eyes are green

Viktor:

Diego, combusting: EXCUSE ME-?!

[1d1195]

Neighbors IV

What's this?! A timely update?!

Read the other parts here: Part I Part II and Part III

I could be persuaded into one more part if needed. I'll make a series post for this tomorrow probably as well so it's easier to find.

🐱 I hope you enjoy once more.

Disclaimer: EVERYTHING I know about being a doctor comes from WebMD and TV. I'm fully aware this is outlandish. But it's for the plot ya know?

She looked like she was going to collapse. Harry took that moment to stand closer to her. The back of his hand touched hers. She leaned towards him almost instinctively. He took this as his signal to press her against his body. He wasn’t going to let her down. He would never let her collapse.

There was no other way to explain it and Harry had searched his brain over and over to get to the bottom of his emotions. He wanted it to be anything but what he was feeling. But there was no other word. Harry was mad. He wanted to see her. He missed her dearly. Missed Rory just as much, too. But he knew it wasn’t his business or duty to be part of the decision. He had no say in the matter. He could only love her as much as she’d let him.

And he did love her. He never thought he didn’t or couldn’t. She was an incredible mother and her gentleness, kindness, and sweetness on top of her beauty was so much for Harry. He was lucky to get to know her over these two years. While he was mournfully upset over not being around her, he did understand why she pushed away like this.

Of course, he understood.

He still hated it.

So Harry went about his day as if she and Rory weren’t part of his life any longer and it killed him but he would do anything to make her happy. Even if it meant he couldn’t see her anymore.

*

She was about to lose her mind.

Rory hadn’t seemed like himself in days. Based on the spots on the back of his throat she assumed it was strep. But she took him to the doctor, got the antibiotic and moved on. When he didn’t get better after the five-day course of antibiotics, they sent him home again with another five days’ worth of treatment.

But it was now day seven pushing on day eight. Rory wasn’t getting any better. Rory was tired all the time. He was quiet. So quiet it scared her enough that she was watching him sleep rather than sleeping herself. He was clearly in pain, and she couldn’t take it anymore.

Topped with not being around her best friend that was literally and figuratively a stone’s throw away. Her brain was all but fried.

After the first bout of non-working medication, she began researching. It was a horrible idea, but it was the only thing she could do. She wasn’t a medical professional. All she knew was from TV shows and she knew that they only did rare diseases to make the show fun and exciting.

This was not fun nor exciting.

Her heart was aching for Rory. It was one of the only times she ever wished she had someone to lean on when she felt so broken. She knew if she called Harry he would come running over and he would help with whatever she asked. It seemed so unfair to ask him for help. She had done it all on her own until Harry arrived in the neighborhood.

But would it be so bad to ask Harry for help? He was perfect in every way and obviously adored Rory. She had no doubt Rory would be a priority in Harry’s life too. If he wanted it, who was she to deny him of it?

“Mumma, I don’t feel good,” Rory mumbled. It broke her thoughts of Harry. She wished they didn’t because she was about to plan an apology that Harry deserved and she prayed he would accept. If he didn’t, she would understand. Only an idiot would let someone like Harry slip out of their life and she was the front runner for the village idiot.

But when she looked at Rory her heart broke again. He coughed once more shaking his little body, and she had enough. “Okay, baby we’re going to go to the doctor’s again,” she murmured scooping him into her arms. He was getting bigger and that also broke her heart. It wasn’t the time, but it was all she could think about. But he was sick and still so little. Stuffing her feet into the sneakers that were at the door not letting Rory out of her arms for a moment, she then wrapped his coat and a blanket around him because it was naturally raining and raining hard. Scurrying to her car she settled him into the back on his car seat. He coughed again, right in her neck, and groaned. “I know, baby, I know,” she sighed.

Getting into the front seat she turned the key.

Click.

Surely this was a dream. “No, no, no,” she said smacking the steering wheel. “Please, please, please,” she begged.

Click.

“Goddammit!” She hissed under her breath smacking the wheel.

“Mumma?” Rory whined.

“Yes, baby?”

“My tummy hurts,” he said.

“I know, Rory, I’m sorry. I’m...” she felt tears of frustration start behind her eyes and she thought about just running with Rory in her arms all the way to the hospital. But she did have one other option. Before she could process her own idea, her phone was pressed to her ear, she called Harry. Her heart was racing. He didn’t answer.

“Fuck,” she croaked again. It was late of course he wouldn’t hear it. Normally, Rory would giggle out that was a bad word, but he just stayed silent, turning red, hot, and more sick by the second. “C’mon,” she said quickly and retrieved him from the backseat. She hurried across the street and started banging on the door.

Harry startled awake to the sound of his phone vibrating incessantly; nearly falling off on his nightstand paired with an incessant banging that he couldn’t fully understand where it was coming from because his brain was still sleeping. He couldn’t even make out the name on his screen because his brain was still fuzzy, and his heart was slowly working up to regular speed. He felt shocked as he answered tiredly. His brain only worked at the quarter of his normal speed. He cleared his throat, eyes still closed. “’Lo?”

“Harry, please come open the door. Please, please, please,” he had never heard anyone sound so desperate and terrified in his whole life. His eyes opened as if they were spring loaded. He was sure he looked like a horror film. But now his heart was racing further.

“Yeah, yeah, love. Hold on,” trying to shake the sleep from his brain. The distress in her voice made him want to fly down the stairs and he nearly yanked the door off the hinges. He only had seconds to make sense of what was happening but all he could think about was someone hurting her or Rory and how he would do anything to make sure they were both safe. The last few weeks meant nothing. There wasn’t time to qualm about it.

She was clutching Rory to her body; her face was in absolute anguish and Harry was in awe that she could even stand with the weight of whatever she was carrying mentally in addition to Rory. Harry was flicking his eyes back from her to Rory. His chest ached almost as much as hers at the sight of Rory: pale, cheeks pink, and covered in spots. “Something’s wrong with Rory, my car won’t start. Can you drive us to the hospital?” She rushed out her eyes so pleading Harry could have cried.

“Shit. Yeah, yeah, of course.”

Harry grabbed a pair of shoes and coat by the door. Didn’t even put them on and ushered the pair of them to his car in the soaking rain. She slid into the back with Rory cradled in her arms. Harry was terrified. “Mumma, it hurts,” Rory mumbled. His quiet voice, nearly devoid of emotion, made Harry weak, and he pressed his foot further onto the gas pedal wishing it wasn’t raining so he could speed the way he wanted to all the way to the hospital.

“I know baby, I know,” she whispered soothingly.

Harry struggled to put his shoes and coat on as they ran inside to the emergency room. He knew they must have looked insane. She felt insane as she told them he was sick and all the things she had done since the onset of him feeling unwell. They eyed her suspiciously and then her son but of course took the boy and ushered her and Harry to the waiting room.

They ran more tests and while they did, she began pacing, staring at her phone, tapping on the screen as she searched and scoured the internet for something that could help. “Love, I know you want to help, but googling won’t do anything but make you worry.”

“Harry, something is wrong with him,” she said as if he didn’t know why they were there. She could feel the anger projecting onto Harry and she hated it—it wasn’t Harry’s fault she was mad and scared.

But of course, Harry was perfect and didn’t mind her anger was geared toward him in the moment. “I know, love, I know,” he said almost defensively. Harry was also scraping his mind for ideas of what could have happened to the poor boy. His leg bouncing rapidly in anxiousness. “I jus’ don’t want you t’worry unless there is something t’worry about,” he promised.

She sighed out an apologetic breath in his direction and kept her nose glued to her phone continuing her search.

Fortunately, the medical professionals returned shortly thereafter; her phone slid into her pocket and she stood up anxiously but hopeful. She looked at them expectantly awaiting a cure-all for her poor little boy. Somehow she missed it; probably the lack of sleep making her less aware than normal...but Harry could see it in their eyes. They were going to break her heart. “It’s just strep, ma’am.”

She shook her head, her face crumpling in pain that existed in someone else’s body. “No,” Harry could see the torment coursing in her own body. She looked like she was going to collapse. Harry took that moment to stand closer to her. The back of his hand touched hers. She leaned towards him almost instinctively. He took this as his signal to press her against his body. He wasn’t going to let her down. He would never let her collapse. His own heart was racing in fear that the poor little kid was sick as hell. Harry had never seen a child so run down. He felt bad for his mum in that moment—all those times he didn’t feel well, and she had to go through feeling like this. Rory was obviously not his own, but he was prepared to donate every last drop of his blood to the sweet kid if it meant he would feel better and be cured.

“I know when your baby is sick—” The doctor began.

She pressed her fingers to her temples shaking her head, rapidly.

“No, no, no... you don’t know. You don’t understand. This is not me being a crazy mom. I know I sound like a crazy mom. This isn’t that. I know my baby. Something is wrong with him. There is something wrong with him and I’m not leaving until something is done!” She was all but shouting and Harry put a hand on her back.  She started to march over to the waiting area again, she began pacing once more. Harry felt helpless looking at her from where the healthcare stood back to her. They discreetly called for a psychologist while continued Googling her little heart out. Harry felt his head snap defensively at their words as a woman picked up a phone at the desk. Harry would not let them talk about her when she was merely feet away.

“Excuse me,” he murmured at the counter blocking their view of her, but more importantly, her view of them.

“Sir,” the nurse behind the desk started; phone to hear ear.

Harry shook his head, not moving his gaze from her eyes. “I know you’re calling for a psychologist,” he said quietly avoiding raising the tone of his voice at all so she couldn’t hear. They faltered for a moment. He could see their surprised look; how could Harry possibly know that? He narrowed his eyes at the woman on the phone as the voice at the other end began to speak. He pulled his ID that resided in his coat pocket for home visits; he was lucky he didn’t take it out. They looked over his credentials and then back to Harry. “She doesn’t need that,” he shook his head stating it firmly.

She glanced over at Harry at the counter curious what they could be talking about. “Harry?”

“Just a moment, love,” he said to her not moving his gaze from the woman waiting to speak into the receiver.

“Mr. Styles, surely you understand that from lack of sleep and—” The doctor began.

Harry shook his head. “She is fine,” he repeated. “You need to fix her son.”

Harry knew they still didn’t believe him. She was soaking wet and wearing two different sneakers from leaving in such a hurry. They looked at Harry pleadingly, as if he would suddenly change his mind because they were both medical professionals. He denied their silent pleas. He refused to aid them in ignoring her maternal instinct. He knew she wasn’t crazy. Crazy people didn’t wake up their neighbors they were no longer speaking to in the middle of the night. Harry knew she wished it was strep. Strep would be getting better and she would be calmer.

“Harry?” She asked again coming over to the counter. The doctor took his chance once more as the nurse hung up the phone.

“Ma’am...it’s—”

“I swear to God, if you say it’s strep, one more time, I will respectfully throw your tablet,” that wasn’t helping Harry’s sanity case, but it wasn’t uncalled for in his eyes. “If it was strep, I would have it by now! That kid threw up, coughed on, and drooled all over me. It’s not strep! He’s not responding to the antibiotic.”

There was a second doctor that overheard her rising tone and joined in the little circle of trying to maintain calmness. “Ma’am, we’ve run every test.”

“Run them again. It’s not strep!”

“Ma’am, we can’t just—"

“Love,” Harry whispered under his breath trying to keep her level. He believed her of course, but he didn’t want her to get tossed aside because she was scared. The arguing was reaching near hysterics. It was getting past midnight and she was not crazy, but she was close to losing her mind. Harry couldn’t keep her calmer much longer even if he wanted to—he wanted Rory to be tested again just as much as she did. She started pacing again as she scans her phone.

They list through the symptoms and options of what is wrong with him. She kept repeating ‘no’ like a mantra as she read on her phone. Yes, all of the symptoms sounded like strep. Maybe it was tonsilitis, they could send her home with yet another antibiotic. They looked at Harry again pleadingly, but his eyes didn’t stray from her. He was getting increasingly worried about her; he wanted her to be okay just as much as he wanted Rory to be alright.

“Kawasaki disease,” she said suddenly. Holding her phone out to them as proof.

“He doesn’t have the strawberry tongue or any other earmarks—”

Phone back to her face and she slid the screen further. Her eyes were desperate, tears forming in the corners. The doctors clearly wanted to throw away her phone as much as she wanted to throw away their tablet.

“Rocky mountain spotted fever. We went for a beach walk in the dunes over a week ago,” she said and looked at them pleadingly. It was one of the illnesses listed it was nearly impossible. But this was impossible, and she was exhausted. And she had to try.

The doctor shook his head moving her phone screen up a bit as he read. “They’re not in these parts and he would have blackened crusted skin around a bite.”

Desperate once more, she marched into his little cubicle around the corner. The nurse standing by moved out of the way quickly as she yanked the sticker monitors off his skin, pulled the finger monitor off, untied the little gown off his body. Alarms beeped behind her as her eyes started scanning his body. How could she have missed a bite? How could she not have checked for tick bites? This was all her fault. Every second of it.

“Fuck,” she whimpered as she continued scanning, she didn’t see anything on him, and with each scan of his skin she felt more and more hopeless. Surely, she would be sedated in a matter of moments if she didn’t find something—she was certain that was the protocol, and she couldn’t help but start to think they were right through all her exhaustion. Tears were clouding her eyes and she could hardly see his skin through her blurred vision. “Harry, help me,” she begged, her voice cracking violently.

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed Rory beneath his arms, holding his sick little body up while she examined more of his skin. Harry let her. He would do anything to help her. He saw the panic on her face. He knew she didn’t want to be right, but she knew it was the only thing that was going to keep Rory from being sent home without treatment and without her being admitted to a psych ward.

“Ma’am,” they started. “We already looked over his whole body and we didn’t find anything...we can prescribe a different antibiotic if the treatment continues to be ineff—”

She was still scanning, ignoring the words that were coming from the medical professionals. Harry felt helpless. Totally helpless as he held his limp, tired little body. She maneuvered his limbs every which way. Please find something. He silently begged.

Finally, she lifted his hair up and started searching along his scalp. She gasped, covered her mouth, as tears dropped down her cheeks. “Like this?” She croaked. The doctor stepped over, and examined the black, scaly spot silently.

There was a moment of nothing but hospital beeps and quiet breathing. She waited expectantly, her eyes moving from Rory’s scalp, then to the doctor, to Harry holding Rory’s tired little body.

“We need more scans,” and then suddenly, finally, there was a call of a series of actions, and once more they whisked the little boy away on a gurney and moved swiftly down the hall.

“We’ll be right back,” the older female nurse promised. She was the one standing by when they entered Rory’s cubicle. Harry noted, now that the excitement is over, that she was the only person who wasn’t staring at the sweet girl as if she was insane. “You did great, Mom,” she praised, squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Good catch. He’ll be fine,” her smile was so kind it melted the anxious girl.

She paced the floor a few times as she started to cry harder again, hand over her heart and her breathing was so uneven, Harry actually worried she was having a cardiac episode. “Harry,” she croaked eventually. Harry pulled her to his body. His chin on top of her head. She shook with cries and Harry gently rocked her. Kissed the top of her head.

“S’okay. S’okay,” he promised rubbing her back. “You did it, love. You figured it out.”

“M’sorry. M’so sorry I cut you out and that was so stupid and you didn’t have to be so nice and take us here and watch me be insane—"

“No, beautiful. S’okay. Don’t worry about that, you’re forgiven, of course. Completely. S’okay,” he promised squeezing her as close as he could trying to keep her together when she was falling apart.

They were silent. Harry held her close to his chest, combed her hair down not moving except for a gentle sway of their bodies in the middle of the hospital hallway. Harry let her cry and he held her as tightly as he could. He hated why he was holding her, the idea of something happening to Rory made him want to kill someone, himself. But he was so grateful to hold her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Styles?”

“Oh, um...no—” Harry started feeling his face warm as he turned to the doctors to correct them. His hand stayed protectively on her lower back, and she leaned against him once more as if she would fall without Harry behind her. With one hand she wiped her eyes and then with the other grabbed Harry’s free hand as tightly as possible. Anchoring herself.

“How is Rory?” she asked, didn’t even bother to correct them at all. The moment wasn’t lost on Harry, but it did move to the back of his mind because Rory was of course more pressing.

“He’s going to be fine. He’s already responding to treatment.”

Harry felt the air fall from her body as if she released the weight of the world off her back. “Can we see him?”

We. Harry melted more.

“Of course,” he gestured to the room.

She hurried from Harry’s side, pulling his hand with her. “Hey Rory, love bug,” she cooed, cupping his face, and rubbing her thumb over his round little cheek.

“Mommy?” He asked wearily.

“Hi baby, how are you feeling now?”

“Hungry,” he sounded sleepy.

She giggled with a teary smile. “Yeah? Let’s get you some food...did you see Harry is here?”

“Hi, Rory,” Harry waved with a grin. “Feeling better?” Rory blearily looked at Harry for a few moments. He didn’t say anything to Harry and for a second, Harry selfishly worried it was too late. That time apart from him, despite all his best efforts to assure Rory he would always be there, was too much for his little heart. Harry betrayed his trust, and it wouldn’t be the same.

“Mommy?” He finally turned his gaze from Harry. It made his stomach churn fearing the rejection of a five- year-old—the only one that mattered. If there was no Rory, there would be no her.

“Yes, my love?” Her eyebrows pinched together because she had never seen Rory act so weird toward Harry. Even when she was doing everything in her power to keep him away. It made her stomach flutter with nervousness as well...unaware that Harry felt the same way.

“Can we be friends with Harry again?” He asked looking back at Harry nervously.

The smile nearly broke Harry’s face in half. He chuckled quietly while she also sighed with relieved giggles. Nodding, she squeezed Rory’s hand. “Yes, baby. We’re going to be best friends. Would you like that?”

He nodded then looked at Harry and smiled his sweet little grin. “Can we have s’mores when we get home?”

“S’more what, lad?”

Rory giggled the sweetest little giggle. “Don’t be silly, Harry.”

*

She held him in the back seat because they still didn’t have a car seat and it was still dark as ever outside as it neared four-thirty in the morning. Harry parked in her driveway, hurried to the door to open it, and pulled Rory into his arms. “I got him, love. You’ve carried him enough tonight,” he murmured. The tiredness was finally catching up to her and she let Harry pull him from her arms. Unlocking the door, she let the three of them in the house and Harry carried the sleeping boy to his room. She pulled his covers down so Harry could settle him in. Once all snuggled up, she kissed his forehead and sighed with relief as he slept soundly. Harry ruffled his hair gently. They left his room, and she closed the door quietly.

They walked wordlessly to the living room, and she sat on the couch leaning back against the cushions and staring at the ceiling blinking rapidly against more tears that were threatening to form. Harry sat beside her, so close he could feel the heat of her leg next to his. He wanted to reach out and touch her face, wipe that tear away that slid down her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For driving...for staying...for...” she shook her head. “Everything, Harry. Thank you,” it was so much undeserved gratitude. As if Harry wouldn’t reach into his chest at any moment and yank his heart out for her if she asked for it.

“Kitten...’course. Y’did all the heavy lifting,” he said and reached out to squeeze her knee. Her lower lip trembled violently, a sob threatening to bubble out of her chest which seemed so ridiculous now that all the danger was gone. The night must have been catching up to her all at once because at that moment she was crying soundlessly. Her chest aching and she started sniffling, she pressed a finger to her lips. “That was really scary,” she heaved.

“It was,” he nodded in agreement, his heart aching for her sadness, and nervousness. He watched her swallow around the pain that she was finally feeling of not knowing what would happen.

“I wouldn’t...if you weren’t...if you...if Rory—”

“Hey,” he said grabbing her hand from her mouth and bringing it to his own. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles so gently, it hurt her nearly broken heart all over again. He enjoyed the feel of her skin touching his lips and he pulled her up to a sitting position. He cupped her face with his other hand and rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone. “M’here,” he promised. “Always. For both of you.” She looked so nervous; her lip still wobbled. “What, beautiful? What’s wrong, love?” His eyebrows pinched together worried that she was going to have a breakdown that she couldn’t have before in the hospital.

She was still wearing two different sneakers and Harry was still in his coat. If she had time to worry about her appearance, she would have thought about how stringy her hair looked from the soaking rain and how her eyes had to be red from a lack of sleep and all the crying.

“M’so in love with you,” she croaked. Harry felt his heart warm every crevice of his body. He imagined hearing those words from the moment he met her and missed the idea of them when she wasn’t speaking to him. He thought he would melt into a puddle. “I can’t be,” she admitted and Harry felt ice brick over his veins. “I have a son and he is going to be first for the rest of my life and I want to put you first and you don’t deserve that. You deserve someone who will love you and put you—”

The relief Harry felt in her explanation melted the ice threatening his veins all over again. An exhausted smile played at the corner of his lips. He shook his head as she spoke, not even listening to the rest of her sentence. “Kitten,” he said taking both sides of her face and bringing it closer to his. The tip of his nose bumped hers. “I love Rory. And I love you. ‘Course, we’re going t’put Rory first. S’why you’re the best mum in the world. But jus’ because he’s first doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a love of your own,” he told her.

Harry was worried she was so tired she didn’t actually hear him. “...We?” She whispered eventually. The tears were still falling. She felt broken. Felt entirely too vulnerable with someone she’s known for too long. With someone she shouldn’t feel vulnerable around. But the last time she was this vulnerable with someone she loved so much, it was thrown in her face, and she was left alone on a couch just like this.

Harry tilted his head at her looking at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. “Always, beautiful.”

“You love me?” She whispered. Harry nodded silently.

“So much,” he said.

“Really?”

“Truly.”

She wasn’t proud of the way she contorted herself in that moment, throwing herself at him like a teenager and not a twenty-seven-year-old mother of a kindergartner and kissing him like she had been dreaming about kissing him.

But Harry was too long gone to care and enjoyed the moment of utter bliss in kissing the sweet woman he adored for the last few years while her son slept healthily and happily in his bed upstairs.

--

@claimingharrystigertattoo @mopeymousey @vmpellie @reveriehs

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Summary: Many had stopped to watch now as five of their lords engaged in a full on snowball fight on the walkway.

‘The activity at The Gap is looking more and more concerning by the day. Maglor, I need to have more regular updates on this. The area is crucial but we need notice if we were to have to send aid. We are all in precarious positions and the slightest movement of troops could have serious security implications,’ Maedhros was striding at a speed where a lot of people had to jog slightly to keep up. He tended to do this when he was stressed and his siblings and generals knew it, but some of the ones who dealt with him less were already panting.

His tone also sounded slightly pleading as well, a show of weakness that only ever occurred in situations regarding his brothers safety. After that it all happened so quickly. One of the generals from Himlad stumbled and knocked into Maedhros. While he was getting up, apologising profusely, his hand got caught in Maedhros’ hair for a few seconds, dragging through the recently grown out strands.

Maedhros froze for those few precious seconds before righting himself and waving off any further apologies. He stood on the spot only moving when he noticed everyone waiting for him and proceeded forward without saying a word. He had gone pale and was gripping the stump where his hand should have been in a way that must have been painful. He looked forward but he did not seem to be processing much of his surroundings or the resumed review by his general.

‘Are you alright Nelyo?’ Maglor spoke softly from a few careful inches away from his shoulder, somehow silencing the whole debate that had restarted around them. Maedhros gave him a reproachful look for inadvertently bringing attention to him. When he spoke his voice was steady ‘I’m perfectly fine, Kano,’ a reminder that they were not meant to refer to each other by childhood nicknames in such scenarios, ‘Now what were you saying about trade relations, I’m afraid I didn’t catch that,’ Caranthir cast one concerned look to Maglor before continuing his report.

All the brothers who had not observed the incident were now aware and briefly conferred through a few shared glances. Celegorm pulled his mouth into his trademark Tyelko grin which led to him getting the trademark Maglor ‘just don’t kill anyone’ look. Tyelko bent down and rolled something in his hands. ‘Hey, look it’s snowing!’ he said. Curufin and the twins exchanged disbelieving and apprehensive looks while Maglor hadn’t fully caught on. Caranthir was looking over his shoulder very confused and was promptly hit in the face with a freezing ball of snow.

The generals who had noticed went still for a moment as if not entirely sure what they had just seen had actually happened. ‘Who threw that.’ Caranthir’s voice was chilling and would have sent many running for the hills. His eyes landed on the grinning blonde, slowly wiping snow off his hands, ‘I have no idea Moryo,’ Celegorm said breezily while all his generals looked at each other horrified.

‘I am going to kill you. You little motherfucking-’ what proceeded was honestly quite impressive from a linguistic point of view. Feanor would have been proud. Throughout this rant Caranthir was rolling snowballs along the bannister and it ended with rushing forward to attack his brother. Curufin, Amrod and Amras took this as their cue to get involved. Many had stopped to watch now as five of their lords engaged in a full on snowball fight on the walkway.

A few of them were still walking with Maedhros and discussing strategy, oblivious to the chaos behind them. Then something hit Maedhros mid-speech. He turned around slowly. All the people who had been quietly enjoying the entertainment had gone pale. Maedhros was taking in the carnage before him. He instantly made eye contact with the second oldest who had been standing aside up until now. Maglor gave him a genuine, but provocative smile not saying anything. ‘Oh you are so going to regret that Makalaurë,’ and though his words were threatening he had broke into the first genuinely happy smile he had worn in months. He broke into a run and lifted Kano right over his shoulder, eliciting a shriek of laughter from the minstrel as all the others began pelting him with snow.

At this point most spectators just shrugged and started having their own snowball fight a few metres away from where the seven’s laughter carried all the way down the corridor.

[theamityelf]

28 for prowlerbyte? 👀👀

28. "your smile brings me so much joy."

(Okay, I brought this on myself, but forgive me if I don't have Prowler Miles' characterization down. Also, I ran out of steam when it came to trying to actually incorporate the line in the dialogue, but the vibe/sentiment of it is definitely there!)

~~~

Their first one-on-one conversation happened in the food court back at Headquarters.

Nearly everyone who had taken part in the day's (huge, exhausting) battle was there, but most of them had crashed before their food even arrived. Meaning, rather than a comfortable group of all five people who had crammed into the booth together, it was just Margo and Miles 42 eating their food in silence while Malala Windsor, Lego Peter Parker, and Peter Porker snored unhelpfully two feet away from them.

But it was a comfortable silence. Because they were both starving.

And once they had eaten their fill, it came to light that they both had the same favorite TV show.

Sort of.

They were from different universes, so it was more like they both liked shows with the exact same template and extremely similar character names but different everything-else. Which was even better, because who wouldn't want to binge a slightly-warped version of a show they already liked?

"Waitwaitwait, so Cassian and Luxer never kill each other in your world?" Miles demanded, his eyes piercing and invested.

"No!" Margo exclaimed, struggling to keep her ecstatic energy at bay. "They literally talked it out! Yours killed each other?! When?!"

"Season 2 finale, at the abandoned chemical plant! One scene after Dallas becomes king of the Society of Mages!"

"Okay, first of all, in mine Dallas is Dalia, and second of all Dalia never gets the respect she deserves! Caspian and Lucius are literally allowed to walk all over her while she does spells for them whenever they ask. In mine, Season 2 ends with her confronting the Society of Mages and them basically excommunicating her."

"Word?! I'm almost more mad about that than Cassian and Luxer killing each other."

"In mine, they kiss in Season 3. They weren't endgame, though. There was this thing with the actors- and they say it wasn't the reason, but it seriously seemed like it was..."

Margo didn't notice the way Miles' face softened as he watched her ramble. The passion in her raised voice, the barely-suppressed laughter, the adorably spastic gestures of her hands as she raced through the overview of actor drama and coinciding plot points-

"Oh," she suddenly broke off, having accidentally kicked him under the table. "Sorry about that. Usually I'm a hologram when I'm here, so I don't have to be as aware of my surroundings." She took a bite of her quesadillas before continuing, "But yeah, they nerfed Caspian hard after the Season 3 finale..."

Miles hid a smile by drinking more of his soda. In his own universe, he didn't spend a lot of time with people his own age. Unlike Spider Miles, he wasn't enrolled in any fancy science school, and thanks to a heaping helping of unaddressed emotional baggage, his time at public school had mostly amounted to devoting minimal attention to classes that felt kindergarten-easy and keeping his cool when bigger guys thought his lanky frame meant they got to start something.

"I can't tell if your world's version of the show sounds slightly better or slightly worse," he mused, "but I think I want to watch all of it."

"Oh, I fully plan to binge yours at the first opportunity."

"Well..." He tried out the charming voice he'd learned from Uncle Aaron. "We both have wristbands. If you want, you could...swing by my universe sometime, you know..."

"Yeah! We gotta meet up. I..." She grimaced. "If you want to watch it in my world, too, we'll probably have to do it somewhere other than my house, but I can make it happen."

"Well, it's a date." And he seamlessly concealed the sudden rush of embarrassment at his impulsive statement by taking a huge bite of his food.

"Technically right now it's just a concept," Margo teased. "It's a date when we have a date and time."

"If we want to watch the whole show in both worlds, how about Tuesday at 7 we watch three episodes of my version, then Thursday at 7 three episodes of your version?"

"Alternating as we go? That'll be trippy; I love it." With a grin, she added, "Now it's a date."

And he was not fighting back a smile. He was just drinking his drink. The Prowler did not have butterflies in his stomach. No indeed. "'Swing by' was a pun, you know."

"Oh, shoot. That one snuck by me."

"It prowled by."

"I was about to-! You didn't give me time to say it!"

"Too slow. I thought you spider people were supposed to be fast."

"Oh, you just keep talkin'. Season 3's gonna hit you like a truck."

[losersroom]

g (time loop fic. once the loop was broken), j, n, t ✍️

G. If you wrote a sequel to this fic, what would it be about?

Man. I think this one is my least sequel-able fic, actually. I mean I say that- I do think it's fully complete as it is, the lack of closure is kind of the point -but I did briefly kick around ideas for a second part from Brock's POV. I never did anything with it because again, ultimately, I think it works better if the question of "is Brock aware of the time loop" is left sort of vague and open to reader interpretation, even if I myself have a very clear idea of what was meant to be going on there. I think any sequel I wrote to this would just be abjectly miserable for everyone. But realistically it would be, like, Brock watches Jonas die on the ice like fifty times, finally accepts that he can't save him or do anything to fix it, and THAT breaks the loop enough that reality is allowed to proceed on from there. And the point is that then they have to live in the aftermath of what's already done instead of uselessly trying to prevent the impossible. What's the first step to breaking a cycle? Well, admitting there's a problem is a good start.

(Also: I'd like them to finally actually talk about the time they hooked up in Stockholm and for Brock to be able to tell him that's not part of it, that was something they both wanted, he doesn't need to carry it around as a weight.)

J. What's your favorite fanfic trope? Have you written it?

Okay I think I've decided that my favorite trope in fiction is road trip fic, actually. And the answer is... kind of? Last summer while I was starting to be insane about hockey but too nervous to get into RPF I wrote about 25% of a Check Please fic where Jack winds up signing with Vegas out of college and the team bosses make him and Parse spend part of the summer together to fix their relationship into something that will allow them to be on the ice together without killing each other, so Kent just like. Invites himself along on Jack's pre-arranged road trip between sites of historical interest on the East Coast. The like 10k words of it I actually wrote were pretty good! But then I got distracted by like five other projects that I also never finished and wound up doing nothing with it. And now I have better things to do than think about The Hockey Comic. lol.

N. Any fic ideas brewing that you'd care to share?

I'm going to be working on this fucking omegaverse impreg kink fic until I die, probably. Until I die as a direct result of it, possibly.

Also I'm still kicking around concepts for the fic where Brods and Brock fake date to make Dumba jealous but that's just kind of a Vibe right now.

T. Any fanfic tropes you can't stand?

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to be a hater but I am generally fairly trope-positive, actually. Or trope-neutral at least. Oh wait does the thing people do where they make their characters stop and affirm positive consent every two paragraphs during sex scenes count because. Lol. Sorry, can't stand that shit. I do not read porn for a positive or realistic depiction of best sexual practices, I want to read about a guy getting banged within an inch of his life and filled with a physically improbable amount of come. Sorry about it!

[diiluvies]

okay so 4.2 and the main plot of that and how it affected neuvi both during and after. read at your own peril, it will contain spoilers.

first off, neuvillette feels nothing short of pure guilt for being the mastermind behind uncovering the truth. he heavily assumed that furina was being the way she was because she forgot how to drop the mask, not that she cannot drop the mask, as for the last five hundred years, that is how he knew and viewed her - a being of pure flamboyancy and somewhat immature to the truth that fontaine is destined to flood, and she will be alone in the end - but he still tried to trust her.

so watching the trial, watching furina crumble and crack and just break in front of her, neuvillette's guilt began to rise, but he must keep a stoic face in the courtroom, and that is killing him. in the pursuit and name of the truth, neuvillette had shattered everything that furina built in focalors' request, and broke the trust he and furina had built for so long.

he doesn't even have time to comprehend it, because the next thing he knows, the oratrice holds more secrets, and neuvillette is facing a truth he never expected or, in hindsight, really wanted - meeting focalors to witness the execution. he didn't wish to meet focalors because the moment he did, he knew it meant disaster, because that meant this was the final act of her charade - a charade he was quite definitely the leading male in.

neuvillette wanted so many answers because he was playing a role he never knew he was playing until its last moments, and this is his biggest regret. he should of spent time with focalors as a person, not interrogate her in a way, but he already ruined furina, he knew focalors was fully aware what he did and expected malice from her. yet, all he got was her serenity and gratitude. this is the double edged blade of the truth. she was glad he played his part, but neuvillette isn't happy he did it. he knew he had to when focalors said it was the intended ending, but it never meant he had to like it.

so her giving up her divinity and life, so he can become the fully fledged dragon sovereign he has waited over one thousand years to be, it isn't pleasant, it will not be pleasant for a while. yet, it's a necessary move for the future. he too, like focalors but on a much grander scale, despises the heavenly principles, for many reasons, and will use that power returned to him by her to finish what she likely wanted to start. the tears he sheds, knowing that furina will stay when focalors is gone, are for focalors' self-execution and the damage he has done to furina. his self-imposed guilt is the gavel that declares fontaine innocent of egeria's sin. he will carry that guilt instead now, for damaging furina and being the execution's witness.

when everything settled down, fontaine rebuilding itself, he does actually keep the room furina used in the palais mermonia the same shape she used to. she doesn't stay there anymore, and for her mental wellbeing, that is necessary and valid to him. yet... it is a habit he cannot break. despite everything, neuvillette will always see furina and focalors as a platonic soulmate, the yang to his yin, and he has ruined a half-millennia friendship in the name of the final act of the masquerade. it will take time for him to accept this is a necessary thing, but he knows he cannot face furina for a while, not unless he absolutely must for a bit. he will leave the fate of their friendship in her hands, and respect her choice.

[blasphemysblood]

The Joseph's house was all quiet and, after a couple beers, it wasn't anymore.

There's not a single drop of mercy in Josh's movements and it's hard for Tyler to keep his mouth shut, whimpering softly against his boyfriend's ear. "Please, don't stop" he cries in a sly tone, knowing that he shouldn't be talking at all. The look in the taller's face could make him finish instantly, but Tyler also knew that if he came without permission he'd be fucked.

Josh squeezed Tyler's hands together above his head, remembering his sub who was in charge in the situation. Tyler wasn't even able to see the other's hand when it hit his face, only feeling the scrumptious pain fulfilling his cheek. Five fingers went down his face to grip onto his jaw, drawing his attention.

"I do whatever the fuck I want with you, slut" Josh whispered, almost leading the other one straight to his orgasm. None of them were skilled enough into this type of treatment and it ended up being amusing, the way Josh could bruise and insult Tyler without remorse, fully aware that the smaller would love it.

At a loss for words Tyler just gripped his boyfriend's hair tightly and kissed him, unloading all his dirty wishes inside the other's mouth. Josh played along but immediately getting control of it too, his tongue establishing a lazy, slow rhythm. Exploring each centimeter of his mouth while maintaining the torturous movements on the sub's cock, gradually going from the base to the tip, clutching a bit and repeating it, twisting his wrist at the end of every variation just like Tyler liked.

It's kinda funny after all how Josh was the one to break Tyler's persona, showing him — and the world — what kind of man he was. Not that anyone knew he was responsible for the enormous amount of hickeys and bruises that randomly appeared on Tyler's body, that's the kind of knowledge that would be bad for the band's image, but they know somebody out there did it. Somebody out there made the straight top guy realize he's actually gay and mainly bottom, and the prize goes entirely to Josh Dun.

Oh to be the first and only one able to see Tyler like that, clenching the couch's arm, arching his back, squinting his eyes and moaning their name so desperately. Josh felt honored, lucky even. That's why he got used to being kind and letting his boy do anything, but now it wasn't for Tyler's pleasure. It was for his own — which, technically, meant Tyler's too, but i'm not the one telling you that.

Their affair started long ago, somewhere around 2016, the Emotional Roadshow World Tour striking around the globe. If someone asked they wouldn't know when exactly their friendship upgraded a level, but it sure was for better. Someday, walking to the dressing room and feeling all the energy from the concert spreading through his body, Tyler simply attacked Josh's lips. They obviously proceeded to think it was an only situation kind of thing, that thought didn't last longer. Between the two years of touring there was a lot of rumors about how close they got on stage, how strange it was for two men and all the homofobic agenda. It was easy to play it off since they always were that close, without the benefits of course.

Now it's been thereabout two years, Bandito Tour got announced and the band met up to prepare for the first show, that took place in the next day. Needless to say that it ended up being only another one of their excuses, since not a single word about music was exchanged.

"Josh, fuck-" he interrupted himself with a loud moan, squinting his eyes once again and opening it to search for his dom's, trembling a little. "Please, let me cum- I'll make it up for you". Having to ask for something he used to get so easily used to be humiliating at the beginning of it all, but he's kinda into it by now.

"I'm sure you will, darling" these words alone could kill Tyler, combined to the constant stimulation at his private parts and the feral look Josh gave him, he was lost. Partially covered into his own cum, the sub rushed and kneeled in front of his master, working straightforwardly to unbutton his jeans and get his cock out. It was actually his favorite job to please Josh with his mouth, and he was fucking good at it. "Good boy" the taller one spoke, grabbing his sub's hair to help him accomplish the task given.

Tyler took every inch of Josh with majesty, relaxing his throat and letting it fill completely. It was almost like his mouth was designed to take his boyfriend's dick. A tear ran down his eye as he moved away, sliding his tongue at the top of it, knowing so damn well the sensitive spots. Josh's hand was there only to keep his sub's hair out of the way, not making a single move to interrupt his perfect work. His lips separated as the man let himself be a little noisy, praising his boy for being so good to him. He didn't last much longer, flooding Tyler's mouth, that obediently swallowed the liquid. The boy even cleaned his lips with his fingertips, licking it right after and smiling gladly. "Thank you, Jish".

Yeah, Josh felt extremely lucky.

Oh, only if he could be proud of it.

[sicahyart]

Bonds of Blood - Chapter 4

Fandom: Xenoblade Chronicles 2 Characters: Malos, Amalthus TW: references to chirurgy

Read on Ao3 - first - previous - next

—

Malos was woken up by a buzzing pain in his shoulder. Ugh, not again. He tried to roll over and relieve it. Only to find out he couldn't move an inch. 

A feeling of dread washed over him like a bucket of cold water, jolting him fully awake. His eyes opened to meet a painfully white ceiling, clearly not belonging to the Monoceros. Indol, he remembered, as his mind began to retrace what had happened.

That bastard Amalthus. He should have expected his old driver would try to retrieve him under his grasp. Never thought he could actually succeed, though.

Mythra... And here he thought she’d never fall for the Praetor’s tricks. He’d be curious to know how he managed to convince her to help him. There was that other Blade, too. The one Mikhail called Haze. He recognized her, from five hundred years ago. She used to have the same Driver as Jin. Before Amalthus got them both. And now he finally got Malos too. 

As the familiar sharp pain in his shoulder began to fade, he became aware of another, dull pain eating his whole body. It burnt. He could feel a power such as he hadn’t known since the Aegis war. But while the power he had back then was exhilarating, this new power made him sick. He could feel its filth coursing through his veins, seeping into his every cell. He had never felt more tainted.

Flesh-Eater.

He was an Aegis. He was created to destroy humans. Not to be fused with them. And yet, he could still remember the masked faces of those Indoline scums as they stood over him, tearing him open to implant human parts in him. Mostly blood. A lot of blood. That was now boiling in his ether veins, fighting against his Blade body and granting him unknown power.

A hoarse sound escaped his lips as he tried to gasp for fresh air to dull the burn. Without success.

A shadow fell over him. He tried to focus on the silhouette cutting against the white ceiling. Amalthus. The last person he wanted to see right now. He snarled at him, but the Indoline was unfazed.

“Now now, is that a way to greet your Driver?”

“You don't have any control over me.”

“Don’t I, now?”

A glint of self-satisfaction passed in the Praetor’s eyes as he reached to unlock the Ether Chains that were binding Malos, then took a step back. Wary, the Aegis tentatively moved an arm. Then a leg. He sat up. Amalthus did free him... He eyed his Driver. Cocky bastard. 

He was just a blur as he jumped at the man’s throat. That new power coursing through his body was disgusting, but real. The Indoline gasped for air as Malos’s hands tightened around his throat. He’d never really thought about killing him before. A Blade didn’t kill their Driver, even someone like Malos, even a Driver like Amalthus. Though the end of the world would probably have meant his end too. But after being defiled into a Flesh-Eater, having witnessed the endless suffering he inflicted on Jin, now that he had him in his hands...

Fear flashed in the Indoline’s eyes for a short second, before being replaced by the same smug confidence as before. What the..? 

Bright noise sparkled in Malos’s vision as he crumbled to the floor, his energy suddenly drained. He didn’t realize he’d hit the ground until his senses cleared again a moment later. What was that..? Lying on his side, he looked up, trying to analyze what had just happened. Amalthus... was still there, dominating him with his full height. 

“Fascinating how we never thought to apply the technology so commonly used to bind Titans on Blades before. Well, I must admit it would be a waste to risk damaging the Core Crystals for that. But on a Flesh-Eater... It can work wonders, don’t you think?” 

Malos closed his eyes. So that was it. He was to be his Driver’s tool. The Aegis was but a Blade. Powerful, yet still bound to a human. 

I’m sorry, Jin. I couldn’t fulfill your goal after all. I guess I should have known I’d break that promise. All I know is how to destroy things.

He didn’t move when he heard Amalthus leave the room, abandoning him on the floor. There was no point in trying to find a more comfortable place to lay. He just had to wait until he was needed to unleash his power again. And what destruction he would bring to this world! Such was his Fate, wasn’t it? Then he would embrace it fully.

[xsamsharons]

behind enemy lines - k. brekker

pairing: kaz brekker x reader.

genre/warning: just fluff!

words: 1.3k.

summary: in which to anyone else, you are supposed to be enemies. however, behind closed doors, it is with you that he feels the safest.

“Fraternizing with the enemy, Brekker?” Per Haskell’s voice ran through the office as he stared down at Kaz. Somehow word had gotten out about the little visit he had paid you, and if there was one thing that moved quickly through Ketterdam, it was rumors. Well, that and stray bullets.

To be honest, Kaz hadn’t exactly been trying to hide, and he didn’t feel like he owed anyone an explanation, especially Per Haskell. However, the old man liked to feel like he could still control Kaz and he figured he could grant him one lecture to make him feel better about himself. He knew there wouldn’t be consequences for him, anyway.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but want to laugh every time someone referred to you as the enemy, or a target, or -his personal favorite- dangerous. Don’t get him wrong, he was well aware of the fact that you were one of the deadliest criminals currently roaming the city, but you weren’t a lost cause. Not like he was, anyway.

He hated it when people compared you to him, you weren't unhinged, you weren’t evil, you were just… self-serving. Yeah, he decided, that was the best way to describe you. You didn’t really follow a moral code, you just did what benefited you the most, and while sometimes you had to do things that most people would consider amoral, no one could blame you for trying to make a living in the hell hole that was Ketterdam.

“I wouldn’t call it fraternizing, I was just conversing.” he wasn't. He was definitely not just conversing.

“I don’t give a shit what you were doing, I want the threat gone.” Kaz almost snorted at that.

Sure, you could kill a man in less than five seconds using no more than just your bare hands, but he wouldn’t consider you a threat, not to his gang anyway. You were more of an annoyance, a rock stuck in one’s shoe that you couldn’t really shake and remained there the whole time you walked, but never a threat. You actually were the person he felt the safest around, and while that did make you a threat, it didn’t make you the kind of threat everyone thought you were.

Kaz didn’t say all this, for obvious reasons, and instead settled for a simple: “Of course, sir.”

The old man waves a hand at that, and Kaz took it as a sign of dismissal. Without wasting a single second, Kaz was out of there as quickly as his leg allowed him to, and as he slammed the door, he used a bit more force than he usually would.

The only person who had noticed he wasn’t spending as much time in his office anymore was Inej, and if anyone else had, they didn’t dare ask him why.

It hadn’t been that difficult to convince him to stay with you, the office held nothing but bad memories and it was rarely quiet. Kaz used to think he liked the noise, he liked hearing the screaming from downstairs and feeling like the city never slept, he thought it granted him a sense of comfort - until he met you. With you, he realized he didn’t need outside noise to distract him from the mess inside his head, he just needed your laugh and a smart comment that forced him to suppress a smile of his own right after. He didn’t need to keep up an act to make him feel like he was in control, he could let his guard down and he could share the control of the situation, knowing you wouldn’t take advantage of his vulnerability.

Most importantly, he felt like he could actually be himself around you, never on edge and actually relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever.

He quickly came to realize he didn’t just like your apartment because of its location, it’s height or it’s view, he didn’t care about the building or where it was located, he liked it because he liked you, and he was sure any room you set foot in would immediately become his favorite room in the city.

As he stepped into the apartment, he couldn’t smell the scent of freshly baked cookies, he couldn’t hear the sound of music coming from any room, and he couldn’t find you reading on the couch like he had heard most people found their significant others when they stepped into their homes. Instead, Kaz could see dirty knives on top of the kitchen table, previously blood stained clothes that had been recently washed hanging from the closest window, and an old ripped vest of his disregarded on top of the couch.

The only light shining on the apartment was the soft glow of the moon that painted shadows on the walls, and the only sound that resonated through the house were his own words once he spoke them. “Honey, I'm home.” His words were laced with sarcasm and they received no response from you. At this, he checked the main room and there he found you, asleep with one of his old shirts on, sleeping on his side of his bed like you always did when he hadn’t been home in a while. Looking at you, he couldn’t believe anyone would ever consider you a threat. The thought almost made him laugh: the most dangerous criminal in Ketterdam, wearing his shirt to bed and hugging his pillow.

He went to the closet first and opened the drawer in which you had told him to put his clothes, and changed into something more comfortable than his armor before slipping into the bed beside you, still keeping a distance.

You felt the bed sink beside you, and spoke to him without opening your eyes. “You’re late.” you said.

“Sorry ma’am.” he replied and you smiled, opening only one eye to take a look at his handsome face framed by messy hair.

“Was it the visit you paid me at work last week?” you said knowingly, he nodded. “I warned you.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” he shrugged. “Missed you too much.” you actually opened your eyes fully at the sound of that

“You big softie. What would the city say if they knew the bastard of the barrel had such a soft side?” you smiled.

“Thankfully, they won’t find out.” he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Maybe I'll tell them.” you teased.

“I won’t let you.”

“You can’t beat me in a fight.” you challenged, knowing that would get a rise out of him.

“Wanna bet?” He raised his eyebrows, almost smiling at you.

“I would, but you have nothing to offer me, I already have all I want.” you shrugged, as if what you said carried no real meaning behind it, but he knew better.

“Now who’s the one going soft" he said, as one of the corners of his mouth quirked upwards.

“Oh, shut up.” you say with a smile, closing your eyes and missing his own smile just by a second.

Moments later, he felt your pinky finger wrap around his own. Kaz’s aversion to touch hadn’t completely healed, for it was not something that would just go away overnight, no matter how much you meant to him. You didn’t mind, and you both had come up with ways of feeling close to each other without actually having to show physical affection.

However, one thing he found he was okay with, was you hooking one of your fingers around one of his own. In his mind, it was a child-like action, it made him feel like a little boy again and he hated that he couldn’t do more, but you loved the little tradition you had created, and you planned to carry on doing it until he was ready for more, not caring when that would be.

You had time, and you had each other. Everything else could wait.

a/n: requests are open for any soc character (and some s&b characters)!

[robininthelabyrinth]

Imagine if Meng Shi begged and bargained and collected favors till she was able to send her A-Yao to education with the Lan Sect, perhaps even become a cultivator with them. Would he take that change? Would he become a rogue cultivator? Would the strict rules help curb his inner muderimpuls or enrage him or teach him to hide better?

A Good Fit - ao3

“The…Lan sect?” Meng Yao said doubtfully. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure,” his mother said, her mouth tight. She looked upset, the way she always did these days when he referenced, intentionally or otherwise, the original plan that she had had to send him to join his father, sect leader of Lanling Jin. She’d raised Meng Yao on a steady diet of stories of what his life would be like when his father finally took him back the way he’d promised her he would, stories that had filled his days and nights for years and years and years, and then just last year she’d suddenly stopped talking about it entirely. It was as if the person who’d told those stories had nothing to do with her.

Meng Yao didn’t know what had happened, but he assumed it must have been pretty bad.

“It'll be a good fit,” she added.

“Then I’ll go to the Lan sect,” he said, and pretended not see the way his mother relaxed a little, relieved that he wasn’t asking too many questions. “I’ve heard they are gentlemen there, righteous but gentle; it will be the best match for my personality, I’m sure.”

A lie, of course. ‘Gentlemen’ were just as likely to come to the brothel as brutes, and they were all the same once they had a cup of wine and a beauty in their arms – Meng Yao tried not to have any illusions.

“Can we afford it?” he asked instead, since that was something he was sure his mother would have thought of, would have expected him to ask. “Gusu is so far away…”

“I have obtained a letter from the local sect recommending you to their sect leader, Lan Qiren,” she said. “He’s the one that teaches the classes – the one that sent out the summons asking the subsidiary sects to look for individuals with raw talent to join his classes and offering them an extra seat for their sects for each nameless orphan they find that lives up to Lan sect standards. Only the Heavens know why he’s doing something like that…I assume they’re trying to expand.”

That seemed like the most reasonable explanation. Meng Yao nodded. “So I’ll be traveling with the local sect?”

“That’s right,” his mother said, and raised her chin a little. “At least this much, your mother was able to do for you.”

She’d begged and bargained and traded favors for it, then, Meng Yao thought, and yet taking him along was to their own benefit: if they were looking for inherited cultivation talent sufficient for the Lan sect, then the bastard son of another Great Sect leader would be a better bet than some random nobody. She’d probably humiliated herself for nothing.

“Will you come with me?” he asked, more concerned with that – it was too easy for women of ill repute to disappear into the depths of the city if they didn’t have someone to watch out for them.

Even someone as young as he was. He wished he was older.

“You can come back to visit me during the Spring Festival,” she said, which meant no. “I’ll be all right, A-Yao.”

Meng Yao wasn’t so sure.

Still, not having him around would at least remove a visible reminder of his mother’s age – she’d been kicked out of the better brothels because of him, because no one wanted a woman who was a mother. Leaving would at least do that for her.

“I’ll write,” he finally said. “I’ll write as often as they let me.”

“And I’ll write back,” she promised him, kissing his cheek. “I promise.”

With that, Meng Yao supposed he had to be satisfied.

-

The Lan sect was both exactly like what Meng Yao expected and absolutely nothing at all like anything he could have dreamt.

For the first, his cynicism was almost immediately confirmed: the boys raised there were snobby as anything, looking down at the rest of them as little better than barbarians, and many of the adults were the same way. It was clear that this whole business of recruiting talented nobodies was a project of the sect leader’s – the interim sect leader, no less, not even the real thing – and nobody else’s; they were only just barely going along with it. Adding to that the fact that there were dozens if not hundreds of rules, and Meng Yao could glumly foresee a future of having his lack of knowledge held over his head as a fault, even with his marvelous memory to act as his backing.

For the second…

Well, there was Lan Xichen, who was – as unbelievable as it seemed – to actually embody all those things that people said about gentlemen, all kindness and gentleness and fierce upright pride, except only for real. There was Lan Wangji, who was basically perfect in every way and kinder than he gave the impression he was, willing to help tutor anyone who asked if only they dared disturb his solitude long enough to do so. There was the boy Meng Yao shared a room with, Su She, who’d punched the boy from the Yunping cultivator clan in the mouth for calling Meng Yao a son of a whore and pretended it was because they weren’t allowed to talk about that sort of thing, when actually it’d been because he hadn’t wanted rumors to get around that might make Meng Yao’s life harder in the future.

There was Lan Qiren, who was strict and a little boring but fair, painfully fair, handing out punishments with an equitable hand no matter that it meant that he was punishing the locals as often if not more often. It’d been his idea to bring people like Meng Yao into the Lan sect, and defending the idea was the only time he truly seemed moved to passion. Now that they’d passed the initial examination and been judged to match Lan sect standards, Lan Qiren announced, as far as he was concerned, they were Lan sect just as if they were born there, as if they’d been children of his own.

And he even seemed to really believe it, too.

Today, Meng Yao’s head was still warm from when the stern Teacher Lan had put his hand there, gentle and approving, and his ears still burning from the murmured “Well done, Meng Yao, as expected.”

“I think I would kill someone for him,” Meng Yao said dreamily to Su She, who snorted.

“You’ve got such father issues,” he said disdainfully, as if he didn’t have entire family issues. That was just Su She’s way, though – he bitched and moaned and complained without end, and he’d probably kill someone for Meng Yao if Meng Yao so much as hinted it was something he’d want. They’d made friends for a reason. “You know the bit about the poor kids being his own children is a lie, right?”

“I know which sect’s leader is my father, thanks,” Meng Yao said, rolling his eyes. “I’m well aware it’s not Teacher Lan. Like he’d ever have kids of his own, anyway.”

“That’d require noticing when someone’s flirting with him,” Su She agreed, all solemn for just a moment, and then he dissolved into sniggering giggles. Meng Yao couldn’t blame him: it was, in fact, extremely funny when women (and sometimes men) tried to flirt with Teacher Lan, mostly because of the way that he very genuinely and completely missed that that was what was happening each and every time.

“Laugh all you like,” Meng Yao said peaceably. “You’d kill for him, too.”

“Probably,” Su She agreed. “But only because of you.”

That was fair enough. After getting the lay of the land, Meng Yao had arranged for them to ‘accidentally’ be overheard by Teacher Lan while talking about the misconduct of one of the teachers who was the most biased against guest disciples, one of the ones that had been harassing Su She in particular for over a year before Meng Yao had arrived, and despite Su She’s initial nervousness about the plan, it had all gone splendidly. Sure, they’d been punished to do five copies of a treatise on upright conduct because they’d breached Talking behind the backs of others is prohibited, but the teacher in question had been sentenced to two hundred strikes with the discipline rod for abusing his position and three months of enforced seclusion to contemplate his misbehavior, and then, Teacher Lan had said, his expression dark and threatening, they could discuss what role would be the best fit in the future.

The other teachers had taken notice and shaped up very quickly, after that.

Comparatively, those five copies made in the nice cool Library Pavilion instead of having to do chores on the hottest days of summer? Practically a pat on the back for bringing it to his attention.

Su She would never have dared to raise anything if it was just him, Meng Yao thought; he had a strange fear of authority figures that combined envy and misery in an explosive combination – he would have just suffered and suffered and suffered until he’d been pushed too far and then it would have all burst out at once. He wasn’t like Meng Yao, who was unwilling to keep to his “proper” place and was more than willing to use his greater-than-average share of brains to get what he wanted, no matter what rules he broke in the process. He was the sort of person who was willing to do whatever it took to obtain his desires – no matter what it took.

Well, maybe not no matter what. He wouldn’t want to disappoint Lan Qiren too much.

(Okay, so maybe Su She was right and he had some unresolved father issues. So what if he did? Whose business was it but his?)

-

It’d taken Meng Yao a while to fully adjust to the Cloud Recesses.

Some parts he’d figured out right away – the way they all flattered themselves as gentlemen even if they were actually little more than hypocrites (Teacher Lan and his personally taught nephews exempted, of course), which of course meant that Meng Yao’s ability to act pitiful at the drop of a hat and cleverly turn black into white made him a teacher’s pet at once. The vegetarian meals were easy enough to adapt to, given that his mother hadn’t had the money for meat all that often, and the training and cultivation and all that wasn’t any challenge for his excellent powers of retention – he had ambitions of becoming one of Teacher Lan’s aides one day, and worked assiduously towards that goal. Even waking and sleeping early, which was practically the opposite of his schedule at home, was something he could adjust to, given time and incentive.

It was his mentality that took some time to adjust.

Meng Yao had perhaps grown up with too many of his mother’s stories, painting an image of a matchless paradise – at the start, he looked at everything around him, serene and elegant but not quite as rich and shining and thought that it would do, for now. When he’d first arrived, he had had every intention of making a good reputation for himself and using that reputation to get his real father’s attention – he’d liked Teacher Lan from the beginning, despite his best attempts to not let his heart be swayed, but he’d reasoned that if a teacher was like this, then a blood-related father would be even better.

And so, for the first half-year, he’d treated his time at the Cloud Recesses…not lightly, no. He was extremely serious about making sure to get the maximum benefit he could. And yet, at the same time, he still was not really committing himself to the place.

This wasn’t where he was going to live his whole life, he reasoned; it was just a stepping stone to a better future. That meant he would exert himself to point out things that made him look good, to eliminate obstacles in his path, to win himself allies, but not bother with those longer-term problems, the ones that really ought to be fixed but which would take a great deal of effort with little reward other than annoying people.

His feeling of superiority and emotional distance lasted right up until the first discussion conference.

From a distance, Jin Guangshan was everything Meng Yao could have imagined – perhaps a little too similar to the clients that his mother often saw, a little dissolute to pull off the air of a refined scholar he affected, but wearing more gold than Meng Yao had ever seen in his life, with a retinue of servants that dwarfed the other sect’s. Each of those servants were dressed more finely than even main clan cultivators in some of the smaller sects, and though Meng Yao’s Lan sect guest disciple clothing was of such quality that he didn’t need to fear their disdain, he couldn’t help but be secretly impressed.

He'd exerted himself more than usual to trade away all of his chores and duties, freeing himself up to take on patrol duty near the Jin sect. He’d perhaps daydreamed about some sort of encounter – nothing active on his part, of course, but he couldn’t quite resist playing through some fantasy of catching someone’s eye by chance, getting called over, a “You have a familiar set to your chin, who’s your father?”, a shy halting admission, recognition, a joyous reunion…

Instead, his father spent the entire night getting drunk and cursing the Lan sect’s hospitality for not providing him with girls to go with his liquor, calling Lan Qiren a miserable prude with a stick up his ass right in front of the Lan sect disciples that clenched their fists in barely concealed rage. He’d seen Meng Yao all right, ordered him to come forward, but it’d only been to mock him in front of all of his servants – and not even for being his bastard son, no, that would involve bothering to pick him out from the crowd or to ask who he was. No, he’d mocked him simply for being one of the poor disciples that Lan Qiren had taken in, all because his accent was marked with the distinct tones of Yunping rather than the sweetness of Gusu.

“Tell me, boy,” he said, breathing fumes into Meng Yao’s face and making him feel suddenly as if he’d never left the brothel – that the Cloud Recesses had all been a vague dream, and now he’d woken up and lost it all. “How does that old fart Qiren expect you to pay him back for all he’s done for you? I heard the Lan sect includes a pretty face as one of its standard requirements…”

Meng Yao put his gaze above his father’s head and pretended to be deaf.

“It seems like rather a lot of effort,” one of his father’s attendants remarked. “Even if Second Master Lan wanted a boy to warm his bed, couldn’t he just buy one like any normal person?”

“Bah, boys,” his father said, and leaned back, waving his hands in dismissal. “Why would anyone bother with a boy when you could have a soft woman instead? Just as long as they’re stupid enough – you know, there’s nothing worse than a woman who’s talented and knows it, too smart, always trying to get above their station…”

“You’re thinking about that whore in Yunping again, aren’t you? The one that interrupted your dinner and made a scene, claiming you’d promised to take in the son she bore you?” the attendant said, laughing. “I told you, you should’ve just killed her for her impudence rather than just having her beaten and thrown out. That way the matter wouldn’t still be bothering you…”

“Go away, boy,” another servant said to Meng Yao, who was frozen stiff in belated terror, nausea churning in his stomach as he realized his mother could’ve gone out one day and never come back, and he would never have known why – or maybe it was that he’d been spending his considerable time and brain on pleasing someone who would have done that, who nearly had done that. “Your accent’s brought back bad memories, don’t you see?”

Meng Yao left.

No, to be more blunt: he fled. He ran away, hot tears filling his eyes until he couldn’t see – belly full of regret and disappointment, crushed dreams feeling like broken shards of glass in his mouth and throat.

He tried to tell himself that it was better to find out now, when they were still distant, before he'd sold his soul for the futile chance to get that horrible man's affection, but he couldn't quite throw off the shame of knowing that if he hadn't heard such a thing up front, he probably would have done that. Would have humiliated himself like that, and for what? A man who regretted not murdering his mother?

He ran right into Lan Wangji, who was also on patrol.

Lan Wangji took one look at him and grabbed his wrist, dragging him away from the main pathway and all the way to his uncle’s rooms.

Lan Qiren was still awake despite the late hour, writing something at his desk, but he set aside his brush at once. “What’s going on?” he asked, frowning. “Wangji – Meng Yao – one of you report.”

“Meng Yao was on patrol by the Jin sect,” Lan Wangji explained as Meng Yao furiously tried to dash away his tears using his sleeve.

“Who permitted that? First year disciples aren’t permitted to patrol during discussion conferences,” Lan Qiren asked, his frown deepening. “It wouldn’t be proper – ah, but no, I recall now. I suppose it was inevitable. Wangji, well done, and thank you. You are dismissed.”

After Lan Wangji left, he turned his eyes on Meng Yao.

“You volunteered, didn’t you?” he asked.

Meng Yao felt his back go cold: Lan Qiren knew, then. It had never been said out loud by anyone as far as he knew, and yet it was clear that Lan Qiren knew who his father was – and probably his mother, too.

He knew that Meng Yao was – that he wasn’t anything more than –

“You are one of my most promising disciples, Meng Yao,” Lan Qiren told him, and poured him a cup of tea from his own pot, pressing it into his hands. It was finer tea than Meng Yao had ever had in his life, full of smoke and flavor. “The rules say Be loyal and filial, but they also praise reciprocity. You have not been recognized, and have not received your forefathers’ grace. You can fulfill your obligations to chivalry through your respect for the parent that raised you.”

Meng Yao stared down at the teacup. Lan Qiren had completely misunderstood the nature of Meng Yao’s concern – he was disappointed in what his father was, not worried about not living up to his obligations of being a filial child. And yet it was a little nice to hear that as far as Lan Qiren was concerned, the rules said that he could tell his father go hang for all he cared…

And that he ought to honor his mother, which was something no one who knew her had ever said to him.

“Even if she –” His voice stuttered. “Even if she’s a…”

He couldn’t say the word.

“Appreciate the good people is not qualified by class or profession,” Lan Qiren said, and his monotone voice was blissfully without emotion, as if this were just another lesson in class, and not the deepest hurt of Meng Yao’s life. “I have never met your mother, Meng Yao, but you are a good child – diligent, organized, sincere, with good judgment, and you clearly adore her. That tells me everything I need to know.”

Meng Yao burst into tears.

-

Meng Yao liked Lan Xichen a lot, but he also had to admit that sometimes, the older boy was, well…

“Dumb as a pile of rocks,” Su She announced.

“Do not criticize other people,” Meng Yao said piously, but then chuckled, shaking his head. “Say, rather, that he’s naïve and sheltered, and overly inclined to believe the best in people.”

“Like I said: dumb as rocks. How many times is going to get himself swindled into being someone’s sword or shield before he figures out that the problem is him?”

“Some people don’t have the capacity to understand the depths of humanity’s foulness –”

“Yeah, dumb ones.”

“Su She, please.” Su She held up his hands in surrendered. “At any rate, if Lan-gongzi is going to keep falling for people’s tricks, it’s beholden on us to help protect him.”

“You just don’t want Teacher Lan to be sad about something serious happening to his nephew,” Su She said knowingly, but he was already nodding. “All right, what are we going to do about it? He outranks us. We can’t exactly tell him to his face that he’s being…”

He paused.

Dumb as rocks went unsaid, but then, it didn’t need to be said out loud for the meaning to be clear.

Meng Yao sighed.

“You can only trick someone so many times,” he said. “If we want to keep him from getting tricked by other people, then we have to trick him first. And better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lan-gongzi likes to save people,” Meng Yao explained. “He really sees himself as a chivalrous gentleman – he puts chivalry first, even though Teacher Lan says Learning comes first. That’s why he always sides with whoever he perceives to be the underdog in a given situation, no matter how wrong that impression is. That’s how most of the people who’ve been tricking him have gone for it: playing the victim, appealing to his sense of righteousness, pulling the curtains over his eyes to obscure what’s actually happening.”

“Okay. So?”

“So, we’ve both got miserable backstories – you being taken from your family at a young age and then bullied, me with my mother and, even worse, father. If we get him on our side, early on, he’ll side with us over anyone else – that way we can keep him from getting roped into other people’s private grudges.”

Su She frowned. “That seems a little manipulative.”

“It’s for his own good, and that’s what’s important,” Meng Yao said, and smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lan-er-gongzi?”

Su She jumped, turning around just in time to see Lan Wangji, who had been standing in the shadow of a nearby tree, step out.

He had a serious expression, as always, but a thoughtful one.

Meng Yao waited patiently.

“You cannot take advantage,” Lan Wangji finally said, and Meng Yao knew he’d won the most important ally in the battle to save Lan Xichen from himself. “That would change it from a virtuous act to a selfish one.”

“Like we need anything from him,” Su She said haughtily. “Maintain your own discipline.”

“Arrogance is forbidden.”

“It’s not arrogance if it’s justified! It’s just self-confidence!”

“Do not argue with family,” Meng Yao quoted, and was pleased to see both of them drop it at once. “Listen, we all share the same goal, and we have to start somewhere, don’t we? We’re stronger together than apart. Together, we can do anything, even protect Lan-gongzi.”

That and more, he thought as the other boys nodded, following his lead. Lan Xichen is just the start.

-

“The Wen sect will make trouble sooner rather than later,” Meng Yao said thoughtfully, one day. His friends turned to look at him. “Yes, I’m serious.”

Lan Wangji nodded, serious as always, but Su She scoffed.

“You can’t even convince that Wei Wuxian boy to leave poor Lan-er-gongzi alone,” he said snidely. “How exactly are you expecting to bring down the Wen sect?”

“I don’t convince Wei Wuxian to leave Lan-er-gongzi alone because Lan-er-gongzi doesn’t want to be left alone,” Meng Yao said. “Obviously. Isn’t that right?”

“You should call me by name,” Lan Wangji said, which wasn’t answering the question and definitely wasn’t denying anything. “You were saying, about the Wen sect?”

Meng Yao smiled.

-

“What brings one of Teacher Lan’s most promising disciples to the Unclean Realm?” Nie Mingjue said, peering at him thoughtfully. “You’re at the wrong time to be one of the usual messengers.”

Meng Yao smiled at him.

“I think you’ll find that we have similar goals, Sect Leader Nie,” he said. “When it comes to making sure that certain people in our lives don’t get hurt by the bad decisions of others, I mean. In your case, it’s your younger brother, who’s a friend of mine –”

Friend, source of information, it was all about the same thing in the end. Meng Yao didn’t have real friends outside the Lan sect, but he’d been very careful to cultivate good relationships with all his most important peers.

“- and for me, well. A teacher for day, a father for a lifetime. I’m sure Sect Leader Nie can understand the importance of protecting one’s father – right?”

“You don’t need to use any sophistry on me,” Nie Mingjue said, rolling his eyes. “If you have an idea on what we can do to stop the Wen sect before they go and burn someone’s house down, I’m all ears.”

By chance, Meng Yao did.

It was a good plan, too, daring and brave in equal measure. If it worked the way he hoped it would, he’d win enough fame to get Jin Guangshan to beg for him to join the Jin sect – not that he would, of course.

Meng Yao knew what he wanted, and he knew how he was going to get it, too.

-

“This is a lovely house, A-Yao,” Meng Shi said, running her hand along one of the soft tapestries on the wall. “Truly lovely. Whoever you rented it from has good taste.”

Meng Yao bowed. “Thank you for the compliment, Mother. I put a lot of thought into it.”

“You own it?” she asked, surprised. “But don’t you live up the mountain, with the sect?”

“I do. This is for you.”

“For – me? A-Yao! This is too much – how much must it have cost–”

“I saved the Lan sect’s core texts from being destroyed,” Meng Yao said. “I’m an inner sect disciple now – I could ask for a dozen houses like this, and they’d grant them to me without blinking twice. Teacher Lan would insist on it.”

“Teacher Lan,” his mother murmured. “That’s the one you’ve taken to treating as your own father, isn’t it? You’ve spoken so much of him, in your letters…”

“There’s no need to scheme,” he told her. “He wouldn’t notice your flirtations, anyway.”

His mother arched her eyebrows at him.

“He’s really oblivious.”

“Still…”

“Really no need,” Meng Yao said, and couldn’t help but smile at the memory of Lan Qiren pulling him into a hug when he realized that the books – and Lan Xichen – were all safe from the Wen sect’s attempt to burn down the Cloud Recesses, and, later, again, that Wen Ruohan was dead. He may have deliberately schemed for that second hug, and he might or might not have plans for more. “He already takes me as a son.”

His mother relaxed.

“Good,” she said, and smiled herself. “So, A-Yao, was I right, all those years ago? Was the Lan sect a good fit for you?”

“Yes, Mother,” Meng Yao said. “Yes, it was.”

[carelesswispe]

heya! can I request how Dimitri, Edelgard, Claude, and Yuri would court their crush? headcannons and fluff please :") also if there a character limit? (if you can't do Yuri, please replace him with Ashe) ty in advance </3

- 🍙

thank you for requesting! i had a lot of fun writing this ask and sorry if this took a little longer than expected ;; nevertheless, i hope you enjoyed this, jelly filled donut anon!

>genre: fluff with some angst if you squint (mostly for dimitri and edelgard's part)

>warnings: slight mentions of fighting, slight spoilers for the events of fire emblem three houses, some angst

>pairings: dimitri x reader (gn), edelgard x reader (gn), claude x reader (gn), yuri x reader (gn)

Dimitri

Hh he's the loml

I feel like he would only start to court anyone after the five-year timeskip due to the guilt of the tragedy Duscur and the pent up emotions he’s kept bottled up. The fact that he hasn’t overcome his trauma would probably give him the need to distance himself from the one he has feelings with <\\3

Of course, no one’s able to resist the pull of love and despite his irrational thoughts that tell him to distance himself from you, the thoughts that tell him to stay with you were stronger, the feeling that you give him was like a breath of fresh air in the suffocating miasma of his guilt and trauma which gave him the strength to carry on.

But once the war is finally over and he’s sorted out his feelings for you, the first thing he would do is to see you; to finally let you know how he feels...and maybe even propose you to stay by his side forever--

As for courting you, after so many years of killing and brutal murder, I think that Dimitri would be quite awkward in expressing his feelings for you, after having bottled them up for so long.

He would get flustered easily from the little things you do or say to him but still deliver the smoothest compliments as if it was second nature. Just like he always has in the academy, if not, smoother.

If you were to bring this up to him, he would try to deny it with a flushed face, causing him to be hyper-aware of the little things that he used to say with a nonchalant attitude from then on...how adorable

Dimitri is probably not the most romantic man with having basically no experience with relationships and all and would resort to consulting, albeit after much pestering, Sylvain for relationship advice.

It was quite cute though, seeing this grown man trying to be romantic but failing, looking like a teen with his first crush. Although, that may not be far from the truth.

Of course, after failing to pull off any of the ridiculous date ideas Sylvain proposed to him for the umpteenth time, Dimitri decided to do things his own way, even if it meant stumbling around like a newborn deer.

Dimitri’s idea of a romantic date is probably a bit odd...after all, this is coming from the same man who thought that a dagger is a great parting gift. He would take you to shop around for things you might like, wanting to show you that he would grant you anything you desired. And...while he’s at it, he might buy you a weapon of your liking--

After shopping, he’d treat you to a meal while you’re at it. Although he may not care for the flavours of food, seeing you eat your favorite foods with a delighted expression is enough to make the food that much more appetizing.

Being a king, Dimitri would most likely be very busy, filling up paperwork and all and so going out often isn’t something he could afford to do. In order to make up for that, the free time that he does get is all spent with you. Even for a little while, being with you does take away some of the stress that comes with the amount of responsibility on his shoulders.

Whether it be sharing a cup of tea or simply enjoying yourselves in each other’s company, Dimitri is satisfied to spend any time with you

Edelgard

Similar to Dimitri, I feel like Edelgard wouldn’t want to think about feelings of love so soon as long as she hasn’t fulfilled her mission since she wouldn’t want to let her emotions to obstruct her conquest at all, as baseless as those worries might be

However, this doesn’t mean that she would be able to control these feelings of hers with perfect success. After all, try as she might, she’s still a human

Even though she can deny her feelings for you, she can’t deny the comfort your company gives her

Having tea together or even just spending any amount of time with you gives her the break she needs from her burdens she’s imposed upon herself and in times like these, it reminds her of the people she wants to be stronger to protect

Conversations with her mostly consist of her plans and motivations for her cause but outside of that, she also enjoys being able to indulge herself in some much needed rest and she feels like she could share anything with you.

Well, perhaps not her family history but she finds herself revealing the sides that she hid from the public.

Occasionally, she would vent out her feelings of frustration to you, perhaps impersonating and imitating the words of the person who had irritated her

Even if it’s for a little while, she finds herself being able to act like a child or to let loose without fear of being judged around you and it reminds her that she’s not alone in this conquest of hers. And that fact alone comforts her. If you’re by her side, even the rockiest of roads seem like a cake walk as long as you’re here for her.

After the war, she would subtly propose a future with the two of you where you and her could pave the way for the new future of the empire. And when you don’t get what she’s hinting at, she would just throw whatever inhibitions she had out of the window and just tell you in a more direct fashion

Although she fears rejection, she’d rather say out her feelings than to keep it trapped for any longer.

As the emperor, Edelgard is very busy. Despite this, for some reason, she finds herself sneaking away from Hubert’s unrelenting supervision from time to time just to spend time with you.

She finds herself giving the pettiest excuses to go on a date with you whenever her tight schedule has even the tiniest opening.

To her, spending time with you reminds her that she is not only Edelgard Von Hresvelg, the Emperor but El.

However, on occasions where she is unable to slip away from her aide’s watchful eye or whenever she has to go on a trip where she will be away from you for long periods of time, as soon as she is freed from her duties, she will immediately come see you, hopefully plan a vacation together away from all her responsibilities, even for a little while.

Speaking of vacations, this will be a regular occurrence between the two of you. Such vacations range from going out of the empire for some sightseeing to a simple staycation, relishing in each other’s company.

Claude

Unlike the previous two, I feel like Claude, although not necessarily looking for a relationship before the timeskip, he wouldn’t be too opposed to the idea if he falls in love.

But maybe if it's before the timeskip, the relationship between the two of you would be more casual than anything, just enjoying the moment rather than looking into the future. Of course, he would like to spend the rest of his days with you but it's more of a matter of whether that could be possible or not due to the uncertainty of the future.

Dates before the timeskip would consist of fun little lunch dates in the cafeteria, hanging out to the library afterwards.

Most of your dates together were spontaneous, Claude being the one to initiate it first.

Like you two could be chilling, minding your own business, being content in each others’ presence one minute and pranking the entirety of the monastery in another.

Every time the two of you got together, everyone started to go on full alert mode, fully expecting an explosion somewhere or something along the lines of that. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time…

After the timeskip, dates with him don’t really change much...on the surface. In reality, Claude puts more effort into each date, not that he hadn’t before.

It’s just that now, the more time he spends with you, the more certain he is that he wants you to stay by his side, forever.

These dates were comparatively tame as compared to before the timeskip, with him being more mature and responsible now, not wanting to take unnecessary risks now that he’s seen many of his followers come and go, he wouldn’t want you to be like them.

Expect calm candlelit dinners for most of the dates since he tries to reserve the evening for you, maybe going on a stroll around the kingdom, checking up on the state of his citizens with you.

Right, speaking of dinners, during dinner, he would tell the most interesting stories of times when he left the kingdom for important matters and you weren’t able to come along, often bringing home a trinket of sorts which reminded him of you.

I feel like on these trips, he would just pick up random stuff that caught his eye and thought you’d might like, looking forward to seeing your expression upon receiving his gift to you. He gets a little too excited sometimes and goes...overboard, buying WAY too much. On the bright side, now that you got him all fired up, he’ll do his best to rush home to you.

As much as possible, he invites you to go with him to the many many festivals in the kingdom just so that you wouldn’t get bored with just eating out with him. (not that you ever would) and plus, he enjoys seeing the different stalls and booths set up with you.

Yuri

Yuri is quite hard to get close to since he’s the leader of the underworld and all. And even if you do, he puts up a ridiculously high wall when he feels as if you take an interest in him in something other than a friend.

All these years of distrust had given him no choice but to surround himself with various walls. And should you try to break down these walls, he would panic and distance himself from you, anything to make you realise that he shouldn’t be the one to receive your affection. Classic romance novel moment

Of course, you persist and stay there for him anyway, maybe only just pushing it but not to the point where it gets uncomfortable for him. After the years, going through tough situations with you by his side especially when he needed it the most, without realising it, he had a spot for you on his previously cold heart. Maybe it had always been there, maybe not, he didn’t really know anymore.

When you two finally go out together, it comes out as something that was going to happen anyway to the other members of the Ashen Rats Wolves who, don’t even bother to act surprised, come on, even Constance saw it coming, Yuri, you didn’t fool anybody.

Dates with Yuri are always new and exciting, going out on undercover missions together, travelling across Fódlan. Yuri tries to discourage you from coming along because of the danger of each one of his missions but the more he refuses, the more you insist so after a while, he gets the hint that he won’t be able to stop you and eventually just invites you whenever he has to go on long missions without having you finding out about it on your own.

As much as he cares about each and every single one of his subjects in the underworld, being the lord of the underground isn’t exactly the most relaxing or safest job out there and sometimes he just needs a break from all that. Luckily, you’re there to give him some peace of mind. Just by having you by his side, he feels as if he’s transported into another world, a reverie away from all the dangers of his job. Even a protector needs someone to protect him, you know? And he trusts you. He trusts that you would always be there to protect him. Since you were there for him through thick and thin all this time.

You both got each other’s backs

(i wrote WAY too much for Yuri since man i had a wild Yuri phase and i still do and i am just RELIVING IT as i write this)

[separatist-apologist]

Lucien Vanserra + The Villain Theory & Why the Mating Bond Is Not Fake

I've been thinking about this for a while and I've decided I want to debunk this because of all the *insert character that is definitely not the villain becoming a secret villain*, Lucien is most definitely not it.

The theory, according to tiktok, is that Lucien is a secret schemer who has tricked everyone, including Elain, into believing they are mates for undefined, suspicious reasons likely related to Koschei. I find this unlikely considering his "father" is ALSO scheming with Koschei and Lucien likely has some awareness of this considering how often Eris is suddenly hanging around.

This is so long. Everything is under the cut.

However, lets pretend he doesn't. There is consistent, contextual proof that Lucien a) could not make up a mating bond even if he wanted to and b) everyone would know if he had.

Starting in ACOTAR, Tamlin tells Feyre the story of Lucien. On page 160, Tamlin says:

"Lucien said he didn't care she wasn't one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap soon and that he was going to marry her and leave his father's court to his scheming brothers."

Followed up on page 161, Tamlin adds:

"...his father has never apologized and his brothers are too frightened of me to risk harming him. But he has never forgotten what they did to her...even if he pretends he has."

That's ACOTAR. I know SJM likes to change things on a whim, but foundationally, this is Lucien's character and across all five books, it never changes. Lucien is still haunted by Jesminda and the mating bond he lost. He firmly believes, if we believe Tamlin to be a reliable narrator (and we should, as Lucien backs Tamlin's opinion up in his private thoughts. It is also worth noting that if Lucien has a villain origin story, it begins right here, the moment his father beheads Jesminda. To assume he's the villain, we ought to believe that he's been scheming non-stop for at least 200 years (since he's like, 300ish?) and to what end? To kill Beron? He'd have been scheming far longer than Elain was alive.

Moving right along to ACOMAF, on page 619, Amren says:

"And the bond," Amren breathed, Cassian's blood shining on her hands as she slowed its dribbling.

Mor said, "She asked the king to break the bond. He obliged."

I thought I might be dying- thought my chest might actually be cleaved in two.

"Thats impossible," Amren said. "That sort of bond cannot be broken."

"The kind said he could do it."

"The king is a fool," Amren barked. "That sort of bond cannot be broken."

"No, it can't," I said.

This is from Rhys' perspective. A mating bond can't be broken with magic- it's forever. Even rejected or in death (we'll get there), the mating bond is for life. Assuming Lucien's mate was Jesminda, even if it hadn't snapped in death, she would STILL be his mate and death would not have changed that. Neither would any magic Lucien, a spell-cleaver, might possess.

Let's also consider Elain, who has no reason to lie and every reason to call Lucien out regarding the bond. In ACOMAF, page 608, we see this:

"...Elain was staring over Nesta's shoulder. At Lucien-whose face she had finally taken in. Dark brown eyes met one of russet and one of metal. Nesta was still weeping, still raging, still inspecting Elain-

Lucien's hands slackened at his sides. His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, "You're my mate."

It's Elain who sees him first, who feels the mating bond mere seconds before Lucien. Why choose Elain, if you're going to pick a fake mate for your scheme? The argument is generally that she has the least amount of knowledge about Faeries and no interest in that education but how would Lucien know that? Feyre told Lucien nothing about her sisters (she told Ianthe instead), which means he would have had to guess. Given that Elain fights being put in the Cauldron, there's nothing contextually in that moment that suggests that Lucien somehow knew she was the easier sister to fool.

It's also worth noting that Lucien, up until that moment, still genuinely believes Jesminda was his mate. If he's the villain, having a fake mate makes no sense to the story or his plans.

Feyre has been inside Lucien's mind twice. Once in ACOMAF (pg. 95):

"Thoughts slammed into me, images and memories, a pattern of thinking and feeling that was old, and clever, and sad, so endlessly sad and guilt-ridden, hopeless-"

And again in ACOWAR when Lucien meets Elain for the first time. On page 249, we get the best description of what Lucien is feeling regarding the mating bond, all through Feyre's perspective:

"Too thin. She must not be eating at all. How can she even stand?

The thoughts flowed through his head, one after another. His heart was a raging, thunderous beat, and he didn't dare move from his position a mere five feet away. She hadn't yet turned toward him, but the ravages of her fasting were evident enough.

Touch her, smell her, taste her-

The instincts were running a river. he fisted his hands at his sides."

"But there she was. His mate. She was nothing like Jesminda."

"Elain had been...thrown at him."

"That circle of people who now claimed to be Feyre's new family...It was what, long ago, he'd once thought life at Tamlin's court would be. An ache like a blow to the chest went through him, but he crossed the rug."

"But he couldn't breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He'd said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the senses chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours."

"She looked away- towards the windows. 'I can hear your heart,' she said quietly. He wasn't sure how to respond, so he said nothing and drained his tea even as it burned his mouth.

'When I sleep,' she murmured, 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. 'Can you hear mine?'

He wasn't sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, 'No, lady. I cannot.'"

These are Lucien's thoughts from Feyre's perspective. He has no idea she's in his head, so why is he thinking all those things? Why feel guilt that he finds her beautiful or that he'd once said all the same things to Jesminda that he thinks about Elain? Why care about her well-being? We know mates are driven to protect and Lucien's very first thoughts about Elain are ones of concern. She's not eating, she's too thin, how can she possibly stand? Not, hahaah my evil planned worked and I totally have an in with the Night Court (which, why would he need considering Tamlin is currently allied with Hybern and Lucien could have taken full advantage of that?).

Additionally, assuming Lucien is faking the mating bond for some poorly defined, evil plot, why keep such distance? Why not force himself on her? That's the claim, right? That he's forcing her to be with him which is amusing because in ACOFAS, Lucien has some thoughts on page 162"

"'How is she?'

'Better. She makes no mention of her abilities. If they remain.'

'Good. But is she still...' A muscle flickered in his jaw. 'Does she still mourn him?'"

First question he asks. "How is she?" Followed by if she's still in love with her ex-fiance. And I can hear the screaming now, "HE ASKED BECAUSE HE WANTS TO OWN HER" but like, on page 165 of ACOFAS, we get:

"I can't stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes."

Truly a stupid plan to fake a mating bond with a person that is causing you to be eaten alive with guilt and longing. We know the second he's around her, Lucien's is overwhelmed with the mating instincts and feels guilt over Jesminda, which is why he spends little time around Elain. He also tells Feyre, on that same page, he doesn't want his life to be financed by Rhysand. Feyre practically begs Lucien to move back to Velaris, to work for her full time, to let her set him up somewhere nicer and Lucien declines it all. If his plan hinged on getting closer to the IC, to using Rhys' resources, why tell her no? Why not take her up on it? Why not make him part of her life in a much more tangible way?

And finally, the dreaded scent of the mating bond. Feyre doesn't risk talking to Rhys when she's in Spring for fear of alerting everyone to the scent of the bond. Azriel, too, cannot stand the smell of it to the point he stands in the doorway during solstice rather than come in.

Ladies, Gentleman, and Non-binary pals of the jury, examine the evidence. For Lucien to be a villain, he has to KNOW that Feyre is a daemati before she does and both leave his thoughts unguarded while constantly assuming she MIGHT be picking through them. He also has to be able to control large amounts of people at the same time via the smell of the bond and Elain being able to feel it. When he tugs, she responds.

It would require everyone around them to be incredibly dumb. Feyre and Rhys basically share a mind and while they don't necessarily trust Lucien (unfairly imo), I firmly believe one of them would have picked up on a fake bond or Lucien's scheming.

Lucien wanted Jesminda, not Elain. If he decided to punish the world around him for the consistent pain he was enduring, he doesn't need Elain to achieve this. He's friends with Feyre. He has contacts all over Prythian. He didn't need to fake a mating bond, nor does it make any sense to do so. What they have is REAL.

And lastly, the bond can't be broken. Rejected, yes, broken no. Regardless if you think they'll keep it or not, they ARE mates and Lucien is NOT the villain who will be heroically slaughtered. They're awkward, they're uncomfortable, they have shit to work out but they ARE mates, and Lucien has proven over and over that all he wants is a home and goddamn peace and quiet.

[kyberphilosopher]

Cerise

Those are people who died, died Those are people who died, died They were all my friends and just died.

Word Count: 5736 Warnings: Crime, Weapons, Mentioned Murder of a R/pist, Crude humor.

Jason’s friend and roommate, another Gotham villain, is ordered to return to Task Force X.

ce·rise/səˈrēs,səˈrēz/ [noun] a bright or deep red color.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Let’s open up our story on a colorful note: Fuck Amanda Waller. 

Nobody likes her. You don’t like her. Jason doesn’t like her. None of the characters in this story like her. Arguably, none of the characters in your present universe like her, either. There’s a reason why people call her “The Wall”. It’s because that’s what it’s like talking to her. And that’s what it would be like trying to deny the request she’d passed on to you in her letter. 

It weighed on your mind briefly as you walk up the stairs of your apartment building. By the third flight, the weight’s pretty much disappeared. Sure, there’s anger at Waller for violating your agreement, but it’s so useless being annoyed with her that it washes away fast. So by the fourth flight, the whole thing is settled in your head to completion. You’ll go back to your Suicide Squad- or a Suicide Squad, considering most people Waller selects are idiots. Then you’ll do the job, and walk away bing, bang, boom. 

You tip your head politely as if in salute to the older woman, Mallorca, who occupies the apartment across from you. She returns a warm smile that raises her prominent and wrinkled jowls, igniting the fire in her warm brown eyes. “You need me to do your laundry again?” 

Of course an angel such as Mallorca would make such an offer. It’s not a bad offer, either. Your dark, silver lined chest plate is splattered with blood all over the front. It’s nobodies blood that doesn’t deserve it, as per your agreement with Waller. Just some perverted little prick who thought with his dick instead of his brain with the wrong girl. She looked frightened, and you saved her, and since the prick had just hit 18 (a fact you learned after rummaging around his wallet after), you had permission to bash his brain in. Hence the blood splattered vigilante armor. 

The first time Mallorca had seen such a sight, she had no reaction whatsoever. You weren’t sure what else you were expecting from an old woman living in a back alley apartment building, but it certainly wasn’t that. She offered no shock to your red masked, blood stained roommate either. Mallorca is simply an otherworldly being. And is that cocaine you see on the collar of her shirt?

“I got it,” you throw in return, rounding the corner so she’s at your back, and nearing the climb up the next and last flight of stairs. “Hey, is Jason home?” But when you turn around fully, Mallorca shows no intention of responding and has disappeared down your previous staircase. You clasp your hands against the sides of your thighs, “Oh, okay.”

You make your way up the final steps and stick a hand in a secret back pocket to fish around for your keys. You wince when you begin the rigorous task of tugging the lanyard free from the depths, which unfortunately fell near to your back hole. Then you slip the key into the lock and twist. 

Inside your apartment is near emptiness. There’s a couch, a rug, some windows, a TV, and to your immediate right is a small kitchen beside a hallway that leads to a bathroom and two bedrooms. You see the large plant you’d stuck in the corner is wilted and tinged brown, and the TV is playing some movie with the sound muted. No sign of your roommate, however. 

You toss your helmet and keys onto the couch. Then you make your way to the kitchen to search the fridge for a snack (that you know is not there) or perhaps some water. You bend down to peek an eye in, only to stand back up and close the thing. Then you pass over to the counter, and reach up to now peek an eye in the overhead cabinet. 

“You’re home early.”

You let out a short-but cathartic- scream, jumping as you turn around. You relax quickly. It’s only Jason, and your face changes from shocked and panicked to simply annoyed. 

The man at the other side of the room pulls his infamous red helmet from atop his face. Underneath is a classically masculine, handsome face with eyes that blend between green and blue. Black hair falls free in messy strands, accented by the one white tuft that you’ve claimed reminds you of a skunk. You tilt your head lazily in defeat. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”

Jason shrugs in his red hoodie and jeans, walking across the room to set the helmet on the coffee table. “Four. Any particular reason you’re home so early?” he flops himself onto the couch and kicks his feet up, crossing them tastefully next to the Red Hood helmet. 

You turn back around to continue the task of grabbing a cup from the top cabinet. “It’s been five, and I apologize for assuming I could do what I wanted in my own home.”

“If you have to ask me to stop sneaking up on you five times, you’re probably a really bad vigilante.”

“Fuck,” you mutter as you fill the cup with tap water. “That’s true.”

You turn around to face Jason. His eyes are already on you, illuminated by the blue glow from the television. They linger purely on your form for a moment, then they dip down to narrow at your armor. “Were you the one who killed that guy on the back of main?”

You furrow your brows and look up with pursed lips in thought. “Are you talking about the main diner or the main records shop?”

“Main diner on main street.”

“No, that was Azrael. This was by the records shop.” You raise the glass to your lips.

Jason snaps his fingers. “Oh, that guy. The kid?”

You nod and take another sip of the water. “He just turned eighteen, so you know. Free game. So, what do you want for dinner? Pick something good. I’m going back to the squad so I won’t be here for a few weeks.”

Jason’s brows furrow for a split second, then he perks up attentively. “You’re going back to the task force?” he repeats, though it sounds defeated and disbelieving. Distraught- is that the word you’re looking for?

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I got the letter-” you set the cup of water down and reach a hand into your pocket. Then you pull the crumpled envelope free of its confines and toss it onto the counter, “-today.”

Jason’s eyebrows furrow again. This time the movement is quick and curved and almost offended. “So, that’s it then?”

“What’s wrong, Jason?” you smirk. “Did you finally fall in love with your roommate turned friend? I always knew this day would come.”

“Uh, no?”

“Suit yourself.”

You turn back around and begin rinsing the cup out. Jason watches your back, something in his chest sinking. You weren’t his best friend. Besides living together, you weren’t really all that close. You were living a life a lot like his, running around at night as some antihero vigilante. The only difference was that you’d crossed paths with Waller and had managed to make it out of her system alive. Most antihero vigilante’s weren’t so lucky. Most of them died. But now you’re telling Jason right to his face that you’re going back. That you think you’ll only be gone a few weeks when it could just be forever. Sprayed with dark blood all over... what if it was yours?

“Actually,” Jason leans forward. His legs drop from the table and spread open, elbows resting against his knees with a hunched back. “Why don’t you pick dinner tonight?”

The glass clinks against the metal of the sink as you set it inside. Jason almost always picks dinner. Most of the time he chooses burgers or Chinese. Your apartments stove isn’t working, so eating from home really just means a BLT sandwich for the both of you. 

“Are you offering because you’re hoping I’ll choose that new steakhouse?” you smile.

“I’ll get you anything you want,” the man replies. “It’s on me.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Jason meets you on the roof of the building about an hour and a half later. You wanted to go with him, since you’d say his behavior is different from usual, but he was very adamant about you staying in. Jason even encouraged you to go ahead and pick your favorite movie to watch while he’s gone. 

When you told him you’d decided on the steakhouse option, you meant it ironically. Between the two of you, money could be described as ‘tight’. Going to a new place like that would mean saving for a while. Furthermore, you hadn’t even given him your order before Red Hood was gone. 

To his credit, looking at him now, you wouldn’t change a thing. The first bite of the food is phenomenal. The second bite is just perfect. Jason must have mind reading powers to be so aware of your taste in food- you’d thought he never noticed. 

He gets a steak, as predicted. Jason loves steak. 

Gotham looks most like itself at night, a view shared between the two of you. Two sets of legs dangle over the side of your building, both of which are clad in heavy boots and armored knees. Jason had decided to go out as his alter ego- a fact he thought he could keep from you by putting his hoodie under his leather jacket. 

“I saw you put your helmet by the door,” you tell him. “I know what’s under that sweatshirt.”

“No you didn’t,” is all he says back. 

The wind tickles the back of your neck. It ripples through the air in lazy waves, making Jason’s hair ruffle. The white skunk streak disappears and reappears between the darker-than-midnight-sky strands. Behind Jason, the moon is full and lonely. Its only company is the two of you. 

“Oh my god,” you stuff your mouth. “This is so good.”

“Hm,” Jason hums in agreement, stabbing his steak once again with a fork in his black to-go box. It’s the next movement of his shoulder that catches your eye. 

“Jason, is that cocaine, or powder donut dust?” 

Jason glances over at you. 

Your eyes linger on the white splotch of something in the wrinkles of red fabric. “Because I asked you not to eat them since there’s only two left.”

Your face slowly falls to one of horror as Jason stays still. With a face of steel, he finally says, “It’s cocaine then.”

“Then?”

“Look what I got you.”

Jason sets his box to the ledge beside him and leans down. 

“Worst subject change ever.” You take an angry bite of your meal in an attempt to both silence yourself and to make you feel better. Unfortunately as you pull away from the bite, crumbs attach themselves to your chest plate and stick to your fingers. “Crap. Jason, your dumb food is getting shit all over my stuff!”

When you look over, Jason’s orbs are already on you. His eyes pierce yours, almost unintentionally daring them to look away. The skunk strands glow this close. He holds two things in his hands. The first is a small, brown pot you could balance in the palm of your hand, filled with miniature yellow and red flowers. Scarlet tulips, golden sunflowers, and blonde alstroemerias. In the other hand is a Blu-ray copy of your favorite film. 

“Oh,” is all you can muster out. 

When was the last time the two of you had actually exchanged gifts? You weren’t lovers, or best friends. You were just friends. It had to have been last Christmas, when you had gotten him a TV subscription for South Park and a pair of socks. Jason had gifted you a new bedframe that he later helped you put together. 

A big smile reaches your eyes and makes your cheeks sore. “I haven’t been able to find this anywhere,” you say, taking the movie from his fingers. Your voice comes out pure and genuine. “Thank you.” Your smile grows even larger when you cup the pot of flowers with both hands. 

“All of the flower shops were closed,” Jason explains. “Those are plastic. They won’t die anytime soon.”

At that moment, you swear you could’ve kissed him. He’s looking at you like this is all nothing, like he didn’t just drop big money on dinner and flowers for you. Jason knew what food you wanted before you did. He knew your favorite movie when you can’t even remember saying a thing about it. When had any other man or woman been so thoughtful? So romantic? So caring?

You glance down to the film in your lap. “I didn’t think you payed attention this well.”

Jason’s brow quirks upwards. Something flashes in his eyes as he adjusts his position, seven stories up from the ground. “What kind of roomie would I be if I didn’t?” he asks. Something tells you there’s a shyness blooming in that broad chest of his. Jason’s eyes flit downward to the blood on you, before his head dips back upwards to lock a stare with you once more. “You smell nice,” he states.

You look up at him simply. You know your eyes are filled with pure adoration, and that it’s showing all over your face, but you don’t care. Your red hooded, drug pedaling, bat wrangling, gun toting equal roommate is your favorite person in all of Gotham at this exact moment. 

Behind Jason, a small bird flits overhead with a flash of crimson. “Hey, look,” you pat Jason’s shoulder. His eyes follow yours until they land on the floor of the roof behind you. “I think it’s a robin.”

“I know that bird,” Jason scowls. “That’s the son of the bitch that keeps waking me up in the morning.”

“Hm?”

You watch as Jason swings his legs over the side and pushes himself from the ledge. One hand reaches into the back of his pants while the other searches his leather jacket pocket for something. After a few seconds, he produces both a clip of ammo and a gun, which connect with a click. 

“Ah!” you yelp, placing both the flowers and movie on the brick before copying your friends actions and standing on the roof. Jason hasn’t shot yet, but the gun in his hand is aimed right at the little birdie. He’s got a clean shot. His face remains neutral and unmoving as you take your place beside him. 

It’s a full minute, and the robin is still alive and intact. He nibbles on a little crumb of bread. “He looks happy,” you think out loud. The air of Gotham goes quiet up on that roof, despite the distant sirens, music, and people throughout the city. “Are you gonna shoot?”

Jason’s finger lingers over the trigger. Even the slightest of a squeeze would set the weapon off at this point. The balls of your feet move to and froe, anticipating the bang you’re so familiar with. But then Jason lowers the gun completely, and the robin flies away at the movement. “Nah. He’ll feel the pain I dish out in the morning.”

“Don’t be sad,” you nudge Jason. “He’ll be back at six AM tomorrow to wake you up.” You turn to return to your beckoning food on the ledge. “Thanks for all this, anyway.”

“You’re welcome,” you hear Jason respond. “Hey Y/N?”

Jason watches you spin until you’re completely facing him. He can see the blood again. How it’s completely standing out against the darkness of your outfit. You look powerful, yeah. And you look like the antihero you’re labeled as. But all Jason sees is a corpse of a... of a friend. “Yeah?”

“You’re sure about this Waller thing?”

“Yeah?” you reply, as if it were obvious. The stain on you is so haunting it’s easy to think otherwise. “It’s not like I have much of a choice. It’ll only be a few weeks. I’ll be back before you know it. Then I can show you this sick ass movie.”

Then you go back to walking towards the ledge to retake your seat. But Jason remains standing. He watches as you, the person he thinks of naked so often, get comfortable, your back facing him. And, despite your word, Jason has the sinking feeling that some Suicide Squad mission isn’t the only place Amanda Waller will send you to. 

This time, Amanda Waller will send you to your grave.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

This was supposed to be out on August 16th, for Jason’s birthday. But the concept came to me too late and I spent too long on it. Anyway, here’s some symbolism for ya.

Tulips symbolize unconditional love. Sunflowers symbolize adoration. Alstroemeria’s symbolize devotion. The reader describes the plant in their apartment as turning brown, suggesting it may share a similar fate as the reader as plants go brown when about to die. Robin’s symbolize optimism, a trait the reader displays towards the idea of returning to the Suicide Squad. Robin was also a former identity of Red Hood. Both of which could be why Jason decides to spare the bird. 

I’ll go back and proof read this in the morning.

[wangxianslillotus]

Au where Wei WuXian doesn't go to Nightless city after Wen Qing, Wen Ning and the remaining Wens. Instead he runs away with A-Yuan and the granny. They stay hidden for years in a humble house in between a forest and a river at the border of Qinghe Nie and LanLing, away from Yiling.

Wei Ying tries to stay away from the towns after hearing about the burial mounds being attacked, of course that there would be those who search for the stigean seal, "That Yiling laozu, he disappeared in the night! Who knows when he's going to appear again to cause more trouble!!" He hears, "He's preparing to take revenge, he hasn't learned from the last time!!" . But he doesn't want revenge, he just wants to raise A-Yuan. After that, he knows that he has to hide, and ends up avoiding all contact and interactions with the world, but he remains doing his research in demonic cultivation, enough to train and develope new things that they will need for protection, but never enough for it to attract any attention.

Granny passes away after taking care of her boys, and when they find themselves in the winter out of provisions such as food and others, Wei WuXian makes his trip to the market for the first time in almost seven years. He wears a disguise, but he can never be completely sure that they are safe. Of course, he takes his son along, because he can't leave him alone. He's never sure.

A-Yuan has come with granny before, he knows the people in town, and they pretty much adore him just as the people loved Wei WuXian at the old pier market. Wei WuXian watches him and lets him lead the little trip to town with a bright smile. They buy the necessary things for a couple of cold months, and go back home at night. But as they are leaving, they catch a glimpse of gold robes in one of the streets. Wei WuXian drags A-Yuan to a dark alley to hide, until the cultivators of LanLing pass by without noticing them. After that, they don't go to the town anymore for a while.

A-Yuan doesn't ask, he never does, he respects that his father has a very mysterious past that he wants to hide, to forget if possible, and that if something happens, he will have to run away with the stigean seal. He knows that, but being aware of the pain that crosses his father's eyes is hard. But he doesn't ask even when Wei WuXian starts to train him to be a cultivator, not just for fun anymore.

He developed a golden core very young, but never used it for anything more than some night hunts at the near forest and protection. Now, they are preparing just in case those golden robed people got closer, he knows that much.

He practices archery, calligraphy too ("A-Yuan, even if dad can't write like he draws, you should do it properly. Maybe I can't make it look good, but I know how it should look.") and his father lends him his sword from time to time, for him to learn how to transfer energy on the blade, how to fly, and how to retrieve it if he sent it flying for attack. Suibian accepts him, almost knowing that he's his owner's son. Wei WuXian teaches him everything he knows about cultivation, that is not little knowledge, on the contrary, Wei Yuan ends up learning so many things, even about different sects. His father teaches him about the Lan Sect and Jiang Sect more than any others, he hears about a big library where he used to copy 3000 rules from the Lan Sect, watched closely by the most gracious man that his father has ever seen. Wei Yuan learns that his father often thinks about this Lan man, when the moon rises fully in the night sky, drinking some alcohol if they can allow it.

He learns enough demonic cultivation too, enough to prevent accidents from happening, enough not to panic, and enough to suppress the stigean seal if needed. Of course, he can't do that alone, it's only to help his father. "Never use it, A-Yuan, you know how if feels now, so you can identify it, but never use it. You can think of better ways."

He learns about talismans, more than any other Sect may even know that exist, his father is proud of that. And he is too. His father knows so many things that A-Yuan is enchanted with everything he learns. He is a good boy.

......

When A-yuan is close to become 13, Wei WuXian goes back to the town and orders a sword for him, one similar to suibian in terms of speed and weight, but black. It was going to be ready in a month and a half, the shopkeeper said. And it was going to be expensive. But it was worth it, Wei Ying knew, anything for his little boy. Besides, winter didn't had many hunting opportunities, it was a good timing.

When the time passed, Wei WuXian took A-Yuan with him to the town. They sold some talismans during the day, bought food and some warmer clothes that would be useful since there was starting to snow already in the forest, and then, they stopped by the smithy. Wei WuXian gave his son an excited smile.

When A-Yuan received the sword, he was more than happy. He was jumping like he was five again, hugging his father like he would never let go, so happy that he cried a little. Wei WuXian laughed at him for that, but he was equally happy just by watching his son. He knew it was worth it.

On the following days, Wei WuXian trained him with his sword. He couldn't use Suibian properly since he couldn't transfer it any energy, and using resentful energy didn't work at all on the blade (he had tried, it didn't went well.) But he could use it as a normal sword, and he was good at it. Better than the good ones. They sparred until his father said it was good enough to go for a nighthunt in the following days.

Little did they know that they would split, running from a Yao that had really long claws, just as large as Suibian, and creept at fast speed. It was a dangerous one, climbing the trees and jumping at them from above. The beast followed A-Yuan at first, be could hear it growling right behind him. The boy ran away at his father's order, and the beast got distracted after a while thanks to his father's music. A-Yuan ran until stopping at the entrance of a cave, listening attentively to the dizi in the distance, just in case he heard another order from Wei WuXian.

The snow was freezing his feets, and he was already wet to the knee, some of his back too because he had rolled over avoiding the Yao's claws. The dizi went silent abruptly, but it wasn't always a bad thing. It probably meant his father had killed the beast using resentful energy. He waited for about ten minutes before deciding he would go back, but as he was about to go the way he came from, he heard steps behind.

Too close to avoid to be seen, too close to run away successfully. A-Yuan turned around, ready for a fight when he saw a boy his age, dressed in white, with a headband matching the could embroidery of his robes. A Lan. It was a Lan. They couldn't find his father.

Turns out, it was a friendly Lan, that gave him a look and then proceeded to explain that he was lost. "We were nighthunting, but I got lost following the tracks of a Yao." He had said. "Honestly, I fell into a pit when I was running away, and when I got out, it was gone. Have you seen it, perhaps?" But A-Yuan lied, said that he hadn't. That he was fighting a ghost. The ones that didn't let traces behind. At this, the Lan shivered, murmuring something about hating ghosts, and A-Yuan couldn't help it, he laughed hard. He was absolutely stressed from running, ten minutes more would probably help his limbs, he thought.

The Lan got flustered at his laugh, not used to such displays of emotions from others, but he ended up laughing too. They talked for an hour or so, until A-Yuan realized that his father must have been searching him like a madman. He apologized to the Lan boy, grabbed his sword, and run away in a hurry, leaving a very confused cultivator behind. When he arrived his home, it was almost sunrise already. Wei WuXian was waiting for him in front of the door. When he saw him appear, he run towards him and hugged him hard.

Again, A-Yuan didn't ask. He knew his father's pain without need of explanation. He hugged back, letting the bad feelings go at once. They slept side by side that night, like when A-Yuan was a toddler, holding all their memories together. Keeping them warm.

.......

A couple of months later, the spring came back, and A-Yuan was more than happy to help his father with the orchard. They played in the river too, hunted some pheasants and rabbits that started to reappear from their hibernation, and Wei WuXian allowed A-Yuan to go alone to the town. He knew it was a big thing, because his father thought of his petition for about a week before answering. He had to be careful, "there are really bad people out there, my radish." But if he could nighthunt, he could take some walks around the market and enjoy tasteful food once in a while, he thought.

In one of his expeditions to the town, he met that Lan boy again. "This one is called Lan JingYi, since you ran away last time I couldn't tell you that, but we spoke about good food, and you mentioned this inn." He said. And A-Yuan smiled. He didn't say his name, but it was enough that the owner of the inn saw him, invited them both to take a seat and eat, calling him "A-Yuan". He had to be aware from his last name.

Nonetheless, he shared with Lan JingYi a good meal, happy when his new friend complimented his good taste with food.

It was not the last time they met. Lan JingYi usually appeared at the town from time to time after sending him a letter to that inn, that the owner gave him when he arrived the town. He was happy to have a friend, so Wei WuXian allowed it. It was good that his son had a dependable friend. Even if it was dangerous, he thought that some meals and sporadic letters couldn't do any harm to anyone. As long as A-Yuan was happy, he would comply. He wanted his son to have everything.

Time passed by quickly, they knew. They sold more talismans at the market, nighthunted anything and everything that they could, shared stories about their days when they were apart, ate delicious foods at the inn sometimes, and trained. They trained a lot.

In was when they turned 15 that Lan JingYi gave A-Yuan an invitation to study at Cloud recesses.

And Wei WuXian had to decide new plans.

[weirwoodking]

I have a small headcanon that Sansa has already skinchanged into a bird without her knowledge once before. This passage about Marillion in the sky cells in particular:

“When she closed her eyes she could see him in his sky cell, huddled in a corner away from the cold black sky, crouched beneath a fur with his woodharp cradled against his chest.”

What do you think?

Oh, absolutely. I do think that she’s experienced her powers in some way, she just hasn’t thought about them.

George does leave these little subtle hints in the text that point to the Stark kids abilities, the earliest being in chapter one:

Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly.

“What is it, Jon?” their lord father asked.

“Can’t you hear it?”

Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else.

“There,” Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling.

“He must have crawled away from the others,” Jon said. (Bran I, AGOT)

While on horseback, and halfway across the bridge, already far away from where a mute direwolf puppy was, Jon was able to “hear” him. Obviously, he didn’t hear Ghost, he sensed him. Already, he was bonded with Ghost, even though this was about a year and half before Jon had his first “true” wolf dream. And furthermore, it takes a while before he’s able to clearly remember these dreams:

The wolf dreams had been growing stronger, and he found himself remembering them even when awake. (Jon I, ADWD)

So, yes, I definitely think that Sansa could already be having skinchanging dreams with a bird/birds. She just might not remember it. Also, she doesn’t have to have been having direct dreams, but moments of using the bird’s senses. Not fully in the animal, just sharing it’s space for a moment.

Unlike the sh*w, where skinchanging is an on/off switch (you’re either inside the animal or not inside the animal), skinchanging in the books is more nuanced. Jon is able to brush his hand up against Ghost and tap into the wolf’s senses, without fully warging him. He can even taste blood in his mouth after Ghost kills, and he can feel the wolf’s hunger. The most notable instance of this “one mind in two bodies simultaneously” thing is with Arya and the Braavos street cat:

That night she dreamed she was a wolf again, but it was different from the other dreams. In this dream she had no pack. She prowled alone, bounding over rooftops and padding silently beside the banks of a canal, stalking shadows through the fog. (Cat of the Canals, AFFC)

The tavern was near empty, and she was able to claim a quiet corner not far from the fire. No sooner had she settled there and crossed her legs than something brushed up against her thigh. "You again?" said the blind girl. She scratched his head behind one ear, and the cat jumped up into her lap and began to purr. Braavos was full of cats, and no place more than Pynto's. The old pirate believed they brought good luck and kept his tavern free of vermin. "You know me, don't you?" she whispered. Cats were not fooled by a mummer's moles. They remembered Cat of the Canals.

[...]

The Lyseni took the table nearest to the fire and spoke quietly over cups of black tar rum, keeping their voices low so no one could overhear. But she was no one and she heard most every word. And for a time it seemed that she could see them too, through the slitted yellow eyes of the tomcat purring in her lap. One was old and one was young and one had lost an ear, but all three had the white-blond hair and smooth fair skin of Lys, where the blood of the old Freehold still ran strong. (The Blind Girl, ADWD)

"It is good to know. This is two. Is there a third?"

"Yes. I know that you're the one who has been hitting me." Her stick flashed out, and cracked against his fingers, sending his own stick clattering to the floor.

The priest winced and snatched his hand back. "And how could a blind girl know that?"

I saw you. "I gave you three. I don't need to give you four." Maybe on the morrow she would tell him about the cat that had followed her home last night from Pynto's, the cat that was hiding in the rafters, looking down on them. Or maybe not. If he could have secrets, so could she. (The Blind Girl, ADWD)

While Arya is not fully outside of her body and in the body of the cat, she’s able to use the cat’s eyes as her own. And she isn’t even aware that she’s doing it, it’s just occurring naturally. I do believe that the same cat she dreams as in AFFC is the tomcat that she sees through in ADWD.

So, yes, I do believe that Sansa could be looking through the eyes of a bird. She’s just not aware of it.

It does seem like the Stark kids are much more powerful than the average skinchangers/wargs, immediately bonding to the wolves without realizing it, and already connecting with other animals. Arya is able to warg Nymeria from an entirely separate continent, which probably isn’t standard behavior, especially not for someone who doesn’t even know what they’re doing and has no training. Even Varamyr, a man who has mastered the control of five animals, recognizes Jon’s power:

The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it. (Prologue, ADWD)

So, the Starks seem to be pretty powerful. And that includes Sansa, as GRRM has confirmed that she is still a skinchanger, meaning that he’s definitely going to have a bond with an animal at some point. It would make sense for him to have already been leaving little hints about it.

A very important component to Sansa’s character, which could be affecting her skinchanging powers, is her memory. The way that Sansa’s mind has coped with her trauma is by suppressing and rewriting certain distressing, scarring, and confusing memories. This is something that all the Stark kids do, in different levels. For example, Bran believes that Rickon intentionally suppresses the memory of Ned being dead:

"Tell Robb I want him to come home," said Rickon. "He can bring his wolf home too, and Mother and Father." Though he knew Lord Eddard was dead, sometimes Rickon forgot... willfully, Bran suspected. (Bran V, ACOK)

Bran himself does this as well:

The dream he'd had... the dream Summer had had... No, I mustn't think about that dream. He had not even told the Reeds, though Meera at least seemed to sense that something was wrong. If he never talked of it maybe he could forget he ever dreamed it, and then it wouldn't have happened and Robb and Grey Wind would still be... (Bran IV, ASOS)

Sansa does this the most out of her siblings, it’s her primary coping mechanism. One example is how remembers (or tries not to remember) Jeyne Poole:

Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. (Sansa II, ACOK)

She tries to not to think of her, because it’s too traumatic for her to do so.

Another example is how she’s trying to process the situations she’s in at the Eyrie.

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. She did not say it, though. If not for Petyr Baelish it would have been Sansa who went spinning through a cold blue sky to stony death six hundred feet below, instead of Lysa Arryn. He is so bold. Sansa wished she had his courage. She wanted to crawl back into bed and hide beneath her blanket, to sleep and sleep. She had not slept a whole night through since Lysa Arryn's death. (Sansa I, AFFC)

He is serving me lies as well, Sansa realized. They were comforting lies, though, and she thought them kindly meant. A lie is not so bad if it is kindly meant. If only she believed them...

The things her aunt had said just before she fell still troubled Sansa greatly. "Ravings," Petyr called them. "My wife was mad, you saw that for yourself." And so she had. All I did was build a snow castle, and she meant to push me out the Moon Door. Petyr saved me. He loved my mother well, and...

And her? How could she doubt it? He had saved her.

He saved Alayne, his daughter, a voice within her whispered. But she was Sansa too... and sometimes it seemed to her that the Lord Protector was two people as well. He was Petyr, her protector, warm and funny and gentle... but he was also Littlefinger, the lord she'd known at King's Landing, smiling slyly and stroking his beard as he whispered in Queen Cersei's ear. And Littlefinger was no friend of hers. When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her, not Littlefinger. When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety, not Littlefinger. When the Lannisters wed her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort, not Littlefinger. Littlefinger never lifted so much as his little finger for her.

Except to get me out. He did that for me. I thought it was Ser Dontos, my poor old drunken Florian, but it was Petyr all the while. Littlefinger was only a mask he had to wear. Only sometimes Sansa found it hard to tell where the man ended and the mask began. Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike. She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. Winterfell was burned and desolate, Bran and Rickon dead and cold. Robb had been betrayed and murdered at the Twins, along with their lady mother. Tyrion had been put to death for killing Joffrey, and if she ever returned to King's Landing the queen would have her head as well. The aunt she'd hoped would keep her safe had tried to murder her instead. Her uncle Edmure was a captive of the Freys, while her great-uncle the Blackfish was under siege at Riverrun. I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr. (Sansa I, AFFC)

Sansa knows deep down (not even that deep, just down) that Petyr is untrustworthy. She knows he’s fed her lies, but she wants to believe them. She wants to be able to trust him. She wants to feel like she can be safe with him. She wants to be safe. It bothers me a lot whenever people say Sansa is “stupid” for trusting Petyr, or “uncaring” for not thinking often of Jeyne. She isn’t stupid or uncaring, she’s a traumatized thirteen year old whose brain is trying to cope with what she’s gone through and what she’s currently going through.

So, she has built a wall. And behind that wall are the memories of Lysa’s death, the truth about Jon Arryn’s murder, and Jeyne Poole. I think it would make sense if skinchanging, something that involves the mind, is also something that she’s subconsciously repressing. I talked about this sometime a while ago, but I believe that a big moment for Sansa in TWOW is going to be her confronting her memories. And most significantly, confronting Baelish about what happened to Jeyne Poole and exposing the truth of Jon Arryn and Lysa’s deaths. Thus, defeating Littlefinger, the mockingbird.

It would make sense if this coincided with her skinchanging abilities truly awakening. As her mind opens, her powers become stronger. I’m pretty deadset on Sansa’s bird being a falcon, not just for the House Arryn connection and because she’s gone hawking with a falcon before, but also because of the symbolism. Falcons symbolize “vision, freedom, and victory. Hence, it also connotes salvation to those who are in bondage whether moral, emotional, or spiritual”. I think that Sansa bonding with a falcon and “flying free” would be perfect for the conclusion of her caged bird arc.

Sorry, this got really long, it just kind of turned into all my thoughts about how skinchanger-Sansa might come to be in TWOW. I think it’s going to be an important part of her story, as you don’t just give four of your POV characters the ability to control animals with their minds and not have that matter. (And, it’s already an important part of Jon, Arya, and Bran’s stories, so it most likely will be for Sansa, too.)

[wandanatfluff]

The Life That's Left To Live - Part I - Take Me Home

Series (This part:) Fluff

Prologue | Part I

Summary series: You’re a little girl when the avengers find you. Natasha becomes kind of a mother to you. Then about 7 years later when you’re 21 you go live with the avengers again for a while, because they need your help with something. The avengers are like a family to you. Wanda is still new to the avengers and doesn’t know what happened in your past. You sleep in Wanda’s room in an extra bed and the two of you become friends. You are a quite happy, social and spontaneous girl, but there’s a sad/depressed side to you that sometimes comes to the surface.

Summary of this part: Natasha calls you with information about your brother and you go to the Avengers compound, where you meet Wanda.

Pairing: Natasha (mother figure/mentor) x Female Reader Wanda (platonic (for now at least)) x Female Reader

Warnings for this part: -

Word count: 2.2 K

A/n: To be honest I think it turned out okay, I spent quite a while on this. Title: Take Me Home, by Chord Overstreet. The fic isn’t directly based or related to the song. The title just fits ;-). The series title is a line from Love Is War, by RUNAGROUND. I hope you enjoy it!

Source: Pinterest

Absentmindedly you listen to the person in front of you. Some annoying colleague that is going on and on about a something that you would have done wrong. They had been going on for almost ten minutes and by now, you had stopped listening. Your mind drifted off to happy memories. It was something you did quite often. By reliving old memories once in a while, they would become recent in your mind again, which made it easier to go back to them, when you were feeling low. You thought about your younger self on the back of your brother’s bike, your small arms wrapped around his waist, your head pressed against his back. It had been his birthday and he had gotten a new bike. You didn’t like bikes, but when he asked for you to ride along the neighborhood with him, you gave in. Your childhood was filled with a lot of fear, but your brother always seemed to take that away. He was in almost all of your joyful memories. He was your safe place.

Your phone chimed, snapping you back into reality. You excused yourself from the ‘conversation’ and left the room. Once you close the door, you answer your phone.

“I owe you Nat! You saved me!”

“Hey Y/n… What did I save you from?”

“Some colleague, who was being incredibly tedious.”

“Need me to kill anyone?”

“Uhm… No. But what are you calling about?”

“We got new information about your brother and we need your help with it.” You fell silent for a moment at the mention of your brother.

“Oh... What is it?”

“I’m sorry Y/n, I can’t tell you over the phone. You’ll have to come to the compound.”

“Okay… I can do that. I’ll leave tomorrow morning and be there around dinner time?”

“Perfect. See you then.”

After cooking yourself some dinner you went to your room to pack. You dug deep in your closet to find your weekend bag. It had been a while since your last trip. You don’t travel that much. To be honest, you don’t travel at all. Your daily routine leaves just enough time for your daily work-out, some me-time and occasionally a movie. Staying busy avoids overthinking stuff, or well… overthinking more specific things. It took you a while to build up a routine. Have breakfast, work out, drive to the office, do your work, pretend to listen to the gossip from your fellow colleagues during the lunch break. Not that anything about your life is very challenging, but it’s just enough to keep you satisfied and to survive. Every now and then when you have a day off, you go shopping with a friend.

You are quite the cheerful girl. You are spontaneous and kind, people get along with you. You have a few friends, but none really close. The only close friends or family you have, are Nat, Steve, Tony, Clint, Thor and Bruce and you haven’t seen them in the while.

You had to empty your entire closet, but you finally found your white weekend bag with the subtle, pastel flowers pattern. You smile at it. It had been a gift from Nat. You used to have a boring and old grey bag, so she had bought you a new one. After you throw the bag on your bed, you start to fill it with clothes. You had no idea how long you’d be gone, so you packed for five days. Once your bag was fully stuffed you zipped it closed and threw it over your shoulder, making you way back to the living room.

You throw your bag next to the counter and are just about to get yourself some coffee, when the bel rings. You grab your phone and see Natasha standing in front of your door through the camera. Natasha had bought you a doorbell with a camera, to be sure you were as safe as possible when she wasn’t there. Aware of the camera she smiled at you through it. You chuckle at the sight and walk to the door to open it for her. Moments like this remind you of how amazing Natasha is. She had the key to you appartement, but chose not to use it, so she wouldn’t unnecessarily scare you.

“Surpriseee, figured I’d pick you up myself!”

“Hey Nat, come in!”

You take her jacket and hang it on the coat rack.

“How are you doing?”

“Good, actually. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Just coffee, please.”

“Got it.”

You go back to the counter and get yourself and Nat some coffee. You open the fridge and get two pieces of the pie that is left from your graduation ceremony. With two slices of cake and the coffee you go to the living room. You hand Natasha, who has sat down on the couch, her coffee and put the cake on the side table.

“Oehh, is there something to celebrate?”

“Yup… I got a job!”

“Y/n! I am so proud of you. I knew you could do it!” Tears begin to well in Natasha’s eyes and she puts down her coffee to give you a hug. You bury you head in her neck and let out a small sniff. She knew what it meant for you to get your first real job. The small party one of your friends threw had been basic. Everyone had congratulated you, but Natasha was the only one who truly took her time to express her happiness. She was the only one who knew what it meant to you. It had been a long way, a long, long way, but you made it! You did it!

She had been there with Steve when you graduated. She had driven six hours, just because she knew what it would mean to you, having her there. It had been a surprise, she hadn’t told you she was coming, so when you saw her from the stage you had broken down in tears.

You catch up a bit, after which you both go to bed. You turn the sofa into a bed for Natasha so she can sleep on it, but before you rest your eyes, Natasha helps you fill another suitcase with clothing. She laughed at the sight of your single bag and suggested you’d pack another suitcase.

*** After six hours of sleep Natasha wakes you up. You take the time to get out of your bed, you take a shower and put on some make-up. In a pair of light skinny jeans and a lively orange tank top, that complemented you tan, you sit down at the kitchen island. Natasha had made you breakfast and after you finished it, you got in the car. The ride would take about six hours, so before hitting the road, you stopped at the supermarket to get some snacks and drinks for on the way. After three hours you had a pit-stop at the MacDonald’s to get some lunch. You ordered the food via the McDrive and ate it in the car on the parking lot. When the food was finished you hit the road again. You had switched places, meaning Natasha would finish the drive to the compound. Natasha was still sipping from her milkshake in one hand, her other hand on the wheel. You leaned against the door with you head on your arm. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin as you dozed off.

A bump in the road woke you up.

You shot up straight. When you realized there was no danger, you leaned back into you chair, resting you head against the headrest.

“Slept well, princess?” Nat teasingly said.

“Nat!” You stumped her shoulder with your elbow. She grinned, but kept her eyes on the road. A comfortable silence fell and you closed your eyes again, not intending to sleep again though.

“No, but for real. How have you been sleeping?” You knew what she meant. She wanted to know if you still had nightmares. They would still terrorize your nights sometimes. You would wake up sweating and shaking. Wide awake you would sit in the middle of your bed at midnight, tears running down your cheeks.

“Uhm, okay, I guess. Some nights better than others.” She turned her head to look at you, giving you a sweet smile. She laid her hand on your leg, her palm up. You put your hand in hers, giving it a slight squeeze.

“Now we’re talking about sleeping, a few rooms are under renovations, so the rooms are full. You can sleep in Wanda’s room. She has an extra bed on her room.”

“Is she okay with that?”

“I think so.”

“You didn’t ask her!?”

“No, but I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

“Nat…”

“Just kidding, I told her she would have to share her room with you.”

“And…?”

“She was fine with it.”

*** With your suitcase in your hand, your bag over your shoulder and music in your ears, you enter Wanda’s room. On the right side of the room there’s a king-sized bed with two chairs and a coffee table on the left side of the bed, next to the window that covers the entire back side of the room, providing a view of the trees and water next to the compound. On the left side of the room there is a large wardrobe, a door to the bathroom and in the corner there’s a single bed, parallel to the window. Above the bed there’s a shelf with a plant, some books and a light string. The room wasn’t very decorated, there weren’t many personal items. One wall was painted in a grey tone with a hint of purple and there was a purple bedspread, covering the lower side of Wanda’s bed. On the nightstand was a photo of Wanda, standing next to a boy with white hair. You figured it must be her brother, Natasha had told you about the twins and the tragedy. Apart from the photo and some plants, there was nothing personal in the room.

You walked to the bed you’d be sleeping in and dropped your bags on the floor. You sat down on the bed and with your feet still on the ground you let your back rest on the bed, closing your eyes as you take the time to take in the feeling of home. To be honest you feel more home at the Avengers compound then at your own appartement. After a few minutes you got up from the bed and put on some upbeat music as you start to make the bed.

Singing along to the music cheerfully, you put the duvet in its cover. With both corners of the blanket in your hands you shake the cover over the duvet. With the music in both your ears you didn’t hear someone come in, so when you feel a hand on your shoulder, you are slightly startled. You quickly stop the music and take out your AirPods. You turn around to lay your eyes on a beautiful woman with coper locks flowing over her shoulders.

“You must be Y/n.”

Wanda knew who you were, your name would regularly come up in a conversation. She didn’t know much about you other than your name. You were kind of a mystery to her. She was new to the team and hadn’t personally met you yet. One thing is clear to her, though. No one bothered to mention how gorgeous you were. With a lump in her throat, she looked into your eyes, once you had turned around to face her. The woman that was standing in front of her seemed like a nice, cheerful person. She had a beautiful smile on her face, but there was something in her eyes that showed her happiness hadn’t always been a given. She took her in, her hair up in a high pony tail with curtain bangs accentuating her face, she was wearing an orange tank top, which showed off her tanned skin, on top of light flared jeans and elegant black ankle boots. Jeez, she was beautiful.

“Guilty as charge.” You responded. “It’s my pleasure meeting you…”

Witty too. You reminded her of her brother.

“Wanda.”

“Ah Wanda! Natasha told me so much about you. Nice to finally meet you. Oh, and Natasha said I could sleep here for the time being. Is that okay with you?”

Natasha talked about her? That was a good thing… right? To be honest Wanda was rather intimidated by Natasha. Even though she had been welcomed with open arms into the group, once, you know, she had switched sides, it had been quite hard for her to adjust to the group.

“Yeah, she told me. It’s fine”

“Cool”

“Do you need help with the bed?”

“Oh no, I’m done.”

She noticed the bed was nicely made and saw your weekend bag, half under your bed.

“You can use that dresser if you want, and if you want to hang any of your clothes, you can put them in my closet.”

“Oh thanks!”

“No problem.”

“I was about to start dinner, the rest should be back in an hour.”

“I’ll make sure I’ll be there on time, I wouldn’t want to miss whatever culinary art you intend to make.” You said teasingly.

“Great, I’ll see you in an hour then