#but like we under estimate just how much everyone would be different with a brother missing

[screwnames-ihatenames]

We all greatly underestimate just how much a separated au would affect the family dynamics

No raph: Leo gains responsibility and cant always be jokey jokey anymore Mikey is most likely no longer as babied and is slightly more mature Donnie has less people holding him back, in conclusion they have less protection and stuff holding them back this will heavily affect every episode that deals with Leo’s insecurity of the lack of trust and will change the plot of the movie

No Mikey: they’d have no emotional help and probably would fight a lot raph would Baby the others with no Mikey causing a rift in their relationship like the one he had with Mikey Donnie and Leo would be even closer and a lot less mature being the youngest now with no emotional support/glue to keep the family together in times of need the rifts in the family would be a bigger deal this will not really affect their battles like no raph would but would still affect them, could affect the movie depending on who had Mikey and his relationship with his new brothers

No Leo:Donnie doesn’t have his twin (play with this all you want from minor to major) and raph doesn’t have his second in command because despite everything Leo was a second in command early on Mikey would lose a brother to hang out with and everyone would be in a lot more danger because a lot of the time Leo is the one pointing out who is trust worthy or not (ex: big mama hueso and he was suspicious of the purple dragons when Donnie joined them) so they would be in a lot of trouble in most situations without the plan maker and have a slightly more dull home life, would HEAVILY affect the movie considering how much was Leo development and depending on who had Leo could change nearly the entire story of the movie and shredder fight as well

No Donnie: leo doesn’t have his twin (play with this all you want from minor to major) this one affects them on a more physical level with the lack of tech in the house they wouldn’t get their first phone until maybe April and even then it would be one emergency phone if something broke it would have to be replaced because no one had the skills to fix it they wouldn’t have most modes of transportation and wouldn’t be able to track villains and now we bring back the fact they live in the sewers and just how fucked up their house would now be because Donnie is the one who installed air conditioning and the cleaning stuff and the one who built nearly everything in the kitchen and fixed the projector and the medbay stuff this would affect their fights as they would be missing key pieces to reaching the villains,this would affect the movie heavily especially considering who raised him and would affect the shredder fight too

#rottmnt #tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #r rambling #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt Leo #rottmnt raph #fic ideas #fic help #it kinda uses both tags #but like we under estimate just how much everyone would be different with a brother missing #like they grew up together and they were all they had one missing could make everything unstable

[grey-gazania-fic]

The Flight of Birds

Elrond and Elros have recently arrived on Balar, and Elrond is not happy to be back among his mother's people. But with some help from his brother, he begins to see Elwing in a different light. Rated G.

“I did not expect you to be so busy here,” Elrond said as he carefully ground some willow bark. He and Elros had been on Balar for nearly a month now, and last week he’d finally worked up the courage to ask about helping in the Houses of Healing. Halwen, Balar’s chief healer, had placed Elrond under the command of Lady Ianneth to help prepare medicines, for Ianneth was well-versed in herb-lore.

She was also King Gil-galad’s mother. That had worried Elrond at first, for he’d found thus far that he didn’t like Gil-galad very much -- or Círdan, or, for that matter, most of the population of Balar. But Ianneth was tolerable. She was a practical woman, and she didn’t seem to pity him, or worse, try to mother him, as though Elwing’s abandonment had left him without anyone to fill the role of parent.

Maglor and Maedhros had been more than enough. His foster-fathers had given him and Elros everything they’d needed, despite what these people seemed to think.

“There’s always something that needs doing,” Ianneth said, looking up from the comfrey liniment she was preparing. “But bruises and coughs and headaches -- those are just the day-to-day woes. The real work comes when the people who’ve escaped from the mainland make their way here. They’re half-starved more often than not, and wounded, and the Men are sometimes ill. The ones who come from Hithlum are always in especially dire straits. The Easterlings are brutal to them.”

She had the matter-of-fact tone of someone who was accustomed to seeing people suffer, but wasn’t callous towards their pain. Elrond wondered at that, for she was from Hithlum herself and likely knew many who had been killed or enslaved. Growing up, he’d heard rumors about the cruelties of the East-Men, and he couldn’t imagine being so unshaken if he learned that Maedhros, Maglor, or any of their people were being held captive and mistreated.

“How many people are left in Hithlum?” he asked. ‘Besides the East-Men, I mean.”

“We don’t know.” Ianneth stirred the liniment one final time and then carried the jar over to the counter where it would rest until it set. Then she plucked a bundle of herbs from the rafters above them and laid it down on the table. “What is this, and what is it used for?”

“Chickweed,” Elrond said automatically. He’d already grown used to Ianneth’s sudden tests, and he was pleased to say that he’d passed most of them, thanks in no small part to Maedhros’ botany lessons. “It’s used to treat blisters and rashes. But what do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean we don’t know,” Ianneth said, though she gave his answer an approving nod. “Everyone who escapes has a different estimate.”

“But then how do you know how much medicine you’ll need?”

Ianneth smiled at him, but the expression was tinged with sadness. “We don’t,” she said. “We just prepare as much as possible and pray for the best. That’s what healing is, at least during war -- preparation, prayer, and hard work.”

Elrond didn’t have an answer to that, so he simply returned to the willow bark with a noncommittal hum. Melloth, the woman who’d taught him the basics of healing, never prayed. None of Fëanor’s remaining people did, though Maglor had taken pains to speak as respectfully as he could when he taught Elrond and Elros about the Valar.

Ianneth returned the chickweed to its place and then peered into Elrond’s bowl. “It needs to be a little finer,” she said.

He nodded and began to push harder with the pestle. Ianneth left him to his work, busying herself with putting more water on to boil over the small fire. Silence reigned, broken only by the occasional rustle of cloth and the sound of stone grinding against stone. But a question was nagging at Elrond, and after a few minutes he gave in and spoke.

“How do you know the people from the mainland aren’t in league with Morgoth?” he asked. “How do you know they aren’t thralls?”

Ianneth gave him a crooked half smile. “We don’t,” she said again.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Yes,” Ianneth said. “A man who came from Hithlum tried to murder Lord Círdan just last year. But we’ve decided that it’s better to risk harboring a thrall or two than to turn away people who are actually in need. There are far more of the latter than the former.”

Elrond couldn’t contain a snort of derision. “That seems foolish,” he said. Maedhros and Maglor had been ever-vigilant about the possibility that Morgoth might send spies in the guise of Elves or Men, and so they had rarely trusted strangers. After all, Maedhros had been intimately acquainted with Morgoth’s methods in a way Círdan or Gil-galad would never be.

The look Ianneth gave him was heavy with disappointment. “If kindness is foolish, than I will gladly be a fool,” she said. Then she slapped another bunch of herbs onto the table -- thin green stems with unfamiliar mauve flowers. “This is earth smoke,” she said. “It’s used to treat redness and itching in the eyes. When you’re done grinding the bark, shred the blooms, cover them with boiling water, and leave them to soak.”

Elrond gritted his teeth and complied. But he exchanged no more words with Ianneth until it came time to bid her a good evening and take his leave.

continue reading on AO3

#elrond #elros #fingon's wife #gil-galad's mother #elwing #balar #the silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fic #silmarillion writers' guild #silmfic #tolkien fanfic #tolkien #silmarillion #kidnap family #kidnap fam

[atpaftmoom-bily]

Thoughts about Erik, why Wilhelm wasn't allowed to come out, and more.

Be warned, this is long, confusing, and I'm not even sure if I made any valid points. But I had thoughts on Young Royals, with no one to talk to, so here you go.

I've seen various different takes on Erik and what people thought his reaction would have been if Willie had come out to him, most of them being positive, and some as well saying how sad it was that Willie never got to come out to his brother. I have a different take, but bear with me it's gonna take a second to get there.

Something that I found interesting in the first place was that when August found out it was Simon and not a girl, he just seemed shocked, but not in a homophobic way that I had kind of been expecting.

Additionally, let's take a look at the comments on the video, I've split them up into three different groups. General comments (disbelief, surprise, pity, etc.), comments sexualizing them, and negative comments. (I've translated these as well as I could as they were not all captioned, but if I've made a mistake feel free to let me know!)

General Comments "OMG Have you seen this?? The Prince is gay!!!!" "Who's the other guy?" "I'm dead" "Finally some news to put Sweden on the map!" "Poor boys, I feel sorry for them" "So clumsy to get caught on film" "I know where he lives!" "I think the video is fake" "Love for the boys"

Sexualizing Comments "Royal porn" "Sexy" "Love" "Sexiest video ever"

Negative Comments "How will the monarchy survive this?" "The end of the royal family, time for Sweden to become a republic!" "Never been ashamed about being Swedish until now" "Class traitor! Your mother cries for your sins"

Now, there are quite a few things I want to point out about Sweden that I feel should be taken into account here. Of course, we don't know the exact dates that the show took place, but we do know it is modern-day, and though it is a work of fiction, I am going to assume that anything that is currently true in Sweden at the moment, give or take a few years, would also be true in the Young Royals universe.

The first point I would like to make is that Sweden is one of the most LGBT-friendly countries, even being named the most friendly country in 2019. Looking back in history, 1944 was when Sweden decriminalized sexual relationships between consenting adults of the same sex, though it was still thought to be an illness. However, in 1979 it was no longer considered an illness. Fun unrelated fact, but Sweden was the first country to legalize gender change in 1979. (If you'd like to read more on LGBT rights in Sweden here are some resources. One. Two.) If Sweden is that progressive and is that LGBT-friendly, then I wondered what the problem was with Willie coming out, so I dug some more.

I'm American, so my understanding of many parts of the world is unfortunately skewed or incomplete, but I'm working on changing that. However, because of this, one thing that surprised me in my research was that the monarchy in Sweden is more of a unifying symbol than anything else. They have no political affinity or formal powers, but rather "the King’s duties are mainly of a ceremonial and representative nature." Of course in the case of Young Royals, the Queen inherited the throne, and Wilhelm would after her.

Something else I found interesting about the monarchy in Sweden is that the current Queen, Queen Silvia, did not come from a line of nobility, so when Queen Silvia and King Carl Gustaf married in 1976, it was highly unusual. (See more on the Swedish monarchy here.)

There is one last thing I want to point out about the current King and Queen. "In summer 2000, King Carl XVI Gustaf and Queen Silvia of Sweden made history when they ate under the rainbow flag at Djurgårdsterrassen, a Stockholm restaurant owned by gay owner Arto Winter. At that time, the decision was seen as controversial, and played a valuable role in moving conversations forward – while making the royals’ position abundantly clear." (Source)

Now, of course, I understand the difference between a fictional work and real-life situations, but at least in my opinion, these same ideals should carry through to the show that we see. If the King and Queen in real life have been openly supportive of the LGBT community since at least 2000, then although specifics might not be the same, some of those ideals should carry through to Young Royals, so what is the problem, right?

I'm not trying to erase the reality of homophobia altogether, because of course, that exists. We even see in the show through comments that there are some people who are worried about the state of the monarchy, are disgusted, or downright still think that not being straight is a sin, but we also see other comments as well. If Wilhelm were to come out, what would happen? Would there be some backlash? 100%. Would there be people who would support him? Also 100%. Would it make his life harder? Probably, but would he be happier? In my opinion, yes, but I guess that's a question that Wilhelm would have to gauge on his own.

Now I want to look deeper at the conversation that Wille has with his mother, the Queen, in the car on the way home so he can give a statement to the media. Below is an excerpt from their dialogue.

---

Wilhelm: Why can't I just have a relationship with him? And not say anything. Just live a normal life.

Queen: You're the crown prince. And that's a privilege, not a punishment.

Wilhelm: Yes, but I didn't ask for this!

Queen: Well, nobody has ever, ever asked for this! You are the only one who can take over the throne after Erik. Don't you understand that? You are so young. When you're young, love feels like the most important thing in the whole world. When I was your age, I too had an unfortunate romance. That was before I met your father. What I mean is, is it worth it? If you feel that the attention you've been getting so far is unacceptable, it's nothing compared to what you will endure for the rest of your life. We have a chance to cover this up, I urge you to take that chance. You may not get another."

---

Something I find interesting is how much Willie just wants to live a normal life, which I get. He is under so much pressure, from being a role model, his brother's death that he hasn't even had time to process, preparing to be king someday, and (kind of) being outed to the entire world, but at least his school. It's enough to make anyone want to live normally. I think the biggest thing we have to think about here is the Queen's question as well. Is it worth it? She is right of course, the attention he will get will always be there, but I do think that Willie would be able to find a way to be happy along with being King. It shouldn't have to be a case of either-or, and ultimately I don't think it is.

Now I'm going to move back to Erik, and really, this ties everything back to the start where I mentioned I had a different take on Erik's reaction to Willie being not straight. I think that Erik already knew. It would make sense for a variety of reasons. In the show, it is obvious that the two of them have a good relationship. We also hear Erik tell Willie, "you can trust him, he's like a brother," in episode one when speaking about August, showing that trust is something strong between them as brothers. I'm not exactly sure how old Wilhelm is meant to be in the show, but I estimate somewhere around sixteen. I would like to assume that sometime before attending Hillerska, he may have had a crush or felt some attraction to a guy. We also can see from their phone call in episode three, that they're not afraid to joke around with each other about such things, meaning that Erik would most likely be the first person that Willie would go to about such things.

Another thing that makes me believe Erik already knew has to do with people assuming that Simon is the first guy that Willie has liked. Now, I know things are not the same for everyone, but if we consider what happens when the video is posted, and Willie had to deny it is him, we can conclude that being anything other than straight in their family is not okay, simply because they are royals, and the media attention will be too much. Imagine you've known your whole life, you can't be something, the first instance you encounter that, you're probably not going to give in right away. I'm talking at least some minor internalized homophobia here or something.

So put that into the context of Simon and Willie's first kiss in episode two. Simon kisses Willie twice before Willie says "Well, I'm not... I'm not... Stop! Wait, wait, wait!" and immediately pulls Simon back towards him. Let's reflect back to episode one where Willie says "I’m not… I’m not allowed to speak about political issues." I'm not allowed. Of course, there are TONS of restrictions on what he can and can not do, kissing guys, probably being one of them. But if he was going to say I'm not gay or I'm not like that, why would he instantly pull him back in, contrasting what he was just going to say. In episode three, Willie does say, "I'm not like that," which makes sense. He's had time to think and isn't in the heat of the moment. What other explanation can he give? Sure, he could say he's not allowed to be like that but saying that would admit that he is. It's a circle, a very messy circle, but it is a... loop.

Going back to what I'm supposed to be talking about here, Erik. This isn't Willie's first rodeo, but Erik was there for the first. One last thing I want to talk about is the phone call that Erik and Willie have in episode three. Below is an excerpt from their dialogue.

---

Erik: You've met someone.

Wilhelm: I, uh... Yes, okay, but I... I don't think we're a couple or anything. I don't know what it is but can we just...

Erik: I get it. I get it. You don't have to tell me any... I don't wanna hear any details. Hey. Willie, enjoy yourself. Soon enough people will start having opinions and-

Wilhelm: They don't care about me. 'Cause you're the Crown Prince that they have opinions.

Erik: I don't get it. Why are you sitting in your room sulking when you have a crush to hang out with?

---

Firstly, Erik refers to Willie's crush as completely gender-neutral. "You've met someone" could very easily be "you've met a girl". The same goes for "you have a crush to hang out with". Very well could have been "you have a girl to hang out with". Sure, it could be completely coincidental, but we live in such a heteronormative society that it would just make sense for Erik to use female-gendered words. Unless, of course, he knew.

Secondly, "Hey. Willie, enjoy yourself. Soon enough people will start having opinions". This sounds very much to me like, enjoy your time while you can be yourself without backlash because soon you won't have that privacy. While I feel that, yes, the same may happen with anyone Willie was to date, him having a same-sex partner multiplies that, by a lot.

In conclusion, Erik knew Willie was not straight, Willie should come out, but when he is ready, and August is a really deep character that people don't give enough credit to. Gosh, I hope I covered everything, I probably forgot so much, but it's fine. Please let me know your thoughts if you've made it this far into the post.

One last thing. I hope you'll notice how in this post, I never referred specifically to Wilhelm's sexuality, and I did that for a reason. I often see gay used to label him, and though I am unsure if that's being used as an umbrella term or specifically as in he only likes men, I think it's really important to realize that they're specifically making him unlabeled. In this youtube video Edvin Ryding, the actor who plays Wilhelm, says "What we're trying to do... We're not labeling Wilhelm's sexuality. I think that's good because it's like, it portrays that it's okay that way too. You don't have to. You shouldn't have to come out. It should be allowed to be a bit fluid, a bit out there." I just think that it is important as it's another type of representation that is not seen often.

#young royals #prince wilhelm #simon eriksson #wilmon #simon x wilhelm #young royals netflix #wilhelm yr #simon yr #august yr #erik yr #netflix #edvin ryding #omar rudberg #malte gårdinger #ivar forsling

[mondothebombo]

The Ninja’s Love Languages

For anyone who doesn’t know, the five love languages are...

Words of Affirmation

Physical Touch

Quality Time

Gifts

Acts of Service

I had this idea last night at 4 am and i’m gonna try and make sense of it so here we go...

Jay

Physical Touch

-this one’s super easy

-hands down this is 100% jay

-when isn’t this boy clinging onto someone (esp. nya and cole)

-i mean just look (there’s so many more but i got lazy, feel free to add on)

-his first response to comfort/fear is a hug, a hand on shoulder, etc.

-and when you think abt it it makes sense

-cuz first of all just look at his parents, ed and edna

-the most affectionate and loving ppl on this goddam planet

-they showered him w/ undying love and support his whole life, ofc this kid’s gonna turn out the same

-but then if you also tie in his abandonment issues and fear of being alone and it makes even more sense

-we find out abt those mainly in s12 when he talks abt his birth parents to unagami, but looking at what happened to him in s6 when he was alone for so long on the misfortunes keep and nya dying to top it off...

-he lost all his friends not once, but twice (and that’s not including all the separate times the ninja have died) plus he feels like his birth parents abandoned him, w/o him even rlly knowing for sure what happened

-so it makes sense he’d be more comfortable showing his love by clinging onto someone, giving a hug, high-fiveing, etc.

- i hope this made sense i’m so sorry

Nya

Acts of Service

-this also makes sense

-we all know nya is a very independent person, and she doesn’t usually like all the touchy feely stuff

-this is especially shown w her and jay’s relationship

-( i didn’t want to make this all abt jaya i’m sorry)

-we know they both are two very different ppl.

-nya’s strong and independent, while jay is a lot more sensitive

-you’ll notice in the earlier seasons nya almost never initiated the affection w jay, he always the first to mention it, also coupled w the fact that she’s never told jay “i love you” (at least not yet) and we can pin this on her childhood

-she and kai didn’t have it great as kids, they basically raised e/o and the only times nya ever heard “i love you” was from kai

-so if she wasn’t used to saying it growing up, why would she immediately jump to it now that she’s a teenager/young adult? even w someone she does love

-she expresses her love in what she does and says.

-the main example i can think of atm is this

-jay’s freaking out abt catching her for the dance move and with 100% confidence she just says “i trust you” and then fucking yeets herself at him

-there’s other examples of this w the others too

-she builds their mechs and vehicles, back in the earlier seasons she always made sure the boys were taken care of when they got back from missions, she was always the cavalry, she sacrificed herself for jay back in s6 when they were at the lighthouse, and kai mentions she’s always taken care of him

-not to mention how she adopted lloyd back when he first came in

-i could go on

-does this make sense?? i hope it does

Cole

Words of Affirmation

-i had a little more trouble thinking abt cole but now that i’ve decided i’m pretty sure WoA suits him best

-cole didn’t have the best childhood either

-we now know his mom, Lilly, died when he was fairly young, judging by the flashback, i’d estimate around 10-13 y/o

-we know it wasn’t too long before wu found him

-and she showered him in love much like jay was

-just in the flashback she tells him how proud she is of him and how much she loves him

-(also look how quick he was to try and justify why he got in a fight to avoid getting yelled at when his mom mentioned him getting in trouble bc he didn’t want to disappoint her)

-now we don’t know what Lou was like before his wife died, but we know he was definitely not as loving towards cole afterwards

-Lou ignored Cole due to his grief most of the time, coupled w him wanting Cole to follow in his footsteps, and their relationship overall sucks until after the royal blacksmiths ep

-so it all falls the same that Cole would want to keep seeking out the words he got from his mother in his relationships w others (especially authority figures)

-just look at all the times he absolutely lights up when getting praised by wu or even the others

-plus thx to day of the departed, we know he’s afraid of being forgotten

-hearing the others say they love him and want him around would appease that

-staying on this train, we have...

Lloyd

Words of Affirmation

-i was tied between this one and acts of service, but then i decided

-lloyd’s life, esp his childhood, has absolutely sucked

-he was abandoned at a very young age at darklys which we know the other boys there weren’t kind, and then when he finally gets a home and a family, the weight of the world is now on his shoulders bc he’s a prophesied savior

-morro’s possession says enough on its own

-the list goes on

-then we get s8-s10

-harumi goes and absolutely destroys his trust in everyone and everything

-(after she told him she loved him)

-but also...

- then boom. yeeted through a wall

-he’s been abandoned, rejected, and used his whole life

-why wouldn’t this kid need words of affirmation??

-the other ninja have been the one staple in his entire life, and after everything he’s gone through, he definitely needs to hear that they love him and want him around every now and then

-this kid’s also emotional (who can blame him)

-he always puts all his cards on the table, more so in s11 and onward

-and we’ve seen how he always gives encouraging words to the others, mainly while they’re fighting

Zane

Quality Time

-i had trouble w zane’s too lol

-but i think this fits

-this nindroid is the purest being ever

-don’t get me wrong, zane can definitely be a smart ass and sassy when he wants to, he’s not all innocent, but u catch my drift

-let’s look at his past too

-he was all alone and by himself, he didn’t even know who he was until he found his true potential

-and he gets a family, ppl who live and care abt him

-then he sacrifices himself and dies

-when he was imprisoned on chen’s island, he was alone

-then decoded happens and we find out he’s got intense trauma from that

-he thought he was alone in his internal battle

-then boom

-he’s the fucking ice emperor. alone for decades, committing genocide

-and when he finally snapped out of it, that had to of destroyed him

-he’s spent so much time being alone and facing so much trauma, that he always gravitates towards being in groups

-we’ve seen him and pixal spend time working together in the workshop, he enjoys family meals and cooking for everyone, he’s been shown to not like it when the others occasionally fight, and an overall loving guy

-he prbly doesn’t realize it, but he’s the glue that holds everyone together

-this one was so jumbled

and last but not least...

Kai

Gifts

-now not only does this fit his personality, it also makes sense with his bad childhood

-we all know kai is a very cocky and prideful person. he’s always showing off, flaunting his good looks, and can be sometimes arrogant

-ofc under all that is a very kind and loving big brother and friend

-but bc of this he’d not only love getting gifts from fans and the others, but giving them as well

-kai, like nya, didn’t have a good childhood

-he’s not an emotional person and he was never used to saying “i love you,” instead he had to take care of his sister while trying to run a business

-his way of showing love is giving things for his family

-there’re aren’t many instances of this in the show, but the gift giving doesn’t necessarily have to be smthg physical

-he’s sacrificed himself for the others on several accounts, he offers advice when needed, giving pep talks, helping raise lloyd, he even helped jay propose to nya, those things can be considered as gifts too

(again i’m sorry if any of this isn’t coherent i just had some thoughts. pls feel free to add on if i missed smthg)

The point of this is that these kids love each other and have different ways of showing it💙💜🧡💚🤍❤️

#ninjago #ninjago jay #ninjago nya #ninjago cole #ninjago lloyd #ninjago zane #ninjago kai #jay walker #nya smith #cole brookstone #lloyd garmadon #zane julien #kai smith #minor ns15 spoiler #my meta #mondo’s metas #the squad

[sock-ness-monster]

Excuse is granted. Please. I beg of you. Infodump away

Thank you so much I love telling people about this guy

So, to preface this, I'll be telling this story exactly how it was told to me by our camp counselor at a Caveing camp I went to, so it's very much an oral history that maybe can't be fact checked but the broad strokes are genuinely 100% true

TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEATH, DARKNESS, CLAUSTROPHOBIA, GRAVE DESECRATION, CRICKETS

Now that that's out of the way (and please mention if there's any other TW's I should add) the story of

Floyd Collins, The Man Who Was Buried Six Times

This story begins in Kentucky in 19very early, a young Floyd was plowing his family's field when he suddenly dropped through the ground and discovered an unknown cave system. Super cool! Now, people back then did not have television, keep in mind, so caves were really big deals and they were a brand new and lucrative tourist escapade. Floyd's family seized the idea and quickly made a little tourist attraction out of it and started raking in the dough. But they weren't the only ones who had a cave you could tour, Kentucky's geology is super unique in that it has tons of limestone and sandstone which is perfect for underground rivers to carve cool caves out of. They are everywhere in Kentucky and the surrounding area, there was a lot of competition for who had the best, the biggest, the longest cave. And Floyd and his brothers were seized by cave fever and were exploring all around looking for new tunnels and chambers. A large part of this business, unfortunately, was not just walking people through the caves but was letting them take home souvenirs. People could carve their names in the wall, take a stalagmite or stalactite or whatever cool rock they found. Destroying the sensitive ecosystem of the caves. Floyd, the cool dude that he was, was one of the only people who was against this at the time. Good for him! Salamanders are important!

Anyway, Floyd and his brothers are always on the lookout for new opportunities, and there were tons in that area. But, not all of them would pan out. Floyd had heard rumblings about a new cave system called Sand Cave that wasn't far from his family's original cave, which by now had been dubbed Crystal Cave. It didn't seem that promising to most, but Floyd was hoping it actually connected to Crystal cave, and they could tack on so many feet to how big their cave was. So he set off to see if he could find a connection.

He had been surveying the cave for a few hours, and decided to call it quits. He was crawling through a tight tunnel upwards toward the opening of the cave when a rock slide pinned his ankle down tight. He was laying flat with his hands reaching upwards, and there was no way for him to reach back behind him to free his ankle.

He had gone on this expedition without telling anyone.

This was the first time he got buried.

Three days pass, and his brother Homer finally finds him. He tries everything he can think of to free floyd, to no effect. Realizing that this may be a bigger endeavor than he can pull off, he crawls back out to go and find help. It is January of 1925, what else is there to do but go to the newspaper? They publish the story of the man trapped in a crawl way, and it's a huge hit!? People are fascinated by Floyds predicament. They want to help, they want to see, they want to know more. It even makes it on the radio! The three biggest news stories of the time were

1) the war (oof)

2)Charles Lindbergh (will come up again later)

And 3) Floyd in the hole

Everyone in America is anxious to find out how they rescue Floyd. "They" being everyone from the local cave experts to the military corps of engineers to the freakin freemasons, they're all trying to figure out how to free Floyd. Who, ya know, is just chillin in the cave, because caves stay at a constant temperature of ~54° , not too bad for January. His brothers and a reporter take turns crawling down to deliver him the three essentials; food, whiskey, and news. The reporter, "Skeets" Miller, would later win a Pulitzer Prize for his correspondence with floyd in the shaft. Now, as mentioned before, it is a cold and snowy January, but people (nearly 10,000 according to some reports) are so fascinated by the goings on at Sand Cave that they travel from far and wide to be there at the triumphant moment when Floyd emerges. Weeks have gone by at this point. Radio stations are reporting every day, Charles Lindbergh is hired to take photographs of the terrain from above. It's like a big party up top.

They camp out around the cave mouth.

They build fires for food and warmth.

The snow melts.

The cold water trickles down into the cave.

Floyd....... starts to cough.

The cave's already sketchy structure is further compromised.

There's another rock slide.

Floyd is now cut off from contact with the up side world, and the engineers panic and go with a last ditch effort they had been debating beforehand. They can't go around they can't go behind, the only path left was straight down. They drill a hole that reaches the 150 feet from daylight to Floyd's prison. They are too late. He was estimated to have died three to four days before they reached him. His leg is still stuck, and half his face has been consumed by cave crickets. And they just.....leave him there. Whatreyagonnado they shrug, he's already gone we can stop now. They fill in the shaft again.

This is the second time Floyd is buried.

Homer, his closest brother, can't accept this as his final resting place. A few weeks later, they un block the hole and carry Floyd to their family's funeral plot and have a small service with just his closest friends and family present.

This is the third time Floyd Collins is buried.

A few years go by, and the Collins family sells their farm and cave. Unfortunately, they did not see the part of the deed that entitled the new owners to everything in and under the property. Floyd's body is now legally theirs. He is exhumed and placed on display in a glass coffin in Crystal Cave (which years and years later would eventually be proven to connect to Sand Cave).

This is the fourth time Floyd is buried.

If you haven't pieced it together yet, caves were a pretty big deal. We now enter a time in Kentucky history known as the Cave Wars, and they are brutal. How brutal, you ask? Well, to answer with one scenario that happens to be related to this story, the owners of nearby cave were jealous of the attention Crystal Cave was getting from their cool exhibit of Floyd's body, against his family's wishes. Why, the only logical thing to do is steal the man's body and throw it off a cliff. Crystal Cave's new owners would recover it, though minus the left leg. And the next logical thing of course is to put him back on display but this time with a bunch more chains.

This is the fifth time Floyd Collins is buried.

Then, the 60s roll around and Crystal Cave and Floyd are purchased by the National Parks Service on the grounds of being connected to the Mammoth Cave System (the longest cave system in the entire world now). Floyds family is still fighting for his body, and in the 80s they finally get their wish. Floyd is removed from the cave in a 15 day trip and buried at a real cemetery again.

This, is the sixth time he is buried.

A pillar is constructed in honor and perhaps in reparations to all he's gone through, but it is struck by a semi truck and demolished less than a week after its unveiling.

Floyd.......went through a lot. All he ever wanted to do was see some cool rocks and support his family. And to this day, cavers do their best to do right by him. When entering Mammoth Cave, they often ask the darkness to look after them. They aren't talking to the darkness, of course, that darkness that can never be described properly. They are talking to Floyd. Asking him to watch over them as they wish he had someone to watch over him. In the caves everyone is above you, but that's not what they mean. And when they hear a whistle through the tunnels, they like to imagine it's Floyd. Floyd, who was right. The cave was so much more than people thought, in so many different ways. To this day, there's a saying in the caveing community.

"Floyd Lives"

It's like the geology version of "Eddie Would Go". As long as we carry on his legacy of exploring bravely, daring to go where noone has gone before, and do our best to preserve the natural beauty and habitat of the caves, floyd will live on. Floyd lives in our memories and hearts and the drips of water that will one day be pillars.

I don't really know how to end this. Here's a picture of the man himself;

(the picture above is not the tunnel he was trapped in, to be clear)

#cave camp had just such a peofimf impact on me omg #the best week of my whole life #and to think i almost chickened out the night before leaving #i still keep in contact with those guys #we all have tshirts with you guessed it floyd on them #floyd collins #caves #geology #stories #humanity #infodump #*profound i meant #claustrophobia tw #buried alive tw #darkness tw #longish post

[guqin-and-flute]

The Brightest Sparks That We Remember--Chp. 2 [LanLan/3Chen]

[Formerly known as LanLan Meet via Xichen blowing up a ghost because this ^ is a tad more poetic.]

[Chapter 1] [Ao3 link]

The man was already out of sight, but Song Lan could easily follow his footprints and the warm trail of his yang qi, escaping with his breath. Soon, he was a grim and wraithlike blur of white in the blue-black of the mountain, silent and far ahead. Distantly, behind them, back at the clearing, he heard voices. Human, he thought.

They walked in silence punctuated by their crunching footsteps quite a ways, down icy gulleys of frozen river beds, across narrow paths etched into steep valley walls leading to a swift and cold death for the unwary. It would have been far easier to mount a sword and skim above the treetops, but now that he looked, the cultivator seemed to have no spiritual tool at all, sword or otherwise. Had he walked all the way here in the middle of the night to simply stand in a snowy clearing? And had he destroyed the ghost with just a qi blast from his hands? There had been only a dozen seconds between the ghost crossing over and its destruction and while the lingering aura of the spiritual energy had been powerful, it hadn't been enough for a teleportation talisman.

Song Lan raised his eyebrows and increased his estimation of the man’s already impressive power. He had assumed he had something with him, if not a sword--but his sleeves seemed to be empty of talismans or storing spell, his belt bare of any qiankun pouches to keep any such tools. It could be dangerous to channel that much power with just your own meridians as a guide; and so he must be either very disciplined or very stupid. Song Lan did not care to bet on which he thought was the case, yet.

Something like half an hour of silence later, they began to pass houses, windows blank in the dead of night, like empty eyes. They were neat and modest, obviously in good condition, with graceful white walls and thatched roofs. Considering the size of the land they were roaming and the understated wealth these houses spoke of, Song Lan was now fairly certain he was being walked into the heart of the Cloud Recesses. He had never had occasion to enter himself, but the elegance and size spoke for itself. And so was he being brought to someone to be greeted or detained? Somehow, he thought not. If anything, this man was avoiding all other human contact.

The entire trip, his guide had remained silent, the only view one of his back, but when he paused and turned his head to look at the moon, it suddenly occurred to Song Lan why he looked familiar. Something in the cut of his profile and the withdrawn expression reminded him of Hanguang-jun--and it should be no surprise, if this truly was Lan land. A relative, perhaps, the resemblance strong enough to be his father or brother. The man had a brother, as Song Lan recalled, Clan Leader Lan. What little he had heard of him was good; noble, modest, gentle--all good leadership qualities in the Dao, Xingchen had pointed out. Song Lan wondered if perhaps he was looking at Clan Leader Lan now, though he had thought that the Lan’s provisions bade them to wear headbands and this man’s head was bare of even a guan. Though, surely the Clan Leader would have better things to do than wander the icy backhill in the middle of the night?

Xingchen would know. Between them, he had always been the one who was interested in the who and why of people, had always had a knack for it. “It’s the stories,” Xiao Zhen had explained at an inn whose name now escaped Song Lan as irrelevant. “They’re the most interesting to me. Everyone has such different stories.”

Perhaps this fascination was the byproduct of being raised by a living legend. Having 400 years under her belt, the Immortal Baoshan Sanren probably had plenty of stories of her own. Wanting to know the stories that made people who they were was how they two had become close, Xingchen’s inquisitive probing and genuine curiosity mapping him out the more that they talked, revealing their common values and goals. Most people took Song Lan’s taciturn nature as haughtiness or dislike, but his Xiao Zhen…he had seen a story that he had wanted to know. And it had become a story they had wanted to tell together.

The heart in his chest that no longer beat was thick and aching as if pierced. Without permission, his hand gently squeezed the soul trapping pouch that contained what was left of his love. A tragedy, as it turned out.

Around them, the night was crystalline in its silence--no wind creaked the trees, no voices, beast or human, wafted over the snow. All was still. He was waiting, steeped in pain, for this man--Clan Leader Lan?--to make whatever decision he was considering. It was all the same to Song Lan. He will merely wander. It was all he ever did, anymore, while he waited for a chance to write a kinder epilogue for those broken ones left in his care.

His guide turned from the moon and regarded him as he had before, in the clearing, but this time, his eyes fell to the pouch that he cradled. Song Lan refused to let go like a teenager caught holding hands by his master. He was not ashamed--there was no room for it anymore. The part of him that had held it had died along with the rest of him, it seemed. “Song Lan,” the man said, slowly, breath seeping from him in a white cloud in the biting cold. His voice had a deep and pleasant timbre but sounded rusty with disuse or exhaustion. It didn’t seem like he was addressing him or asking for clarification, but instead searching his memory.

“Xiao Xingchen,” he continued after another moment, gaze not moving from Xiao Zhen’s pouch at his waist.

Stiffly, Song Lan nodded, once.

At last, the man looked up, eyes as lightless and distant as the space between the stars above. “Wei Wuxian is here. Would you like to speak to him? Or leave this place?”

Song Lan blinked. He hadn’t encountered the demonic cultivator since they had parted ways in Yi City 2 years ago. Or so. Things like time were more…fluid, now, than they had been in life, as he now no longer needed sleep or food, everything blurring into one, long, light then dark then light again twilight of consciousness. The fact that Wei Wuxian now lived with the upright and austere Lan was news to him, though that was unsurprising. Song Lan mostly roamed rural areas where he wouldn’t encounter the larger Sect’s cultivators and cause needless panic, and so was even less knowledgeable about common cultural knowledge.

He would be able to check the healing status of Miss A-Qing and Xiao Zhen. Perhaps Wei Wuxian had even developed something in that time that might accelerate the process. He could do more for them than just wait for them to coalesce on their own. At his sides, his hands tightened into fists as he tried to tamp down a glimmer of hope from rising up inside his gut, delicate as a flame in the wind. Success is as dangerous as failure. Hope is as hollow as fear, he recited to himself doggedly.

Circling his arms, he bowed deeply, then wrote, “Wei-gongzi, please.”

#Sorry about another short chapter it was a good stopping place because WWX is in the next scene and he talks A LOT #And I need to sleep #my fic #lanlan #3chen #my stuff #sl #lxc #Also Song Lan is quoting the Dao De Ching to himself at the end #technically it's still Sunday right? #definitely didn't pick the thing i was closest to finishing 👀

[moon-light-jukebox]

see? - [Reid x Reader] - Chapter 3

masterlist

previous chapter // series index // next chapter

Summary: Months after Reader left, Reid has tried to put his life back together. He’s never stopped trying to find Reader, but he may find her in the worst way possible. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k for Chapter 3

Content Warning: Normal Criminal Minds stuff. Mentions of drug addiction. This series has a villain, and he harms women. There is no s*xual assault, but there is brief talk of torture, and then the death of the victims. Spoiler: Our unsub targets pregnant women, one of the infants does not survive. Reader and her baby are fine. I don't go into detail, but if you need to skip this, I understand. 

A/n: How can I ever thank you all enough for being so patient with me? That being said, this chapter does end on a cliffhanger that you probably saw coming if you read “River” by @yours-truly-r​. She shared this plot with me, so this is my version. I’ll try my best not to make you wait too long for chapter 4. Chapter 3 & 4 are in Spencer’s point of view, but the remainder of the series will be in Reader’s POV. 

-- Linear Progression -- 

(Spencer’s POV)

The night we came back from my first case with the BAU, Morgan declared that he was going to a bar near his apartment to "get lucky." When I pointed out the fact that it was almost 2 am, he had told me, "time is an illusion, Pretty Boy."

That was the first time he called me pretty boy, along with the first time I tried to explain a theoretical concept he had no interest in hearing.

He was right to a degree. The way we understand time is an illusion. Time doesn’t happen in the linear way that we as a society perceive it to. The physics of time are still widely debated, but the running hypothesis is that everything that has ever happened is still happening right now. Every single moment in time is happening all at once, and it always will be.

Morgan didn’t “get lucky” that night, but he did give me a ride back to my apartment. I think that was the beginning of our friendship; I had never been able to understand the social constructs of relationships and friendships, but I think he felt some sort of responsibility for the skinny kid with glasses who was babbling about the physics of time at 3 am.

My friendship with Derek Morgan was one of the most important of my life.

Which is why I wasn't going to murder him for banging on my door at 7 am.

“Open up, Pretty Boy!”

Grumbling, I got out of bed and padded down the hallway towards my living room where Morgan was pounding on the door so hard, I was concerned it was going to fly off its hinges.

“If you break my door, you’re gonna fix it,” I muttered out when I finally pulled the door open.

The man who was the closest thing to a brother I had just smiled at me. “I restore houses, kid. It’d be an improvement.”

Smirking, I waved him into my apartment. In the months since…Since February, Morgan had made it a habit of coming by several times a week whenever we were in town. I don’t know if the rest of the team knew he did it, I don’t know if they were as worried about me as he was, but it wouldn’t have surprised me.

“Coffee?” I asked, making my way into the kitchen.

"We'll grab some on the way," he said, flopping down on my couch. "We have a case; I told Hotch I'd swing by and get you. It's wheels up as soon as we get there and finish the briefing."

I frowned. “I didn’t get any message.”

“I know. I asked Garcia to let me wake you.” He turned his head around to look at me. “You haven’t been sleeping, kid.”

He wasn’t wrong. “It’s…I’m trying, Derek.”

I didn’t need to say it, because he knew it. Much like time, recovery isn’t a linear process. You start, you stumble, you go back, sometimes you go up then down. It’s an imperfect journey because there isn’t a finish line; addiction can’t be beaten, only beaten back.

Derek Morgan had been beside me through every step of my recovery.

Lumbering off the couch, he walked over to stand before me. “Reid, you’re doing the best you can. Everyone stumbles.”

I shook my head. “It’s different. I can…I can still see it. I can still see it all, Morgan.”

I could still see the look on Ben’s face when he found the vials of Dilaudid I had hidden all around my apartment. I could still remember the look on Hotch’s face when he told me she was gone. I could still see the anger on Garcia’s face when she refused to help me find her.

Most of all, I remember how y/n looked when I told her I would kill her, give up her precious life, for one more moment with Maeve. Every morning, right before I wake up, that memory flashes behind my eyes.

I’ve called in every favor I’m owed, reached out to every connection; no one could find her. She vanished.

I quickly realized the only way she could vanish like that is if she had help from inside the bureau, and if I had to guess, I’m sure I know who helped her. If she went to all these lengths, she didn’t want to be found, least of all by me.

"We'll find her, Spencer," Morgan said gently, pulling me from my thoughts.

He said the words to comfort me, but even he knew they weren’t true. No one would find y/n y/l/n until she wanted to be found.

Nodding my head, I made my way back towards my bedroom to get ready for the case.

Making amends is very big in the recovery process. I wanted to make amends to y/n, and while I wanted that to be in the traditional sense, I settled for a symbolic one.

I tried to make myself into the man she thought I was before that night. Every time I felt the itch crawl up my spine, I thought of her face. It didn't make the craving go away; it just made it easier to bear.

I didn’t deserve to have her back in my life, but I wanted to be someone who did.

After I had finished getting ready, I made my way over to my bedside table to pick up the coin I carried with me everywhere, running my fingers over the edges before placing it in my pocket.

Two hundred and forty-seven days sober, and each one of them was for her.

--

We never made it to the bullpen that morning. Hotch called and informed us that it was wheels up "immediately," and that we would debrief on the plane. Morgan and I were the last members of the team to arrive. He took a seat on the couch beside Callahan while I opted to sit at the table across from Hotch and JJ.

“Garcia is going to be out for the remainder of the week. She has the flu,” our unit chief informed us, his eyes fixed on the tablet in front of him.

Morgan toyed with his phone, no doubt trying to text his ‘baby girl’ before take-off. “Who is going to be running things from here since she’s out? Kevin?”

Hotch nodded, but I couldn’t help but notice he seemed distracted. “He’s the most familiar with Garcia’s systems.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days,” Rossi muttered just a bit too loudly, earning a mock glare from Hotch, a confused look from Kate, an eye roll from Morgan and JJ, and a soft huff of laughter from me.

“Let’s get started,” Hotch ordered, drawing all of our focus back to the present. “The Oregon State Police have requested our help.”

I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose at the tablet in front of me, further proof Garcia wasn’t on this case. Despite how mad she was at me over Y/n, she still always accommodated my wishes for paper files.

The state police?” Morgan asked. “Not the locals?”

"No," Hotch answered, right as I brought up an image on my screen. "He's not sticking to one county."

I heard a strangled gasp from JJ, but I didn't need to look up to know why. “How many?” I asked.

“When the original request was made two women had been abducted. Both of them were pregnant, days from giving birth, and both from the same town of Silverton, Oregon. The first victim was Iris Jenkins. She was a 31-year-old woman, and she was 40 weeks and 2 days gestation when she was taken by the unsub. The M.E. estimates he held her for less than 24 hours before she died.”

“The baby?” JJ asked, her voice thick with emotion.

“He was left outside of a local hospital in Silverton. He was completely unharmed. The next intended victim is Nancy Williamson. She was abducted outside her workplace. Also 40 weeks pregnant with a boy.”  

“Could that be a coincidence?”

Hotch still didn’t look up from his tablet. “It could have been before the latest victim.”

“But Nicole Williamson escaped?” Morgan asked. “That’s lucky. Did she give a description of the guy?”

“No, she said he kept her blindfolded and bound to a chair.”

That caused me to pause. "That doesn't make sense. Why would the unsub blindfold them if he plans on killing them anyway?"

Rossi spoke for the first time. “Psychological torture? Sensory deprivation?”

I thought about that as I swiped through the crime scene photos; pausing when I saw a photograph of a letter on the screen. "He makes them write letters?”

“Just the first victim and the third. The one that got away was only held for 12 hours.”

I frowned. “Is this blood? Or just red ink?”

“The first is red ink, the second letter is still being processed.”

It was obvious based on the letter spacing and how many loops were in the letters that a woman wrote this letter. Based on the contents of the letter, I could also assume she was under duress.

Hotch spoke again, pulling my focus. “Morgan, I'd like for you and JJ to drive up to Silverton. Visit Miss Williamson and ask if she's up for a cognitive interview, then visit the M.E., ask him if he remembers anything about the first victim.”

“Where was the…” JJ’s question trailed off when he got to the same image Kate’s hand had been frozen over for the last 47 seconds, the same photo that was described in the incident report that Hotch had on his screen.

My unit chief, my friend, cleared his throat before he spoke. “Kayla Whitmore was found an hour ago in Eugene, Oregon. The autopsies are already underway, and the scene is being processed.”

“The cause of death seems pretty apparent,” Morgan said with a look of disgust on his face.

"The time between this most recent kill and the last abduction is much shorter. We need to move fast," Hotch said, his voice grave. "Kate, I'd like for you to come with me to the FBI satellite office in Bend, that's where we're landing. Kayla Whitmore's credit card was used to buy gas right outside the town limits. Rossi, I'd like for you and Reid to ride out to Eugene. It should be undisturbed."

"I already don't understand this guy," Rossi muttered. "The first baby survives, the third doesn't. The second victim is blindfolded, but it doesn't appear the others were. He makes them write their own letters. Then he uses the third victim's credit card. This behavior…it's erratic."

“Is the message on the wall the same in both crime scenes?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.”

--

The media hadn’t named our unsub yet, but I was sure it wouldn’t be long, especially once word of Kayla Whitmore reached the public. This type of violence always draws attention.

Rossi was moving around the room, silent, but his eyes moving rapidly over everything. “He’s a cocky son of a bitch, I’ll give him that.”

I nodded. “Do we have the original note?” One of the deputies brought over an evidence bag, inside of it was the wrinkled piece of paper. “Have we analyzed this yet?”

The man nodded. “It’s red ink, just like the last.”

"It makes sense; blood might start to coagulate and make it more difficult to work with. Rossi, come here." I called, offering him the note.

“Give justice to the weak and the fatherless; maintain the right of the afflicted and the destitute. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked,” he read. “It sounds biblical.”

“It is. It’s Psalm 82, verses 3 through 4.”

“Was the first note biblical?”

“The first victim was made to write, ‘Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them.’ That’s from Ephesians. There are similar themes in both letters.”

“So, he’s perverting the bible to fit his own fucked up narrative? How original.” The older man handed the paper back to me. “We have to find out how he’s choosing them.”

My gaze moved over to the right wall of the room. "Did the unsub leave any prints when he wrote on the wall?"

It wasn't the first message I'd seen written in blood, but I don't think it's something you ever get used to. “’Do you see this, son of man?’ could be another biblical reference. It’s Ezekiel chapter 8, verse 17. “Do you see this, son of man? Yet you will see still greater abominations than these.’”

“So, are the children abominations? Or the mothers?” The deputy said quietly.

“The mothers,” I answered. “He doesn’t harm the children. I think it must go against his…moral code.”

The deputy scoffed behind me, and I was inclined to agree; the idea that someone could do something like this and have a moral code was almost impossible to imagine.

But devils hide in plain sight all the time.

“His rage is escalating,” I pointed out.

I heard the deputy ask Rossi what that meant.

“This guy is a bum,” the man who developed the art of profiling explained. "He can't get a girlfriend, and he has this idea in his mind that it’s the women’s fault. He thinks women owe him sex, love, whatever he wants.”

I walked away from the wall, turning to face the two men. “He thinks they’re dirty, unclean. It’s why he makes them write the note.  By making them say they deserved what he did to them, he’s humiliating them even after death.”

The deputy’s face was pale as he survived the scene around him. “Why does he make them leave the messages in their own blood?”

“Only one message is from them,” I replied, gesturing to the evidence bag. “The message in the blood is from the unsub.”

Before we exited the room, I turned back to that message again, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Both victims had been discovered in the exact same way. The women were naked, stabbed multiple times, but with no signs of sexual assault. They were positioned in the middle of the blood-soaked mattress, their arms spread wide.

He had left the same message on the walls of the room, written in the blood of the woman he killed.

“Do you see this, son of man? Do you see?”

--

“The media is calling him The Prophet.”

Rossi scoffed. “I bet it was that wet behind the ears deputy who leaked the note and told him the kid’s biblical theories.”

Rossi and I had arrived at the FBI office in Bend, Oregon about an hour ago. Kate and Hotch had already set up; JJ and Morgan were on their way back from Silverton now.

“So, what do we know about this jag-off?” Rossi questioned, staring at the evidence board.

Hotch came to stand at the head of the conference table, his eyes sharp, his voice clipped. "Reid, Dave, what did the M.E. say about the Eugene autopsies?”

"He said he suspected it was a botched c-section. Kayla was just over 40 weeks pregnant, but he said it's not uncommon for first-time mothers to go up to 42 weeks.”

“I know that’s right,” I heard JJ mutter from the speaker placed in the center of the table.

“Indicates a lack of medical knowledge,” Morgan offered. “Because we know this guy isn’t squeamish.”

I agreed with my friend but didn't comment on it; my mind already on another topic. "What's interesting is that Kayla had an anterior placenta, meaning it attached to the front of her uterus. Usually, the placenta attaches to the posterior wall, meaning it's more towards her back. Because of the unusual placement of the placenta, I think that the death of this fetus was accidental."  

“It wasn’t a fetus, Reid,” Kate snapped. “It was a baby.”

I cleared my throat, meeting her angry gaze. I knew Callahan was the guardian of a young girl, and based on my years working with fellow agents who were also parents, I knew it was best not to argue about definitions and semantics. "I'm sorry, Kate," I murmured.

Her gaze softened. "It's fine. Sorry. This case is just…this is a lot." She looked down to swipe across her tablet screen. "This child was a boy too?"

I nodded. “All three of the victims were pregnant with boys.”

“So, he wants boys?”

Rossi turned to Kate. “He wants mothers of boys. Probably his way of killing his mother over and over again.”

“But how does he know the babies are boys?” JJ asked.

“So, what do they have in common?” Hotch asked. “Let’s add Nicole Williamson into the mix too, what do we have?”

“There were quotes from the bible in the two complete notes. Those specific verses are often referenced when they speak about protecting children,” I said, my eyes moving over the files. “The women were all in their 20’s. They were all at least 39 weeks pregnant, and...huh, there’s not a father named in any of the medical charts.”

“But how does he know that!” JJ huffed again in frustration.

“And are we sure this unsub is a guy?” Callahan questioned. “There was no sign of sexual assault.”

“If we follow statistics, women take babies, and men take children. With that in mind, it would be safe to assume this was a woman, but the amount of rage we’re seeing makes me think it’s a man.” I turned my back to the team, my eyes moving over the crime scene photos. "The letter was written under duress, but the language is very misogynic. Based on the information Kevin gathered about Kayla's online life, she had a normal amount of self-esteem. It's out of character that she'd talk about herself this way. By all accounts, she was excited for the baby. It's also incredibly difficult to stab someone 54 times. All the women would have fought him until the end. He'd have to be stronger to subdue her. It's a biological instinct, mothers' will stop at nothing to protect their children."

Hotch had pulled out his phone before I finished speaking, dialing Kevin Lynch to give him the criteria of the person we were searching for. "We need women in the Bend, Oregon area that are close to giving birth. There will not be fathers listed on the medical charts. She'll be at least 39 weeks into her pregnancy."

“Alright, so that would leave us with…” Kevin wasn’t able to finish his sentence before an alarm started blaring over the speaker, almost drowning out Kevin’s yelp of surprise.

“What is it?” Hotch asked. “Did something happen?”

"I…I don't know, sir," Kevin answered after he had finally gotten the alarm to quiet. "I was running the search, and…it triggered some sort of system-wide alarm. It completely locked me out of Penny’s system.”

Morgan clicked his tongue. “That doesn’t make any sense. Penelope wouldn’t set some alarm without a reason.”

“Wait. Kevin, was there any sort of message that came up when you triggered the alarm?” Hotch asked, his tone urgent.

There was a weird tension on Hotch’s face while he waited for Kevin to reply. “Yeah, uh, just a dialogue box that says ‘Nightingale.’”

“Nightingale?” Kate asked. “Isn’t that the…”

Hotch didn't reply; he hung up abruptly while Kevin was still speaking. I felt a chill run down my spine when I noticed his hands trembled slightly.

“What is it, Hotch?” Rossi asked urgently.

But he never got a chance to answer; a deputy stormed into the room. "We just got a report of an abandoned car outside of a grocery store about half a mile from here. It's registered to a young woman, and there was an empty infant car seat strapped in the back."

Hotch took the paper from him but didn't look at it. His eyes were screwed shut, and his shoulders were tense.

I heard when the voice spoke on the other end of the line. I heard the deep breath Hotch let out before he spoke.

“Penelope, I need to know where y/n is.”

----------

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#Spencer Reid #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #Spencer reid fic #Dr Reid #Reid #Spencer Reid x y/n #Spencer Reid x you #Reader insert #Dr Spencer Reid x Reader #Reid x Reader #Spencer Reid imagine #Criminal minds imagine

[awhitehead17]

Batfam Alphabet: F - Fear Toxin

Summary: When Tim gets injected with a new variant of Scarecrow’s fear toxin, all Jason could do is hold the kid in his arms to stop him from getting injured further as he waits for back up to arrive. 

A/N: As a warning violence happens, nothing too graphic but here’s a warning just in case!

Enjoy! :D

Jason pauses when his fingers grasp nothing but empty air. Snapping his gaze down, he frowns when he finds his pocket completely empty. He sighs and curses. This is just what he needs, he’s ran out of antidotes.

He looks up across the street to find Tim administering an antidote into another cowering civilian caught in the crossfire of Gotham’s latest villain scheme. Jason jogs over to his brother and glances at him through his helmet. “You got any more? I’m out.”

Tim shakes his head regretfully. “No. That was my last one. We really underestimated how far Scarecrow’s toxin got this time. We don’t have enough.”

Jason hums in agreement and observes their surroundings. They’re together in a back alley of Gotham’s streets, one that had been hit badly by Scarecrow’s latest fear toxin. They had the task of vaccinating all the civilians around with the new antidote. Back in the cave they calculated an estimate number of many people populated the area and had prepared more than enough between them, or so they thought, unfortunately their numbers were far from right leaving them with not nearly enough antidotes.  

Around them now, many civilians are still under the hallucinations of the toxin, some are screaming, crying or even violently yelling at empty air. Jason swears again, this is not how the night was supposed to go.

He’s brought out of his thoughts when Tim turns to him. “We’re going to need to go back and restock. We’re not much use otherwise.”

“Agreed.”

He wonders if the others are having similar issues with numbers and the lack of antidotes. The team’s spread out around Gotham’s most targeted areas, all of them working in pairs for safety and everyone working their asses off to help people in the city.

Wordlessly the two of them head for their hidden vehicles in a neighbouring alley. As they prepare to climb onto their bikes Tim glances his way to say something but ends up yelling in alarm instead. “Hood watch out!”

It’s thanks to Jason’s reflexes that he’s able to duck underneath the swinging arm in time to avoid being hit. He brings his gun out and turns to face his attacker. His attacker is probably middle aged man, a little on the heavy side and he’s wearing a shitty Halloween mask to hide his face. Jason dodges another swing and returns the favour, he takes him out in three quick and precise strikes with his hands.

A loud grunt gets his attention and Jason spins around to find Tim caught in a head lock with a gun pressed against his temple. Tim’s attacker is too wearing a mask as were the four others who now surround them. Where they came from Jason has no idea. How the hell did they miss these guys who had obviously been waiting and hiding for them to return to their bikes?

As Jason levels his gun at Tim’s attacker the four others surrounding him also raise their guns pointing them in his direction, this concludes them all into a standoff.

Tim’s attacker speaks up first. “Put that gun down or I blow his brains out.”

Behind his mask Jason rolls his eyes. How fucking cliché? He keeps his gun up though, pointing at the man and in a cocky statement he takes the safety off with an audible click. The man holding Tim snorts as he had been expecting Jason’s disobedience.

“Very well. I’ll show you how this is going to go. You get one warning and mate, you’ve just used that warning.”

He kicks Tim’s legs out from underneath him and lets him go, unexpecting the abrupt movement Tim crashes to the floor. Once he’s sprawled out on the ground the attacker stamps on one of Tim’s hands, causing a rather loud and sickening crack to ring out. Jason winces as Tim yells in pain but before anyone could react further the same man manhandles Tim to his knees and resumes their previous position.

He cocks the gun and presses it to Tim’s head. “Now, if either of you act up, you’re gonna get a hurt whole lot worse than a broken hand. Now follow us. No funny business! Get his gun!”

One of the men come and wrench Jason’s gun out of his hand and all Jason could do was let him. He doesn’t want to risk Tim any more than he has to.

He and Tim are marched out of the alley and into another before being directed into an abandoned building. They’re walked into the middle of the room and forced down to their knees, once on the ground a couple of the thugs come over to grab their hands and tie them behind their backs. Jason grits his teeth and refrains from doing something like headbutting the asshole, while next to him Tim lets out a pained grunt as his broken hand is jostled.

When they step away Jason twists his body awkwardly to get a look at his restrained wrists to find them tied with cable ties. Jason huffs in disbelief. His attention is soon brought back to the room when one of the attackers speak up.

“Boss we got’em just like you asked.”

Jason straightens up when a new figure walks into the room only to grit his teeth seconds later when Scarecrow is revealed. The bastard doesn’t stop moving until he’s looming over them. Unable to help himself Jason speaks up, sarcasm heavily laced in his tone. “Same shit different day Crane. Why don’t you go and get yourself a new hobby, go for something like knitting perhaps.”

Crane turns his head towards Jason, his expression hidden by that stupid potato sack over his head. “You would like that wouldn’t you? If I were gone there would be nothing to fear. Perhaps that clown but nothing else.”

“Sorry to break it to you but you ain’t that scary.” Jason quips, glaring through his helmet.

“Maybe not right now but with a little help, I will be, I’ll become your greatest nightmare.” Crane reaches behind him and pulls out a box, he makes a show of opening it up and producing a syringe filled with a clear liquid. “A person can learn to control themselves when feeling great emotion, sadness, happiness, anger, but never in times of fear. Fear is the minds greatest enemy and that’s why it’s so powerful, why even the greatest of men fall.”

Jason watches as Crane drifts over to stand in front of Tim, his brother simply looks up with a hard and determined expression not saying anything. Crane fiddles with the syringe in his hands, studying Tim as he does.

“It won’t work. We’re not stupid Crane.” Jason says feeling dread build up inside of him. He knows what’s about to happen and he has feeling he knows exactly what Crane’s response is going to be.

“I know. That’s why I’m sure you’ve worked out that this is a different toxin I’ve produced to the one I’ve already distributed. One of which you don’t have an antidote for.”

For the first time Tim speaks up, snarling at the man in front of him. “Go to hell Crane.” Scarecrow doesn’t answer Tim, instead he reaches down and grabs a fist full of Tim’s hair and yanks his head back to expose his neck.

From his position Jason lurches at the movement, ready to pounce but it stopped when the thugs immediately zone in on him. Guns point at him and at Tim, simply daring him to make another move. Uselessly he settles back down on the ground.

Crane jabs the syringe into the kid’s neck and injects the liquid into Tim’s body. Once it’s empty he steps away, pushing Tim down to the ground as he does. Jason is torn between worriedly watching Tim’s unmoving form on the ground and Crane’s retreating figure from the room.

One of the thugs speak up. “Uh boss now what? We not killing the big one?”

“No.” Crane says firmly. “He has a choice to make, come after me and leave the other to suffer or help him and let me go.”

“You bastard!” Jason yells as Crane exits the room, disappearing from his sight. “You’ll be sorry you’ve left me alive! I will kill your ass when I next see it.”

Jason snaps his attention to Tim who is now whimpering on the floor. He needs to get help, he needs to get Tim to the cave so they can start working on a new antidote to whatever the hell Crane just injected him with.

With some difficulty, Jason twists and wiggles around so he can move to get his restrained hands in front of him. Using a move Dick once showed him, Jason tucks up tightly loops his arms underneath his body so they go underneath him and end up in front of him. It tests his flexibility for sure but it works.

Once his arms are in front of him he reaches up and presses the comms, getting Barbara’s help.

“O! I need immediate assistance!”

“Hood what’s going on, why did you and Red Robin go radio silent-”

Not having the patience Jason cuts her off. “Now’s not the time! We ran into Scarecrow and he injected Red with a new toxin. We need to get him to the cave asap.”

“Shit. I’m alerting the others now and sending them your location. Do what you can to help Red.”

“Already on it.”

Jason signs off and moves to break the cable ties around his wrists. He tightens them up as much as possible, raises his hands over his head and brings his fists down to his stomach in one fluid movement. Upon impact the ties break and his heads are freed.

Not wasting a second he scrambles over to Tim who is now starting to wither on the floor, whimpering pitiful sounds. Knowing there’s not much he can do, Jason decides to break the ties from Tim's own wrists, he’s aware of Tim’s broken hand but that’ll have to be dealt with later on.

At least that was his plan up until he puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. As soon as Jason touches him, the kid freaks out. He lets out a scream of terror and suddenly jerks up right and starts to scramble away from him. Jason freezes in shock as he watches Tim try and move away from him, but the kid’s movements were hindered by his hands being tied behind him.

“No no no no. I’m sorry. Please I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. No no no. It won’t happen again I promise.”

The words were quiet and raspy but Jason could hear them clearly in the silence of the room. He needs to stop Tim from moving and also to prevent further damage to his hands. He cautiously approaches Tim again, crouching down low and taking slow steps forward, but at the moment Tim only sees him as a threat. The kid screams and continues to try and scramble backwards away from him.

“No no no! I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me…”

Jason frowns at the words as his heart lurches inside of his chest at the sound of Tim’s pleading voice. When he takes another step forward Tim only screams again, making Jason freeze on the spot. He really ought to get Tim to stop moving, Jason doesn’t particularly want to use force to get him to restrain his movements but he doesn’t think he has any choice.

Sighing Jason takes off his helmet, something he admittedly probably should have done before now, and approaches Tim again. As expected the kid screams and begs as he tries to shuffle away, his legs kicks out and his body contorts uncomfortably.

Pretty much out of options Jason lunges for Tim. He grabs the kid’s ankle to stop him from getting any further away before diving onto the floor and situating himself behind Tim. He wraps his legs around Tim’s thighs and knees, pinning them in place and he wraps his arms around Tim’s torso and shoulders. He holds on tightly as Tim tries and fails to buck out of his grasp.

While the kid screams in his arms all Jason could do is hold him and wait until backup comes. He counts the never ending minutes as they tick by. His brother is weakly fighting his hold while tears stream down his cheeks as he whimpers out pleas, it breaks Jason’s heart to hear it all.

Thankfully the cavalry soon arrive, they burst into the room and take in the scene before them. Both Dick and Bruce rush towards them and immediately start making plans.

“How long ago was he injected?” Bruce demands as he grasps Tim’s chin. Tim tries to get out of it but Bruce holds firm as he removes the kid’s mask and studies his dilated pupils.

“Twenty maybe thirty minutes. Right before O contacted you. Crane got away.” Jason reports automatically. He’s furious about Crane of course but family comes first, he couldn’t have left Tim alone in this state.

“Hold him still.” Bruce grunts as he digs through his utility belt. After a moment he produces a small blood sample kit. With quick efficiency Bruce takes a vial of Tim’s blood, caps it off and holds it out to Nightwing who had been hovering on the side but not getting in the way. Dick takes it without words. “Get a head start to the cave, Agent A is preparing to start a new antidote trial.”

Dick nods, his gaze lingers on Tim before his head tilts in Jason’s direction. “Keep me updated.” He disappears before Jason could respond. When Dick is out of sight his attention is drawn back to Tim and Bruce.

“We need to get him to the car and then to the cave. You’ll need to keep him restrained so he doesn’t hurt himself.”

If the situation were different Jason would both be peeved and even upset at the detachment in Bruce’s tone of voice. Unfortunately in this situation he can understand why Bruce is like it, not being emotionally invested will allow him to focus on the task at hand, which in this case happened to be getting Tim back to the cave and working on a new antidote. He’ll let himself feel everything once he knows Tim is safe and sound.

Together he and Bruce manage to get Tim into the batmobile. The kid does nothing other than scream, whimper, plead and cry as they move him. Jason makes sure to tell Bruce about his hand and once in the car Bruce relays the injury to Alfred in the cave. Once they’ve worked out the antidote they can work on his hand.

Getting back to the cave seems long and tedious but once they’re there they move Tim from the car and into the medical bay. They settle him down on one of the cots, having to restrain his wrists and ankles to the bed to stop him moving so much and Alfred updates them on the situation with the antidote.

They were fortunate enough to be able to come up with a temporary antidote in that short amount of time. It turns out Scarecrow hadn’t used a new toxin but rather the same one as before, the only difference in this one is that there are hints of Poison Ivy’s hallucinogen concoction. Dick and Alfred quickly worked together to combine the two antidotes making a new one altogether.

Without much hesitation they give Tim the new antidote and watch as the kid quietens down on the bed and falls unconscious. It’s only after Alfred deems everything is okay that they all can breathe somewhat easily again.

While Dick, Bruce, Jason and Barbara (over the comms) discuss the next steps and about what the current situation is looking like, Alfred stays with Tim and patches up his hand, fixing a cast over the skin and bone until they can get it looked at professionally.

As plans are being made Jason watches Alfred work, his worry for Tim still heavily stirring inside of him. He doesn’t think he’ll be forgetting those petrified screams any time soon. Once the kid wakes up Jason is going to have a long chat with Tim, one to rest his own subconscious and secondly because he wants to make sure the kid is mentally okay after the ordeal. He’ll make sure Tim gets some proper r&r after all of this and maybe even for himself too once Crane is dealt with.

#batfam alphabet #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #bruce wayne #dick grayson #fear toxin #bit of violence #big brother jason #injured tim #light hurt and comfort #batfamily #Alfred Pennyworth #Scarecrow #bat bros #fanfiction

[goofygomez]

Moonlit Wishes - A Rayllum Fanfic

Hey everyone, long time no see! I've been on hiatus for a very long time, and it's very quite good for my mental health. Recently I binged The Dragon Prince on Netflix (highly recommend it) and decided to do as I do and write a fic for it.

This one in particular is inspired by @raayllum's amazing Hiatus Hoedown. This time I'm taking a crack at Day 1: Talking to the moon. Hope you guys enjoy it.

Here's a link to the Ao3 story, if you'd prefer to read it on there.

Description: Callum and Rayla discuss the differences in their cultures' way of wishing upon celestial bodies, fluff ensues.

Wordcount: 3386

----

Callum had always loved the moon, even as a child. It had always looked to him as a watchful eye, surveying the world beneath it. His mother would take him on nightly strolls along the castle to go see it, and she knew the secret passages to the highest towers without alerting the Crownsguard. She called them ‘their little adventures’. Of course, she was the Queen, so they did not really need to sneak around, but Callum found their nighttime wanderings something… magical.

They would stare up at the moon and tell each other about their days, sometimes sharing a jelly tart from the town baker until eventually, he’d fall asleep on her lap. He never did get to tell his mother how much those nights meant to him before it was too late. Nearly ten years later, that void in his heart still ached every time he looked up at that beautiful silver moon.

“What’ya thinking about?” came the voice of Rayla from behind him. He turned to see his girlfriend tilting her head at him.

“Nothing, just… thinking,” he said.

“Oh, that’s specific,” teased the elf.

Callum rolled his eyes and took her hand in his, four fingers against five. Her silver hair fell gracefully over her shoulders, a small braid poking its way through it on her left side. Her lilac eyes, bright and alert as ever, looked into his green ones, and a goofy grin spread across her lips.

“Just thinking about you… and how beautiful you are,” he said, trying his best at sounding smooth. It was partially downplayed by his voice cracking, but she giggled nonetheless.

“Shut up, you dummy.” She punched him playfully on the shoulder.

“C’mon, I wanna show you this place,” he said, gesturing behind him.

They were on the outskirts of the Katolian Capital’s forest, walking down a partially obscured path. Large, ancient trees stood like sentries on either side of them, their tops barely obscuring the silver rays of moonlight seeping through the branches, casting odd, elongated shadows over the packed dirt. Dead leaves and pine needles were strewn about haphazardly, almost deliberately to accentuate their footfalls.

Callum thought of the last time he came to this particular spot with his brother and step-father. It seemed an eternity ago that they’d played ‘I spy’ on this very path. Now, their father was dead and Ezran, newly crowned King of Katolis, had spent the first few months of his rule advocating for the union of the human kingdoms with the Xadian population, with Callum at his side. It had not been easy so far, as some wounds were still fresh in the other rulers’ minds, but Ezran had still not lost hope.

Rayla had been with them most of the time, trying her best to be an ambassador for the young king, though her status with the Moonshadow elves was still under review. Callum assured her that they would eventually be forced to lift her banishment, but some of the elder elves were… stubborn in their thinking. He just hoped they would listen to them when they arrived there next month.

After a few minutes of silent pacing, punctuated solely by their soft footsteps and the occasional chirping of crickets, they arrived at a large clearing. Just ahead of them, a small lake shimmered under the moonlight. The packed dirt on the path gave way to lush green grass, illuminated both by the starry sky and fireflies. The bank closest to them was filled with small boulders, eroded by millennia of contact with the eerily still waters.

Callum stepped back to let Rayla see the whole picture and grinned.

“So? What do you think?”

The elf glanced around the clearing with awe and wonder in her eyes. Callum did not fail to notice her disgruntled expression directed at the peaceful water.

“Don’t worry, we’re not going into the lake,” he assured her, chuckling when Rayla sighed dramatically.

“Thank the Moon,” she said, nodding. “If you had brought me to a nighttime swim, I would probably break up with you.”

“Duly noted.” He took her hand again and led her to one of the boulders, careful not to steer her too close to the water’s edge. “I just thought it would be fun to just… hang out here.”

They sat on the rock and spread out, stretching their legs slightly after a half-hour walk down the forest.

“It does seem peaceful,” she conceded, laying her head on his shoulder. “Been a while since we were able to do this.”

Callum sighed. “I know.” Between assisting his brother and Rayla’s constant trips to and from Xadia, they had not had much time to themselves as a couple. “I promise to make a little more time when you’re here.”

“At least it’s for a good cause, right?” said Rayla. “I mean, Ez needs all the help he can get. Plus, we’ve got a lot of time to… catch up once things settle down.” She looked up at him with a fond smile.

Callum thought of all the times, even before they got together, that they just sat on a patch of dirt or some rock, looking at the sky and wondering when their mission would be over; wondering if they’d ever see their homes again, or would live to tell the tale.

“I just want to know when that is. Even just an estimate would be nice,” he said half-heartedly, letting out a deep breath and leaning forward to place a caste kiss on her lips. “But this is worth the wait.”

“Look who’s all sappy all of a sudden,” she said with a grin and kissed him again. “I love you, dummy.”

“I love you, too.”

They sat there, enjoying each other’s presence for what felt like forever, but could only have been ten minutes. A soft breeze had picked up from the east, creating ripples on the otherwise still surface of the lake; distorting the reflection from the crescent moon above. He looked up once more, wondering if his mother was out there somewhere, overjoyed that her sons were following in her and Harrow’s footsteps.

Just as he scanned the sky for whatever signs she would send him, something incredible happened. Almost as if called upon by his thoughts, a shooting star streaked across the star-strewn sky, bright and beautiful. As fast as it had come, it vanished.

“Look, did you see that?” he exclaimed excitedly, pointing at the spot where it had just been.

“Uh, what am I looking at?” asked Rayla, confused.

“The shooting star, right there.” He closed his eyes and muttered under his breath. He could feel Rayla staring at him, and after a few seconds, opened his eyes to see her wide-eyed and thoroughly confused.

“Wha- What just happened?” she said, glancing between him and the sky.

“It’s a shooting star,” he said matter-of-factly. “When you see one, you make a wish. Don’t elves do that?”

“Wait, humans wish upon shooting stars?” she asked incredulously. “Why?”

Callum shrugged. “I don’t know, we just do. It’s a tradition or something.”

“Humans are weird.”

“Sure, what do you guys wish upon? The moon?” he said with a smirk, enjoying a little too much how pink her cheeks got.

Rayla scoffed. “As a matter of fact, we do,” she said, trying and failing to sound indignant.

“But the moon is there every night,” he said, glancing up at the sky and frowning. “That’s a lot of wishes.”

“We only wish on a New Moon, dummy,” she explained patiently.

“Why only the New Moon?” Callum asked, genuinely curious. It seemed logical enough that they wouldn’t wish on the moon every single night, but any insight into his girlfriend’s culture was something he did not take lightly.

“Well, the idea is that a New Moon signals the beginning of another cycle. The halfway point between two Full Moons, which is when we’re at our strongest. The Moon Arcanum supposedly… blesses us when we’re at our weakest.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Callum said pensively. “More sense than whatever humans came up for shooting stars, at least.”

“So… what did you wish for just now?”

“I can’t say.”

“Why? Is it embarrassing?” teased Rayla, poking him in the ribs. He chuckled but shook his head.

“No, because if I tell you, it won’t come true.”

“Well that’s no fun,” she said with a pout.

Callum shrugged and scooted closer to Rayla, taking her right hand in his and squeezing gently. They both sighed contently, almost as if they knew what the other was thinking; could sense the peacefulness and the stillness of the air around them.

“Tell you what, if it comes true, I’ll let you know,” he said, kissing the top of her head, careful to avoid her horns.

“Sounds good,” she said. “So what were you muttering before? I have good hearing but it barely sounded like words.”

“It’s like a little song you say before you make your wish?”

Rayla studied him curiously, nodding along as he spoke. She seemed to be thinking about something, debating with herself. She blinked once and looked into his eyes.

“Would you teach me?” she asked softly.

“You wanna make a wish?” he said. When she nodded, he sat up straight, facing her. He took her hands in his and grinned. “Repeat after me. Star bright, star light.”

She nodded and followed his instructions. She closed her eyes and sighed before saying, “Star bright, star light.”

“First star I see tonight.” He thought it might not count, as she had not done it before, but it was the thought that counted, right?

She repeated the phrase and her lips curved ever so slightly upwards.

“Wish I may, wish I might,” he continued

“Wish I may, wish I might.”

“Have the wish I wish tonight,” he concluded, opening his eyes and seeing her mouthing the end of the song, nodding almost solemnly. Her eyes fluttered slowly open and landed on him.

Callum heard the rustling of leaves above them, possibly from a squirrel scrutinizing them or a songbird perching on a branch. He thought of all the time they’d have as a couple, especially after their help was not as imperative in the running of Katolis, to just… be happy together. How long had he refrained from letting himself be truly content with his life? And now, being with Rayla, he couldn’t even imagine anything or anyone else for him.

He leaned forward and kissed her ever so gently. Her lips tasted of moonberries, and her violet eyes, almost glowing in the dark, closed as she melted into the kiss and he felt her hand on his scarf, not quite pulling him in but not pushing him either. When they broke apart, he was grinning.

“My wish did come true,” he said, cheekily.

“Mine too,” she replied.

-

Rayla’s footsteps were light and gentle on the soft ground; years of training to be an assassin still ingrained in her every move. Even eight years after meeting who she now knew was the love of her life, there still was a part of her that kind of missed those times when life was so… straightforward. Even so, as she looked back at Callum – now a few inches taller than he’d been when they met, and growing what could only be described as the faintest shadow of a beard – she knew in her bones that that little part of her was wrong.

He looked impressive with his fur overcoat, his immaculately woven violet undershirt (which he claimed matched her eyes) and his leather boots. He had opted not to wear his signature red scarf tonight, which she suspected was just so he could more prominently showcase his facial hair, which he was weirdly proud of.

Callum stood a little ways away from Rayla, looking up at the moon with closed eyes and a sort of… wistful expression on his face. Her mind instantly brought the memory of one of their first dates to this magical clearing in Katolis, where she’d taught him the strange human tradition of wishing upon shooting stars. Moon and Stars, Ethari had burst out laughing when she had told him. Humans were weird.

Now, her weird human was stoically standing with his hands on his hips. She cleared her throat, leaning against a nearby tree. Callum shook his head as though he hadn’t realized she was there, and grinned.

“Hey, sorry, did I space out?” he said.

“Yeah, it was daytime when you stopped there,” she replied, arching an eyebrow.

He snorted and held out his hand, which she gratefully took. “I’m sure it was less than a minute.”

They resumed their stroll down the familiar path, pine needles crunching merrily under Callum’s less graceful steps. She only rolled her eyes in response and lay her head on his shoulder, doing her very best not to impale him with one of her horns, which had also grown considerably as she reached adulthood. She knew humans had a rather short life expectancy; at least shorter than the oldest elves she knew back in Xadia, but at least their early years of development were more or less even.

She wondered in silence just how much of a difference their physiology would make down the road. Would she outlive him by decades? Would the rest of her human friends do the same…? She shook her head and pushed away those thoughts, choosing instead to bask in the moment; being here with Callum was all that mattered.

Eventually, the trees thinned, thick trunks giving way to mere shrubbery as the clearing they’d been seeking opened up in front of them. A beautiful, albeit terrifying lake, loomed ahead of them, its unnervingly calm waters barely rippling in the autumn breeze. She could see the reflection of the stars in it, flashing intermittently like little candles flickering in the night.

Wordlessly, Callum and Rayla kept following the path until they reached their favourite spot: a large boulder, far enough away from the shore that her skin didn’t prickle with anxiety every time a particularly strong current grazed the edges. Callum had attempted to help her through her fear multiple times, but the best he’d ever gotten her to do was get on a boat without getting extremely seasick.

It wasn’t as though sea travel was a major obstacle between the human kingdoms and Xadia. Most if not all the roads to and from her ancestral home were entirely land-based, so she hadn’t had to brave the murderous ocean ever since their stint with Captain Villads, which she still claimed was one of the worst experiences of her life.

“You alright?” she heard Callum say beside her, as they sat atop the boulder and looked out toward the lake. “You look a little pale.”

“Just a little… cold,” she lied, shrugging. It wasn’t a complete lie, of course. The breeze had picked up considerably in the last half hour they’d been walking, but she was pretty used to the cold when living in Katolis.

Ever the gentleman, Callum took off his overcoat and draped it over her shoulders, ignoring her protests. She grinned sheepishly at him and cuddled closer to him, the warmth of the coat enveloping her only slightly more than her closeness to him.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice soft. He moved around for a second before settling in against the rock and wrapping an arm around her.

“Anything for you,” he said. She felt her cheeks heat up, almost childishly. He had complimented her thousands of times over the years, but it still didn’t mean she was used to it.

“Y’know, there was an actual reason I brought us here tonight,” he added after a few minutes of silence.

“Oh?” she said, looking up at him curiously.

“Well, I just wanted to, uh, tell you how much I love you, and how much better you’ve made not only my life, but everyone’s,” he said, clearly fumbling for words, as though he had rehearsed this and did not want to get a single thing wrong. “You’re beautiful and kind, and strong, and…” he trailed off, looking down at her apologetically. “I’m very bad at this.”

She chuckled and sat up straight, facing him as she had all those years ago under a crescent moon. “No, go on,” she said. “I like when you get all flustered.”

“Oh, then this should be a joyride for you,” he said, assuming her same posture. “I just… wanted to show you just how much I love you. Ever since you tried to kill me that night…” He looked at her with a smirk, and it was her turn to flush. “You changed my life, and I wouldn’t trade these last 8 years for the world. You make me feel whole, even in my worst days, or when I’m frustrated by a new spell, or a council meeting gone wrong. You’re always there for me. So…”

He turned slightly to the side and shoved his hand into his pocket, struggling against what she assumed were nerves. She was extremely curious as to where this was going, but her suspicions were rising. Eventually, he pulled out what seemed to be a rather small box. It was violet, like his undershirt and her eyes.

“Rayla,” Callum said, sucking in a breath and looking at her with those big green eyes of his sparkling in the starlight. He opened the small box and Rayla could finally see that it was a silver ring. It was adorned with two tiny amethysts, glinting brightly up at her, flanking what she recognized at once as a Moon Opal. Her breath caught in her throat, tears threatening to break surface with her eyes.

“Will you marry me?” she heard him say, almost hazily; as though in a dream.

She took several long looks at him, then back at the ring, then finally landed on his face, contorted with an awkwardness only Callum could pull off as cute instead of downright constipated. She let out a small laugh and nodded slowly, watching as his emerald green eyes widened, as though he couldn’t quite believe them.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, I’ll marry you, you big dummy.” She launched herself at him and enveloped him in a rather strong hug, tears now flowing freely from her eyes, because who would even judge her for it? After a few seconds – or it might have been an hour – or several moonlit nights – they broke apart. She kissed him deeply and he grabbed the ring from the box, taking her left hand with his own.

“Uh…” he hesitated, looking from her hand to her face. “Which hand do elves wear wedding rings on?”

Rayla couldn’t help but giggle. In any other circumstance, she would have rolled her eyes and playfully punched him in the shoulder. This time, however, she just shrugged. “This one.” She pointed to her fourth finger, smiling.

A little more confidently, he took her hand and gingerly placed the ring on it. She heard him breathe a sigh of relief and chuckled.

“You were really nervous, weren’t ya?” she teased, admiring the ring on her hand. “You knew I was gonna say yes regardless, so why worry?”

“I did, but it still doesn’t make it any less nerve-wracking,” he said, shrugging. “You like it?”

“I love it, it’s beautiful,” she said, leaning in to kiss him again.

They lay back against the boulder, looking up at the sky, their hands clasped and breathing deep. The New Moon stood sentry in the sky, grey and muted against the starry night, yet oddly imposing. She could feel the pull of it in her bones; the characteristic surge of energy that nighttime gave her kind. She pondered this as a thought occurred to her.

“Was that what you were doing before?” she asked tentatively, glancing up at her boyfriend. No, not her boyfriend… her fiancé.

“Yeah, I remembered that time you showed me how you guys wish on the New Moon,” he explained, laying his head on the top of hers. “I guess I wanted to be extra lucky tonight.”

“You’re a dork,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“But I’m your dork,” he retorted.

Yes, he was her dork, and she was his. Forever.

#the dragon prince #tdp #callum #rayla #rayllum #hiatus hoedown #raayllum #ttm is not canon here

[drwcn]

“Discordance” Chapter 7 Updated! 

[Read on AO3] or below the under cut! :) 

It is brighter than usual when he rolls over in bed and grumbles into his pillow. Wei Wuxian pulls the edge of his blanket closer to his chin and wiggles a little in the warm cocoon he has wrapped around himself. Unwilling to subject himself to the reality of daytime just yet, he breathes in the calming sandalwood scent lingering on his pillow and sighs in contentment.

Wait.

He blinks awake, brows furrowing as the cogs and wheels in his mind begin to grind against the heaviness of sleep. Though sandalwood is a rather common incense used by Cloud Recesses, Zewu-jun prefers aloeswood.

Wei Wuxian opens his eyes fully, turns over onto his back, and stares at an unfamiliar ceiling.

Where…where the hell am I?

This isn't Hanshi.

…

…This is Jingshi.

Jingshi?!

"Shit!' He shoots up, twisting this way and that as he takes in his surrounding. There, over by the center vestibule is Lan Wangji's writing desk. Scrolls painted by his preferred artist from the previous dynasty hang along the wall on the opposite side of the room. By its side is Wangji, Lan Zhan's guqin.

Fuck.

Definitely Jingshi.

"Lan Zhan?!" Wei Wuxian calls out, but receives no response.

How did I end up here? What happened last night?

His hand shoots to the front of his chest and he is relieved to find that he still has all his clothes on. Only his shoes are removed. Phew. Alright, so that means nothing nefarious happened, but gods, judging by the height of the sun it must be way past sunrise. People would be looking for him soon. In fact he is pretty sure he is supposed to meet with Uncle after breakfast to discuss - to discuss - gods he can't remember. If anyone catches him in Jingshi like this, in Lan Wangji’s bed no less -

- oh he is dead, dead!

The sheer gossip would be enough to kill him.

"Fucking hell," Wei Wuxian curses under his breath, pulling on his boots and trying to comprehend why he has such a headache.

It is almost as though he is hungover -

Hungover.

Emperor's Smile.

Oh, that's right -

 ~~~

 "Er-gongzi's birthday?"

It is on the return journey from their gruelling, two-week long night hunt that Wei Wuxian learns of this news from his senior disciples. They are about a day's trip away from Cloud Recesses, and due to exhaustion, have collectively decided to stay the night at a comfortable inn rather than camping out in the outdoors like they were forced to do during the most intense interlude of their hunt.

Ever thrifty, Wei Wuxian has planned well for their trip and so their funds are in excess. The team, composed of five senior disciples and two of their most-well trained juniors, are sent on a semi-classified mission by Zewu-jun and the Elders to investigate strange sightings reported by subsidiary clans in their border lands.

"You are not to speak of this to anyone outside of those in-the-know, understand?" Commanded Wei Wuxian when he rounded up his charges at the end of their hunt, standing over the remains of fierce corpses littering the forest floor.

"Understood, Wei-jun."

They've done well, and Wei Wuxian is all about rewarding where rewards are due. Tonight would be their last night out before returning home, so he orders a round of hearty dinner for their group of eight. Three of the disciples just about cry when Wei Wuxian takes pity on their stomachs and orders them chicken AND pork. They aren't within the confines of Cloud Recesses, so technically speaking, they are allowed to eat meat.

As their food is served, one of the seniors scoops a large spoonful of braised pork into his bowl of rice and says, "I was complaining initially that we'd miss Hanguang-jun's birthday and therefore possibly the best meal of the year, but this more than makes up for it."

His friends hum in agreement, but the conversation lulls as they dig hungrily into their own bowls.

Wei Wuxian, however, is more interested in this tidbit than eating. "It's Lan Z…er'di's birthday?"

"Yeah, three days ago," says a junior, carelessly violating the 'silence while eating' rule. "Tang-shen'er in the kitchen used to be Er-gongzi’s nanny, or wet nurse - uh, something like that - and she always makes the best dishes on his birthday. Of course, everyone at Cloud Recesses eats the same thing, so naturally, we all benefit." (note: Tang-shen'er = auntie Tang. The difference between shen and yi is that shen = wife of a younger uncle, yi = mother’s sister. They are both ways to say auntie.)

The boy grins, biting down into a honeyed chicken thigh. "But thank you for indulging us, Wei-jun. I haven't had meat in months."

Wei Wuxian nods, "I see…"

He feels wrong-footed. Lan Wangji is arguably his best friend since coming to Cloud Recesses, his companion, his confidant, his person. That he didn’t even prepare a gift of some kind, or a well-wishing message, or even had knowledge of his birth date is downright criminal. He estimates that Lan Zhan, the good, hardworking Lan-er-gongzi, probably doesn’t even notice his own birthday coming and going each year. The Lans are notoriously austere in this way.

Normally, Wei Wuxian would be confident that Lan Xichen would dote on his little brother, but even that's not guaranteed this year since Zewu-jun became embroiled in this nasty fierce corpse business. Uncle Qiren on the other hand hardly seems like the type to be celebratory and indulgent, which is probably why the kitchen cook of all people is remembered by the disciples as the one person who makes an occasion of it.

This is absolutely unacceptable.

Wei Wuxian sighs, something twisting unpleasantly in his stomach. Lan Zhan ought to be the happiest on his birthday; he is the best of people, and if anyone deserves it, he does. The little fuddy-duddy probably thinks nothing of it, that’s just the kind of person he is, but as his self-appointed bestfriend, Wei Wuxian cannot in good conscience let it go. It is a faux-pas that must be corrected upon his return.

His gut response, true to his Yunmeng upbringing, is to sneak some alcohol into Cloud Recesses for a little bit of private celebration. Sadly, alcohol is still forbidden, and it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Lan Zhan would go for.

"Zhanggui'de," Wei Wuxian waves down the innkeeper. "What non-alcoholic beverages are available and popular at your establishment. Surely not all customers order alcohol.”

"Ah, yes sir, quite right sir. Plum cider is an extremely popular drink in this region, especially in the winter. Would you and your party like to try some?" 

Plum cider? Hmm, excellent!

Wei Wuxian pays for enough to go around the table, using his disciples as unwitting test subjects. The taste of it is tangy and tart on his tongue, but it goes down smooth and leaves a pleasant aftertaste. Not bad indeed. The disciples think so too.

This is perhaps as close to plum wine as any of them is going to get.

A plan formulates in his mind. Wei Wuxian nods happily at another round of thanks he receives from the disciples and begins plotting. That night, while the disciples sleep off their weariness, Wei Wuxian gets down to work. The next morning, he leads the team home.

They arrive at Cloud Recesses a bit before dinner. Lan Xichen is away on another meeting with Jiang Fengmian and Nie Mingjue, thus leaving Wei Wuxian to report the findings of the night hunt to Lan Qiren. Lan Wangji is present as well, much to his delight.

"All went as expected?" The Second Jade of Lan inquires quietly upon seeing him, which is as verbal as he would ever get with his well-wishes. It is the equivalent to a good-to-see-you hug that Wei Wuxian is used to receive from Jiang Cheng. 

"Not quite," replies Wei Wuxian, but he grins nonetheless. "But I'm back now."

He is positively giddy with anticipation for what he has planned, but first, business.

"We tracked the fierce corpses into Lanling's territory, along its southern most region where our jurisdiction crosses that of the Jins and the Wens. That was where we encountered a group of patrolling Wen disciples." Wei Wuxian gestures at the map laid out on Uncle's desk. "They were led by Wen-zongzhu's second in command, his shidi, Wen Zhuliu -"

Lan Qiren frowns at the name, his gaze sliding surreptitious to Lan Wangji, an odd reaction which only Wei Wuxian catches.

"You know of him, Uncle?"

Lan Qiren clears his throat and shakes his head. "No, but I’ve heard of him some years ago."

Wei Wuxian gets a strange sense that the usually no-nonsense man is not entirely the truth. Lan Wangji does not seem to notice.

"What happened next?"

"He did not offer assistance but assured us that any issues within Qishan's territory would be dealt with by Qishan Wen and requires no further interference from external forces."

Lan Qiren considers this silently, stroking his beard. "Yes, their land is vast and has supervisory offices set up throughout their territory. Qishan Wen's disciples are diligent and trained. If the fierce corpses escaped into their land, we do not need to worry. Wen-zongzhu is a sensible man; he would deal with it accordingly."

"Is Wen-zongzhu still reluctant to join forces with xiongzhang, Nie-zongzhu and Jiang-zongzhu?" Lan Wangji inquires, his suppressed frustration leeching into his speech.

Over the last couple of months, he had witnessed how his brother slaved over this issue which grew by the day. That there are still sect leaders out there able to sit back and watch Lanling's ambition unfold is unfathomable. Truthfully speaking, Lan Wangji can admit to himself that he does not have the best head for politics, but the inaction of others on an issue the solution to which seems obvious to him often elicits feelings of frustration he cannot temper.

Wei Wuxian lays a firm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Jiang-shushu often told us that the Wens are physicians first and cultivators second. They do not concern themselves with the politics of others. Wen Zhuliu may have been curt, but not unkind."  

Qishan Wen are a private people, and the man who leads the sect - Wen Ruotian – is in possession of a clear mind and a level head. Under him, Qishan is stable and prosperous and able to withstand pressures from outside forces, especially that of the Chief Cultivator Jin Guangshan. Wen Ruotian has two children, his heir Wen Ning, and an elder daughter Wen Qing, neither of whom Wei Wuxian has ever seen in person. Wen Qing is younger than his shijie but older than Jiang Cheng and himself, so even when she had come to Cloud Recesses to study, they did not have occasion to meet. Wen Ning is younger still than all of them, and has never been known to leave Nevernight.

Lan Qiren folds his hands behind his back. "You did well, Wuxian. I will relay this information to Xichen. Unfortunately, he has gone out to meet with Sect Master Nie. He might return later tonight or early tomorrow. Rest now. You've been gone for days. We'll see you at dinner."

“Yes, shufu.”

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji bow, sensing that they are being dismissed. Together, they make their way out of their uncle's study.

"Hey, Lan Zhan -" Wei Wuxian whispers under his breath, tugging on Lan Wangji's sleeve furtively just as Lan Qiren suddenly remembers something else and calls out to him,

"Oh, Wuxian, I meant to ask -"

Wei Wuxian drops Lan Wangji's sleeve immediately and spins around too quickly with too bright a smile. "Yes Uncle."

What are you doing? Don't act suspicious, you weren't doing anything wrong!

Then why is his heart pounding so fast, like a child whose hand is caught in the pastry jar.

Thankfully, Lan Qiren does not seem to notice. Rather, he clears his throat, a sign that he is feeling somewhat awkward at what he is about to say. "I don't mean to pry, but as your elder it is my responsibility to ensure that you and Xichen are well. You are…well, yes? I know Xichen isn't often home, given how things have been, but things are going…amiably for you two, yes?"

What Lan Qiren is really trying to ask - and what Wei Wuxian is mortified to realize - is whether he and his husband are having an amorous marriage, to which the answer is no, absolutely not. Lan Xichen has not so much as attempted to kiss him since their wedding night. It's been terribly disappointing - not to mention a blow to his confidence.

But it's not like Wei Wuxian can very well tell Lan Qiren that Lan Xichen is treating him like a trophy husband in the sense that he is literally left to collect dust on the shelf.

"Everything is great, Uncle, please don't worry. There's no concern. Zewu-jun - ah, Xichen - is very kind to me, very caring."

Behind him, he can feel Lan Wangji's eyes boring into his head. Wei Wuxian maintains his smile. This isn't lying, not at all. Lan Xichen is indeed very kind to him, always courteous, always gentle. He just keeps him at arm's length, even when they lie right next to each other at night. 

Lan Qiren, however, seems satisfied with his response. "Good. Good."

Wei Wuxian bows again and quickly makes his escape before Uncle could think to ask any more uncomfortable questions.

Lan Wangji, who is aware of his situation, waits until they are both way out of earshot before stealing a glance his way. "Wei Ying…"

"Don't start, Lan Zhan, not today." Wei Wuxian shakes his head. "I'll be fine. Besides, I've got a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"Um hm!" Wei Wuxian smiles brightly, pushing all negative thoughts aside. "Don't eat too much at dinner. Knowing you, you probably won't, but… leave some space for later, alright?"

Lan Wangji frowns in confusion, "But why?"

"You'll see."

 ~~~

 Truth be told, Wei Wuxian is exhausted. He'd been up most nights the last two weeks keeping the disciples safe, and when everyone else rested last night, he had spent his time preparing Lan Wangji's surprise, which he really hopes his friend likes.

After dinner, Wei Wuxian makes his way towards Jingshi, a lightness in his steps and anticipation fluttering in his chest. Lan Wangji is waiting for him on the front porch, watching the snow that has just begun to fall again. Sesame and Coconut (Zhima and Yezi) - the two bunnies Wei Wuxian rescued before New Years lie curled up in his lap. The black one, Sesame, is currently having his fur stroked and is having the time of his life.

Wei Wuxian pauses at the gate of Jingshi to admire the view for a moment (it's not weird to admire your brother-in-law). Lan Wangji truly lives up to his name, as beautiful and elegant and pure as jade.

As if sensing his gaze, Lan Wangji looks up and offers a quiet greeting, "Wei Ying."

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian hurries his steps and trots up to his friend and brother-in-law, depositing three individually wrapped packages in front of him before taking a seat on the veranda. "Sorry, did you have to wait long? I came as quickly as I could, but an elder wanted to talk to me about the night hunt."

Lan Wangji passes the dosing white bunny Yezi to him and says, "No matter. For Wei Ying, I'll wait."

Wei Wuxian laughs, lifting Yezi to nuzzle against his soft fur and earning him an affectionate sniff from the sleepy creature. Lan Zhan is such a funny odd man. An absolute treasure.

"I hear you have a title now. What did the Elders pick as your ‘hao’?"

"Hanguang."

"Han. Guang. Hanguang-jun. The light bearer. Hm, apt, very apt indeed. Lan Zhan is good and righteous, our very own light bearer, the pride of all Gusu Lan." Wei Wuxian reaches out with one hand and pats the other man on the head, half in jest.

"Wei Ying. I am not a child." Lan Wangji pouts in response, much to Wei Wuxian's delight. He is almost too easy to tease.

"No? But A-Zhan is my xiao-shuzi, my husband's baby brother."

"I am older than you are."

"Only by a couple of months. And besides, what is the old saying again? 长兄如父，长嫂如母. Oldest brother is like father, oldest sister-in-law is like mother; well, as your oldest brother-in-law, technically I am your elder!"

His words only cause Lan Wangji's glower to intensify.

Wei Wuxian laughs delightedly some more. "Aiyo, alright, alright! I take it back; I take it back!"

Despite his rascal ways, Wei Wuxian has never been much of an accomplished liar and cannot hold up his pretense for long, especially when the subject of his teasing is glaring at him with such an adorable pout. (The back of his mind gives a rattle of alarm, wondering when has he begun to think of Lan Wangji, this stubborn boring fuddy-duddy, as adorable. However, he does have long to dwell on that thought before his conscious mind gives it a firm shove back into the subconscious, or at the least, stalling it in the mental space of procrastination, to be pondered upon later.)

"Hm." Lan Wangji lets out an aggrieved huff and turns away from him.

Wei Wuxian softens, leaning forward to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. "Lan Zhan, all kidding aside, I am glad for you… and proud of you too, if I may be so bold as to assume that I have earned the right to be. Hanguang suits you well. And…I do mean it honestly, Lan Zhan, you are the best of us."

Warm eyes flick up to look at him in surprise, and Wei Wuxian smiles in return. He does not understand those who think Lan Wangji cold and unexpressive. Sure, he may not say very much, but this idiosyncrasy does not make him unfeeling. Even from the early days, Wei Wuxian could tell that Lan Wangji is in fact very opinionated, and everything he does not put to words are expressed with those lovely, almond-shaped eyes. Wei Wuxian cannot claim to be able as adept at reading him as his brother Lan Xichen, but he has grown to appreciate this strange but wonderful man more and more with each passing day.

Life at Cloud Recesses is not what he thought it would be, it's true, and if he says that he doesn’t have regrets, he would be lying. Yet, for all that things have not turned out the way he had hoped, and all that his marriage is not what he dreamed for himself, Wei Wuxian cannot regret that Lan Wangji is now a part of his life. As it is, he can hardly imagine his days without his Lan Zhan and knowing this about him scares him more than he cares to admit. That he now refers to Lan Wangji as "his Lan Zhan" in his mind...well, he doesn't think too hard about that either. 

"I mean it, Lan Zhan. Your brother is tremendously proud of you, and I know there is no one he would rather have succeed him than you.”    

"Thank you, Wei Ying." Ears tinged pink, Lan Wangji averts his eyes and brings his gaze down towards the packages set between them.

Wei Wuxian drags himself out of his melancholy and changes the topic because he can do something he can't take back. "Well, are you going to open it or just stare at it?"

"What is in these?" Lan Wangji tilts his head curiously. There is something about him in moments like these, relaxed, unguarded, and young, that evokes an unspeakable urge inside Wei Wuxian to make him smile.

His treacherous heart gives a little jump. "Why don't you open them and find out?" 

The tips of Lan Wangji's ears darken even more, if that’s even possible. Carefully he unwraps the packages, revealing three different kinds of osthamus pastries. “Wei Ying…”

“I would have made these myself, but I have been told by various disciples that what I make is utterly inedible and close to torture. I know they cannot replace your mother’s osthamus cakes, but I hope you like them.”

Wei Wuxian pushes the first package closer towards him and says, “These are from the town we went to for the night-hunt. There is this little old granny with a pastry stall right outside the inn where we stayed, and she sold these 桂花千层酥 (puff pastry with osthamus filling). Gosh are they good, flaky, and not too sweet. And then I remembered Yunmeng has our own osthamus cake - 藕粉桂花糖糕 - made with lotus root paste -"

" - You went to Yunmeng?"

"Huh?" Wei Wuxia blinks, then chuckles nervously with a sheepish scratch of his head. "No, but I sent courier to Lotus Pier last night, and Jiang Cheng had our fastest disciple deliver fresh ones to Caiyi Town just before dinner." He grins, waving his hand carelessly and dismissing the fact that he had used his sect connections for the sole purpose of expediating food delivery to Lan Zhan from across their regions. "Anyways, speaking of Caiyi town - of course, I couldn't forget your personal favourite, the traditional osthamus cake that Zewu-jun says you only allow yourself to have on special occasions.”

Lan Wangji takes a breath, a Lan precept already on the tip of his tongue. "One must not overly -"

"- indulge, yes, I know, I know, but this isn’t over-indulgence, it’s a special occasion! One only turns twenty once! Now you are truly an adult! " Wei Wuxian picks up a piece of the flakey osthamus cake and holds it out. "Have a taste!"

What happens next should have alarmed both of them, but Wei Wuxian only looks on with joyous anticipation as Lan Wangji leans forward and takes a delicate bite of the cake straight from his hand. Dark lashes flutter close against pale cheeks as he savours the taste quietly, giving in to this one moment of indulgence.

Wei Wuxian does not realize he has been holding his breath until he opens his mouth to speak again. "Is it - is it good?"

"Mn."

"You got a -" He hesitates, one hand hovering in the air, as he aborted the urge to go any further. "Uhm, you've got -"

Realizing his intention, Lan Wangji subtly swipes at the corner of his lips with the tip of his tongue, attempting to get rid of some of the sugar clinging there.

"It's still - uhm - here let me -"

It's not that he doesn’t know that if anyone were to walk in now, this would look very bad indeed, but it is as though some vicious force has possessed and overtaken his self-control. Wei Wuxian reaches out and brushes the sugar crumbs from the corner of Lan Wangji's mouth with his thumb, stroking his bottom lip in the process.   

Lan Wangji's eyes widen in shock, but he does not pull away.  Instead, he holds still and allows Wei Wuxian to finish.

"There. All decent."

Decent? A voice that sounds suspiciously like Jiang Cheng comments in his head. Is there actually anything decent about what you just did?

"Wei Ying.…” A warm hand catches his own.

Wei Wuxian lets him. “Happy birthday, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Wuxian! This time, the voice belongs to Madam Yu. This is your xiao-shuzi! What are you doing?! 

He pulls away. “Ah, right then! Onto part two!”

He pretends he doesn’t hear Lan Wangji sigh.

“There is…part two?”

"Well, of course! Everything comes in threes. You didn't think I was going to slack off on your birthday, did you?"

From the depth of his qiankun pouch, Wei Wuxian pulls out two ceramic jars. "Shh, don't tell Uncle."

"Alcohol is forbidden." Lan Wangji frowns.

"This isn't alcohol. It's plum cider," explains Wei Wuxian as spiritual energy flows from his fingertips, golden light coalescing into runes and talismans in thin air, wrapping around the shiny brown ceramic in his hand. Within seconds, gentle steam begins to ascend from the rim, carrying with it the fruity aroma of the beverage within. "Hmm, doesn't that smell lovely, Lan Zhan? I know nothing beats our Emperor’s Smile, but this is very delicious as well. No alcohol, I promise.”

"But what’s that one.” Lan Wangji points to the white ceramic jar that Wei Wuxian purposely neglects to explain.

"Ah…haha yes.” Wei Wuxian pushes the white jar behind him, attempting to protect it. “Alright, you caught me. This one is Emperor's Smile. I …couldn't resist. You won't tell, will you?”

There is at least 50% chance that Lan Wangji will spoil this night and make him copy lines. He is the disciplinary officer of Cloud Recesses after all. But even if Lan Wangji opts to punish him for breaking the rules, Wei Wuxian would not change any part of his current plan. It’s Lan Wangji’s birthday, and for just this night, they should be able to have to a good time. And if that means Wei Wuxian gets planked in the morning for it…well, so be it.

 Lan Wangji lets out a sign of resignation. “Just this once.”

He picks up the warmed bottle of cider just as Wei Wuxian pop open the cork of his Emperor's Smile. Two ceramic jars clink quietly in celebration. 

Worth it indeed.

 ~~~

 Wei Wuxian smacks himself on the forehead.

Emperor’s Smile! Fuck me!

So he may have drunk more than he should last night. But it really wasn’t his fault. He only had one jar. One! Back in the days, one jar could hardly get him started, but he hasn’t drunk a single drop of anything remotely alcoholic in almost a year, except on his wedding day when he was tipsy at best. Even before coming to Cloud Recesses, Madam Yu had banned alcohol for him, insisting that it was “practice” for when he eventually marries into the Lan family.

Man, living with the Lans is seriously making me lose my edge.

What happened after we started drinking?

Right, he had set off the firework talisman – the product of his all-nighter. The talisman was designed to ignite lights like dancing firebugs and butterflies, lingering in the snow-covered garden as though it were the height of summer. Everything had worked out perfectly. Lan Zhan had smiled…

Good…good he liked it.

But what happened next?!

Wei Wuxian wracks his brain, but he just can’t recall the details. He hadn’t slept properly in almost a week, constantly on the look out for danger and keeping the disciples safe. And on their last night out, he stayed up till dawn working on the firework talisman. Then he had made the brilliant decision to drink…

Of course he was gonna get fucked up! He should have anticipated this!

Fuck’s sake, what does it matter now? The rice is cooked. I need to find Lan Zhan and ask him –

Because for him to end up in Lan Wangji’s bed, under the covers, boots off, tucked in, means someone had to haul his dead-ass into Jingshi and put him there. It’s probably Lan Zhan, which is fine, because you know, they’re friends, and this doesn’t have to be a big deal. Alright so he got drunk, which means he might be sentenced to some unpleasant disciplinary action, but he’s a big boy, he can deal with it –

Wei Wuxian heads to the door of Jingshi, ready to flee from the scene of the crime. No - not scene of the crime – because there was no crime. He merely slept over. It was an accident! Nothing happened between him and Lan Zhan, nothing at all –

It’s not like they slept together in the same bed – I mean – it’s not like they shared a bed. No, Lan Wangji would never do that.

But if I slept here…where did Lan Zhan sleep? This is his residence, where – where could he go? Did he…did he…sleep next to me?

I have to get out of here.

Wei Wuxian yanks open the doors and runs headfirst into Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen.

Zewu-jun. The Sect Master of Gusu Lan.

His lord and husband.

Shit.

“Zewu-jun!” Wei Wuxian feels a rock drop to the pit of his stomach. “It’s not – it’s not what it looks like! I didn’t – last night – I – “

But Lan Xichen is smiling. He holds up a calming hand. “Wuxian, it’s alright. Wangji already told me everything.”

Behind his shoulder, Wei Wuxian catches sight of Lan Wangji standing there.

“He…told you?”

“Yes.” Lan Xichen walks into Jingshi as if nothing is wrong. “Alcohol is forbidden in Cloud Recesses but seeing that you did it in spirit of celebrating Wangji’s birthday, I’ll let it slide this one time.” Then, inexplicably, he winks. “Just don’t tell Uncle.”

“O-Oh, yes, thank…thank you Zewu-jun. I…ah,” Wei Wuxian scratches the column of his nose, feeling so thrown by the turn of events that it seems almost like an out-of-body experience. “I may have imbibed a little too much. I…I fell asleep. Sorry, Lan Zhan –”

Shit!

Nobody calls Lan Wangji ‘Lan Zhan’, and up until this point, Wei Wuxian has taken care to always refer to him as ‘er-di’ or ‘Wangji’ in front of other people and especially in front of Uncle and Lan Xichen. 

Lan Wangji too, tenses at the familiarity of Wei Wuxian’s address.

Yet, Lan Xichen merely chuckles. “Well, I’ll say. Emperor’s Smile is a very strong liquor indeed. Drink more cautiously next time yes? Or else, my poor little brother will have to sleep on the floor again.”

Wei Wuxian's blush intensifies. So Lan Zhan slept in the same room, but not on the bed. Thank the sky and the earth…   

“You know, I’m so pleased that you two have gotten along so well.” Lan Xichen continues to say. “It’s about high time that Wangji makes some friends his age.”

“Xiongzhang.”

“Fine, fine, I won’t tease.”

Wei Wuxian tries not to gawk. Everyone knows the Twins Jades are close and that Lan Xichen’s brotherly affection for Lan Wangji can only be rivalled by Nie Mingjue’s tolerance (read: indulgence) for Nie Huaisang’s plethora of shenanigans. But even so, Wei Wuxian could not believe the man could react so nonchalantly to his own husband waking up in his little brother’s bed.

Though perhaps…perhaps it’s not so much that Lan Xichen overly trusts and indulges his little brother, but rather that he doesn’t care at all for the man who is his husband.

Ones simply does not become jealous over something that does not matter to oneself.

The thought makes him cold.

“It’s good that you are both here,” Lan Xichen gestures for them to take a seat around the writing desk. “We have much to discuss. Jin Guangshan has finally revealed his ambition.”

The world is big, and Wei Wuxian is just one man. One boy really. That Lan Xichen has other priorities should not surprise him. He is small compared to all that Sect Leader Lan carries on his shoulders.

“Zewu-jun, is it really… the Yin Iron?”

Lan Xichen nods solemnly.

If he cannot earn his husband's affections, then he will have to settle with being useful. Wei Wuxian can do that. He can be useful, and that starts with tucking away his childish hurt. “How can we help?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes linger on him.

He does not see.

#cql #the untamed #wangxian #discordance #corie fics #im sorry this took like half a year #are there even ppl still reading this haha damn

[carllisle]

Ma'am may I ask for some vampire Esme and human Carlisle headcanons or another fic if you prefer💖Can't stop thinking about your last nsfw vampire esme and human carlisle fanfic It's amazing.🥺

Thank you my darling! I hope you don’t mind some headcanons rather than a mini fic right now! 

Rosalie is a doctor at the local hospital working in pediatric care. She’s a newly qualified doctor and it’s a small hospital, though, and she learns as much on the job as she can. Because of this, she is the first of the family to meet Carlisle who is new to town and a surgeon. She likes him for his human touch, and he lacks the arrogance that a lot of surgeons have

Esme is a teacher at the local elementary school and she and Rosalie are posing as sisters, taking Rosalie’s surname for now, with Jasper being their younger brother attending a local college. Alice and Edward are Esme’s adopted kids who are in their final year of high school, and Emmett just about passes as a college graduate married to Rosalie

Esme and Carlisle first meet in the grocery store when she is shopping with Rosalie. It’s a small town where a lot of kids are underprivileged, their community on the fringes of a major city that hasn’t managed to sweep the suburbs up in its cosmopolitan wealth yet, so a lot of Esme’s teaching supplies come out of her own pocket. They’re still unbelievably wealthy thanks to Alice, though, so it’s not a problem and Esme enjoys being able to spend money on her schoolkids. They’re starting cooking lessons at school so she’s buying supplies for that, and Rosalie is helping her. 

Carlisle is in his early 40s and is from the UK and found himself in the USA after following a woman ten years ago. The relationship broke down but he stayed in the USA and worked in community hospitals. Coming from the UK and valuing the ethos of the NHS (that everyone deserves access to good healthcare) he vowed not to work at the inaccessible metropolitan centres that brought wealth and fame, but to always do his best in communities that needed it the most. That’s how he ended up in the small, rainy town as Esme and her family. 

Carlisle wasn’t Esme’s singer but he did smell especially good to her - even seeing him made her thirsty, she wanted him so bad. Rosalie introduced them in the pasta aisle and Esme smiled politely and she instantly loved his smile. While her throat burned, there were butterflies in her stomach. If he noticed her cold touch when they shook hands, he didn’t mention it. He smiled, tired though he was, and asked after their twenty kilograms of penne and Rosalie noticed how brightly Esme smiled when she told her 

Rosalie told her to be careful in the car after. Esme was very quiet after the encounter, moreso than usual, and Rosalie could see how affected she was already. Esme denied anything odd was going on but she couldn’t stop thinking about Carlisle’s handsome, warm, face and how he looked at her longer than he looked at Rosalie 

A few weeks later there was a lice outbreak at school and the nurse was out sick, and Carlisle agreed to come to the school to help out on his day off. Esme brought him coffee and thanked him for coming. He asked if he could buy her a real coffee but she evaded his question. He thought it was because of his age - he had no idea she was a hundred years older than he 

Esme usually avoided the hospital because her control was still not anywhere near as good as Rosalie’s but she ended up dropping by to see Rosalie a few times in the following month, of course with the intention of running into Dr Cullen. It worked; it was a small hospital after all, and run-ins were inevitable. Esme bit her lip when she saw him in his scrubs and white coat and she lived to hear his voice. Everything about him invited her in, from his face to his scent to his kind words. It didn’t help that he lit up completely when he saw her

During the science fair a few months into this loose flirtation, Esme asked him to come and help judge the entries. She wasn’t sure what compelled her to, but they had run into each other at the grocery store again and she had just blurted it out. He had happily agreed. He liked being around the enthusiastic minds of the kids and there was something about seeing their devotion to their favourite teacher Miss Esme (she liked them to call her that rather than Miss Hale, it felt more personal, more equal) that made him ask to see her properly. In the coriddor, he caught her by the wrist and smiled and asked her “let me take you out on a real date. Please? I just want to know you better.” 

Rosalie was furious that Esme had accepted. “He’s a human!” she told her. “A nice one!” Esme protested, but she knew Rosalie was right. She visited Carlisle’s small home that night to cancel. Carlisle was wrapped up against the cool November air in a thick jumper and scarf and he was surprised to see her. “How did you know where I live?” he asked in surprise. “I... people talk,” she replied weakly. “I didn’t have your number. But I don’t think we should see each other.” Carlisle looked hurt. “I don’t understand,” he said quietly. “I’m not good,” Esme tried to explain. He had the confidence of a handsome man, but the kind touch of a good one. He touched her cheek and gently pulled her inside his home and closed the door. Vampire though she was, she was powerless to him in that moment. “You are,” he told her quietly. “I can see it in everything that you do. No one who is bad is as loved as you. Let me know you.” 

She wanted to tell him everything then. She’d never felt a connection to someone so quickly, like they were somehow meant to meet and find each other in the chaos of time and space. “I have secrets,” she whispered. “I want to know them,” he answered. “They sound crazy,” she protested, but her fingers began tracing the knit of his jumper and his arms came around her. “You’re so cold,” he remarked. “That’s part of my secret,” Esme confessed. “Are you anemic? That’s not so bad.” Esme laughed at his guess. “Sort of.” 

They had their first date that night. They settled on the sofa in front of the fire he lit in the hearth and they were both wrapped in blankets and they talked for hours like they had known each other their whole lives. She told him as much of their public story as she felt was fair and he told her of his wonderful life and she thought her head was spinning from falling in love so quickly. It wasn’t love, she reminded herself, but it was something. It was the start of something. 

He moved to kiss her but she couldn’t let him. She didn’t know if she could bear to have him so close and feel the rush of his blood under his skin, not when she wanted him in so many different ways. But she had enough control to kiss his hand and his fingers and she held his hand to her cheek and felt his pulse. It made her throat burn like it hadn’t in years and it knocked her back. 

It was after midnight that she cane home and her family were concerned. Well, Alice wasn’t. Alice was excited - she told Esme that the future looked bright, for the most part, but that there would be some tense moments. Esme was horrified at her daughter’s estimation and hid away. Emmett tried to comfort her and told her that if she needed to feed on this doctor, that’s okay, it was only in their nature. She hugged him tight and thanked him for his understanding but confirmed she didn’t want to do that. He nodded then and told her he would help her, then. Alice came up to her room and apologised for overwhelming her. 

Rosalie was still angry. Furious, really, that Esme was risking the secrecy of their family for some human. Edward told her to ease up, that Esme had always put the family first and had never once asked for anything, and that she had been alone for longer than the rest of them put together, didn’t she deserve a chance at love? Rosalie said yes, if she intended to change this man before things got more complicated. Esme looked at them, wide-eyed as she tried to understand what they meant. She and Carlisle had barely spent any time together and already her children were talking as if it were a done deal? That she could condemn him to an eternity of this life? 

“It’s what you condemned me to,” Rosalie pointed out. An old wound that existed between them and came up now and again, it hurt both of them. It felt like a cheap blow sometimes, but it was something Rosalie was burdened with in the deepest parts of her heart. “Because I thought I was saving you,” Esme said weakly. “He’s not dying. How could I take away his life? I barely know him.” 

“The future isn’t certain, but it’s on the cards,” Alice piped up gleefully. Jasper rested a hand on her shoulder to hold back her enthusiasm. He could feel Esme’s misery. 

Carlisle thought he was going mad when more hints of Esme’s nature were revealed to him. He was a man of science, after all, and a man of God! How was this possible? But every question he had, Esme answered honestly, albeit shyly. He thought about running a few times. What woman could possibly be worth this? But she was. She so easily was worth it. He loved her quickly, everything about her. Within months he asked her to change him. He begged her to change him. He soon wanted her above everything else, he wept because he wanted eternity with her so desperately. 

Eventually he was granted immortality, but not for a good few years yet. 

#human!carlisle #needahugfromesme #darling!!! thank you so much for asking!! #it was so fun to write like this #carlesme #ellie writes

[whirlybirbs]

                                          (   gif, again, by @barissoffee​ !    )

     —   STARJOCKEY & CO.   ;   2 of ?

summary: the bad batch gets a pilot, and they get a mission. acid rain happens. hunter & zip still don’t get along. no one is surprised. pairing: twi’lek!reader (zip nickname) x hunter word count: 3.2k a/n: pumping this out so i can write some hunter/reader content tonight to follow this character arc! we love some good ol’ action adventure acid rain! also, don’t try and neutralize acid with water, kids. that’s not how that works. but this is star wars, and it works here.

previous chapter   |   next (coming soon!)

It’s too early for this. 

Despite having a steaming thermos of caf in your hands, you still have to pull your eyes open wide and try not to sway on your feel as you remind yourself this debrief is important. Very important. 

Very early, but very important

Sleep, too, especially after the amount of hours you poured into repairs on the Havoc Marauder last night, is equally as important — but the debrief takes priority. For now. 

Maybe you can bribe D-M1 to pilot for a bit once you take off. Just so you can plant your head on the dash and doze for a minute. A loth-cat nap. 

Ugh -- a nap sounds good right about now. 

You take a long sip of caf and rub your face as Cody continues to speak, gesturing to the glowing blue holomap that casts a glow across the entire room.

Through the thick of the swirling mission debrief, Hunter is staring.

Well, more glaring, really.

(Can you blame him? His senses have been cranked to 12 since he was made, and still, he can’t ignore the smell of your morning beverage of choice. All he can smell is your caf and the elaborator creamer you’d put in it. It smells like cocoa and star-cherries and caf and it’s all Hunter can smell. It’s giving him a damn headache.)

You’re beginning to wonder if that’s all his stupid -- albeit handsome -- face does. The scowl there digs in deep, and you have to try your hardest not to roll your eyes as you take another sip of your caf. 

He’d walked in here, hauled the helmet off, and you’d realized Cody was right when he said they didn’t look like the other clones you knew. They were all different -- higher cheekbones on Crosshair and a sharper profile on Hunter. Tech was small and boggly-eyed, while Wrecker towered over everyone in the room with his round ol’ dome.

They were nothing like the others from the 212th. 

Your lekku twitch, swatting a bit, as your attention moves from challenging Hunter’s glare back to the debrief at hand. 

Hunter, as he pries his eyes away from your cock-hipped posture, wonders how  in hell a civvie like you managed to land this job. He’d much rather have a reg flying him and his brothers around than a ex-criminal and her junkyard droid.

... He heaves an inward sigh. 

Maybe he’s being a dick. 

Cody trusts you. Hunter can at least try... 

... Right?

Hunter diverts his attention back to Cody’s words, ignoring the unsettling idea of being civil with you. “What’s the status of Yanibar’s alliance?”

“None,” Cody drops a hand to his hip, resting it on his holster, “Neutral -- but it lays between the Outer Rim and Unknown Regions. The inhabitants tend to be those running from things like the war. But, I’m sure the Separatists will have their eye on the space ports for GAR officials. It’ll be basic recon. You fly in under the radar, scope out the manufacturing lab on Yanibar, and get out.”

Cody pauses, takes in the affirmative nods of the room, then continues:

“And lucky for all of you -- that ship in the hangar has no Republic tags. You’re gonna be a ghost.”

“No Republic tags?” Hunter asks, dark brow lifting. 

“We’ll be off the books -- Seps will think we’re probably just smugglers,” you shrug, explaining as Tech hums quietly at the realization, “Knowing them, they won’t wanna start anything with locals. Especially if they’re break neutrality laws and mining a planet in the grey zone.”

“Exactly.”

You cop a smirk Cody’s way. “Now I know why you kept that bucket of bolts.”

“Repo’s have their uses,” the Commander shirks, “And civvie pilots, too.”

Now this is all starting to make sense. They wanted you to play the part -- and with any luck, the boys in the back cargo hold will go unnoticed as you carry on on Yanibar. 

D-M1 pipes up from her spot below the holo-map. “Zip plays a wonderful smuggler. Four varying counts of weapons, drug and wildlife trade have made her --”

“Alright, alright,” we swat at the droid’s bobbing head, “I swear, who ever programmed you should be shot.”

The droid makes a sound akin to a laugh. Cody snorts.

Hunter ignores the distrust settling under his skin. 

“Everyone got the plan?” Cody asks, looking around the command center. When he’s met with silence, he nods to dismiss the Bad Batch and their new pilot, “Alright. Head out. Comm in if there’s any trouble.”

“You got it, Commander.”

“Hunter?” Cody calls, “Zip?”

You both linger in the doorway. 

“Play nice, yea?” he grins, “And good luck.”

--   ↯   --

You realize, six hours later, as you hang yourself out of the landing ramp mid-flight, trying desperately to get a hold on Crosshair who’s trying to get a hold on Hunter, that Cody jinxed you.

He most definitely jinxed you.

--   ↯   --

The mission had started just fine, after all -- the ride was fast, the travel checkpoints passed with no trouble, and you’d entered Yanibar’s airspace on a pretty mild day. No questions were asked when you dropped the Havoc Marauder down fifteen klicks outside of the nearest space port. The boys off-loaded and headed for the manufacturing plant. 

The landscape gave enough cover as if it. 

Large, sweeping stone outcroppings punctured the dunes and climbed high towards the sky, casting long jagged shadows in the golden sand. Creatures moved with the shade, relaxing along the cooling surfaces as the suns moved high in the sky. 

Parked in a ravine and hidden from sight, you’d spent the first two hours monitoring the location of the Batch; every half hour, Tech would radio in giving an update on their location. By hour four, they were close. By hour five, the line had gone silent.

And you were starting to get nervous. 

Their geo-coordinates marked them about 30 klicks East -- in the estimated area of the manufacturing lab they were slotted to recon. 

By hour five and a half, the sun was disappearing. Slowly, with clouds shrouding the sky, but... the spaces between the brown clouds were turning a muddied color. You leaned, squinting over the dashboard with a confused look, before moving to the back of the ship and punching open the landing ramp. 

When you stepped into the hot, mid-day heat, you realized exactly what was happening. You kicked yourself for not realizing sooner.

D-M1′s the one that made a panicked sound. 

“We’ve got a problem!”

You were fast, bounding up the ramp and skidding inside as you slam the lock for the door on your way to the cockpit -- in a flash, you’d started up the engine and flicked alive the comms.

“Boys,” you yelped, pulling the headset on over your lekku, “We’ve gotta get a move on, now.” 

Hunter, elbows deep in a dune with his eyes plastered to a pair of specs, cursed. Your voice crackled from his helmet, resting between him and Crosshair, and Hunter was almost inclined to ignore it.

But, the sniper tapped his wrist without looking from his scope and spoke. 

“Go ahead, Zip.”

“Acid rain storm,” you blurted out, leaning as D-M1 points at the meteorological gauge in her little hands in a panic. The radar swept across the map once and showed the brewing storms, “About five klicks South of me.”

You knew acid rain storms. The planet you’d grown up on had them enough -- and even Coruscant had them. But, the color of these clouds...

Your father always used to say, the dirtier the cloud, the quicker the shroud. 

Y’know, like death shrouds? 

“-- Shit.”

Hunter was hoping that feeling in his gut was nothing. He should have listened to it.

“She couldn’t a’ told us sooner?” Hunter gritted out, pushing up from his elbows in a flash. Not entirely fair, but damn. This was not going according to plan. First the patrol droids and now --

A deep bellow of thunder rolled in the distance, then.

And now this. 

Crosshair inhaled sharply and proceeded to silently snap the attached scope from his rifle in one swift, practiced move. He’s not gettin’ in the middle of this.

“Unless you boys wanna melt your pretty armor,” came your voice, crackling alive in Hunter’s helmet as he pulled it over his head, “I’d say we hurry this little play date up --”

And that’s the precise moment Wrecker snapped one of three patrol droids over his thigh, much to Tech’s despair, and sent the entire op down the shitter. 

You found the squadron, then, pinned in a rain of blaster-fire, trading shots with the handful of B1′s -- their shots lit up the kicked up sand from the winds, beginning to howl as the dark brown clouds to the South began to loom over the once sunny dunes. 

“Bring it down low, Deemi!” you hollered, throwing your headset as you moved to the back of the ship, “Get ready to go when they’re loaded on!”

“Got it!”

You punched the ramp, pulling your green tinted goggles down over the slop of your nose as the door opened. Taking a braced step out, you were fast to spy the boys as the Havoc Marauder began to lower itself slowly. 

Then, a blaster bolt skimmed your head -- it leaves a charred sizzzzle against the matte black paint job of the repo’d ship.

You leaned back, tugging your pistol from you hip and firing a quick volley back at the droid who’d aimed for your head. After three shots, you nailed the B1 unit down, and turned your attention back to the Bad Batch. 

You’re about to wave Deemi down, to tell her to plant the ramp on a rising dune then, when an entire squadron’s worth of battle droids lumbered from the back entrance of the manufacturing plant and began laying down fire on you and the ship. 

“SWING IT AROUND!” Hunter screamed, waving you off.

Deemi listened, and you fell back through the door as the ship pulls away fast from the oncoming fire. Your back hit the navicomputer’s paneling hard as the ship banked left, and your breath flew from your lungs as you did, gritting your teeth tightly at the impact. 

You scrambled, quickly, to watch from the open side-ramp as the entirety of the plant came into view. 

It’s huge. 

A main control tower rises high in the sky, above the three conveyor bays that spark through the small slitted windows three stories up. The walls are encroached by dunes, and the desert threatens to swallow it up. 

As Deemi banked wide, you planted your boot on the doorway as you watched the firefight disappear around the edge of the massive building. 

And that’s when it started to rain.

You hissed loudly then, immediately drawing a hand back when a fat droplet of brownish water hits your skin. Cursing as you swiped away the acidic liquid, you scowled at the welt it left behind. 

And if the from the drop in temperature was any indication, it was about to pour.

“Deemi,” you screamed, “I’m gonna need you to speed it up!” 

You were fast to stagger back from the doorway, moving to haul the bottom of your flight suit up -- the sleeves, tied neatly over your belt, are yanked onto your arms and over the black compression top. You zipped the collar up tight and moved to the storage built into the bunk atop the navi-console.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered, digging around. You knew you saw a poncho somewhere and -- “Aha!”

It’s not much, but it at least covered your lekku. If anything it will keep the sensitive skin of the head-tails safe enough for a few minutes. You hauled the black, weatherproof poncho over your head and ignore the musty smell coming from it -- just in time, too, as Deemi had propelled the engines into a kick for the banking maneuver and the Bad Batch was in sight again. 

The moment you and Deemi get in range, the skies opened up. 

It starts raining so hard you could hardly see -- and the headlamps of the boys illuminated the muddied downpour a few feet ahead of them. Deemi bought the ship down low enough that the ramp connects with the tip of a dune, and you staggered a bit on the impact.

The ship’s lights cast bright cones of light into the acid rain storm, and Tech is the first one through the doors. You curse, ignoring the tingling sting of the rain splashing on your face, and call out to the others. 

“GET ON!” 

Wrecker is next, passing you and launching himself through the doors with a curse -- the droids have seemed to back off, leaving the squadron to book it as the acidity begins to gnaw at their armor. You can hear a commotion behind you, and assume it’s Tech snagging the gallon of filtered water stored under the refresher sink to dowse himself and the heavy artillery man. 

Next is Crosshairs, who you reached out to as he planted a boot on the edge of the ramp -- without warning and rather suddenly, the ship gave a terrible moan. Then, unceremoniously, the dune the ramp had been perched upon tumbled downwards into a slip of mud.

The landscape was melting, and so was your poncho.

In a panic, you grabbed Crosshair’s vambrace and barely managed to snag the ramp’s guard rail; in a flash, Crosshair had Hunter’s hand secured in his own. Good thing, too, since the Sergeant’s boots now hung thirty feet in the air where the tip of the towering dune used to be. 

And that’s where you find yourself now.

Cursing, you strain to readjust your grip on the railing as rain runs down your chin. It stings like a bitch -- but you can’t help but think the pull of your arm is a little worse. 

You curse sharply in Ryl, and scream Wrecker’s name so harshly the trooper’s heart nearly stops. His helmeted head whips around.

“DON’T JUST STAND THERE!” 

Your knuckles, beneath the thick flight gloves have gone from a warm peach to a pale yellow -- the strain there is only relieved when Wrecker finally moves to the other side of the ramp and grabs Crosshair’s upper arm; together you both haul the two troopers up onto the ramp as Deemi’s banks backwards -- a few moments too late -- and sends a pile of acid rain soaked bodies tumbling back into the belly of the ship. 

The droid closes the ramp as she banks away from the manufacturing plant.

You don’t even have time to celebrate the sheer survival of the stunt -- you’re instead stripping off the poncho that’s now got Republic credit sized holes eaten into it. You whip off your goggles, and curse again -- your flight suit is starting to sizzle and the acid on your face hurts and --

Suddenly, you take a whole bucket of water to the face and it all stops.

Tech, standing there clutching the now empty bucket, looks rather sheepish. 

Your shoulders immediately sag in relief, and the troopers behind you are the next victims of Tech’s hose-down. Deemi, from the front of the ship, asks if she should drop into hyperspace and the entire cabin gives a dejected chorus of yes at the same time. 

You wipe the neutral water, running over your nose and chin, from your face as you sit down in one of the chairs by the navicomputer. 

Hunter drops his hands to his waist, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, and opens his mouth to speak.

You, instead, cut him off with a single raised finger and a pointed look.

“You,” you snap, “Don’t get to say a word to me until my face is not swollen and Tech can confirm I don’t have acid rain poisoning. Understood?”

Hunter just snaps his mouth shut. You have welts down your cheeks from where your goggles met your skin. Your lekku, too, don the same blistered orange marks. Guilt suddenly washes over him, only for a second. He’d gotten off easy. The acid rain had only eaten through the first layer of his composite armor.

The whole cabin, suddenly incredibly uncomfortable, decides to go their separate ways. Hunter, though, doesn’t move. Instead, he watches as you stand and inspect the now shredded flight suit that hangs off of you. You move across the cabin quickly, not bothering to avoid him. 

You slam your shoulder into his and keep moving.

--   ↯   --

You don’t have acid rain poisoning.

Which is good, you guess.

But, the residuals still hurt -- bad. 

You throw yourself into the far-too-small ship refresher for a rinse off -- Wrecker was nice enough to insist you get to go first (“For savin’ our skins an’ all, Zippy!”) and you can’t help but snort at Tech’s face when you emerge in a clean flight suit. He looks worried.

You’ve got welts all over your face. 

“I think it’s a cute look,” you jab playfully, leaning to inspect your reflection in the polished chrome door, “Don’t you, Tech?”

“Looks painful.”

Crosshairs laughs. 

The welts on your lekku are. You’d had to smother the startled yelps with your hand when the hot water made contact. You hope the boys hadn’t heard.

(Hunter certainly had, and he wasn’t even in the lower level of the ship. He was up top, ignoring the dull ache in his arm and pretending he didn’t need to rinse off. It had sparked a little worry in him, though, and he’d casually muscled his helmet on to do some digging on the holo-net about potential complications from injured lekku. The results were... not ideal.)

You massage the point on the back of your neck where your headwrap normally clasps together, keeping the animated little appendages under control and out of the way. You’ve forgone it now, and Crosshair watches as you sigh quietly as you rub the tension point. 

You look different without it. A bit softer.

“It doesn’t feel great, but,” you shrug, shoulders a bit more relaxed than before, “I’ll be fine. Definitely the worst acid bath I’ve had in a while.”

“You’ve been caught in those storms before?” Tech asks, surprised. He’s placing his helmet down, stripping his armor as he speaks. 

“I grew up in the South Tann Province,” you explain, “The jetstreams would carry polluted air through during the summer months, and sometimes the rain would be bad -- tarkona taka, my dad used to call it. But, that, back on Yanibar? That was worse than anything I’d ever experienced when I was a little girl.”

“Tarkona taka,” Tech sounds out, “What does it mean?”

“Brown weather -- or, storm, actually,” you grin, “Tak is brown, and tarkona is storm.”

“Yeah, well,” Wrecker supplies, muscling around through the barely stocked fridge in the far corners of the meager living quarters. Behind the microscopic kitchenette lay a hall of four bunks. Wrecker closes the door looking dejected, “I can’t wait to be back on Coruscant. No brown rain there.”

“On the lower levels there is!” you call out, spurring Wrecker’s shoulders to sag.

You move towards the ladder, planting a boot on the bottom rung when Crosshair’s calls out.

“Careful, Zip.”

“He still pissy?” you ask, loud enough that you know Hunter can hear, “Shame.”

The three members of the Bad Batch snort quietly as you move up the ladder anyway.

They like you.

And Hunter, still, doesn’t. 

#bad batch imagine #tcw imagine #hunter x reader #clone trooper hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #star wars imagine #starjockey & co #hehehehehHHEHEHEHEHEH

[codevassie]

i've got a request! prinxiety fantasy au. roman became a prince after making a deal with a magical creature (that can be a side but also can remain unnamed, whatever works for you). the deal was: roman would become prince but in exchange, the creature would take his true love when roman would meet them. so roman was always careful not to fall in love with anyone. that worked until he met virgil. aaand i leave the rest up to you! i hope this makes sense lol

CV: Sorry it’s so long and also not long enough and also really late. Thank you so much for your patience! My mind would not stop coming up with ideas for this fic but I wrangled it in enough to get this out. Hope you like it, An!

CW: Weapons, Trauma, Injury [Edit: Angst, Unhappy Ending]

On Ao3 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Prince Roman was kind and fair to all who knew him. It was uncanny to his citizens how Disney their prince was. He glowed in all ways–always smiling, exceedingly handsome, eyes gleaming with pride. 

He was also a bachelor, sworn to it almost like a monk. He loved to flirt and would dance with many a handsome man; Roman was no stranger to romance and collected kisses like precious stones. He was not one for staying with one person, sweetly turning down those who came back, wanted more. There was guilt in his eyes, but the prince never wavered.

He was determined to rule on his own, with only advisors to lean on and citizens to give his love. This was something that had never happened before, but their kingdom had also never had a prince like Roman before.

Since the day their prince had been crowned heir to the throne by the childless king and queen, things had been very different in their kingdom. Royalty did not have to be blood, and a king did not need a queen, or any spouse at all. 

Roman did not want to marry. And no one would have batted an eye at this–but the prince did not seem to want anything at all. Full of love, he had no one to give it. Friendly, but lacked friends. It was a constant source of gossip around the castle–why their beloved prince insisted on being alone.

But the prince knew what he was doing. Roman knew well the dangers of growing close to others.

He didn’t regret the decision he made. As prince, he could make a difference; he had somewhere he belonged. A mother and father who cared. Citizens he adored, and adored him in turn. People to care for, to fight for. Roman now had more than he ever hoped in his once hopeless life.

Most importantly, Roman had his brother back. That was worth more than anything Roman could have gained or given. Worth more than his very life.

So, no. He didn’t regret it. If he had the choice, he’d always go back and face those wild eyes, those scales and wicked lies for the chance to have this.

Whoever he’d meant to love one day would have to find someone else.

-/-

“How are you today, Remus?“ 

Remus hummed. Roman knew that translated to ‘not very well.’

“Okay,” he said calmly. He moved over into the brightly lit room to where his brother sat at the window. Roman sat across from Remus and said nothing else. Today wasn’t a talking day.

So Roman sat and let his nerves calm, his mind wander like his brother’s must have been. He couldn’t imagine what sort of things Remus saw–flashbacks from the hills and the caves and the fear. Roman grew restless, and he couldn’t imagine how Remus did it for days on end, jolted into another reality that existed in his head, in the past.

He passed a lot of his days like this, sitting quietly by his brother’s side. Probably not enough though. Never enough to help. But it was hard to balance his time now that he was prince, always something more to do, something he could do to help, to plan, to sign, to consider. It was a lot.

But at least they weren’t terrified every day would be their last.

At least Remus was with him again, safe. 

“I miss Dee,” Remus surprised Roman by speaking up. Roman looked over, but his brother hadn’t moved. His gaze was towards the hills.

There was nothing Roman could say to that. He stood reluctantly, taking a glance towards the horizon himself, before stepping back. “Sorry I can’t stay very long today.” It had only been twenty minutes Roman noted by the clock on the mantle, but Remus didn’t seem phased. “I’ll come eat dinner with you tonight, though,” Roman offered. Still, nothing. “Alright. Bye, Remus.”

Roman stepped out, careful to not make any loud noises as he shut the door. Days like this were the reason Remus’ room was far away from the hustle and bustle of the castle. The noise was too much for him. There were still plenty of people around to attend to him though, to make sure he didn’t get up to too much trouble during the times he was lucid.

That didn’t stop Roman from stepping away and quietly knocking his head on the opposite wall. Forehead supporting him, Roman sighed, trying to piece himself back together. Once he had built himself up, able to give a winning smile and a confident gait, Roman picked himself up and squared his shoulders.

A prince had very little time to spare already, and he had used what he had to visit with his brother.

Winding through the halls, Roman made his way back to the front study, where his advisor and a handful of guards waited. When he opened the doors, he shot them all his winning smile. “Are we all ready?”

It took them no time at all to get to town, then just a little further to the square, which was under construction. It was a smaller project, but one that Roman loved: a park, with room for community gardening, a playground with outdoor instruments, a couple pieces of exercise equipment, and a small stage for community theater. 

It was important to him, but it was something he rarely had the time to see into fruition. There was more pressing matters in the kingdom that Roman had to oversee.: discussions to meditate, economic policies to study, corruption to dig into. When Roman became a prince, he’d known it would be a tough job, but he had never expected what seemed like such a nice kingdom on the outside to have so much else on the inside.

It was exhausting, but this park was where Roman hoped to make a positive influence. He barely had the time for it, but he made the time for it. It was usually what kept him awake at night in his office, going over budgets and blueprints.

He hadn’t been to the site for a month.

When the carriage pulled up, Roman jumped out, guards already on his tail. He didn’t wait for them, though, striding straight towards the ring of architects and construction crew at one side. A quick glance around told Roman they were making decent headway on the tiny amphitheater. 

Looking back, he took stock in what he would be dealing with. The kind architect was there, so he’d have to do his best to steer clear. Roman was a sucker for nice guys. The smart one was there too. Damn it; double the threat. 

“Hello, Shelby, Logan, David, Patton, Christie,” he greeted the ones he knew by name. “How is everything going?”

Shelby, the team leader, stepped forward, giving a kind smile. “Moving forward at a considerable pace, my prince,” she said, and, from there, they dived in. The architects pointed to blueprints and talked about estimated times for finishing different aspects, as well as possible obstacles and needed materials. They talked for half an hour before they were talking in circles again, and Roman knew he needed to draw a line and make a retreat.

“It sounds like you all are doing splendidly and have things well under control. I would say continue forward with how you’re doing. I trust you to make the right calls.” His smile was wide, and he was beginning to feel the line of business and friendly failing. 

All Roman wanted to do was share jokes with Patton. Listen to Logan tell him about the book he was reading. Even hear about Shelby’s family–though she was hardly a threat to the curse inside Roman. Still, Roman felt wrong for staying around, for getting near anyone with the danger he posed.

Roman needed to get somewhere safe. He needed just a breath of fresh air–somewhere without pretense, where he wasn’t constantly tottling between unnecessary rudeness and letting his traitorous heart do what it does and fall far too quickly.

He had always fallen fast and hard, always one for all or nothing. Never at a mere glance, no. He may be a romantic, but love at first sight simply wasn’t real. Deep longing at first sight was something Roman was prone to, though.

But Roman was careful. Never would he let an innocent soul pay for his deeds. If the price he had to pay was his love, then he would simply never fall in love. 

And, since love at first sight wasn’t a thing, Roman could simply stay away from anyone he might have liked. If Logan’s smart words made him blush, if Patton’s puns made him giggle-

Off Roman went. If he didn’t stay around them, he couldn’t fall in love with them. Easy enough.

That may have been a reason Roman rarely made his way to the park construction or spent too much time at any of his projects. He cycled through advisors. He exchanged polite greetings with guards and nothing else. He was an amiable prince, who reached out to his citizens, but he couldn’t afford to be too friendly, to get attached.

He knew he could be better. Without this fear, he could be so much better. He’d be friends with everyone he knew, not acquaintances. He’d be a personal ruler, not a distant one. 

He couldn’t risk the lives of his citizens though.

So, at the nearest chance, Roman ducked away. The others invited him to coffee, but he declined. 

Instead, he went somewhere he’d normally never go. He marched into the library, waltzed straight up to the most infuriating person he knew.

Not even Roman was hopeless enough to fall for Virgil.

“My prince,” the librarian greeted lazily, not even standing from his slumped position across the desk. “What can I do for you today?“ 

He picked up a pen and scrawled across a paper, deigning to not even look Roman in the eye. Whatever pleasantness Roman had felt upon seeing a familiar, unexpectant face, soured at the blatant rudeness.

This callousness was what had sealed the deal for Roman in the first place though. The absolute zero percent chance that Roman could like, much less love, this man. Roman never thought he could hate one of his own citizens, but this guy… He was the worst. 

Roman could have never fallen in love with someone so… Virgil. So condescending and sarcastic and pessimistic. Virgil brought with him a stormy cloud of hatred everywhere he went. The mere thought of being around him was deplorable.

Which made him perfect.

“I just came to see your lovely face, my chemical woe-mance,” Roman said breezily. He had taken to maliciously flirting with the library assistant. It satisfied both his need to flirt with someone and his abhorrence of the man’s face.

And tone.

And personality.

And the way he pointed out every security detail his guards had missed by walking in there. 

And how he always pointed out the measures Roman was slow to take with his policies, and ones that he missed, redirecting Roman’s attention to needed areas. 

And when his hair fell in his eyes because, damn it, Roman wasn’t blind.

And when he laughed at something because he wasn’t horrible all the time and those were the times Roman panicked the most because shit did he mess up by letting himself talk to Virgil so much-

And his fashion sense was also horrible, so there.

But, of course, Roman was above such things. If the gloomy broody wanted to stoop, Roman would not-

“Forget how to say your own name again?” Virgil asked, and Roman stopped in his tracks, shooting him a confused look. “Hate to break it to you, but Roman doesn’t have a W.”

Roman’s face lit up red and he straightened faster than a cat struck by lightning. 

“I am your prince,” Roman said, hands curling into fists. The guards behind him didn’t react, however. By this point, they were all used to Roman and Virgil’s arguing. 

They thought it was ‘banter.’ Roman often reminded them it was a verbal battle of wits. They asked why he kept coming back.

He never answered that.

“I don’t need reminding every time you’re here, my prince,” Virgil rolled his eyes. It was ironic how the honorific fit in his mouth, like a bad taste. 

“Don’t call me that,” Roman snapped. Virgil raised a brow.

“What do you expect me to call you then?” he asked. “Your excellency? Your highness? General pain in my ass?”

“You make all of those sound like ‘general pain in my ass.’” Roman shot back with fire. 

“Then what?” Virgil crossed his arms.

Roman spoke without thinking. “My name.”

One of the guards coughed behind him. Virgil looked stunned.

“You want me to call you…” he said, and all anger had dissipated. If Roman had known this was all it would take to knock Virgil off his high horse, he would have done it so much sooner.

“Yes,” Roman said, feeling awfully proud of himself. “Call me Roman.”

Another cough behind him. What was it with the guards today? He hoped no one was coming down with anything.

“Roman?” Virgil asked, and it was said quickly, like he was still shocked at everything going on. This, however, is where Roman realized his mistake.

His name on Virgil’s tongue did not, in fact, sound like ‘general pain in my ass.‘ 

His name sounded….

Softer.

Sweeter.

Like a melody he’d never heard,

And one he’d kill to hear again.

Roman was suddenly hit with a sadness so unmistakable it was as if it had always lived in him. Something that felt lonely, something that felt like… goodbye.

Goodbye to this. Goodbye to the only person he had left that saw him as something that wasn’t a prince, or a stranger.

Oh gods, not Virgil too.

Roman straightened up, clearing his throat suddenly. “Um, yes?” he said, voice coming out squeaky. He cleared it again. “I mean, yes. Yes. Of course. If you’re going to insist on butchering everything else…”

“Might as well butcher the real thing?” Virgil asked, and he finally broke out of his shock to snicker. Roman’s heart thumped.

Fuck.

“Yeah, well. I actually have to go now, but it was nice seeing you and-”

“Nice seeing me?” Virgil asked, thrown off guard by Roman’s sudden departure. Roman hadn’t been there five minutes, but he had to get out of there.

“As ever. Terrible to see you as always, hot topic, and, if you’d just excuse me-” Roman was backing away, making his way to the door. He assumed the guards would follow.

“Hot topic…” Virgil seemed to be asking, but Roman didn’t give an answer.

“See ya!” were his final words before he ducked out.

Roman paid no mind to the knowing glances his guards shared behind him as he rushed off to the carriage.

He could only think of the heart in his chest.

And the noose it could lasso around Virgil.

-/-

“It’s not Virgil, right?” Roman asked pacing around his brother’s room. “Anyone but Virgil, surely.”

Remus continued to look out the window, mind probably elsewhere.

“It wouldn’t be. Virgil is… Virgil.” Roman shook his head. “He’s Virgil.”

“Virgil?” Remus spoke up, but he didn’t look at Roman. Maybe he was present, just a bit.

Roman nodded, pacing again to the other side of the room. “I can’t see him again. That’s it. It’s too dangerous. Even if there’s absolutely no way I’d fall for that guy, I can’t risk it.”

Remus turned Roman’s way, eyes looking troubled. Roman’s mind was spinning out of control.

“But it couldn’t be Virgil. I wouldn’t fall for him. I can still talk to him. It’ll be fine, right?”

Roman paused, thinking through his words before groaning.

“Oh my gods, I want to talk to him!” he lamented, then sat down heavily on his brother’s bed. Remus continued to watch him, looking for all the world like there was a puzzle in front of him, very close to being solved. 

“Remus, what am I going to do?” Roman asked, covering his face. “I like Virgil.”

“Virgil,” Remus mumbled.

“I can’t ever see him again. This is the end. We were never even friends! He was the asshole in the library. That’s it. That’s all he’ll ever be. And, somehow, I like him. What the fuck, heart? What the actual fuck?”

“Virgil,” Remus repeated, brows furrowing. Something was there, but Roman was too distracted to consider it.

“Gosh, but I can see it now. He’s got the warmest brown eyes to go with his shit personality. He’s so sarcastic. He actually makes me laugh. How dare he?! How dare he make me like him and all his assholeness?”

Roman stood from the bed. One look Remus’ way and he immediately regretted everything. 

“Rem? What’s wrong?” he rushed to his brother, who had the most distressed look on his face, fingers sparking green. Roman folded his hands over them, not minding the slight sting. It was better than someone walking in and seeing the magic. “Remus?” Roman asked again, kneeling before his brother. 

Remus blinked. Looked down at his hands and frowned. “Sorry, Ro,” he said, then looked back at the window. Whatever he’d been thinking, it was gone. Roman couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him.

One second of lucidity and Roman was glad it was gone. What kind of brother was he? Watching Remus look out the window again, lost to everything but the hills past the kingdom, Roman felt a deep sinking loss in his chest.

But, with that look that’d been on Remus’ face… how could he not be relieved? 

He sighed again. Roman did that a lot in this room. He wished he could help it, for Remus’ sake.

But Remus probably didn’t hear it anyway.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he breathed, words lost to his brother. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Roman retracted his hands, absently noting the singe marks across his palms. He’d wear some gloves to cover them.

“Sorry,” he repeated. The word rang in his head, begging to be said again and again, until his sins were carried off with them, somewhere far away in the wind of those words. “Sorry.”

-/-

The next time Roman visited the park, he didn’t go to the library. However, it seemed he didn’t have to.

“Thank you so much, kiddo!” Roman absently heard from Patton as he scanned over some of the construction plans. “I can’t believe I forgot this.”

Roman heard one of his guards cough, stifling what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Funny, they usually only did that when-

“No problem, Pat,” a deep, vaguely uncomfortable sounding voice replied, and Roman shot straight up. There was another noise that was definitely a laugh this time, but he didn’t pay mind to it. His eyes shot to the interaction happening not five feet from him.

Virgil.

He was standing a bit slouched, hands stuffed into his pockets and nodding along to Patton’s excited gibbering. It was sort of adorable, how patient Virgil was, the way he hid his smile when Patton punned, how out of place he seemed to feel, but comfortable around his friend.

Roman hadn’t known Virgil and Patton were friends. That was adorable.

Okay, Roman should really stop thinking of Virgil as adorable. Soon. Now.

But his eyeshadow was slightly smudged–probably from wiping it on accident–and that was adorable too.

No. Stopping now.

Roman dipped his head back down, boring his eyes into the blueprints. He absorbed none of it, but he acted the part like a champ. Looking busy sure came handy when a prince wanted to avoid people. You couldn’t argue that a prince wasn’t doing important work.

Well, perhaps a lesser prince. But everyone knew how seriously Roman took his job (whether he lived up to expectation or not. Virgil saw past that. Virgil pointed out exactly where Roman lacked…. but he also commented on the good things too. He’d said how much safer it was to walk home lately–how the children were excited about the park–how some patrons of the library complained about the tax increases, but Virgil argued with them about the necessities of the kingdom; all the community works, roads paved, safety measures).

“Ro?” Patton asked, and, even if it weren’t for his voice and bubbly nature, Roman would have known it was him. Patton was the only one on the construction crew that had taken him up on his offer to not use ‘my prince’ every time they referred to him.

“Hm?” Roman asked, pretending to be busy. He saw Patton from the corner of his eye, dragging another person by his side–no doubt Virgil. Roman swallowed harshly.

“This is my friend Virgil. Sorry to interrupt work and all, but I try to introduce him to everyone around here. He doesn’t get around too often and-”

“Pat!” Virgil hissed beside him, and Roman couldn’t help it. He looked up.

And they locked eyes.

Virgil’s cheeks were a dull pink, furiously trying to escape the bounds of the pale foundation he’d applied. For a moment, they were suspended there, Virgil and Roman just looking at each other.

Then, Virgil looked away. “Patton, you can’t just drag me around everywhere.”

Patton, the dear, had the good grace to look sheepish. “I just thought you’d want to meet the prince is all.”

“We’ve already met,” Roman said, against the wishes of his panicked nerves. It felt like something he wanted to keep for himself, something he could hold secret and close to his chest. He forced the words out though. Surely there was no valid reason to keep it secret.

Virgil flinched as Patton whipped around to face him. “Really?!”

He shifted a bit on his feet, and Roman noticed how considerably less confident he was outside the library. Maybe it was the new space, or the unknown gazes, but it worried Roman how much smaller Virgil appeared outside his familiar walls.

While Patton excitedly talked to Virgil about this new development, Roman was able to take a second to himself. It was Roman’s first time around him knowing how he felt about Virgil–without the panic of last time, mind spinning with Do I like him? Do I like him? Do I like him? Roman could examine those feelings up close here, scrutinizing them for what they were. He definitely liked Virgil, that much was definite by then, but how much? Roman fell quickly, but, as long as he was even still a bit afloat, it was fine. Virgil was safe.

And Roman understood with relief that this was indeed the case. He wasn’t in love with Virgil. It was still frightening how easily he’d fallen in deep like with the man, but Roman could remedy the situation. It just… took a bit of… severing of their relationship. Just a dash of distancing, a pinch of avoidance and rigid politeness. 

It was less than a minute that Roman had to think on this, Patton and Virgil’s conversation ending abruptly when Virgil started to get visibly overwhelmed. That worried Roman too, but it only seemed to embarrass Virgil.

“Virge? Buddy?” Patton asked, but Virgil’s red face shook back and forth.

“It’s fine, Pat. Let’s just moveonrightnow,” Virgil spoke without a lot of breath, words coming out quick. He was different outside the library, like he was constantly afraid of… something. He was jumpy, and Roman was sure that if someone were to sneak up on him right now, purposefully or not, they would be socked in the jaw.

“Yes,” Roman spoke up, seeing his opportunity. “I’m afraid I’ve actually ran out of time here, but we got a lot done here today. Great job, all of you.”

“You’re leaving?” Patton asked, looking disappointed. 

And Roman realized what he’d tried to avoid for so long. Patton was cute. He was funny and kind and made Roman feel like the world had light. But Roman really had nothing to be scared of. He looked at Logan too, clever and full of passion for his work and interests, and thought the same. He’d been avoiding all the wrong people–people who could’ve been his friends.

So to Patton Roman gave a sad smile of his own. He gave his excuses–the many duties of a prince, how busy things have been lately, that he really should let them get back to work instead of hovering over their shoulders so often–he was just a prince, after all.

It all paled to the real reason, nestled deep in his chest where he hoped no one would look, see his obvious lie.

Roman couldn’t be near Virgil.

Too risky.

-/-

The thing with falling for someone–it doesn’t stop when you don’t see them.

What was the saying? Distance makes the heart grow fonder?

That saying existed because days without those you’re infatuated with just make you think about them more. And Roman, the chronic dreamer he was, could not stop thinking about Virgil. He dreamed in his sleep about pushing the hair from Virgil’s face, curling it around his ears and leaning down for a gentle kiss. He day-dreamed about Virgil in his library, slouched over his desk, waiting for patrons and passing the day in boredom.

Roman thought of his snarky quips, eyerolls, insistent gestures when he was trying to tell Roman something. Those milliseconds of a softer look that Roman would ignore, trying to convince himself he loathed Virgil, so he wouldn’t have to go away.

He realized now how too late it was.

Virgil’s laugh was stuck in his ears–Virgil’s nervous voice outside the library–Virgil’s stories of friends he’d never see again, growing up in a distant place. 

And Roman hadn’t realized how much of himself he’d given as well. Virgil had been an ear to Roman’s rants, a backboard to spring off horrible ideas. Virgil could be ruthless, and Roman could be idyllic, but, somewhere in there, it actually worked. He’d told Virgil about spreading himself thin, about the demands of a prince he hadn’t expected when the king and queen had adopted him. He told him about how much he cared, cared so much, about the people of this kingdom, even while he’d only been there for three years himself. 

There was so much, now that Roman considered it. And still so much he wanted to share. He’d never told Virgil about his brother–no one knew about Remus. He wasn’t fit to be in the public eye. That much scrutiny and pressure, after everything he’d been through, would destroy him.

But he found himself wanting to tell Virgil. Found that he trusted him with the information.

And he wanted to tell Virgil about where he and his brother grew up, about the night he woke up and Remus wasn’t by his side, and it took two years of searching and loneliness to find him and save him. Roman wanted to tell Virgil his favorite color was red, that his favorite stories as a kid were about knights, not princes, that he spent his free time–or what freetime he used to have–writing poetry, and he had a secret love for theater that he’d never had the opportunity to explore. 

Roman felt his heart pulling pulling pulling. It wouldn’t rest, wouldn’t relinquish the hold it had over him, would not forget him- him- 

Virgil. 

His heart was a selfish thing. It stuck like glue to those who didn’t want it. It kept its love in a cage, never to let go.

But Roman had to stop thinking of him. It would only lead to heartbreak. It would only lead to Virgil’s doom.

That should make it easier on his heart–knowing the person it longed for was at risk for its choice–but nothing did sway it. It was up to Roman to wrangle it in, suppress, push it down down down.

A sound at the door of his office snapped Roman out of his thoughts–spiralling, an hourly occurrence at this rate, sending him straight to a world far away, spinning in purple irises. The door creaked open, and there stood an odd sight.

“Remus?” Roman asked, concerned. He was already standing, walking around the desk and across the room. “Is everything alright? Why are you on this side of the castle?”

Remus was very far from his room, and the castle was pretty confusing. It was a surprise his brother had found him at all.

“Virgil,” was all Remus said, like it held all the answers he’d ever been looking for. Roman paused, eyebrows furrowing.

“What about him?”

“It’s him.”

“What?” Roman asked, and Remus reached out, grabbed his hand. Before he knew it, Roman was being pulled along. Remus was leading them down the corridor, looking more sure of himself than Roman had seen since they were kids. “Remus, what are you doing? Where are we going?”

Remus didn’t answer him. In fact, Roman was thrown into even more confusion when he was steered into a random room at the end of the corridor, his brother huffing as he shut the door behind them. “Walking takes too long,” he seemed to be realizing. His hand was glowing and, when he reached out for Roman again, it was a blink of an eye before they were standing somewhere completely new.

“Remus, what the hell?” Roman asked, retracting his hand. “You shouldn’t use your magic like that! Anyone could see you.”

But Remus wasn’t listening. Was he ever? Instead, he was looking around. “Not where I would have picked.” He was sounding… like himself. Roman stared, wide-eyed. If he wasn’t so confused, he’d be elated. He’d long since thought getting his brother back to any normalcy–or whatever was normalcy for Remus–was impossible. 

“Who’s there?” a voice interrupted his thoughts, carrying across the library stacks. Roman recognized it and cursed internally. Why had Remus taken them there?

Slowly, Roman put up his hands and crept out of the small alcove Remus had taken them to, ready to come up with an explanation for their sudden appearance on the fly. “Do not be afraid,” Roman said, as any prince would. He stood in the open and found Virgil’s gaze. All Virgil had to protect him were his own fists–not the best tactic, Roman thought. Then again, it was only the other day that Roman had been afraid Virgil would sock the nearest person.

Still, just his fists didn’t seem like a great defense against swords or knives or any number of weapons a burglar could have. There was a pang in Roman’s heart as he thought of what might have happened if it wasn’t just him and Remus in there. Virgil would have been defenseless.

As realization dawned on Virgil’s face, they stood at a stand still, both almost afraid to move. When Virgil’s eyes drifted to his raised fists–loose, not really fists at all, who had taught Virgil to fight?–he dropped them like hot coals, stuffing them in his pockets. 

“Fuck, Roman, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Virgil said, and Roman knew he shouldn’t be focusing on this–but Virgil had said his name again, and his heart was singing.

“My dearest apologies,” Roman bowed, and, going by the weirded out look on Virgil’s face, that was not of norm between them. He supposed they had never been quite civil with each other–even at the beginning. “I wanted to show my brother the library and you weren’t at the front desk, so we just came in.”

“I’ve been at the front desk this whole time,” Virgil said, not defensive, but confused. Well, at least Virgil wasn’t in a bad mood.

“Funny. We didn’t see you.”

“Wait wait wait,” Virgil said, backing up a second. “You said brother?”

Shit.

Looked like Roman would have to explain that sooner than he’d thought. Or, really, at all. Wanting to tell Virgil and telling him had been on two separate lists entirely. Roman wasn’t actually supposed to be talking to Virgil at all. 

“Okay, so-” Roman went to start, but he was caught off by a twin set of gasps, one shortly after the other. The first had come from behind him, so that’s where he looked.

“It is you,” Remus said. Roman’s eyes widened, finally catching on to what his brother had been trying to tell him.

“Wait, do you know each other?”

“Remus?” Virgil’s reply answered that question well enough. Roman turned back to him, eyes darting between the two. Virgil sputtered, “What- How-”

“It’s too late,” Remus mumbled. It sounded a bit more like he had over the past year–less like himself, but his eyes were present; he looked to be considering something–something he didn’t seem to favor. “It was a trap.”

“A trap?” Roman asked. “What do you mean? A trap for who? Who’s trapping?”

“Remus, what the fuck? How are you here? How did you get away?” Virgil asked, walking closer, but not too close, like there was still a part of him that couldn’t believe what was in front of him. 

“Get away?” Roman said, pieces further slipping into place. He didn’t like where this was going.

“What about Dee?”

“Dee…” Roman mumbled, the name familiar in his ears. I miss Dee, Remus had said. I miss Dee I miss Dee I miss Dee…

“It’s too late,” Remus repeated. “Of course it was you.”

Then, the room erupted into chaos.

-/-

Books flew, shelves rocked, windows clattered. From the corners of his eyes, Roman could see flashes of purple and green. Past the wind in his ears, he heard vague shouts from Virgil and a round of fuckfuckfuckfuckfucks from Remus. He couldn’t recall if he was saying anything himself, but he knew what he was feeling. Scared.

Roman had no idea what was happening, but, from the flashes of light, he deduced it must have been magic. This made him turn toward his brother, suddenly scared that all of this had gotten to him. Being outside the castle, some place unfamiliar, not to mention Remus had always been kind of a loose cannon with his magic–it could have caused Remus to panic.

But one look at him and Roman knew his brother wasn’t the one doing it. He turned to Virgil, remembering what he’d been saying, how he’d known Remus, how he’d raised his hands in a stance that made no sense in traditional fighting–but, with magic?

Purple sparks flew across Virgil’s skin, like they were doing on Remus too, but his eyes weren’t aglow. He wasn’t doing it either.

What was happening?

Then, abruptly, it stopped.

Shelves balanced back to their places and books dropped to the floor, lifeless. It was all they could do to just stand there before movement caught Roman’s eye at the top of one of the shelves.

Someone sat there, legs folded elegantly over one another where they balanced precariously. Roman recognized the one glowing eye peering down at them, the scaly hands, the knowing smirk.

“What a lovely reunion,” she purred. Roman was stricken, fear clenching his gut. Instinctively, however, he stepped forward in front of Remus and Virgil. He watched as her eyes traveled over each of them, finally landing behind Roman’s left shoulder, lips curling further into her face. “I was hoping it would be you.”

“How- How did you-” Virgil stuttered, but his voice died out. Roman narrowed his eyes, something protective overpowering his fear.

“You should not be here,” Roman stated. 

“But, my prince,” she said, “We made a deal.”

“A deal that hasn’t come to fruition,” he said. 

“I see someone’s still in denial,” the woman leered. “A witch’s curse knows all, though. You can’t scam the Dragon Witch of her hoard, my prince.” The way she said ‘my prince’ infuriated him, but nothing like Virgil’s had. The Dragon Witch said it like it was nothing, like it was delectable and sweet and hers to keep. 

“What is she talking about?” Virgil asked, and Roman turned. Instead of scared, he now looked confused. He was watching the two of them, apprehensive, but ready to fight. His hands were up again in those loose fists, purple sparking off of them. Magic. Virgil had magic. “You made a deal with the witch?”

“Not that he had much choice.” The witch shrugged. It seemed casual, despite the manic glee in her eyes. “I was going to kill him and keep Remus. But he wanted his brother, and he got to be prince of a kingdom! Fair trade, if you ask me.”

“It’s not fair,” Remus said, and the witch seemed to remember he was there. “You can’t take him-”

“Shut up, Remus,” she said offhandedly and Remus flinched. Rage filled Roman, and he stomped further toward the witch.

“Don’t you dare-”

“Don’t I dare what, sweetie?” she asked, folding her legs up onto the bookshelf with her, where Roman couldn’t reach. He was ready to topple the whole shelf when her words caught him. “I’m only here for what I’m due. I was hoping you’d choose Virgil.”

“What?” he asked, and his voice echoed. He turned around and saw Virgil’s ghostly face, mouth open, having spoken at the same time.

“There’s so many possibilities, you know,” she said and sighed like she was bored. “There’s some realities where you fall for the architects, but there were quite a few where we’d end up here and that was certainly a risk I was willing to take. So glad it paid off.”

“But I’m not-” Roman protested, and when he was cut off again he felt ready to pull his sword. It would do nothing against her magic–something he knew well–but she was really getting to him.

“Not in love? Please,” the Dragon Witch scoffed. “It’s not my problem you haven’t realized it yet.”

“Wait!” a voice suddenly tore through their conversation, and Roman looked back at Virgil, something tightening his gut. Virgil looked simultaneously angry and afraid and lost. “Hold on for a second. What the fuck is going on?”

With a grace that shouldn’t have belonged to someone so wicked, the witch floated down from the bookshelf, jumping right over Roman and landing in front of Virgil. Virgil seemed to have masked everything in those few seconds, standing defiant and tall before the woman. It mystified Roman. It was nothing he had ever seen before–nothing like Virgil’s comfortable confidence in the library. Virgil lowered his hands, appearing defenseless and unafraid under her manic gaze. 

“Long story,” she said, tossing her head side to side. “But I’ll tell you the ending if you want. My little happily ever after… minus dear Remus over there. I’d rather have all three of you but Remus turned weak. This. This was the outcome I was betting on.”

She leaned in, centimeters from Virgil’s face and anyone else might have missed the minute flinch in the man’s body, but Roman saw–tuned into it. Virgil’s eyes were hard. He said nothing.

Even as he was sentenced to his doom–to a doom brought to him because of Roman–because of a heart he couldn’t control–because Roman had signed away another’s life–a life that wasn’t Roman’s to give–a life Roman hadn’t yet met–that he was destined to love and hate and damn forever.

And it’d been a trap.

“Virgil, my long lost terror, you belong to me again. The End.”

#sanders sides #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #ts creativity #ts anxiety #ts #tw weapons #tw trauma #tw injury #minor edits: realized the italics didn't copy over #but that's fixed #also i'm going to lose my shit if people don't stop walking behind me while i have writing on my screen #i have an allergic reaction to people seeing my writing when i'm not ready for them to #which for irl people is next to never #requests #tw angst #tw unhappy ending #ahhcc