#you have to time it right and its better than baiting him off a cliff and also outside of plunging hes not that bad at all

[cloneslugs]

gods greatest test of strength to me is making me start a soulsborne game & then immediately telling me that i should play sekiro again instead

#text tag #it really spoiled me making it my first bc the gameplay isnt as clean/fast anywhere else #granted bb is pretty satisfying iirc and ive only done 2 bosses in ds #i keep thinking of the person who started a thread like help im level 30 and cant beat the ta.urus demon & everyone being like whats #wrong w you youre beyond help etc etc sorry its really funny #also in the games defense ik i called it boring but i did plunge attack it like 3 times but in my defense i dont think thats cheesing bc #you have to time it right and its better than baiting him off a cliff and also outside of plunging hes not that bad at all #my quick little dagger just doesnt do much damage and i dont want to switch to a sword..

[donaweasley]

Their Little Secret

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader

Plot: This can be read as a sequel to What If or even as a solo.

The reader and Loki have been best friends for long, but eventually realised that it was more than just friendship. As they secretly step into a new world, the entire team, unbeknownst to it all, makes it their mission to make the love birds realise and confess what they feel for each other.

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst in relationship, a happy ending! Oh! And late-night hazards and a long read. Sorry!

Read time: ~26 mins

“(Y/N), could you please take a look at this once?”

Loki waltzed in through (Y/N)’s door with a file in his hand. She was reading a book, when he knocked.

“It’s pretty late. I thought you said you’d go straight to bed. What are you doing with this poor old piece of rat-food now?”

“I did. But then I couldn’t sleep. So...I thought of doing something boring enough to lull me to sleep. But this old file actually turned out to be quite interesting,” he explained animatedly. “I just couldn’t understand one part. So, here I am!”

She eyed him suspiciously as he spread his arms to accentuate his royal presence.

“That, or you wanted to see me, and this file is a flimsy excuse,” she drawled.

“Come on, darling! I’m fond of you but not to the extent that I’ll have to make lame excuses to see you. Besides, why would I need to lie to you?”

After taking a moment to consider his words, she stepped beside him and asked him to show the file.

“It is here - this part,” he pointed at a chunk of printed information.

“This one is…” She pondered aloud. “That doesn’t make sense! Loki, w-where did you get this from? That doesn’t look like any mission report or anything. It looks like...an excerpt...from...a book?”

Before she could register, a kiss landed on her cheek. It was immediately followed by Loki excitedly wishing her, “Goodnight, darling,” and vanishing into a green glow.

She stood stunned for a while. Gradually, the tingling sensation where Loki’s lips had caressed her skin began to spread like wildfire through her face, and soon she was blushing and smiling like an idiot.

“Idiot!” She cursed him as she flopped back on the bed.

After a few seconds of fiddling with the bookmark, and staring at blurred lines on the page, she closed the book, and decided to call it a night. After what Loki just did, nothing else could compare to a happier ending to the day.

As she closed her eyes, sunny memories started flooding her mind.

It had all started hardly two months ago, when they were having their usual midnight snacks, casually talking the day’s stress away, talking nonsense - just the usual best buddy night.

But then something happened: a childish game of “what-ifs”.

It was fun, for the most part, until Loki had asked her about her intentions if she met the love of her life the next day. Already stained with painful memories of past relationships and with the hopelessness about her love life, she tried her best to evade the question. But Loki, being Loki, kept proding her until she gave him a genuine reason for her frustration.

And everything changed after that. Because in trying to save the other from falling down the emotional cliff, they had saved each other. They had found each other.

She laughed softly as she remembered the hesitancy in both their hearts as they had crossed the threshold of friendship.

That was the first time that she had kissed him. On the cheek. And that was even before she had fully realised that her feelings for him were no longer platonic.

That was the first time Loki had put an arm around her and pulled her close to him.

Another giggle escaped her as she remembered the moment when the soft morning light, and a stiff back had awakened her from her sleep.

Both were still sitting in almost the same position as they had been when they were chatting.

She had found herself cocooned in the arms of Loki, her legs tangled with his, both of them safe under the thin blanket that Loki had picked while preparing for their night. Her head rested on his chest, while his rested on the top of her head.

The last thing that she remembered from the previous night was them promising each other that no matter how things turned out, they’d always be beside one another. And then Loki had pulled her closer, and gently laid her head on his throbbing chest.

It was now peacefully moving up and down with his sleepy breaths. Before opening her eyes to reality, she stole a few moments to let this feeling sink in.

When she had closed her eyes the night before, there was an excitement so high in the air that Thor’s thunder would have been ashamed. It was the hammering of Loki’s heart that had eventually put her to sleep.

The morning brought a peaceful rhythm beneath her ears. It was beautiful, it was calm, it was...reassuring. She loved it more than the thrill of the past few hours.

But no matter how long she tried to soak herself in the feeling, the incidents of the night before still seemed somewhat unbelievable. How could something months long change overnight? Was it all a mirage then, cast by the treacherous night?

The darkness of the night sets the mind free to imagine anything, take any decision. But the clarity of the day brings logic to the forefront, which sometimes turns out to be good but sometimes not so good.

But...it had felt right. She took a deep breath to clear her mind. It still felt right. That was all the assurance that she needed for the moment.

As she turned in her bed, she remembered the raspy voice in which Loki had wished her a good morning.

The close proximity, the husky, sleep-laden voice, the sudden change in the air - everything made blood rush to her cheeks and ears. Loki had sleepily chuckled at her flushed state, though he was only slightly better than her in hiding his own flustered state.

Ever since, not a single day had passed when the two of them hadn’t thanked the stars.

She used to think that she loved Loki’s friendship more than anything. She was happy to be proven wrong when she experienced Loki’s courtship.

A different flower everyday, sometimes inside her room, laid carefully near her door, sometimes on her bedside table, and on some mornings, beside her pillow.

She was used to going out with her best friend Loki, but going out with her boyfriend Loki was an experience on a whole new level. Light brushes of the fingers, sometimes an arm around her shoulder, intertwining of fingers, occasional brushes of his lips on her temple, and not-very-occasional blushes that tinted both their skins.

Every day, before parting for the day, she was blessed with bear hugs from him - something that she had never expected him to be fond of.

It was the best time of her life! Almost every doubt that she had about this relationship not working out had evaporated long ago. It was - she dared to say - perfect!

Except for one small hiccup: they had to keep everything off the radar.

For one, they were still testing the waters. No matter how happy and confident they were with one another, their newfound relationship was still at its infancy, and they didn’t want to declare anything to the rest of the team right away.

Second, everybody in the compound had been teasing both (Y/N) and Loki about “getting a room” for a long time. They didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing that they were finally correct. Well, figuratively.

Unfortunately, the team did not know that they had already confessed their feelings to each other. And so, they were desperate to make the love birds see the truth of their emotions. The Avengers, tough and stubborn as they were, never gave up. And Loki and (Y/N) simply decided to play along.

For instance, around a month and a half ago, Tony had thrown one of his usual parties at the compound, and had brought a line of apparent suitors for (Y/N) and a host of gorgeous ladies and lads to introduce to Loki.

Though the new couple was initially confused at the unbridled attention, they eventually understood what was going on: Tony Stark had decided to use the age-old recipe of jealousy to crack either one or both of them.

It was fun, they both admitted later, to dance to the tune, and give the host a frowning face when he realised that neither were biting the bait. Instead, both seemed to be enjoying themselves flirting or dancing with their respective “baits”.

What escaped the eagle eyes of the team were the furtive looks that both (Y/N) and Loki threw at each other from time to time. It wasn’t easy to masquerade those longing glances with playful teases that two friends might share. But they had to.

Late into the night, after the party was over, Loki teleported into (Y/N)’s room. The security cameras were still a threat to their little secret.

“Hello beautiful!” Loki purred when she didn’t turn all her attention towards him as she usually did, but kept herself apparently busy in making the bed.

“Is this my consolation prize for all your flirting this evening?” She tried to keep it casual but her displeasure seeped into her tone.

“Ooh, someone sounds jealous,” he drawled.

“Speak for yourself, God!”

Loki stepped towards her, and gently caught her hand, putting a pause to her actions.

“Look at me. Please?”

She smiled as she faced him, but he could easily catch the facade.

“I know what you're trying to do. You can’t fool me, (Y/N).”

“And what is it that I’m doing?” She tried to question with the same casualness but her voice kept betraying her.

“You are trying to make it look like it didn’t affect you - me being with all those lovely people. But in reality, you are hurt, even if it is a tiny bit.”

Her smile faltered. Of course, she couldn’t fool the God of Lies!

Closing her eyes, she shook her head, “I don’t know why you’re saying this Loki. I’m perfectly fine! Why would I-”

“You and I understand each other perfectly,” Loki gently cut her off. “Or did you forget that?”

He reminded her of the one line - of the one realisation - that had triggered the tiniest thoughts of them being possibly together, if at all.

Realizing that all doors were closed for her, she tried to turn away from him, only to be stopped by the trickster.

“If it makes you feel any good,” he resumed, “it did burn me a bit, too, to watch you dance and laugh with those clowns.”

At this, she burst into laughter. Loki was glad at the change of mood, and allowed a few happy creases around his eyes as well.

“Is that true,” she asked, “or are you simply trying to make me feel better?”

He shrugged, “What do you think?”

“I’d like to believe that it’s true,” she confessed shyly.

“It is.”

“Well then,” she said after suppressing a wild grin that tried to crack its way through, “I guess that makes us even.”

“Guess so.”

“I’m sorry, Loki,” she sighed, “I lied earlier because I didn’t want to put any kind of pressure on you or anything. I mean...jealousy? That’s the first stage of obsession. And...I don’t want you to think that...”

“Hey,” Loki held both her hands in his, “your feelings for me will never suffocate me. On the contrary, they help me breathe. You have given my life a new purpose. I thought I was happy being your best friend. But this...this is even better. Never think that you’re putting any kind of pressure on me. None of those men or women out there, or anywhere for that matter, can bring me what I feel with you, for you.”

Words seemed insufficient for what she wanted to say. So, she simply nodded, and wrapped her arms around his torso.

“Thank you,” she murmured into his chest.

He chuckled as he ran his hand on her head, “Being jealous actually makes you look cute.”

She unwrapped herself from him just enough to look at his face, “Says the man who just confessed being jealous himself!”

“I never said I don’t look cute,” he shrugged again.

Shaking her head and laughing, she pulled his face down, and placed a warm kiss on his cheek.

“Go now, before I punch that cute face of yours.”

“When you say ‘punch’,” Loki drawled, “do you mean…’kiss every inch of’...?”

Blushing furiously, she pushed him towards the door.

“Shut up, and just go!”

Loki laughed as he wished her a lovely night, and disappeared into his usual green glow.

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

But the Avengers were not the ones to give up.

Not many weeks later, Natasha planned an evening at one of her favourite nightclubs. While Steve, Vision and Bucky backed out of the plan, given their previous not-so-delightful interactions with the loudness and the crowd, Thor and Tony were adamant on dragging Loki with them.

“We thought you liked a little fun! Since when did you start wearing grandpa’s knickers?” Tony snorted.

“C’mon, brother, don’t embarrass me,” Thor’s voice boomed in Loki’s room. “(Y/N) has embarrassed me enough. She didn’t want to go either. Said she’d rather sleep than be tormented by the blasted noise.”

She said what? That means she’s going to stay back-

“Wait, what?” Tony turned towards Thor with a perplexed look, “She said that?”

He turned around to face Loki again, “Are you two planning something or have you both become boring?”

No, no, no! They’ll add up…

“I am not boring!” Loki declared. He decided to stay quiet on the other option that Stark had mentioned.

“Well, then join us,” Tony shrugged.

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Loki agreed.

Needless to say, his eyes went wide when he saw (Y/N) dressed up and ready for the outing when he was expecting her in her pajamas. When she silently questioned him, he immediately realised that he had been tricked.

I have to be more careful.

The team’s plan soon became obvious when, after a few rounds of shots, everyone made a beeline to the dance floor, leaving behind a string of excuses, and Loki and (Y/N) at the bar. Even through the crowd, the duo’s trained eyes could catch glimpses of their teammates shadowing them.

“Do they really think getting drunk will make us confess?” She shouted over the sound of the music.

“I’m a God,” he shouted back. “Midgardian liquor doesn’t affect me anyway.”

“Well, it affects me,” she shrugged and drained another shot down her throat, “and I love it!”

Last one.

She had started feeling dizzy. Getting wasted could be saved for another moment when she wasn’t being spied on.

A few minutes passed in silence as neither was fond of shouting to communicate. (Y/N) bobbed her head to the music while Loki eyed the mass of bodies swaying and moving with the beats.

“Would you-” Loki began but stopped midway.

While her eyes questioned him, he silently slipped from the stool, and came to stand almost behind her.

His hot breath, dipped in a faint whiff of alcohol, hit the shell of her ear as he purred, “Would you like to dance with me?”

She was rendered immobile for a while. A small corner of her mind wondered if Loki knew what he was doing to her.

I bet he knows what he’s doing.

“I’d have loved to!” She drawled. “It’s a shame there isn’t room for a waltz here, and I wouldn’t want a God like you to hop like teeangers in the crowd.”

She felt his chest brush against her back.

“I was actually hoping that you’d be up for that dance,” he pointed at a section of the crowd where bodies were gliding against each other in the most provocative ways.

Her breath hitched again. She didn’t need to turn her head to know that Loki was smirking at his achievement.

But this time, she wouldn’t squeal, she wouldn’t push him away with a timid smile. Diffidence and boldness both tugged at polar ends of her heart until boldness won the war.

Not this time. Two can play the game, darling.

“So, what’s stopping you?” Her lips almost brushed his earlobe as she tilted her head to whisper in his ear.

Where did that come from?!

Loki wasn’t prepared for this.

It was usually him who threw mildly suggestive comments which she pushed away with a shy gesture. He never expected the tables to turn so quickly.

She did not even have enough shots to get drunk yet, he noticed.

“What happened, did the cat get your silver tongue?” She smirked.

“I-I...uh...”

While Loki continued to gape at her, an inkling of panic nudged her chest.

Did I take it too far? He obviously wasn’t ready for this, but…

It all must have been another prank for him, and I…

No!

With a cackle, she sliced the apparent tension in the air. “So, finally got you, ha? Mischief!” She winked.

Turning towards the bartender, she ordered another shot.

Loki’s brain was still trying to decipher her behaviour.

Did she really mean it…? It didn’t look like a joke though…

As she focused on her drink, he thought he saw a flicker of disappointment cross her face, but the incessant dance of light and shadows made her features almost unreadable.

“You should get back to your seat, y’know?” She told him with downcast eyes.

“What?”

“The team might notice and...they might know.”

Did her voice just...tremble?

Loki hated the place: the noise, the dim lights, the secrecy - he hated the way everything seemed to veil her from him.

“I think I’ll go find them.”

Downing another drink, she hopped off her seat, and disappeared in the crowd, leaving Loki to his thoughts.

Once they were back in the compound, Loki went straight to (Y/N)’s room. This time he did not sneak into her room using magic; he knocked on her door. This wasn’t the moment to play a game of cat and mouse. If the entire compound was prying on him, he would gladly allow them to. Well, maybe not gladly.

“Hey! Hi, Loki!”

Her smile was as bright as ever.

Was it all in my mind then?

“Are you alright?” He tried to sound calm but his anxiety turned out to be more stubborn than him.

“Yes, I am. What- Come inside first.”

She stepped aside, allowing him to stride into her room, and flump down on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he began honestly, “I thought...I thought you were upset. At the club… I thought I saw you...sad? I’m not sure. I just had this feeling that you’re probably not okay, and-”

“Loki,” she held his shoulders and gently hushed him, “I’m fine.”

Her assurance enabled him to breathe normally again.

Caressing his face, she placed a light kiss on his forehead.

“Thank you, Loki! For everything. For caring so much about me.”

“(Y/N),” he held her hand, “are you hiding something? From me?”

He didn’t miss the way she gulped before replying.

“Why would you say that?”

“Look, I’m sorry if I cross the lines sometimes. I know I tease you but those are… I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable or have hurt you.”

“You are an idiot! Do you know that? You’ve never hurt me or made me uncomfortable. Now, get these stupid thoughts out of your little brain, and give me that devilishly charming smile of yours.”

Despite all her compliments, his eyes did not light up as they usually did.

“Are you sure?” He asked her.

“Absolutely!”

“You’ll tell me if you’re upset, won’t you? Promise me.”

He took note of how she licked her lips before nodding.

Something is not right.

“Come here,” he pulled her in his arms, and buried his face in the crook of her neck. “And I’m not an idiot. I am smart.”

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

The next few weeks turned out to be more and more challenging as the team was now hell-bent on getting them exposed. What made them so sure of their relationship was still a mystery to the couple.

“Are we that obvious?” (Y/N) asked Loki one day.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It is said that it shows on the faces of those in love. So, I guess...”

The words, coming from him, filled her with warmth. If that be true, and if everyone could see that they were in love only by looking at them, then she’d happily trade their secrecy for more obviousness.

But every time they came close to taking the relationship to the next level, she would find Loki backing away. Every time they had the opportunity to reveal their beautiful secret to the team, he would quickly shield both of them.

Why, Loki? Do you not want us?

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

It was a rainy evening when Tony had gathered everyone in the living room. At first (Y/N) thought that it was an urgent meeting for a new mission. But when she knew the actual reason behind it, she couldn’t prevent the snort that escaped her.

“Excuse me?” Tony pointed at her. “You got some problem, princess?”

“Truth or dare? Like, how old are we? Twelve?”

Tony spread his arms as if to silently make a point. “Since when did you start categorizing fun into ages? Ever since you started dating Rock of Ages?”

“Hey!” Loki made a tiny protest at his nickname.

“We are not dating,” (Y/N) deadpanned.

“And there goes my question,” Wanda sighed from across the room.

In response, (Y/N) simply rolled her eyes, and grumbled, “Kids!”

Once the game started, the team wasted no time in getting to the point: (Y/N) and Loki.

The first one to get attacked was Loki.

“No, no truth for you,” Sam chimed in just as Loki sucked in a breath to choose “truth”.

“He’s the God of Lies!” Sam announced, “He can easily slip away with any lie!”

“The bird’s got a point!” Tony agreed, followed by everyone else. “‘Dare’ for you!”

“This is not how it works,” Loki protested.

“Did you play this on Asgard? Thor?”

“No, we had never even heard of it until we came here,” the big brother responded.

“But-”

“Nah-ah!” Tony didn’t let him finish. “This is exactly how it is played. Who wants to give the God of Mischief a mischievous dare?”

(Y/N) wanted to protest; she wanted to tell Tony that he was bending the rules to get to them. But any word of support would further corner them both. All she could do was play along.

“Kiss (Y/N). And you know where I mean.”

Nat’s voice yanked her out of her thoughts. She watched in horror as Loki’s expressions changed from shock to anger while the entire team cheered.

“Nat!” (Y/N) jumped up from her seat, “do you even hear yourself? He’s my best friend! We can’t just...”

“Why not?” Sam questioned with a smirk. “You seemed to be enjoying it when I was asked to kiss Buck. He’s my best buddy.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky mumbled.

“C’mon, it’s just a game! Don’t be a spoilsport.”

Steve?? Et tu?

Rubbing her eyes, (Y/N) tried to find a way out of it. She knew well that if Loki kissed her, she’d melt into it. Everything would become obvious.

No, no, no!! This can’t be. They can’t just expose us like this. Loki would be so....

Wait, why isn’t he saying anything?

She opened her eyes to see Loki standing. His expression was unfathomable.

Oh no! Is he going to…

“This is outrageous!” Loki snapped and turned on his heels to walk out of the room.

Oh!

For reasons she did not want to explore then, (Y/N)’s heart dropped several feet. She was expecting a similar reaction from him but wasn’t hoping for it.

Quickly gravitating back to the situation in hand, she stammered an excuse or two for his behaviour, and followed his tracks to check on him.

Once both of them were out of earshot, Tony leaned towards the group, “Did we save it or kill it.”

“Looks like we killed it,” Sam sighed.

“Trust me,” Wanda smiled, “we saved it.”

“Vision? What do you think?”

“I still do not understand why you have to torment them like this. Let them come out when they want to. It’s-”

“Okay!” Tony interrupted him. “Sorry I asked! My bad!”

The door to Loki’s room was half open when (Y/N) arrived. Gingerly, she admitted herself inside.

Loki was standing at the window, with his back towards her. His head was bowed but his hands were curled into fists on both sides of his body.

“Loki?”

The name came out so softly that she couldn’t be sure if he had heard it, given that he did not move at all.

But before she could call him again, he spoke.

“I did not want this to happen,” his voice bore that particular kind of seriousness that usually preceded an unwanted or unhappy revelation.

What?

“I am sorry, (Y/N).” He turned towards her, and she realised in an instant that he wasn’t fooling around.

“What are you talking about, Loki? What did you not want to happen?”

Her chest felt tighter with every passing second.

Please, not what I’m fearing.

“This,” his hand vaguely gestured towards the hallway. “Whatever happened just now. I knew they would come down to this one day. I never wanted-”

“It’s okay,” she interjected. “I did not like that either. Although they meant no harm. It was just for fun… And I understand if you're having second thoughts. This entire thing between us was just something… y’know, a spur of the moment kind of thing. I totally understand if-"

"(Y/N)! Where is this coming from? What are you even talking about?"

She couldn’t make herself look at him, for if she did, he could clearly see the moisture pooling in her eyes. She needed to appear strong.

“Loki, you’ve always been my best friend. And I’ve loved that. You know it. And it’s okay if this new turn in our relationship does not turn out to be something that you had hoped for. It happens. It’s okay-”

“It’s not okay for me,” Loki grasped her hands. “What are you saying? Why? A-are you not happy with me? Have I done something wrong? Did I offend you in any way?”

What is he saying? I thought…

As she looked up at him, a couple of drops ran down her cheeks and on her shirt.

“(Y/N), please tell me. You had promised to tell me anything and everything that upsets you. So, tell me what happened. Why do you speak of our relationship as if it was a mistake?”

“It never was a mistake for me,” she breathed, “I thought you felt...I thought you...”

“What?”

The shaky way in which the question came out of him stung her more than any thought of Loki not wanting this relationship. It was then that she realised how badly she had hurt him.

He never wanted to leave! He always wanted me? Us?

She didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” she finally managed. “I thought that you...didn’t want...this. Us. I-”

“Why would you even think so? Why would you bear such thoughts when I love you with every fiber of my being?”

Her head snapped up.

“You love me?” Her own voice became shaky.

“Of course, I do,” he gently placed a hand on her cheek, “always have. At first I thought it was a love for friends until that night, when I realised that I wanted to be more than just friends with you.”

More tears fell down her cheek as she rejoiced in the moment. Loki wiped them all, and placed soft kisses on each cheek.

“And all this time, I was afraid that you’re having second thoughts,” she confessed.

“And why is that?”

“Because...”

How do I say that it’s because you haven’t kissed me yet? And ran away from the one moment we had today, albeit in a not-so-comfortable situation?

“Because I haven’t kissed you yet?” Loki asked her.

Her heart beat so violently, she could have sworn that Loki could hear it. Her tongue felt too heavy to speak.

“I didn’t think you were ready,” he admitted. “That is the reason why I did not dance with you in the club either. I was teasing you, yes, but when you responded I was definitely taken aback. I wasn’t sure if it was you or the ambience talking. So…

You have always shied away from any comments that I make, and...I did not want to push anything on you.”

“Oh, Loki!”

She hugged him so hard that even the Asgardian had to take two steps back to balance himself.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she wept into his shirt. “I misunderstood your actions for… I pushed you away. I thought you weren’t ready for this relationship. I’m sorry!”

Tears of both apology and relief flooded her. He tried to sush her as he rocked her slowly from side to side.

After taking a moment to compose herself, she stood straight. Loki looked at her red-eyed, tear-stained face and tutted.

“Doesn’t suit you, darling. Show me your crazy, grinning face.”

With a chuckle, she gave him a funny face-splitting smile, making both of them laugh.

“(Y/N), I didn’t want to kiss you because of a game or under the watchful eyes of that insufferable bunch of imbeciles. But if you will allow me now, I-”

“Just stop being so polite for a change, and kiss me,” she tugged at the collars of his shirt.

Loki didn’t need to be asked twice.

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

In the hall, the Avengers were busy speculating the outcome of their little plan, when the couple in discussion walked in. Hand in hand.

“Yes, we had changed our relationship status around six months ago,” (Y/N) announced to a stunned audience.

“And yes, we kissed. Just now. And I hope you know where I mean,” Loki added before dragging his love away towards the elevator.

“What was that?” She whispered as she was being whisked away.

“What?” Loki asked innocently, although his eyes stated otherwise.

“You didn’t need to declare that we just kissed!” She laughed as the doors of the elevator closed.

He shrugged while jabbing at a button. “They wanted us to kiss anyway. So, I gave them the satisfaction of knowledge. Besides, they need to know who you belong to now.”

“Aha! Possessive?”

“No! I also made it clear who I belong to now.”

He smiled as the doors opened to the hallway that led to his room. And once again, his words had rendered her speechless.

Silver tongue!

***

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

You can read the backstory here.

And here's a song to sing along and keep the mood floating...

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[nomadicauthor287]

The Ghost AU

The Bad Batch leaves the orphanage in a hurry after finding out a terrible truth. When they flee they leave one of their own behinds. They find an abandoned house in the middle of the woods.

The children in the orphanage are being sold off as child soldiers to the highest bidder after being implanted with inhibitor chips

So the Headmaster enlists some supernatural help to retrieve their most valued subject. Omega is the experiment of the Head Doctor who was obsessed with supernatural abilities. She is an empath, she’s able to understand the emotions of others and creatures. A hunter enlists the help of the demons and otherworldly creatures to track them down. The demon of the house in the middle of the woods agrees to a deal with the Hunter. In exchange for the capture of Omega, the demon gets the souls of Bad Batch.

Once settled into the house, Omega meets a kid named Boba while wandering the forest. He tells her the house she now lives in is haunted by ghosts and demons of those who went missing in the woods. They bond over exploring the forest to find a well at the end of a cliff.

When she returns only Tech is home working on his computer. She recounts to him how she nearly fell down a well but he doesn’t really pay attention. Then she finds a doll wrapped in newspaper that looks exactly like her. She pays no mind to it while she explores the house. As she explores the house she discovers a tiny door and asks Tech to help her open it but Tech passes the task to Echo.

Echo finds the key and opens the door for Omega. But the door was all bricked up until that night.

That night Omega is awoken by a white rat taking her beloved doll to the tiny door in the living room. When she passed through the door she found the room to be brighter and homey. Then there was the delicious scent coming from the kitchen

Omega finds Hunter cooking in the kitchen but when she turns around she sees he has buttons for eyes. The Other Hunter tells her that he’s the Other Hunter, the “Better” Hunter. Then he tells her to go retrieve the Other Crosshair in the study. She doesn’t think twice about it and runs to the study.

When she goes into the study she finds the Other Crosshair playing the piano. He turned around to reveal that he too, had buttons for eyes. The Other Crosshair sings a song to her which makes her happy. But she didn’t know it was meant as a warning.

After the song, he gives her a piggyback ride back to the kitchen where a delicious dinner was waiting for them. From chicken to mashed potatoes, all the food she couldn’t have at the orphanage. For dessert, there was a cake just for her that said “Welcome Home”

She was confused until the Other Hunter tells her that they have been waiting for her to return. Before she could question it the Other Crosshair cut the cake and served them

By the time that dessert was done Omega felt tired so the Other Crosshair carried her to bed. He tucked her in and read her a story. To her, the normal Crosshair wouldn’t do that.

When she woke in the morning everything was back to normal. The same dreary house she started living in. She tried to convince the others that it wasn’t a dream but they put it off as a childish fantasy.

That day she tried to get Wrecker to help her start a garden but he tells her he has to help fix the van with Tech while the others go to town for food. This leaves her to her own devices with her doll which leads her to the attic.

In the attic, she finds an old projector and decides to fix it up. After fixing it up she sees a film of two brothers flying in the air like trapeze artists. It reminds her of all the stories Echo told her of his twin brother Fives.

She spots another white rat and it leads her back to the little door in the living room. Before she could go in she’s startled by a black cat named Tup. Boba greets her and asks her to go slug hunting with them. They have a great time hunting slugs until Boba is called home by a bell.

By this point, the others have returned and are making dinner which is basically some really bad casserole made by Hunter. She eats it to make Hunter happy but doesn’t eat much.

That night after Tech attempts to read a story normally but ends up overanalyzing the story she sets a trap for the rats. The trap will alert her if they take the bait.

The trap works and soon Omega finds herself back in the other world. This time the Other Hunter cooked her breakfast for dinner. But the Other Hunter tells her to go fetch the Other Wrecker from the garden. Before she could protest about them not having a garden, the Other Hunter gives her some waffles to eat on her way to the garden.

When she gets outside she sees Wrecker riding a giant grasshopper that he uses to help plow the fields and gardens. He shows her that the garden is actually shaped to look like her.

After dinner with breakfast food, the Other Hunter tells her the Other Tech wants to take Omega to a show. She asks what kind of show it is but they tell her it’s a secret.

When the Other Tech arrives she sees that he too has button eyes with a zipper mouth. The Other Hunter assures her that it didn’t hurt him. The Other Tech gestures it doesn’t hurt and has her open his mouth. When he speaks he speaks in plain English. The Other Tech leads her to the basement which turns out to be a theatre

The show they watched was actually a trapeze act with Echo and Fives. The twins pull Omega into their act. She has the time of her life but the Other Tech is uneasy

When the Other Tech was returning Omega she was met up with the Other Hunter and Crosshair. The Other Crosshair brigns Omega to bed but the Other Hunter turns to the Other Tech and makes a gesture for him to smile. In this world the Other Tech is less sassy and a bit more timid.

The next day she gets frustrated with the others when they lock the door because they found rat crap and things going bump in the night. This makes her lash out at them. She tells them that the little door is the best thing that has happened to her in a while. They took away her fun and “everything” she liked.

“I WISH I NEVER LEFT THE OTHER WORLD! THEY TREAT ME BETTER THERE AND ACTUALLY SPEND TIME WITH ME! THEY ACTUALLY CARED FOR ME UNLIKE YOU! AND THEY DIDN’T LEAVE CROSSHAIR BEHIND!

2.) She runs away to a treehouse where she finds another door to the other world. She breaks the lock and goes through it. Boba finds the treehouse and launches a rescue mission by himself.

lil-medic

During all this Echo tells Hunter that Omega needs space. Wrecker suggests they look through the door and they get kidnapped and put into a jail cell in the Other World.

Omega wakes up in the other world in her room but with 3 new plushies in her room

A T-rex, hyena, and a wolf with a bow on its ear

“Why the hell am I wearing a tutu and bow on my ear?” Wolffe growls angrily

They try to talk her into going back to the real world. The world that she is in is a lie and that her real family is in danger.

Before she could question them more the dinner bell rings and she runs downstairs excited.

The trio groans and tries to follow her but ends up falling off the bed.

Omega runs downstairs and accidentally falls down the stairs in front of the Other Crosshair. He rushes to her aid and gently takes care of her. He gives her warm hugs and is more affectionate of her than the real Crosshair according to her.

Eventually, he takes her to go see a circus in the attic with his rats. He gives an outfit for her to wear to the performance while he goes and gets the rats ready.

The plushie trio tells her that their names are Rex, Wolffe, and Gregor. They’re friends of Hunter and try to warn her that she is walking straight into a trap. They tell her that they are just like her but their abilities came from great pain.

She doesn’t heed their warning and instead takes them with her to the attic for the show.

Turns out the show is a rat circus with Crosshair as the ringleader. They did little tricks for her and pulled her into the act with her.

After the show Crosshair brought her to dinner where the whole Other family was waiting for her. There was a lavish meal set out for her.

They ask her if she likes this world and she says yes and wants to stay forever. With that answer, they hand her a box that contains buttons with needles and thread.

A chill ran down her spine but she thought about her life in the other world, the real world. Right as she was about to say yes to the buttons Boba rushes in to save her while the trio of dolls cause a distraction

Omega gets mad at Boba while he drags her through the door to the real world.

Then he explains to her that there was a demon trying to capture her. She asks him how he knows that and he says Tup told him.

She is skeptical until Tup jumps onto the two and explains the whole ordeal.

Tup tells the two that the house demon is a spider demon that traps its prey with illusions. Then he tells Omega that the demon has taken her brothers. Tup pulls the dolls of the Bad Batch out.

Omega finally believes him and asks the others to help her save her real family

When they return to the other world Omega asks to play a game with the Other Hunter. In each of the wonders made for Omega, there is a treasure that belonged to her real family. For every treasure, she finds she, in turn, saves her family’s soul.

Tech and Echo’s treasures are found in the basement theatre and upon finding their treasures they have to fight the Other Echo who is conjoined at the hip with the Other Fives. Meanwhile, the Other Tech lures Omega away and hands her a note saying how sorry he is, and hands her the real Tech’s glasses. After their defeat, the Other Tech and Echo+Fives are reduced to dust.

The real Tech and Echo are released from their prisons within the treasure.

Boba gives the two a rundown of what happened so far and immediately the two hug and checks the kids over for injuries.

The next person they go after is the Other Wrecker and he fights hard. It takes all of them to take him out in order to retrieve Lula from the giant grasshopper.

In the end, they retrieve Lula and Wrecker is returned

The next person they go after is the Other Crosshair in the attic but when they get there he begs Omega not to fight. He tells her that the real Crosshair is not there and that he is just rats. The real Crosshair is back at the orphanage waiting for them to save him

The Other Crosshair tells them that the last of their family is being held by the Other Hunter.

The Other Hunter only allows Omega to come in and play one final game for the soul of the Real Hunter

Now the Other Hunter looked more grotesque now. His skin was cracking and stitches were showing now. He challenges to a game of hiding and seeks with him as the seeker and Omega as the hider.

The others are spectating except for Tup. He helps Omega find where Hunter’s bandana is but the demon doesn’t let her escape.

Omega rallies the souls of those who died to attack the demon for revenge to give her and her family a chance to escape

As they escape the house falls apart on itself. Hunter is in a daze as they escape the house. When they hit the woods Boba leads them back to his home.

Boba lives alone after his father died. The Bad Batch decide to take him with them after the whole ghostly demon ordeal

Then they hatch a plan to go after Crosshair after they find books that Boba was keeping. It was a book about the supernatural. From there they learn everything they can from the supernatural in order to save their brother.

@itsjml @dreamy-day-daze @agentmarymargaretskitz @kratosfan6632466 @eyecandyeoz @echoy-naak @zaffrefox @soundwavetherav

#clone trooper crosshair #clone trooper hunter #clone trooper tech #clone trooper echo #clone trooper wrecker #star wars omega #Ghost au #i did a thing

[lloydskywalkers]

the idiots’ guide to not despising your cousin

Determined to make the best out of the worst hand, Lloyd drags his newly-living pseudo-cousin on the road trip from hell in a desperate attempt to bond. Or get rid of each other for good, they’re not sure yet. 

(This requires...a tiny bit of background, part one being that a while back i received a request for “more lloyd and sharks”. Except i misread it as “morro lloyd and sharks” which was like, odd, but i went with it and somehow ended up with 12K words of...this fic, that’s definitely 90% crack. Which brings me to part two, which is that this takes place in an entirely hypothetical au where Morro made it through the rift in s7, or somehow he’s alive the details aren’t important shh)

In his defense, Morro never would have been caught dead in this situation if he hadn’t traumatized his sort-of-cousin by possessing him two years earlier.

…alright, that’s not really a defense, but it’s the only explanation he has.

“I’m just saying,” Lloyd is…saying, as he jabs his pointer finger at him. “I could’ve been a whole foot taller if you hadn’t starved me. You stunted my growth, listening to me for five minutes is the least you can do.”

“I did not stunt your growth, you were already going to be a shrimp anyways,” Morro counters, rubbing his right eye as he tries to focus on his book instead.

Lloyd’s eyes narrow. “A whole week. And all you let me eat was half a slice of bread and vodka shots.”

“Would you — shh, it was not vodka!” Morro hisses, his eyes darting wildly around for Wu. His shoulders slump in relief as he confirms that he and Lloyd are still the only ones in the room, and he turns back, glaring at Lloyd. “I told you, it was juice.”

Lloyd glares right back. “I could still taste, you know. I’m not that naïve.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Morro quips.

Lloyd’s green eyes flash a little too much on the neon side, and Morro backs down. “Alright, alright!” He shakes his head. “I’ll listen to whatever kiddie drama you want.”

“It’s not drama,” Lloyd huffs, flopping down on the couch across from him. “It’s a proposal.”

Morro sneers. “Oh, a fancy word.”

Again, Lloyd sneers right back. “Yeah, do you need a dictionary for it?"

In retrospect, it’s probably a good thing Morro possessed Lloyd at that particular point in his life. If he’d had to deal with this Lloyd, and all his newly-found confidence and sass, he’d have dropped him off a cliff much sooner.

“Listen here, you little punk—”

“Oh, now you want me to listen to you,” Lloyd interrupts. “Spoken like a true raging hypocrite.”

“FSM, what do you want?” Morro finally cracks, tossing his book on the couch beside him. It’s clear he’s not going to be getting anymore reading done until Lloyd leaves.

Lloyd beams, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself. “Again, I have a proposal,” he says. “For you.”

Morro already hates this. “No.”

Lloyd continues as if Morro hadn’t spoken. “You should go with me to the coast this weekend.”

“No.”

“The southern coast, so the one like eight hours away.”

“No, what the—” Morro stares at him incredulously. “Why in the world would I ever want to do that?”

Lloyd simply shrugs, as if he hasn’t just suggested the idea from hell. “Because.”

Morro’s going to kill him, tentatively-redeemed status be damned.

“Why, Lloyd.”

Lloyd gets a look in his eyes, the kind that makes Morro shift. “Consider,” he says. “A tornado.”

Morro, unfortunately, does consider that. “There is...merit, to the idea,” he admits, even if doing so pains him.

“Okay, okay,” Lloyd continues, like an enthusiastic salesman with a quota to meet. “Now, consider this: sharks. In the tornado.”

Morro loses any and all faith he’s ever had in Lloyd, which is impressive considering there was nothing there to begin with. “What.”

“Sharks, in the tornado. Like a sharknado.”

Something flickers in the back of Morro’s brain, snatches of a conversation he’d heard from the living room one evening, along with a lot of screeching laughter and pained groans.

“Are you trying to reenact an entirely fictional and entirely garbage movie,” Morro says flatly, mentally crediting Cole for that particular phrasing.

Lloyd’s lip juts out. “No.”

“That’s exactly what it is, isn’t it,” Morro rolls his eyes. “No. Find someone else to be stupid with you. Kai should be down, he always is.”

Lloyd narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t take the bait. “Will you just — at least hear my final point,” he pleads.

Morro stares into the vast abyss of the ceiling panels, and already regrets answering. “What.”

“The look on the others’ faces.”

Morro pauses again, desperately trying to stop himself — but it’s too late. The looks have been imagined.

Lloyd grins, sharp teeth poking out at the edge of his lip. “Now — the look on Uncle Wu’a face.”

Oh, curse everything. Morro’s coming dangerously close to being made a fool by an idiot shrimp who calls himself his cousin. He quickly backtracks.

“Noted, but that doesn’t explain why you’re asking me.”

“Because you’ve got the wind power for the tornado, duh.” Lloyd makes a face. “Also because the others will probably say something like it’s too dangerous, or a high risk, or some other nonsense like that.”

Morro highly doubts that Jay, or even Kai, of all people, would turn down the opportunity for such potent idiocy, but he does believe they’d tie Lloyd to a pole to keep him from rushing a shark.

“So you’re asking me, out of everyone else in this realm, to drive eight hours — eight — with you to some coast in the middle of nowhere — which includes water, by the way, so that’s already a strike — just so you can recreate some awful B-movie scene?”

“Yup,” Lloyd says. “And maybe drop the whole thing on my dad’s head, if we can find him.”

“Right,” Morro sighs. “Just being clear.”

He drops his head back, staring at the ceiling again. It’s the idea from hell, for certain. Morro would hate himself every minute of it, if he were to agree.

But the idea of hitting the road — of escaping the monastery — does sound tempting.

It has, admittedly, been rather boring at the monastery. Morro’s interactions with the ninja, while not as aggressive as they’d been originally, tend to be strained at best. On the better days, Morro finds the most entertainment in listening to the increasingly creative ways Kai threatens to end his existence with, should he either step out of line, or within a set boundary around Lloyd. Both of which Morro threatens to break by going along with Lloyd’s plan.

Actually, Morro muses, that’s more of a reason to go than to not. Kai’s head might potentially explode if he were to wake up and discover Morro had taken off across country with Lloyd, and Morro would get the added bonus of seeing him chew Lloyd out for being the one to suggest it. So there are definitely pros.

None of them, of course, override the fact that he’d be spending eight hours, in a car, with Lloyd and Lloyd alone. Both ways.

“Eight hours is a long time,” Morro finally says.

Lloyd’s expression drops, before his eyebrows crease stubbornly. “It’s eight hours you wouldn’t spend being hounded by Uncle Wu to train with us.”

Morro cringes. Lloyd has clearly prepared his arguments for this one with devastating accuracy. But still, eight hours. With Lloyd—

“If you do this, I’ll stop tying all your shirtsleeves together when they’re in the laundry,” Lloyd adds.

“That was you?!” Morro exclaims, indignantly. “Nya told me the dryer did that on its own!”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Lloyd shrugs. “You probably…shouldn’t take Nya’s word on a whole lot of stuff any time soon.”

“Now you tell me,” Morro mutters, sinking further into the couch and bemoaning the universe on the whole.

Lloyd scoots forward on his own couch, his eyes wide and pleading. “Please?” he says. “It’s just this once. Then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.”

Morro meets his eyes shrewdly, chewing on his cheek. He’ll regret it, for certain. Probably hate himself and the universe on the whole the entire weekend. But…he does, rather drastically, owe Lloyd. And he is trying to — ugh — make things right with him.

(As if that’s something that can be done.)

And at least there’s the promise of Lloyd leaving him alone.

Morro lets out a long, weary groan, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbles. “But you’re paying for gas.”

Lloyd gives a whoop of victory, before desperately trying to stifle his excitement. “You pay for stuff?” he cackles instead. “Lamest villain ever.”

“Get out,” Morro snarls, hurling his book at him. Lloyd dodges with ease. “Before I change my mind and murder you.”

***********

Lloyd secures a vehicle with a speed and easiness that almost makes Morro doubt which one of them is the reformed criminal. Then he remembers that, technically, they’re both reformed criminals, even if Morro’s ‘reformed’ status is still under hot debate (by himself included).

As it also turns out, Lloyd happens to have a not-so-reformed criminal friend as well, who Morro unfortunately recognizes when he hands the keys over to them.

Ronin abruptly cuts off in his lecture to Lloyd about engine safety as he spots him, his face paling. Morro pauses mid-step, mentally wishing he’d just made Lloyd carry the six packages of Oreos out to the car himself. Lloyd simply smiles, like the oblivious airhead Morro wishes he truly was.

He’s not, though, because the look in his eyes says he’s having the time of his life with this.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention,” Lloyd tells Ronin easily. “Morro’s the other person I was talking about.”

Ronin stares between the two of them, and looks as if he’s lost about five years of his life. “How hard do they hit your head in practice, kid.”

“Not hard enough, apparently,” Morro mutters. Ronin pins him with a glare, and despite his better judgement, Morro shuts up.

“It’s all good,” Lloyd assures him. “I know what I’m doing.”

“For some reason, I got trouble believin’ you, kid.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” Lloyd huffs, snatching the keys from him. “I’m the Green Ninja. Also, if you tell the others about this I’ll start busting your Thursday night runs.”

Ronin’s expression sours. “Alright, alright, if you wanna go on a suicide road trip, go on a suicide road trip. Just keep me outta it.”

“Gladly,” Morro grouses, shouldering his way between them so he can dump the cursed cookies in the van already.

Ronin watches him through narrowed eyes, and makes a threatening gesture. “If you even try and come back alone…”

“He won’t,” Lloyd says, before Morro can reply. “Promise. I have it all under control.”

“That’s what you all say every time,” Ronin grumbles.

Ronin finally leaves them in peace, muttering something about ‘leaving his Thursday nights alone' before taking off. This leaves Lloyd and Morro and the incredibly hideous minivan, alone. They look at each other. There’s a moment of silence, before they both scramble wildly for the driver’s seat. Morro beats Lloyd out by a half-second, grabbing the steering wheel and shoving him back with a smug smirk. Lloyd glares at him.

“I’m driving,” he demands.

“As if you’re old enough to have your license,” Morro scoffs.

Lloyd narrows his eyes into slits. “At least I was born when cars actually existed.”

“Ooh, I’m old, how will I ever recover,” Morro mocks. “I got here first, I’m driving. Suck it up.”

Lloyd’s face screws up, and for a half-second Morro gleefully thinks he’s about to pout like a child.

To his disappointment, Lloyd blows his breath out, stands up straighter, and plays dirty.

“You take control of the car, you take control of my body, ” he shakes his head, crossing his arms. “I guess that’s just how it is with you, huh."

Morro’s hands grind where he clutches the steering wheel, and he resists the urge to smash his head against it. “Have you ever heard of abusing your power.”

“Have you ever heard of abusing me.”

“Oh for FSM’s — you can drive, fine!”

***********

They’re roughly an hour out from the monastery, when something strikes Morro as odd.

“By the way,” he says. “How did you convince the idiot quartet to let you go?”

“Don’t call them that,” Lloyd says sternly, glaring at him. “And, uh, I didn’t.”

Morro blinks. Then Lloyd’s meaning sinks in, and he lets out a long, pained exhale. “You do realize,” he says. “That they’re going to have multiple heart attacks, then hunt me down and murder me as prime suspect, right.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Lloyd assures him, cheerfully. “I left them a note.”

***********

Kai stares at the slightly-crumpled scrap of paper in his hands and wishes, not for the first time, that Garmadon or Wu or Misako had put in just a little more time in raising Lloyd, so he could blame them for this and not his own example.

Alas, Kai is only able to bury himself in so much denial.

“What’s that?” Cole asks, striding into the kitchen behind him. Kai hands him the note, wordlessly. Cole frowns as he takes it, trying in vain to flatten the edges.

“‘Hey guys, heading out with Morro for a couple days, going to’— something something…sharks?” Cole blinks at the note. “Geez, might need to look into Lloyd’s writing education agai— wait, he’s heading out with who for a couple what.”

“Read the rest,” Kai says, his eyes glazing over as he stares across the kitchen.

“Okay, uh… ‘—taking the van’— we have a van? — ‘shouldn’t go too far, don’t worry.’” Cole’s eyebrows shoot up as he reads on. “‘Also my phone’s dead and I forgot the charger. Sorry.’ He wrote this while he was still here, he could’ve grabbed it!” he exclaims.

“I’m going to slaughter him,” Kai states.

“Uh…which one?”

“Whichever one doesn’t run fast enough.”

***********

As it turns out, Lloyd’s plan consists of a little more than just driving six hours to some random beach in the middle of nowhere. This is unsurprising, as Morro’s been expecting Lloyd to spring nonsense on him at any given moment.

Having lived in his head for a brief stint, Morro also finds it unsurprising that Lloyd’s plan isn’t actually a plan.

“So the tornado thing is easy, obviously, unless your powers suck,” he’s saying. Morro shoots him a look he hopes conveys the depths of his annoyance from where he’s at the wheel. Lloyd switched with him back at the last gas station, having grown fed up with Morro’s lack of skill in reading maps.

It’s not Morro’s fault his reading comprehension rests around that of a nine year-old’s. Like Lloyd’s any better.

“Gonna take that as a ‘maybe’,” Lloyd mutters to himself, squinting back at the map under the above-head car light. “It’s the shark part that’s going to be a little more tricky.”

“I hear they like blood,” Morro says. “I can always skewer you a little, then toss you in. That should do it.”

“Har har,” Lloyd replies, drenched in sarcasm. “That’s obviously not the route we’re taking. Besides, it’d be mean to lure the sharks out and not actually have anything they can eat. I’d probably end up poisoning them or something, with my mutant Oni blood.”

Morro stares at him long enough to nearly run them off the road. He jerks the car back on track just in time, shaking his head and despairing.

“I was thinking, since there’s already an elemental master of nature, maybe there’s like, an elemental master of animals?” Lloyd continues. “Then we could ask them to help us out.”

“Oh, I’m sure some random master would love to help us out,” Morro drawls. “An undead criminal who tried to unleash hell on the country and the son of Lord Garmadon.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lloyd huffs. “People actually like me.”

“Shocker.”

Lloyd ignores him. “Plus, you’re not even undead anymore,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re just regular boring alive, now.”

Morro opens his mouth, because he’s got a lot to say about that, then realizes he doesn’t quite have the words for it, aside from hanging his mouth open like an indignant fish. He shuts it, and Lloyd plows on.

“Do you think we should look for the master of like, fish or something, instead?” he questions, frowning. “I mean, I don’t even know if there is a master of animals, but if there is, sharks are technically fish, and fish are…well, I guess they’re animals too, but what if there’s like, a distinction, and all the hypothetical master of animals can summon are mammals, and we drive out of the way for nothing?”

“I will pay you,” Morro says, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. “I will pay you so much to shut up.”

“It’s too much of a risk,” Lloyd decides, ignoring him. “Plan B it is, then.”

Morro doesn’t want to ask. That would be inviting Lloyd to run his mouth again, and Morro doesn’t hate himself that much.

But he does, regretfully, want to know how he’ll be meeting his fate.

“What’s plan B?”

“So there’s this park,” Lloyd says. “For performing animals.”

***********

Morro and Lloyd are still arguing by the time they pull into the motel parking lot for the night.  That had been a different argument altogether, but as they’d had to sneak out around midnight to get on the road successfully, neither had really wanted to keep driving through the early morning hours.

“—no, no, I cannot make this clearer, no,” Morro growls. “I am not breaking into some — some stupid amusement park, just to steal their dancing sharks or whatever.”

“Oh come on, it’s stealing! That’s like, your favorite pastime,” Lloyd shoots back. “A shark is nothing compared to body-snatching.”

“That’s not going to work on me again,” Morro seethes.

“Oh yeah?” Lloyd taunts. “Why not? Did your morality meter run out?”

“My what—”

“I can never dye my hair black because of you,” Lloyd continues, eyes narrowed. “I will never know the teenage joys of horrifying your family by dyeing your entire head jet black, because of you.”

“It didn’t look that bad,” Morro defends.

“I’m talking about the trauma!” Lloyd snaps.

Morro pauses. “Your trauma, or theirs?”

Lloyd opens his mouth, then frowns. “Min—their— both, both traumas!”

While Morro wants to scoff back that having to endure the sight of Kai’s hair is equally traumatic for him, he also recognizes that Lloyd has a point. Which is inconvenient, because Lloyd’s beginning to use that point against him a little too well lately, but considering Lloyd also still wakes up screaming in the night because Morro’s given him chronic nightmares, he decides not to push back against that point.

Because he’s a nice person, like that.

He does, however, attempt to push for sense.

“Stealing a shark from a theme park is still theft,” he argues under his breath, as they make their way toward the motel check-in. “Isn’t that something you’re against?”

“Theft, yes,” Lloyd replies. “Freeing wrongfully imprisoned sharks from slavery, less so.”

“Oh, so stealing is an act of philanthropy when it’s you.”

“Wow, look at you, breaking out the big words.” Lloyd’s teeth grind together.

“Yeah, you need a dictionary?” Morro sneers back his words from earlier.

Lloyd looks as if he’d like to throttle him, but fortunately for Morro — or unfortunately, as he’d like to see him try — the receptionist at the check-in desk is staring at them with wide eyes now.

To be fair, Morro imagines they make quite a contrasting pair: Lloyd with his light hair in his green hoodie and green high top sneakers, and Morro with his black hair in his black shirt and black jacket and black jeans and black high top sneakers.

At least Lloyd’s basketball shorts are like, a grey color. For contrast, not that Morro cares.

He does care that they’re both wearing high top sneakers, but that’s only because it’s annoying.

Lloyd finally straightens, transforming instantaneously into a bright, innocent-eyed ray of infuriating sunshine. “Hi!” he greets. “Can we get a room for two, please?”

“Oh,” the lady blinks, clearly blinded by the intensity of Lloyd’s beaming smile. “Of course, sweetheart, one moment.”

Morro fights back the urge to inform the receptionist that Lloyd is actually a half-demon monster who could and would drag her on an eight-hour road trip from hell, with the sole purpose of stealing sharks.

He resists, though. Since he’s a nice person, like that.

The receptionist hands them the keys with ease, but it’s only as Lloyd struggles to get the room door open that the reality of their situation hits Morro.

Lloyd finally swings the door open, and Morro stares in horror at the small room. “Wait, we’re sharing a room?”

“Uh, yeah?” Lloyd shrugs. “Unless you’ve got the money for two, ‘cause I definitely don’t.”

Morro’s jaw creaks. Lloyd knows full well he has about three cents to his name. “Tell me there’s two beds.”

Lloyd scoffs loudly. “Please. I’m not completely insane.”

Morro would beg to differ, because he’s got them sharing a room, but he’s true to his word, at least. While the room is about the size of a glorified closet, there are two single beds, neatly arranged side by side. In silent agreement, the first thing Lloyd and Morro do, after tossing their bags down, is shove the beds as far as they can from each other against the opposite wall. The bedside table relocates nicely as a barrier in the no-man’s zone between the two. Morro would prefer, say, a five-feet thick vengestone wall between the two of them, but sure, the bedside table thing works.

They make camp on their respective beds after that, Morro skimming idly through his book while Lloyd flips through the little leaflet on the bedside table. He frowns, swinging his legs at the edge of his bed.

“D’you think we should just order dinner in?” he says.

Morro ignores him, continuing to thumb through his book. He hasn’t been particularly hungry since they finished an entire package of Oreos somewhere around the second hour in.

Not one to be discouraged, Lloyd continues anyways, mumbling to himself. “It’s a little late, but it looks like there are some pizza places that’ll deliver here…”

Morro frowns. “Pizza’s that cheese bread stuff, right?”

Lloyd goes silent. He stares at Morro, his expression frozen. “What.”

Morro shifts, uncomfortable at the stare Lloyd has on him. “What?”

“You’ve…never had pizza?” Lloyd finally gets out, as if the very idea is horrifying.

“No?” Morro offers. “You know I don’t eat dinner with you all. I certainly don’t eat your disgusting greasy junk food, either.”

“Disgusting — you’ve never had pizza,” Lloyd repeats, scandalized. “That’s what’s disgusting here. We’ve gotta fix this. Not even you deserve to go your life without pizza.”

“I’m touched,” Morro drones.

“Shut up, and pick out a topping.” Morro yelps as Lloyd suddenly materializes on the bed next to him, shoving the leaflet in his face. “So the standard go-to is cheese, ‘cause you can’t go wrong with that, but pepperoni’s pretty across the board, too. Kai and Nya like little peppers on theirs, so if you like spicy stuff that’s the way to go, but Cole swears by bacon bits, and Jay likes both. Zane likes the vegetable kind, but that’s just ‘cause he’s weird, so there’s that and pineapple, if you’re a mutant—”

“I’ll take the pineapple,” Morro blurts, in a desperate attempt to cut Lloyd’s babbling off.

Lloyd wrinkles his nose. “You’re not gonna like it,” he threatens. “But I’ll get us one of those split pizzas, so we can do like, two slices of pineapple, then the rest can be cheese and pepperoni, I guess, if that sounds good?”

“I literally could not care less.”

“Taking that as a yes!” Lloyd says, cheerfully. “You’re gonna love it.”

“Wonderful,” Morro grimaces. “Now get—” he shoves Lloyd, sending him sprawling to the floor with a yelp. “Back over on your side.”

It takes an unfortunately quick time for the pizza to be delivered, so Morro doesn’t have the chance to pretend he’s fallen asleep before Lloyd’s invading his space again, shoving the pizza in his face.

“Try it,” he demands. “One piece, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“That better be a promise,” Morro grouses, but he takes the slice he’s being offered, holding it gingerly between two fingers. He makes a face. “This is what you’ve been going on about? I can see the grease dripping off it.”

Lloyd rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Just try it, geez. What are you, chicken?”

“What are you, five?” Morro retorts. He relents though, ever-so-carefully taking the tiniest of bites.

He pauses. Lloyd watches him expectantly. “And?”

Morro knows exactly what Lloyd wants to hear, and he’d eat rocks before he’d let him have it. Unfortunately, his tastebuds are arguing a different case.

Morro doesn’t reply, but he takes another bite, this one considerably larger. FSM be cursed, it’s good.

“Haha!” Lloyd crows, rocking back where he sits cross-legged on the floor. “You love it! I knew it.”

“I do not,” Morro argues. The mouthful of pizza he has doesn’t exactly sell his point.

“Do too,” Lloyd grins, taking his own slice.

Morro hesitates, then goes for another slice, giving in. “The pineapple stuff is pretty good,” he admits, reaching for the fruit-laden pizza. Lloyd chokes, his triumphant smile evaporating as his eyes go wide in horror.

“No. No, you can’t. I know you’re deranged, but you can’t be that far gone—”

“It’s good,” Morro shrugs, taking another bite.

Lloyd gags, looking as if he’d like to cry. He settles for a sigh of despair instead, reaching for one of the slices of cheese. The edges of the crust are a bit blackened, but Lloyd doesn’t seem to mind.

“When I was a kid,” he says, as he catches a trailing string of cheese with his fingers. “Burnt pizza was my favorite thing ever. It was super easy to get, if you hung out behind the restaurants. They’d always throw them out in boxes and stuff, so it wasn’t as gross to swipe outta the trash.”

Lloyd’s eyebrows furrow, and his expression drops. “Uh, I mean, sorry. The guys get weird when I talk about that stuff, ‘cause it’s…weird, I guess.”

Morro eyes him. Far be it from him to reassure Lloyd, but — “I don’t think it’s that weird,” he says. “I’d snag stuff from the trash all the time when I was on the streets.”

“Really?” Lloyd’s expression brightens. “That was how I always ate when I was hanging in cities! Smaller towns not so much, since you could swipe stuff from food stands easier there.”

Morro nods in agreement. “The bigger cities are a lot better for scavenging, but smaller villages are where it’s at for stealing. People let you get away easier there.”

“Yeah, exactly!” Lloyd exclaims. He shakes his head, muttering to himself. “I knew it wasn’t that weird. The guys just like to overreact all the time.”

“Tell me about it,” Morro snorts. “Wu’d always act like I’d kicked him in the shins when I brought that sort of stuff up.”

“Sounds like him,” Lloyd giggles, before lapsing back into silence as they both finish the pizza.

If Morro didn’t know any better, he’d call it comfortable.

***********

Sleeping, however, is not comfortable.

Morro stares up at the ceiling, his eyes wide open. Across the room, Lloyd does the same from his own bed.

“Go to sleep,” Morro finally says. “You’re creeping me out.”

“You go to sleep first,” Lloyd responds, after a minute.

Morro grits his teeth. “No, you.”

“What, so you can murder me?” Lloyd hisses.

“I’m more worried about you murdering me!” Morro hisses back.

“You’re the ex-criminal. Maybe I don’t wanna wake up to the Preeminent at my throat.”

“Well maybe I don’t want to wake up with the Serpentine at my neck.”

“Oh, shut up, you hypocritical jerk—”

“You’re the one with a blabber mouth, you stuck-up wannabe-martyr—”

***********

In the end, neither of them wake up with slit throats. Neither of them wake up with marker all over their face, or tied up in their own sheets, or halfway out the window, either. It is, quite possibly, a miracle.

***********

“Well, Lloyd charged a pizza to my credit card, so we know they’re alive, at least,” Cole sighs.

“He took your credit card?” Nya frowns. “I thought Morro was the one who— you know what, never mind, Lloyd makes perfect sense.”

“He redacted the location, too,” Cole taps wearily at his phone. “Wow, we really did raise a child criminal.”

Kai moans into his hands where he’s slumped over at the table, hunkering in the pits of anxiety-induced despair.

“Y’know, it’s not too late to chase them down,” Jay remarks. “Could be fun, we could all join in on whatever awful road trip they’re having.”

“Sensei Wu said we need to let them go,” Cole mutters. “So they can ‘work things out’. That, or he wants to collect on their life insurance early.”

Jay makes a face. “And we’re listening to him…why?”

“Lloyd disabled location services on his phone,” Zane says, dully. “And since the van was procured from Ronin—”

“We have no idea where they are,” Nya growls. “I’m going to slaughter him.”

“Morro, Lloyd, or Ronin?” Jay asks.

Nya exchanges looks with Kai. “Whichever one doesn’t hide well enough.”

***********

“So if we’re looking at this logically, I think our best bet is to just sneak in the park as tourists, so we blend in with everyone. It’s a pretty busy time of the year, so we should go unnoticed—”

“Next exit.”

“—and then we’ll be able to — huh?”

“Next exit. On the left.”

“The left? I thought it was the right. Are you sure you aren’t reading the map upside down again?”

The vein near Morro’s forehead throbs. “I’m not, now get in the — get in the left lane, Lloyd, or we’ll miss it!”

“I swear, if you make me U-turn in the middle of the highway again…” Lloyd grits out, but he sends them careening across the freeway, darting into the left lane just in time to make their turn. Morro clutches the armrest with white knuckles, desperately trying not to cover his eyes with his hands like he has every other time Lloyd’s driven.

“You drive like a maniac,” Morro finally gets out, as Lloyd pushes the car well over the local speed limit. “Whoever let you have a license should be jailed.”

“Wimp,” Lloyd mocks. “I don’t wanna hear it, with how you and your whack-job ghost pals would drive around.”

“That was different,” Morro grinds his teeth. “We had reliable vehicles and I was too dead to care. This is a bucket of bolts, and I’m unfortunately alive enough to not want to die in a fiery inferno because you crashed us head-on into a semi truck.”

“Seriously?” Lloyd rolls his eyes. “You sound like Uncle Wu.”

Morro turns to stare at him so fast his neck practically cracks. He continues to stare at Lloyd, his mouth half-open, too viscerally horrified to form a response.

He finally manages a croaked, “Take that back.”

“Nope.” Lloyd is grinning.

“Take it back, I sound nothing like him—”

Lloyd says nothing, still grinning. Dying in a fiery inferno is sounding better by the minute, if it means dragging Lloyd down with him.

“So anyways, as I was saying,” Lloyd continues, as they pull into view of the park. “I think we should slip in the park dressed like tourists—”

“Mm-hm.”

“—with tickets that I can buy on Cole’s credit card—”

“Classy.”

“—which’ll give our location away, ‘cause there’s no hiding that, but we should be clear out of here by the time he checks anyways—”

“Nobody cares.”

“—alright, alright, so we’re in as tourists, then we just…grab a shark and, uh, borrow one of their big moving trucks, I guess.”

Morro stares at him. “Borrow. The park’s semi truck they use to move sharks.”

Lloyd winces. “Well, we can’t fit the shark in here.”

They both give the minivan a once-over, and cringe in unison.

“So let me get this straight,” Morro rubs his temple as Lloyd pulls them into the parking lot, pocketing their tickets with the slightest expression of guilt and a whispered ‘Forgive me Cole’. “Your plan is to just…walk into the park, pretending we’re totally normal people, then somehow stuff a shark in a truck and — and what? Bust through the front gates?”

“I was more thinking we could swipe park uniforms while we’re in there, and sneak out like Star Wars,” Lloyd says, gesturing enthusiastically with his hands.

Morro buries his face in his hands. “I despise everything you are.”

“It’s a solid plan!” Lloyd defends, kicking the car door open. “It’s better than anything you have.”

“Planning for something this stupid would burn my brain cells to a crisp,” Morro grumbles, sliding out of the van. He eyes the vehicle, something occurring to him. “By the way. If we’re busting out of here in a park truck, what does that mean for this thing?”

Lloyd pauses, as if that thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Uh…” he sweats. “I’m, uh. I’m sure Ronin’s done something bad enough that he deserves us leaving it here.”

“We’re going to come out of this with so many people after our heads,” Morro exhales.

***********

Morro lets Lloyd snag them clothes from a nearby gift shop, which is probably the worst mistake he’s made in his life. Whether Lloyd is still aiming for a bit of revenge or his fashion sense really is just that appalling, the outfits he picks out for them almost succeed at burning Morro’s eyes out on the spot.

“What is this,” is all he manages to get out, staring blankly at the bright yellow, button-up shirt he’s holding in his hands. It wouldn’t be so bad, if it didn’t have ugly orange flowers and pineapples printed all over it as well.

“It’s what you get for liking pineapple on your pizza,” Lloyd quips, as he pulls a garishly orange t-shirt over his head. His shirt has “I Went to Oceanworld and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt” printed on it in bright pink script, which is at least better than the ugly flowers Morro gets. On the other hand, Lloyd’s stuck with a pair of truly hideous, neon blue running shorts, while Morro at least gets navy cargo ones, so there’s that tiny victory.

“Also, these were the best options they had,” Lloyd winces, having caught a glimpse of himself in a shop window as they head toward the park entrance, a crowd of people already starting to form around them. “Here, put these on.”

Morro stares at the purple sunglasses Lloyd’s handed him. “Absolutely not.”

“This too,” Lloyd ignores him, shoving a neon green baseball cap on him. “See, I’m letting you have the green one, ‘cause—”

“If you even finish that sentence, I’ll drown you in the first fish tank we see,” Morro grits out, shoving the sunglasses on. Lloyd just gives him a sunny smile, tugging a vivid pink baseball cap over his hair. He, at least, looks like he fits in here, with his idiot smile and the way he almost starts bouncing as they mingle in the crowds. Morro, on the other hand, feels much as if he sticks out like a sore, sweaty thumb.

“You know, I might actually take you up on that drowning thing,” Lloyd mutters as they drift further into the park, tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. “If only so I end up in the water. It’s so hot.”

“Makes me miss your grandfather’s tomb,” Morro mutters beneath his breath. Lloyd spears him with a glare out of the corners of his eyes. “What?” Morro defends. “It was at least cold there.”

“I remember. I almost died ‘cause of it,” Lloyd growls, his eyes flashing in warning.

“Pretty sure you were more likely to die of starvation by that point,” Morro remarks easily. “But you were already a twig to begin with, so—”

He cuts off with a strangled shout of pain as Lloyd shoves him face-first into a sign, his nose crunching against the metal. Morro pulls away angrily, only to come face to face with a truly hellish, grinning shark on the sign, pointing its deformed fin to the right. Just below the awful shark is a small, printed square that points ahead, reading Park Maintenance: Transportation.

“Just so you know, I’m going to roundhouse-kick your teeth out for that later,” Morro tells Lloyd calmly. “But I think I’ve found our stop.”

Lloyd’s expression switches from Oni hell spawn of doom to enthusiastic devil child in a heartbeat. “Oh, seriously? That was fast.”

“Aw,” Morro sneers. “Did you want to stop by the kiddie park before we left?”

Lloyd’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t spare Morro a second glance. “Nah, but I wanted a picture of you in that shirt to immortalize. Kai’ll get a kick out of it.”

Morro pales rapidly. “No. No, Kai does not hear a word of this. This stays between you and me forever and then we die. Kai. Never. Knows.”

“I’ll keep it quiet if you give me your credit card.”

“Ha! You know this entire family’s broke.”

Breaking into park maintenance is laughably easy — or it would have been, if they weren’t dressed in the ugliest, most obvious colors possible. They make it through three different doors on the excuse that they’re “poor, lost cousins whose uncle left them to die”, but after that they have to start knocking people out. Morro debates arguing for murder, because witnesses and all, but covering their stolen uniforms in blood before they even have the chance to wear them is probably a bad move.

At least the uniforms are a decent combo of white and sky blue, instead of a criminal offense on the eyes.

“Just like Star Wars!” Lloyd exclaims happily, as they sprint for the truck.

It takes every bit of Morro’s willpower not to lock him in the nearby fish tank. He doesn’t, though, because Lloyd somehow manages to locate the one shark actually scheduled for transport, which means all they have to do is subtly distract a few more employees and steal the truck before the furious horde of security guards on their tail catch up and send them both to the Departed Realm in style.

“I said subtly distract them!” Lloyd cries, as Morro neatly finishes chopping his hand into the last employee’s neck, sending him into blissful unconsciousness. “Not that!”

“Do not take the moral high ground with me now,” Morro snaps at him. “I saw what you did to the other security guard, you absolute menace.”

“That was different, can we just— oh, good, the shark’s in the tank and everything,” Lloyd pants, flicking through the little camera view screen on the truck dashboard. “And there’s the exit gate, and there’s — oh, there’s security coming to kill us.”

“What?” Morro yelps, craning his head over. “They shouldn’t have gotten through the door that soon, we haven’t even found the keys yet!”

“Don’t need keys.” Lloyd slides down, prying the compartment beneath the steering wheel open, exposing a mass of complicated wires. “Strap the shark in and lock the back doors,” he orders, as he starts pulling at them. “I’m gonna hot wire it.”

Morro has about a thousand and two questions for why, exactly, Lloyd knows how to hot wire a car, but he immediately decides he doesn’t want to know. Well, he kind of does, because it’s possibly the only cool thing Lloyd has revealed about himself, but running for their lives from angry, underpaid park employees doesn’t seem to be the best of times.

Morro sprints around the truck, yanking the doors open fully and hoisting himself into the trailer. The shark appears to be whacked out of its mind on what Morro’s guessing is a tranquilizer, floating happily in its little tank, and Morro desperately hopes that’s not about to change with the chaotic horror that is Lloyd’s driving.

“Hang tight, fish,” Morro mutters, as he tightens the box straps. Satisfied it won’t come loose, he stumbles out of the trailer, his hands shaking with adrenaline as he slams the truck doors closed, before skidding around the asphalt for the passenger seat.

“Any day now, Lloyd,” he urges, watching the first of the guards come into view in the car mirror.

“Almost got it,” Lloyd hisses, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth as he yanks at the wires beneath the steering wheel. “Drat, these things are so much more complicated than smaller cars—”

“Lloyd, believe it or not, I really don’t want to kill anyone today.”

“Got it!” Lloyd exclaims triumphantly, slamming the panel closed as the car hums to life. He slides back up into the driver’s seat, throwing the gearshift forward. “Buckle up, this is gonna be fun!”

“You and I have—” Morro swallows a shriek as Lloyd guns the truck forward, his head smacking back against the passenger seat. “Entirely different definitions of fun.”

“You just don’t know what fun is,” Lloyd accuses as he presses harder on the gas, angered shouts from the security guards echoing behind them.

“I know it’s not what you’re doing,” Morro shoots back, as Lloyd smashes them through several plastic barriers.

“What? How is this not fun?” Lloyd gestures with one hand, the other veering the steering wheel to the right and sending the truck careening through the park exit, narrowly missing the transport shuttle.

“Fun is me having control of this thing,” Morro grits out. “Or having control in general. You know, like how I controlled you.”

Lloyd’s head turns to him, his eyes narrowing. “You are not bringing this back up now.”

“What, it’s fun— eyes on the road, eyes on the road!”

***********

By the time they make it on the interstate, well out of the city traffic, Morro’s lost any doubts he’s ever had that Lloyd is the actual blood descendant of the First Spinjitzu Master. There’s just no other way to explain how they manage to evade the entire park’s security staff as well as the local police without trouble, other than divine intervention.

As all things do, though, even divine intervention runs out. Unfortunately, it’s at the same time that Lloyd and Morro’s adrenaline high runs out as well, leaving them both exhausted and heavy-eyed. And also considerably short-tempered, so when Lloyd fails to spot the pothole in the dark and punctures their front tire, Morro’s already dangerously close to his breaking point.

It’s never a good place to be, when he’s around Lloyd.

“I swear, it’s in here somewhere,” Lloyd says, his eyebrows furrowing as he roots through the glove compartment again. “This is an official park vehicle, they can’t not have a manual.”

Morro doesn’t comment, too busy trying to slide the tire jack in place. It’s his fifth attempt so far, and the failures aren’t exactly helping his rising temper. It wouldn’t be quite as difficult if the road they were on wasn’t in the middle of nowhere, perched at the edge of a steep ravine. But it is, and the tire jack clanks out of place as Morro misses yet again.

“Aha! Got it. It doesn’t look too difficult, actually.”

Morro grits his teeth. How no one has murdered Lloyd for his unfailing optimism yet is beyond him. Utterly beyond him. Especially when it’s his fault in the first place.

“All we really need is to get the spare out from underneath,” Lloyd muses, skimming through the manual. “Then we should be good.”

“Stop saying we,” Morro finally snaps. “We did not destroy the tire. You did.”

Lloyd blinks, then frowns. “You didn’t exactly help,” he murmurs beneath his breath, bending down near the flat tire.

Morro’s fingers clench around the tire jack, his knuckles white. He is not going to lose his temper. He’s not. He is stuck in the middle of nowhere, with a stolen truck and a flat tire, with no help in sight, with Lloyd Garmadon of all people, but he is not going to lose his temper. It’s a waste of energy.

“Look, just — no, you’re doing it wrong,” Lloyd sighs.

Never mind. Morro’s got energy to spare.

“Would it kill you to shut up? For five seconds?” he snaps, whirling on Lloyd. Lloyd flinches back in alarm, and Morro snarls. “This is your fault, would it kill you to stop making things worse for once?”

Lloyd’s face pales. “I just—”

“We wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you,” Morro steamrolls over him, not even giving him the chance to speak. He’s done, he’s so done with this. He’s held it together pretty well this whole time, gone along with Lloyd’s stupid trip for a reason he doesn’t even know, but this is it. Being alive is not worth the effort, at all.

“You dragged me on this, you and your stupid, selfish obsession with pretending everything’ll work out fine, like you’re some little kid,” Morro stabs his finger viciously at Lloyd. “Well guess what? Nothing is fine, and neither of us are kids! We never got to be kids, and we’ll never get to be kids, because your horrible family screwed up and you came along and made things so much worse!”

Hurt flickers across Lloyd’s face, and his eyes look oddly shiny. Morro’s too far into his rant to care.

“It’s typical,” Morro spits. “Absolutely perfect. This is all your fault, I mean it. Everything’s your fault, every single stupid thing that’s gone wrong in my life, if it wasn’t for you—”

Lloyd punches him square in the mouth.

It’s not even the hardest hit he’s ever received, but it’s hard enough to send him staggering back a couple steps. Morro reels, so flabbergasted that he’s unable to form words for a good half-minute. He blinks back tears of pain, staring at Lloyd in indignation. “You — you hit me!”

“And I’m not sorry about it at all!” Lloyd yells, fists clenched tightly by his sides, as if gearing up for another hit. “You deserved it!”

He punctuates this by hurling the tire block at him. Morro dodges easily, his own anger flaring back to life.

“You call that a hit?” he scoffs. “Pathetic. This is why you were so easy to possess, you know—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Lloyd cuts over him, kicking a rock at him this time. “FSM, what’s your problem? I don’t even know why I try with you!”

“My problem?” Morro snaps, true and properly angry now. “My problem is that some pint-sized brat stole my whole life from me, and now he’s out here—” Morro grunts as he throws the tire jack at Lloyd. “Trying to pretend we’re cousins!”

“Oh, your whole life,” Lloyd echoes, derisively. “What is it about the green gi that makes you so entitled? You’re like — you’re uglier than some stupid runner-up in a beauty pageant about it!”

Morro’s teeth clack together like a steel trap. “A beauty pageant?!”

“Yeah!” Lloyd shouts. “You’re like a screaming toddler! Who runs onstage and attacks the winner because they didn’t get first place in a contest for a stupid outfit!”

“It’s not! Just! An outfit!” Morro roars.

“I know that!” Lloyd snaps.

“Then why didn’t you give it to me!”

“Because you don’t deserve it! You’re a jerk!”

“You don’t even want it!” Morro yells. “You get the green gi and you don’t even appreciate it! This is why we’ll never be cousins!”

“Good! I don’t want you as a cousin! I hate you!” Lloyd screeches, throwing the car manual at him. “I hate you, I hate you so much!”

“I hate you too!” Morro howls, throwing the tire wrench. It spirals wildly off-aim. “Gods, you’re the worst—”

“Drop dead, Morro!” Lloyd screams.

“Make me!” Morro screams back. “Bet you don’t have it in you, you sniveling little—”

Lloyd, clearly determined to prove that he does have it in him, neatly cuts Morro off by tackling him around the waist, sending them both flying over the edge of the hill and rolling wildly into the ravine.

The screaming that follows is a lot less angry this time, and a lot more like the terrified screeching of two year-olds on a roller coaster.

***********

“D’you think...hospitals will take..the green gi as insurance?”

“S’worth...a try. Not sure, think…my head might’ve cracked.”

“I think I heard my spine snap.”

“Pretty sure that was my knee detaching.”

Morro winces, closing his eyes briefly before opening them, staring up at the starry night sky. There’s a shifting noise near his head, before Lloyd curses, moaning in pain as it stops abruptly.

As it turns out, the ravine went a bit deeper than either of them had been prepared for. The end result is Lloyd and Morro both sprawled at the bottom of the ravine, staring into the void of space as they rethink their particular life choices up to this point. There had been a brief moment where they both attempted to shove themselves back up to continue their fight, but that dream had rapidly died as they both collapsed back into the grass, groaning in pain.

It did kill his temper rather effectively, Morro will admit. It’s difficult to keep screaming when your ribs feel like they’ve been used as a drum by a baseball bat. So they continue to lie there in silence, before Lloyd finally stirs.

“So that, uh,” Lloyd finally breathes. “That was. A lot.”

Morro winces. “Yeah. That was — I haven’t yelled like that in a while.”

“Aw, man,” Lloyd laughs humorlessly, still staring at the sky. “I don’t think I’ve yelled like that since I was like, eight.”

The crickets around them buzz loudly as they lapse into silence. At least the sky’s stopped spinning, Morro thinks.

“I think. Um. I think I probably crossed a line.”

Lloyd’s voice is so quiet, Morro almost misses it. He doesn’t miss the apologetic tone, though.

Morro’s lips press together as something in his chest twists that better not be guilt. “I..might have, as well.”

Lloyd hums. “I probably shouldn’t have compared everything you went through to a toddler.”

“Well,” Morro pauses, thinking back on it. “I mean. That crack about the beauty pageant was kinda funny.”

Lloyd gives a breathless little laugh. “Wanna know something awful?”

Morro cranes his head slightly. “Hm?”

“I actually stole that from Nya. And she was, uh, talking about Kai.”

Morro’s eyebrows shoot up. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did,” Lloyd giggles. “It was after the whole thing with Chen — you saw that, right, in my head?”

“Uh...kind of. Sorry?”

“Nah, I don’t care as much about that one. Anyways, he was a mopey mess after it. Nya was kind of bitter. I might have been…a little bit, too. In secret.”

Morro smirks despite himself. “The Green Ninja, secretly bitter.”

“I’ll never be as bitter as you,” Lloyd retorts.

Morro’s smirk fades. “That’s fair, I guess.” He looks back at the sky, scrubbing a hand across his eyes. “Sorry I brought up possessing you again,” he mutters. “That was…probably uncalled for.”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says. “Pretty uncool that you keep doing that.”

“Yeah, well.” Morro sighs. “I’m a work in progress. But still. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I get it, I think. Not the bringing up the possession part, but the work in progress part.”

“Oh.” Morro chews on the edge of his lip. “Then, uh, I’m also — I’m also sorry I said everything’s your fault.” He closes his eyes tightly. Curse it, the feeling twisting his chest up is most certainly guilt. “That was definitely uncalled for.”

“No,” Lloyd says, quietly. “That’s…that’s fair, too.”

Morro’s eyes blink open, and he cranes his head back to stare at him. “What? No, it’s not. Blame your grandfather, or your dad, or even Wu. Or that, um, giant snake thing, that kept popping up—”

“The Great Devourer?”

“Yeah, blame that.” Morro briefly squeezes his eyes shut again. Oh, this hurts to say out loud. “You’re…you’re still a kid. You’ve been a kid, even if life sucks enough to make it feel like you’re not. S’not fair to blame it all on you.”

Lloyd is silent for a moment, and Morro hopes he’s heard the apology in his words. That’s a new hope for him to have, but it’s genuine.

“Same goes for you, then.” Lloyd’s voice is still quiet, but it’s got that painful sincerity — the kind Morro’s heard before, but never directed at him. “I mean, possessing me wasn’t good, but… everyone deserves a chance to make things right. You’re a kid, too.”

“Lloyd, you know I’m technically like, forty.”

“Yeah, in ghost years. Being dead doesn’t count.”

“Like you’d know.” Morro breaths a humorless laugh. “Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that I went after a kid for getting slapped with the green gi.”

Lloyd inhales sharply. “Could you maybe go at least five minutes without bringing that up? Just this once?”

Morro blinks at the sudden frustration in Lloyd’s voice. “W-what?”

The grass rustles as Lloyd shakes his head, but he blows his breath out, the anger seeping from him. “I just — I’m sick of it. I get that you hate me, but you could at least have the decency to hate me for me,” he says, wearily. “Hate me for like, my obnoxious habit of repeating stuff, or my annoying voice.”

Morro is quiet for a moment. “Your voice isn’t that bad anymore,” he admits.

Lloyd snorts. “You don’t have to lie.”

“No, I’m serious. It doesn’t do that squeaky-toy cracking thing anymore.”

“Well that makes me feel so much better,” Lloyd huffs.

“You’re welcome,” Morro grins. They lapse into silence again, and the grin slides slowly off of Morro’s face. Oh, curse everything, why is his chest still twisting up in knots.

He finally puffs out a weary breath of defeat. “And I don’t…entirely hate you.”

Lloyd is quiet, digesting that. “Huh. Really?”

“Yeah. Hate your stupid gi, though.”

“Oh, same. You have no idea.”

“Starting to get that, I think.”

“Heh. I guess I don’t…entirely hate you, either.”

“Really.”

“Yeah.”

“Disgusting.”

***********

The tire is surprisingly easy to change, when they’re not trying to bite each other’s heads off. There’s no damage to the actual truck or trailer either, so they’re back on the road before daybreak. Lloyd fretfully checks on the shark a minimum of twenty times, but it’s fine as well, peacefully floating in its little tank. He lets Morro drive, in what may or may not be a peace offering, so Morro lets Lloyd choose the music, which is definitely a peace offering. It’s the only way he’d ever willingly listen to the amount of acoustic music Lloyd plays them.

Well…that he’d admit willingly listening to.

They don’t talk much, but it’s a surprisingly comfortable silence, and by the time they pull up to Lloyd’s beach, half finished with the horrendously cheap coffee they snagged from the gas station, Morro doesn’t feel quite as annoyed with the world on the whole.

In fact, he feels dangerously close to being at peace with it, which is obviously unacceptable, so he makes sure to stub his toe at least three times as they maneuver the now-awake and incredibly annoyed shark into the waves.

“Hey, hey, c’mon buddy,” Lloyd soothes, waist-deep in the water as he coaxes the shark toward him. “It’s okay, we’re setting you free. Don’t eat us when there’s much more tasty seafood in the ocean.”

“Maybe Oni is a delicacy for sharks,” Morro suggests, his feet firmly planted on the shore. He’s been assisting with his wind, floating the shark down gently, and that’s already more than enough. “I bet seafood pales in comparison to demon flesh.”

“You’re disgusting,” Lloyd says, but his lips quirk up. “In that case, maybe I should just drop him on my dad.”

Morro snorts, watching as Lloyd finally gets the shark to deeper water, where it swishes its tail happily, clearly overjoyed to be free from its tiny tank.

“There we go,” Lloyd smiles as it swims around him. “Much better, huh?”

Morro watches the shark swim a moment longer, wrinkling his nose as sand digs between his toes. He stifles a yawn, but the coastal winds are picking up around him, gently tugging through his hair and leaving him less tired as his element ghosts over his skin, as if whispering his name.

He’s missed wind like this. The gentler kind.

He finally turns his attention back to Lloyd, and his eyebrows furrow.

“You know this is just one shark, right?”

“Mm-hm,” Lloyd hums happily, letting the shark nose against his hand.

“That doesn’t bode well for your shark tornado plan,” Morro reminds him.

“Eh,” Lloyd shrugs. “I guess freeing a shark is as good as that. I can always get my dad back later.”

“You could dye your hair, that might do the trick.”

Lloyd gives a wry smile. “It wasn’t really about that, anyways,” he murmurs, so quietly Morro almost misses it.

Morro doesn’t know if he wants to try and guess what that’s supposed to mean, so he averts his gaze instead, looking across the quiet, empty beach. It’s removed from the busier parts of the coast, almost abandoned. Certainly not the kind of place Morro would’ve seen Lloyd picking out for a weekend trip.

“So why this beach, in particular?” he finally asks. “Seems pretty out of the way, just for this.”

Lloyd is quiet for a moment, his hands creating tiny eddies in the water around him. His face falls a fraction as he watches the shark swim off, deeper into the ocean, and he dips lower into the water.  

“I came here with my dad, once,” he says, quietly. “After he was… back to normal. Without the venom, and all.”

“Oh.” Morro blinks. There’s a lot of meaning behind those words. For some reason, he’s almost frightened to try and decipher it.

Lloyd saves him from it, straightening up where he stands in the water. “So, are you gonna get in, or what?”

Morro blinks, then violently shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not. Water and I are not compatible. You know that.”

“You weren’t before,” Lloyd insists. “You are now.”

“What was that you were saying earlier?” Morro reminds him, snidely. “About traumas, and stuff?”

Lloyd’s brow furrows, in what could almost be concern. “You don’t have to,” he says, slowly. “But this is a nice place to start.”

Morro stares at the sand before him, a mere three feet from where the waves stop washing up on shore. He makes a face. It’s not like he’s scared of water. He takes showers, and he’s not afraid to sprint out in the rain if he’s left a book or something outside. But those are just — water in small doses. This sparkling blue hellhole of toxicity is different. It’s saltwater. Saltwater brings back…less than pleasant memories.

Granted, this particular body of toxic seawater doesn’t seem to be quite as deadly at the moment. Lloyd’s skin hasn’t slid off his bones yet, and he’s floating up to his neck in the stuff.

“I’ll pass,” Morro finally says, stiffly. “It’s, uh, a little too rough for me out there.”

Lloyd looks pointedly at where the gentle waves barely lap the shore. Morro grits his teeth. Drat. That makes it rather difficult not to admit that he does, probably, look like a coward. Lloyd tilts his head to the side, studying him with the eerie red eyes he gets sometimes. Morro doesn’t like the look that forms on his face.

“Why,” he says, with a gleam in his eyes. “Are you scared?”

Even though Morro’s seen that coming a mile away, he still reddens. “No.”

Lloyd raises an eyebrow. “Kinda looks like you’re scared.”

“I am not.”

Lloyd squints at him. Then, without warning, he splashes the smallest bit of seawater up toward him. Morro jumps back, with what he’ll die before he admits is a high-pitched shriek, skittering away from the tiny droplets.

Lloyd bursts into giggles, and Morro feels his cheeks blazing. “That was low, you little insect—”

“Chicken, chicken, Morro’s a chicken,” Lloyd taunts over him.

“I’ll kill you,” Morro threatens.

“Oh yeah?” Lloyd flashes his teeth at him. “How’re you gonna do that when I’m in the water?”

Morro’s hands clench into fists as he seethes. “I am not scared of the water.”

“Yes, you are.”

Morro takes a threatening step toward him, brandishing his fist. “I am not a chicken!”

“Yes you a-are,” Lloyd repeats gleefully. “Chicken, chicken—”

“Shut up—”

“Bawk, bawk—”

“I’ll break your spine—”

“Not with your chicken arms you won’t—”

“Enough with the chicken!” Morro roars, shaking Lloyd by the collar of his soaking t-shirt. “I am not scared!”

Lloyd presses his lips together, barely holding back what’s either laughter or another one of those infuriating smiles. “Okay, geez. You proved me wrong.”

Morro blinks. Lloyd looks down, and Morro follows his gaze. He blinks again.

He’s standing waist-deep in the saltwater with Lloyd, waves swirling gently around him. His flesh is not melting off. He is not dying an excruciating death. It doesn’t feel like corrosive acid. It feels like…regular water. Kind of cold, regular water, that smells a little like fish.

Morro stares at the water, letting Lloyd’s shirt go as his arms hang limply by his sides. He didn’t even notice putting a foot in.

“Hey, look,” Lloyd says, brightly. “You’re not dead."

Morro should strangle him for this. Lloyd’s tricked him into the toxic death water by annoying him, and Morro didn’t even notice. He should celebrate this new accomplishment by holding Lloyd’s head under the water until he drowns.

Oddly enough, all he can find it in himself to do is stare at the water with the tiniest of smiles. “I’m not dead,” he echoes, quietly.

Lloyd beams at him, and he doesn’t even want to strangle him for it. Morro stands waist-deep in the water, completely at ease, and feels something odd bubble up in his throat. It’s light and easy, like his chest is filling up with a balloon, and for a brief second, he meets Lloyd’s beaming smile with one of his own.

Naturally, that’s when the beach blows up.

***********

On second thought, the ocean can die.

Morro immediately changes his mind about seawater as he’s knocked beneath a large wave, swallowing a mouthful of disgusting salt liquid. Panic twists around his heart as he flails briefly, before a hand locks firmly around his arm and yanks, pulling him to the surface and dragging him forward.

“—can’t believe this, again?!” Lloyd’s yelling in his ear as Morro splutters out saltwater. “What is it now, someone whose got aunt we got fired?”

“Don’t be ridiculousss, you know your own worth,” a hissing voice laughs across the water, and Morro struggles to find his footing as Lloyd drags them both onto the beach. “Imagine my delight when I realized the Green Ninja was lounging on the beach!”

Morro finally manages to push his sopping hair from his face, and he blinks saltwater from his eyes as his vision clears. Several paces down the sand from them stands a scarlet Hypnobrai, an admittedly intimidating weapon held in its scaly hands.  

“Oh, of course!” Lloyd spits. “Stupid green power, would it kill you to let me get five minutes of—”

He cuts off in a yelp as the Serpentine fires at them again, dragging Morro to the sand with him as the grenade blast streaks over their heads, exploding somewhere further down the beach.

“It’s okay,” Lloyd pants, as they scramble to their feet. “This is — it’s all good, it’s just one Serpentine. We can handle this, easy.”

Morro whips his head across the beach. “You do see the other four, right?”

“The other—” Lloyd swears. “How did they all get grenade launchers?”

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” Morro shouts, as they narrowly avoid another three blasts. The lead Hypnobrai cackles wildly at them, waving his weapon like a war flag.

“How did you even find me?” Lloyd yells, as he and Morro sprint around the jetty for cover, stumbling over the protruding rocks. “This is the middle of nowhere!”

The Hypnobrai grins, sharp teeth flashing. “Oh, we wouldn’t have! But I recognized the name on the credit card used at the gas station. To be honest, I was actually expecting the earth ninja.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Lloyd cries. “What kind of karma—”

Morro grasps him firmly by the shoulders and yanks him down, just before another streaking blast of flame can take his head off. Morro cringes as the ensuing explosion rocks the ground beneath them, his ears ringing.

Lloyd crouches lower beside him, muttering frantically. “I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry,” he’s saying in the vague direction of the sky. “I’ll never steal anyone’s credit card again, I promise, I’m sorry—”

“Are you — apologizing to your grandfather right now?” Morro gapes at him.

Lloyd throws his hands in the air. “This has gotta be someone's fau—alt, move!”

He yanks them to the side as another blast narrowly misses them, almost knocking them clear off their feet. Morro grits his teeth, frustration spiking.

“This would be a great time for a plan, oh ninja leader,” he snaps.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” Lloyd’s hands flash green. “Just follow my—”

He gasps, his eyes going wide at something beyond Morro’s shoulder. Morro has a split second of confusion before Lloyd shoves him to the ground, bright green energy blazing to life in a makeshift shield—

Just in time for the next blast to hit him dead on, sending him flying back into the jetty.

Lloyd gives a single, sharp cry before his head strikes the edge of a rock, abruptly going silent as he tumbles to the edge of the jetty, inches from being swept away by the water. He doesn’t move after that.

Morro’s stomach bottoms out, his blood running cold as he’s hit with a sudden rush of terror so strong he almost loses his balance.

Then the rage hits.

Morro turns on the Hypnobrai who fired the blast, his eyes flaming. The snake swallows, suddenly looking pale as he clutches at his weapon.

“Um—”

Morro roars, and the wind turns sharp and vicious, swirling around him in a vortex of fury. The Serpentine shriek in terror as they’re swept up in the gale, Morro’s wind howling as it tears the weapons from their hands. Morro barely hears them, his mind still stuck on the single scream before Lloyd had fallen silent. Anger blazes hot in his chest, and the wind grows bitterly cold, flinging water from the ocean higher and higher. Saltwater splashes against his cheeks, but Morro hardly feels it. He lets the water power his wind instead, sweeping into a furious storm.

He could easily kill them right now — happily, even. But Morro’s been an entire mess of conflicting emotions this weekend, and he’s got more pressing things to worry about, so he sends their weapons flying far out into the ocean instead. He narrows his eyes on them in fury, before hissing out, “Get. Lost.”

They don’t need any help fleeing after that, but Morro still launches them a good thirty feet away. For good measure.

He lets the wind die bit by bit, water splashing back into the ocean. Morro suddenly becomes aware of how his hands are trembling, shaking in the aftermath of adrenaline. There’s a moment of crushing silence in the absence of his howling wind, and his stomach drops.

He whips around, his eyes searching the empty beach desperately. He wasn’t — he hadn’t been thinking of Lloyd when he’d kicked the storm up, but what if—

“Lloyd,” Morro rasps, his throat closing over in fear. “Lloyd, where are you, please—”

“M’here.”

Lloyd stumbles from behind the jetty, coughing up a mouthful of saltwater as he sways dizzily, rubbing his head. “Ow, ow, ow. I’m gonna feel that for—”

Lloyd cuts off in a yelp as Morro grabs him forcefully, pulling him in and wrapping his arms around him. Lloyd goes painfully rigid, his breathing uneven for a beat before he gingerly reaches back, awkwardly patting Morro’s shoulder with his one free hand.

“Uh, M-Morro?”

He clutches him tighter. “Shut up.”

“Mo’o, yer crush’n me.”

“Shut up. You’re terrible. You’re horrible. I get why Kai’s so grumpy all the time. How does Kai not have grey hair. How.”

Lloyd makes a muffled sound of indignation as Morro refuses to let go. He probably looks ridiculous, but he can’t find it in himself to care. A host of realizations are hitting him at once, and it’s making him slightly nauseous.

For a second, Lloyd had been quiet. He’d been still and unmoving, and he could’ve been dead. Which would have been bad, apparently, for Morro, because Lloyd can’t die. Because if Lloyd dies, then Morro won’t have a pint-sized blond cousin to yell all the angsty stuff out with, and if Lloyd dies then who’s gonna drag him out of his self-induced isolating depression and make him try gross food and break the law and actually interact in the world? Morro can’t lose that. Lloyd’s the only person who’s genuinely made Morro feel like a person, he can’t go die before Morro makes at least some attempt to apologize for being horrible in general to him.

It clicks, finally, like getting hit in the face with the blunt end of a shovel. Morro is, without a doubt, terrified of the idea of losing Lloyd. Oh no. Oh, this is awful. Because if Morro’s scared of losing Lloyd, that must mean—

“Aw, you do care,” Lloyd croaks, his voice watery.

Morro, soaking wet and holding the one person he’s wanted to see dead most like an over-sized teddy bear in need of love, wants to die.

***********

“You tricked me.”

“Huh?”

Morro shakes his head, pulling the edge of his blanket up around his shoulders, shifting on the uncomfortable sidewalk that lines the parking lot. They’re both bundled up in emergency blankets they swiped from the truck, shivering in their wet clothes even as the sun climbs higher in the sky above them.  

“You tricked me,” Morro repeats. “You tricked me into tolerating you long enough that I somehow got duped into liking you as a person. You irritated your way into my life.”

Lloyd breathes a laugh, before wincing and pressing his hand to his forehead again. “You should talk to Kai, I did the same thing to him.”

“You dragged him on a road trip from hell, too?” Morro wonders if he’s been too hard on Kai.

“Not exactly,” Lloyd says. “I did get him stuck in a volcano though.”

“Typical,” Morro mutters. “I don’t even have trouble believing that. You’re a menace."

“Aw, c’mon,” Lloyd grins. “Didn’t I hear you saying that you liked me as person?”

Morro bristles. “No,” he says, firmly. “That’s your concussion talking.”

Lloyd rolls his eyes. “I don’t have concuss— ow, Morro, stop!”

“Huh. Your head isn’t gushing blood, so that’s good,” Morro remarks, pulling his hand away from the back of Lloyd’s head. “That’s still gonna be a bump, though.”

“My hair hides it though, right?” Lloyd’s expression is slightly panicked. “You can’t see it, right?”

“The bump? No.” Morro gestures to Lloyd’s face. “The black eye? Yes.”

“Oh, no.” Lloyd buries his face in his hands. “That’s it, then. I’m toast.”

“Oh, you’re toast,” Morro scoffs. “Kai’s gonna wring my neck.”

Lloyd lifts his face from his hands, shaking his head. “No. I’ll tell him you saved me. That’ll buy you points.”

“Kai’s gonna love that,” Morro snorts.

“Yeah, well.” Lloyd sighs, pulling his blanket around his shoulders. “What’cha gonna do.”

Morro scoffs, pulling his own blanket tighter over his shoulders. The ocean breezes are still a bit chilly with their damp clothes, but the wind is as peaceful as it was earlier, lulling them both into a sleepy kind of haziness. Morro feels disgustingly at peace with the world again, soaking wet and sitting on a sidewalk in the middle of a half-destroyed beach with Lloyd, but he can’t muster up the energy to make himself feel otherwise. Being at peace for five minutes won’t hurt, he reasons.

“By the way, remind me to check the truck before we return it,” Lloyd suddenly says, yawning. “I think I left Kai’s apology present in there.”

Morro frowns. “His what now?”

“Apology present,” Lloyd sighs, scrubbing at his eye. “For putting him through hell.”

“Him?” Morro gapes at Lloyd. “What about me? Where’s my apology gift for getting dragged through hell?”

“Your apology gift is me not hating your guts,” Lloyd huffs, pulling his blanket fully over his hair, like an incredibly ugly veil. “And like, forgiveness and stuff.”

Morro opens his mouth, then abruptly snaps it shut as Lloyd’s words register. He stares at him, feeling a bit dizzy all of the sudden.

“You — what — forgive—?”

“You heard me,” Lloyd yawns again. He perks up, blinking. “Oh, hey, speak of the devil. There they are.”

Morro just catches the familiar hum of Bounty’s engine before the anchor crashes into the parking lot before them, splintering long cracks in the concrete. Lloyd and Morro stare up at the figures on the deck. Morro swallows.

“You’ve, uh, you’ve written up your will, right?” Lloyd gulps.

Morro shakes his head, wordlessly.

Lloyd gives a nervous laugh. “Okay, good. I haven’t either.” He watches in trepidation as a red figure begins sliding down the anchor chain toward them. “Maybe should’ve done that sooner,” he whispers to himself.

***********

Kai doesn’t murder them, but it’s a near thing. In the end, Nya comes nearer to committing homicide, followed closely by Cole.

“Why mine?” he wails, shaking Lloyd by the edges of his blanket the minute Kai hauls them both onto the Bounty. “Why couldn’t you have snatched Jay’s credit card? He’d at least deserve it!”

“I’m sorry,” Lloyd wails back. “I learned my lesson, I promise, I’ll never do it again—”

“For crying out loud,” Nya mutters, watching them both before turning narrowed eyes on Morro. “Well, I was going to murder you, but somehow Lloyd’s still alive.”

Morro’s too tired to even fight back. “He’s like a barnacle,” he says, hazily. “Like — like those parasite things. You let them get to close and you’re stuck for life, those things, you know?”

Nya presses her lips together tightly, but her eyes sparkle in amusement.

“He got you too, huh?” Jay remarks, studying one of the grenade launchers he fished out of the water. “Join the club. Ooh, nice, this has got some real firepower…”

Morro buries his face in his hands. “Just put me out of my misery.”

“Happily,” Kai snaps, his eyes slightly manic from what’s either sleep deprivation or extreme stress. Zane catches him gently, tugging him away from Morro.

“Welcome to the team, I suppose,” Zane tells him, with an easy smile.

Morro groans. He wants to—

Well. He doesn’t exactly want to die. It’s close, but he doesn’t. Not really.

It’s an odd feeling, whatever leaves him off-kilter as he steps below the deck with Lloyd. Maybe that’s just his own sleep deprivation, but still. He snags Lloyd by the elbow before he disappears into his room, and Lloyd pauses, staring curiously at him.

“What you said,” Morro begins, hesitantly. “In the parking lot, about— forgi—that thing.”

Lloyd’s eyes dart to the floor, but he sets his jaw. “That thing. I, uh, yeah. No take backs, right?”

Morro blinks wildly, his tired brain barely able to digest that. “You know you could’ve gotten rid of me out there,” he tries, desperately reaching for sense. “You missed your chance.”

Lloyd meets his eyes again, shaking his head. “Oh, Morro,” he sighs. “Don’t you know the best way to defeat your enemy is to make them your friend?”

Morro stares at him. Lloyd gives him a sharp-teethed grin. “Besides,” he continues. “What’s the point in holding a grudge, when getting you to care about me is much better revenge?”

Morro stiffens. “I don’t care about you,” he protests.

“Nuh-uh, too late now,” Lloyd’s grin widens. “Before you know it, you’ll be calling me cousin. Eating dinner with us. Calling Kai buddy.”

“I would never,” Morro hisses.

Lloyd’s grin is positively sinister. “Oh, you will,” he says. “Because you care now.”

Morro is horrified, truly horrified, to find that saying no to Lloyd’s claim would be a lie. “You’re a monster,” he whispers.

Lloyd smiles brightly. “I’ll see you in practice tomorrow!” he calls cheerfully, before slamming the door in his face.

Morro stares after him blankly, the ugly Oceanworld blanket still hanging limply from his shoulders.

“I hate him,” he finally tells the door, wearily.

Oh, curse everything. Morro can’t even convince himself the door believes him.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #morro #this is so long i'm so sorry #i should probably start just linking these to ao3/ffn #instead of relying on the read more button #but i just!! lots of words!! #can't even write short about morro T-T #my fic

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Do It For Her: a TDP ficlet

Characters: Callum, Runaan

Rating: Gen

cw: falling, mild reference to PTSD

Summary: Callum and Runaan get thrown together, don’t exactly forgive each other, but decide not to let each other die either

Do It For Her

Callum stared up at the rigid assassin. Runaan glared back at him. The mountain clifftop underfoot lay drenched in the full moon’s light.

Rayla gestured in frustration with her swords. “We don’t have time for this. There’s a fight coming, and we need to be ready. We have to stop—”

With an ominous incoming whistle, Claudia’s dark magic bomb landed mere feet away, interrupting everyone with an ear-piercing blast that hurled them in different directions.

Rayla tumbled and skidded to a stop in some shrubs. Lain and Tiadrin vanished behind the black fire, flung entirely out of sight. But Callum had a great view of the assassin leader spiraling off the cliff into thin air, because he’d been blown off right alongside him.

“Whoa, this is very not good!” he blurted, tumbling through the air.

Below him, Runaan stared up in brief surprise, his ponytail fluttering like a castle banner, blazing white in the night, before he closed his eyes and silently accepted his fate.

Callum had seen that look once before, and it had nearly killed him. In more than one way.

Rayla. She’d never forgive me. Not so soon after she got him back.

Rayla...

Her smile blossomed in his mind’s eye, in his heart, and he felt her name warm his lips even in the wind of his fall. “Rayla…”

“Manus Pluma Volantis!” With the same thrilling tingle as always, Callum’s magewings sprouted and caught the wind, slowing him with their soft brown feathers. He twirled and circled once, getting his bearings, and then he dove after Rayla’s mentor. “Runaan!”

The assassin had begun a slow tumble, but he jerked his head at the sound of his name, and it spun him back to face Callum. His expression was not at all what Callum expected to see: the elf was… afraid. Angry. Bitter, desperate, judgmental. Did he think Callum was diving after him to make sure he didn’t make it?

“Hold onto me,” Callum called, swooping closer. “I can help you land safely!”

Runaan’s eyes raked him from head to toe. One hand flashed out, warning him not to approach further. “No.”

“Runaan! You’ll die!”

“I am already dead.”

“No, you’re not—”

“I have been for a long time.”

“Are you kidding me right now? What about Rayla? What about Ethari?” Callum dived and jinked beneath Runaan and spread his wings. The ground was swiftly approaching, and the pine treetops looked like a rising spiked floor from some kind of deadly trap. Callum glanced over his shoulder as the air lifted him, and his back thumped against Runaan’s, pinning his bowblade between them and slowing the larger man significantly. “Just… let me help you!”

Callum was getting pretty good at aerobatics, but the way the older assassin arched and sprang off of Callum’s back told him that he still had more to learn. He zipped after him with little effort, though, twirling to match the elf’s angled fall.

“Stay away from me,” Runaan grated. “Just let it end.”

“What? No! That’s not what your family wants!”

Runaan’s cold turquoise eyes judged Callum for the words he hadn’t said, though. Despite his affection for Rayla, Callum hadn’t included himself in that group. He could practically hear Runaan’s sentiment amid the whistling wind: It’s what you want, isn’t it, Human?

With a desperate growl, Callum tore his gaze from the fatalistic elf and spotted a shallow mountain lake ahead, tucked into shadow but well within range of their trajectory. “Look, I’m sorry about this, but you can get mad at me later, okay?”

“I told you to—” Runaan began, but Callum flew right into him and knocked him tumbling toward the icy little lake.

Its surface caught the moon’s light oddly, and between his two arcana, Callum realized a sudden truth with perfect clarity. His eyes widened. “Wait, that’s actually ice!”

Runaan’s hands gripped Callum’s shirt. “You fool, what are you—”

“No, no, I got this, I do! Oh man, c’mon, Callum, think!” Callum’s mind zipped in a few panicked directions at once. And then, something Ethari had shown him sprang to mind, mixed with something Lujanne had said once, as well as everything he’d been through with Rayla at the Moon Nexus. “Okay, even I admit this is kind of a long shot but—” He spun rapidly through the night air, dancing the steps he’d memorized at the Moonhenge, dragging an astonished Runaan along with him. His feet trailed streaking moon runes through the air.

“…How…?” Runaan’s grip loosened in shock.

The icy surface rocketed toward them.

“Mors Aperta!” Callum shouted.

The pair splashed down. Heaviness dragged at Callum’s feathers, and he had to release his magewings. Disoriented, he swam hard, striving for safety. He understood swimming better since connecting to the Sky arcanum, but without any air around him at all, none of his instinctive motions were helping him reach the surface very quickly. He felt like Bait, in all the worst ways. His lungs begin to cramp and burn.

A strong hand seized his collar and towed him along like a runaway basket that had fallen from a wagon into a stream. With a firm shove, Callum found himself hefted onto shore. He coughed and gasped, scrambling out and rolling onto his back, grateful for the sensation of air—

The assassin’s silhouette loomed over him. “You’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

Irritated, Callum pushed himself up onto his elbows. “I saved your life. You’re welcome.”

Runaan remained perfectly still. “You really didn’t.”

Callum tipped his head, exasperated. “You’re a real big ray of sunshine, you know that?” But even as the words left his mouth, he realized something had gone very wrong with his plan. His arcana were very quiet. And Runaan wasn’t silhouetted against the moon. He was silhouetted against a sky of candy pink. The moon setting in the distance was black.

“Oh no,” Callum breathed.

“What did you think you were doing?” Runaan demanded.

With a surge of anger, Callum scrambled to his feet. “That ice was going to kill us both because you wouldn’t let me help you! This was the only thing I could think of to save you!”

“Ripping open a portal to the world beyond life and death? That was your great plan?” Runaan scoffed. “You didn’t save us, Callum. You’ve killed us both.”

“No, we’re not dead. Jeez, you really are stubborn. We just need a Moon Phoenix feather, and we can swim right back out of here. And I just so happen to have one.” Callum began patting his pockets for the feather Rayla had left him.

At that, Runaan’s brows shot up, and he visibly reassessed Callum. “You really did jump in after her, didn’t you?”

Callum paused his search and offered Runaan a steady green gaze, edged with impatience. “Twice. And I’d do it again.”

A soft noise in the distance drew Runaan’s attention. In a blink, he’d taken his bowblade from his shoulder, nocked an arrow onto its string, and drawn.

Skysight didn’t work the same way here as it did in the living world, apparently. If it worked at all. Callum couldn’t see anything coming. “What’s out there?” he murmured guardedly, taking a small step closer to the assassin.

Runaan didn’t answer.

Movement—and a lot of it—shuffled in from the treeline ahead. Spirits, dozens and dozens of them, drifted closer. Some walked shoulder to shoulder in formation, others in loose clusters. Some stalked forward alone. They all looked angry. Most of them wore attire Callum recognized from across the five human kingdoms, but there were a handful of elves scattered among them, too. Callum’s heart sank as he remembered what Lujanne had told him about the biggest danger in visiting this place. That people would be pulled to the souls of the dead they shared a connection to, whether that connection was made of love or hate.

He gulped and looked up at the veteran assassin beside him, and his stomach filled with ice. He hadn’t had enough time to think this far ahead in his plan before they crashed down. “Oh no…”

Runaan lowered his arrow. He met Callum’s gaze and offered a tiny nod. The veteran assassin’s myriad targets were finally coming to have a word with him about their deaths.

Callum jerked his eyes back toward the oncoming horde. That was a lot of people. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he whispered.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re not going to fight them all, are you?”

“I will if you don’t hurry.”

Callum blinked. “What?”

Runaan tucked his arrow away and split his bowblade into swords. Then he spun his blades flashily and stepped between Callum and the approaching mob, turning his back. Over his shoulder, he said, “Keep looking for your feather. We don’t have much time.”

We. With a fierce grin and a sudden explosion of hope in his chest, Callum began checking his pockets again. “I was afraid you’d just…”

“You did nothing to these people, Callum. Your justice will come later.”

Callum delved into his secret pockets—where was that feather? “But you wouldn’t let me help you before, when we were falling,” he blurted. “What changed your mind?”

Runaan kept his eyes on the approaching spirits. A low rumble of malcontent voices rose like an approaching earthquake, and the spirits broke into a run. The assassin dropped into a ready stance and spun his blades again. “You could’ve flown away before. Now, you’re trapped, and you need my help.”

Callum felt something long and slender deep in a pocket and chased after it with one finger, trying to catch it under his nail. “I get it now. You like to rescue people just like Rayla does.”

Runaan didn’t answer, but he crouched in a way Callum recognized. He’d seen Rayla do that dozens of times. Just before the assassin could leap into battle, Callum seized him by the hood and jumped with as much strength as he could muster, dragging him up into the watery barrier overhead while the phoenix feather remained clenched in his other hand.

Runaan slished and slashed at the foremost spirits for several tense moments as he dangled from Callum’s rising grip, but then he caught up, swimming hard, bowblade in place across one shoulder again. He reached out and seized Callum by the arm, and their eyes met in the dim and turbulent water.

This time, it was Callum’s turn to nod.

#tdp fanfic #tdp ficlet #runaan #callum #angst #tdp #tdp angst

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 49

Masterlist

A/N: This took forever to write again, but I just had such a hard time with some of the scenes. I hope it all turned out okay.

Tw: Mentions of torture in the scene 6 and mutiliation in the scene 7 (towards the end). Also, scene 1 is Amarantha's pov, so it's a bit messed up as usual.

----

Amarantha ordered her soldiers to have their captured enemies screaming day and night, but even the screams now ringing out over her camp day and night fail to ease her fury. Not even imagining that it is Jurian screaming helps anymore, because she knows it is not and she knows that chances of her capturing him soon are low.

She lost her most valuable hostage, her direct path towards revenge. Like some new recruit with only a handful of battles under her belt, she let herself be outsmarted by Sinna of Erithia. Fell for a stupid diversion set with some idiot commander from Prythian as bait and didn’t notice the true plan until it was already too late.

On another day, she might have admired the ruthlessness of Sinna sacrificing hundreds of her own allies to save her new Princess. On another day, she might have been excited, might have started looking for an opportunity to pit herself against the Seraphim general, see which of them is truly better. But today, she is far too angry to be thrilled at the possible challenge.

It doesn’t matter how much she has the soldiers who served as a diversion tortured. Doesn’t matter that she ordered them all killed slowly and had ash bolts spiked through the commander’s wings. All that matters is that she still hasn’t gotten her hands on Jurian.

The very thought has anger flaring through her. Restlessly, Amarantha paces through her camp, looking for something to take her mind off the man who murdered her sister. Her soldiers, sensing her anger, shrink away from under har gaze.

A day spent on the march didn’t serve to improve her mood. But losing Miryam forced her to abandon her position at the Heseia Fort. Now that she doesn’t have a hostage, Jurian would never be stupid enough to attack her at such a secure position. So she had to give up some advantages, make Jurian think he has a chance to push him into attacking. And once he does, she will crush him.

Only she still needs a plan for that. She doesn’t doubt her army’s ability to take on that ragtag group of humans Jurian leads and win, but she can’t take any chances. Not when Jurian has proven more than once that he is clever, and surprisingly resilient for a human. If Amarantha wants to be entirely sure that she will defeat him, she will need some tricks up her sleeve.

“You,” she snaps at the nearest soldier, impatiently waving him over. “I’ll be gone for the next hour. Tell Lexo he’ll head the camp in my absence.”

Without waiting for a reply, she winnows away. She lands in the courtyard outside of the royal palace in Hybern. Distantly, the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs is audible, a seagull screams above.

Without pausing to look around, Amarantha stalks off towards the palace. People move aside to make space for her as she walks past. The slaves especially tremble and shrink away from her, knowing fully well that it is best not to cross Amarantha when she is this angry. On another day, Amarantha might have stopped to have her fun with one or two of them, but today, her goal is a different one.

The guards standing in front of the throne room step forward as she approaches, as if to intercept her. Amarantha doesn’t stop and at the last moment, they seem to think the better of it and jump aside. Amarantha pushes open the high doors leading into the throne room and stalks in.

With her arrival, the room falls silent. The courtiers standing throughout the room pause their chattering and stare at her, then quickly avert their eyes. On the throne, the King turns his dark eyes to her. He watches her for a moment, as if considering.

“Everybody out,” he orders without tearing his gaze away from Amarantha.

The courtiers follow the order hastily, shuffling past Amarantha out of the door as she slowly walks towards the throne. Ten feet away from it, she stops and bows.

“Your Majesty,” she says and offers him a small smile as she straightens again.

“So you deign to answer my summons at last,” the king says. There is anger in his voice, and only now does Amarantha remember that he did send her letters over the past few days. Letters she threw into the fire unopened.

“I apologize,” she says smoothly. “I was preoccupied.”

“So I heard,” he replies. “Ravenia is furious with you for refusing to hand Miryam over, and then allowing her to be freed. She demands your head.”

“What do I care about Ravenia of the Black Land?” Amarantha asks. “A woman who can’t even win a war against one of her runaway slaves has no business telling me what to do.”

“The Black Land is our most important trading partner,” the king hisses, “and you aggravate its ruler with your impertinence.”

He can truly be short-sighted, that king of hers. Does he ever look beyond what’s right in front of him? “The Black Land is done for,” Amarantha says. “It won’t recover from this, and indulging Ravenia’s wishes would have been folly. If we play this smart, though, we might be the ones who gain the power Ravenia won’t be able to hold after the way she embarrassed herself in this war.”

In truth, Amarantha doesn’t care about power, and she doesn’t believe that Hybern will ever become the new Black Land. They simply aren’t powerful enough to actually carve out a position for themselves on the Continent. No, all they’ll ever be is a country of mediocre importance, nothing more. But Amarantha doesn’t care about that, anyways, as long as she gets Jurian’s head.

Her gaze travels to the throne her king is sitting on. It is made from human bones, brown and withered with age. A charming idea, she thinks. Maybe she will make herself something from Jurian’s bones, too, after she killed him. A crown, perhaps, or a collier. Certainly something she will be able to carry around with her, so that she might always look at it and remember her victory.

“My defeating Jurian,” she says, “will benefit us far more than playing nice with some doomed queen.”

The king leans forward ever so slightly. Amarantha can see it in his eyes – he wants the power he is talking of. “Alright, then,” he says slowly. “Tell me what it is you have come here to say.”

Amarantha’s smile broadens. Of course he knows that she only came to ask him a favour. She wonders, sometimes, if he also knows that she doesn’t care at all about his orders and only plays along with his game for the power the position in his court gives her. Perhaps he does. But she is his best general, and he needs her as much as she needs him.

“I can, of course, easily defeat Jurian on my own,” she says. “But I thought it might suit your interests if I made it impressive.”

His eyes narrow. “And for that,” he says, “you need my spellbook.”

Amarantha nods ever so slightly. He allowed her to use the book once before already, during another war a century ago. But witchers are careful with who they allow access to their knowledge. Hoping that he will give it to her now is a gamble, but one she needs to take. Even without being able to use third grade spells, the book’s spells will open possibilities.  And she needs those for more than just the battle.

“I would just need to look through it once,” she says.

For what feels like an eternity, the King is silent. Then, he slowly rises from his throne. “Alright, then,” he says. “But be warned, General: If you ever disregard my orders again, I’ll see to it that you regret it.”

----

Jurian has grown tired of waiting.

It’s been almost a week now since he killed Clythia, yet Amarantha hasn’t shown her face around his camp yet. On the contrary, she seems content to do anything but deal with him. From the reports he receives, she seems entirely focused on the war effort, capturing Miryam to get Drakon to give up an important strategic location, then capturing Rhysand and his army. If Jurian didn’t know better, he would think that she doesn’t care at all about him murdering her sister.

With each passing day, he grows more restless. Killing Clythia, especially the way he did it, was meant to put an end to that horrible game of cat-and-mouse him and Amarantha were playing, but if it doesn’t…

Jurian can’t wait anymore. With every day that Amarantha still lives, he feels whatever composure he has left cracking further. He doesn’t know for how much longer he will be able to hold it together, so he has to act now, even if being the one to attack will cost him some advantages.

At least Amarantha left her position at the Heseia Fort. Jurian isn’t sure why, and giving up such an important strategic location seems stupid, but he will take whatever advantage he can get. All that really matters is that Amarantha no longer holds Miryam prisoner, which means that he can attack without having to worry about her.

But at the same time, the situation with Miryam is the one thing that makes him hesitate. He desperately wants to talk to her before he goes to face Amarantha. They said they would talk, before she got captured. Jurian still needs to explain what he did to Clythia, before she gets a wrong impression of why he did what he did. And there was something she wanted to tell him, too, but he didn’t listen to her. Maybe they should have talked then, instead of waiting.

Unfortunately, Miryam is still unconscious. Jurian supposes he could visit, but that would require seeing Drakon, and that’s something Jurian doesn’t feel like doing at all. (He doesn’t understand why they brought Miryam to the Callian Pass, anyways. They should have taken her to Telique.) If he wants to talk to Miryam before killing Amarantha, he’ll have to wait for her to wake up, and he can’t stand to wait any longer. Besides, it’s probably easier if he kills Amarantha first and then talks to Miryam. Having Amarantha’s death to show for will make it far easier to explain why killing Clythia the way he did was necessary.

So Jurian comes up with a sensible strategy. He gets his maps for the area where Amarantha’s army is usually stationed and sits down with his captains to discuss. All of them get strict orders not to tell anyone about their plans, since he is sure Andromache would stop him if she knew.

Five days after Miryam got freed, Jurian is ready. The only thing he still hasn’t figured out is how to get Andromache out of the camp so that he can take his army and go without her interfering, but as it happens, fate is on his side. In the early afternoon of the fifth day, Andromache gets called away to an Alliance meeting, leaving him as the one in charge of the camp.

Jurian allows himself a moment to contemplates whether or not to take Andromache’s soldiers along with him. He could use the additional support, but in the end, he decides against it. Stealing Andromache’s soldiers away from under her nose would be bad form, and her captains would only raise a fuss should they realize that their queen didn’t agree to this sudden change of plans. No, if Jurian wants to go after Amarantha, he’ll have to do so with his own army.

His soldiers, fortunately, are well trained, and in spite of some of his past mistakes, they still trust him blindly. It takes only a few quiet words to his captains and they are off, readying his army for the march. Unfortunately for him, Andromache’s captains are far less willing to simply accept his word.

“And you received your orders from the council?” One of them, a woman named Demetra but whom everyone calls Dem, asks. She doesn’t even bother to hide her doubt.

“Are you accusing me of lying?” Jurian asks pointedly. Sometimes, to attack is the best defence strategy.

“No, General,” Dem says. She scrunches up her nose slightly. “I still need to know if the council ordered this, though.”

“I am a member of the council, and I am ordering this right now.” Jurian says. “And you really don’t have the rank necessary to stop me.”

That’s the funny thing about being on the council: No one can really forbid him from doing things. Even Andromache, in spite of being a queen, has the same rank as him and cannot technically tell him what to do. He reckons Miryam could – or would find some other way to stop him from going after Amarantha – but she isn’t around to do so.

Dem watches him for a moment, brow furrowed. She isn’t easily cowed, neither by his rank nor his reputation, and on another day, Jurian would admire that. Today, though, it’s rather inconvenient, so he is glad when she finally inclines her head.

“Then I won’t keep you,” she says.

“Good,” he says. “I want you to stay here until your Queen returns. She will give you your next orders.” He just hopes those won’t be to chase after Jurian and drag him back.

----

“Shit,” Andromache mutters, letting herself drop onto the cushions in Nakia’s suite. “What a complete and utter mess.”

After three hours stuck in a council meeting, trying desperately to appease the other members and spending each moment hoping that Miryam would be back soon, she finally returned to her camp to find Jurian and his army gone. She had just readied her army to chase after him – either to drag him back or to help him – when she received a directive from the council that her army was to hold positions under all circumstances.

The message didn’t specify why, but it sounded serious enough that Andromache could not risk to disobey. After eight hours of sitting on her ass in the camp, not an enemy to be seen, she finally had Yanis winnow her over to Telique to find out what it was all about, only to hear that the entire message had been caused by some administrative error. Naturally, Jurian’s army was far beyond her reach by that time.

“It’s almost like those bastards did it on purpose,” Nakia grumbles.

Andromache is inclined to agree, but instead says, “Still, please be nice when we meet with Zeku.” She hates having to urge for diplomacy when being diplomatic towards these people who do nothing but make her life more difficult is the last thing she wants right now. How does Miryam manage to do that without hitting someone? “If we want to reach Jurian in time, we’ll need Alliance support.”

Annoying as it is, but without the Fae, they’ll never catch up with Jurian before he attacks Amarantha. Human armies simply aren’t fast enough to reach him in time, so they will need the council to dispatch a Fae army. For which they will need Zeku’s support.

Normally, that would be easily arranged. Zeku is, after all, one of their closest Fae allies, which generally includes mutual support. But lately, he hasn’t exactly been accommodating to his allies’ requests and Andromache doesn’t know why. Six years of working together almost seamlessly, but now, Zeku seems to have decided to be just as difficult as most of his kind.

As if on cue, a knock sounds at the door. A moment later, Zeku enters.

He inclines his head. “Your Majesties,” he says.

“Your Grace,” Andromache replies, inclining her head as well.

“Have you heard anything from Princess Miryam yet?” Zeku asks, gracefully sitting down on the couch opposite them.

Hearing Miryam referred to as Princess is still strange, but Andromache will probably have to get used to it. “There has been no news,” she says. “Anyways, it is not Miryam but Jurian we asked you here to discuss. I assume you already heard?”

Zeku nods. “I have. And what is it you want me to do about this?”

“Get us an army,” Nakia says, which really isn’t the pinnacle of diplomacy. But considering how the Fae, Zeku included, have been acting lately, it’s probably better than he deserves.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Zeku replies. Nakia looks positively murderous at that, and he quickly amends, “I am truly sorry, but I couldn’t convince the other Fae to send aid to Jurian if I tried.”

“And why is that?” Andromache asks, trying desperately to contain her rising temper. Seriously, how does Miryam do this? In her place, Andromache would probably have committed murder more than once already.

Zeku sighs. “I understand that you humans care a lot about solidarity and loyalty, and it is something I admire about. Still, you will have to understand that many people will rightfully have a hard time understanding why they should risk their lives to get him out of a mess of his own making.”

“Because we are allies?” Andromache suggests.

“Well, there are more and more people in this Alliance who consider whether they still want to be allied with Jurian,” Zeku says. “There has already been talk of having him removed from the council, and the only reason the issue hasn’t been pushed yet is the human side’s continued support for him.” He sighs. “In all honesty, I have long since been having doubt about General Jurian’s ability to lead, and I only kept them to myself out of courtesy to Miryam. But I simply cannot warrant putting my name down for him any more than I am already doing.”

Andromache crosses her arms. Nakia scowls.

“It would be political suicide,” Zeku adds with a rueful smile. “I’m sorry.”

----

“Alright,” Jurian says, standing in a hastily-erected tent an hour away from Amarantha’s camp. “Here’s the plan.”

His captains, standing around the camp, look back at him expectantly. After more than a day spent on the march, they all seem worn out, but there is a light in their eyes like they, too, can’t wait to finally end this. Jurian likes to imagine that they sense the importance of killing Amarantha, that they are driven by the same frantic energy that keeps him from feeling any tiredness.

“Amarantha likely knows we’re coming,” he says. Her spies must have reported to her the moment their army left its camp, and Jurian didn’t have the magical means to cover their march. “Still, I would like to have gain some advantages for the attack, so we split our army up.”

He points to the map that lies on a makeshift table between them. Amarantha’s camp is marked, as well as all the information their scouts could gather. Amarantha made camp by the spring of a small river at the side of a hill. The position is good, but not all that strong, its biggest advantage lying in the fact that any enemies will have to attack from below, leaving her soldiers the high ground.

“Xeni, you take half my army and stage an attack from the front,” Jurian says. “You do not need to engage in battle, just make enough noise that Amarantha thinks you are the main attack. Meanwhile, I will take the main part of the army around the hill, and then, we will attack Amarantha’s forces from behind. That way, we’ll force Amarantha’s army to fight on to fronts, and we’ll gain the high ground.”

Xeni nods, surveying the map. “Amarantha will notice if my part of the army is smaller, though.”

She’s a good soldier – smart. Jurian would have made her his second months ago already, but he could never quite bear to give Tia’s position to another. Maybe after the battle is over, he will finally do it.

“The trees will provide cover,” he says. “Ideally, Amarantha won’t be able to get a solid count of our numbers during the battle, and my part of the army will only start moving once yours attacked and Amarantha is distracted.”

That means there will be a dangerous moment where Xeni’s army is forced to hold Amarantha off on her own. It’s a risk, but it will likely take a while for the battle to truly get heated, and by then, Jurian’s army should be there to provide reinforcements.

The battle will without doubt end in a duel between him and Amarantha. This will be the fight that decides the outcome of the battle, Jurian is sure of it. And he is equally sure that he will win. Amarantha will be driven by fury, and angry people tend to make mistakes. Jurian will use that. The only thing that might become a problem is that she has magic – however little it might be – and he does not. But Jurian picked up a few small tricks from Miryam over the years, and he wove spells into his armour that should be able to ward off most attacks.

It will work. It has to work.

----

Drakon genuinely hates the Callian Pass.

Everyone always talks about how hard it is to take it, but no one ever mentioned to Drakon that once you have taken it, it is near-impossible to get away from it again. Jurian is facing Amarantha in battle, he might be dying right now, and he is stuck in this cursed castle, unable to do anything. Miryam is still unconscious, and while the healers assure him that she will be fine, they aren’t entirely sure when she will wake up. (Apparently, there is some difficulty with estimating how quickly her body heals, given that she is neither fully Fae nor human, and half Fae healing abilities might fall anywhere in between.)

Drakon feels stuck in some never-ending nightmare where the people he cares about are always facing some kind of danger, and he is stuck here, unable to help. To make matters worse, Artax now has his soldiers probing the walls day and night. They still haven’t attacked outright, but they certainly have a knack for making everything more stressful.

Right now, Artax just finished his sixth pseudo-attack on the castle for the day. Drakon is standing on the battlement, flanked by Sinna and Helion, and looks down at the retreating soldiers below.

“What is he playing at?” Drakon asks. “Why won’t he just attack, put an end to this?”

“Because he is smart,” Sinna says. “He is trying to wear us out, make us expend our resources and keep us on our toes so that when he finally attacks in earnest, his own casualties will be lower.”

“That’s stupid, though,” Drakon says. “He only has the advantage as long as Miryam is out of the game.”

“I doubt the possibility of a human woman ever being a danger to him so much as crossed Artax’s mind,” Helion says, smiling slightly. His smile fades, though, as his attention returns to the enemy army. “And much as I admire Miryam’s abilities, I honestly cannot say his assessment is wrong. I doubt she would stand much of a chance against him.”

Drakon looks down at the army camping below, at the red flags flying in the wind. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he says quietly.

Artax is, without doubt, the most skilled witcher of their age. He has centuries of practice on Miryam. But Drakon has seen the way she looked at him during their last meeting, eyes burning with so much hatred that they seemed to glow from within. Drakon may not know what Artax did to her, but he knows that Miryam hates him just as much as Ravenia.

So far, they never faced each other in battle. Should it ever come to that, they might just rip apart the world between them. But in the end, Drakon doesn’t think that Artax will walk away triumphant. Or walk away at all, for that matter.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Helion says. “Because I certainly can’t take on Artax, and I don’t know anyone else on our side who can.” He pushes off the stone railing he was leaning against and inclines his head to Drakon. “I’ll go inspect the wards again,” he says, winks at Sinna and walks off.

Sinna rolls her eyes at his retreating form. It’s not that her and Helion don’t get along – as far as Drakon knows, they work together quite well – but they are simply very different people with very different styles and preferences. Helion realizes early on that it is very easy for him to get on Sinna’s nerves, and he seems to enjoy occasionally poking fun at her. Drakon finds the entire matter amusing, and he suspects Helion does, too.

Down below, the retreating soldiers have now reached their camp again. Drakon leans against the stone balustrade and stares down, but his mind is on a different battlefield, a different army. He hates that Jurian is facing Amarantha without either him or Miryam around to help him. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Jurian’s abilities, but lately, he has been reckless in his decisions, especially when it comes to Amarantha.

“You’re worried,” Sinna says. “About Jurian?”

Drakon nods. “I feel like I should be doing something to help him. It isn’t right that he has to fight Amarantha on his own.”

“You want my opinion?” Sinna asks.

Drakon hesitates, then gives her a half-smile. “Actually, probably not,” he says.

Sinna has the tendency to be honest about things, and in this specific case, Drakon doubts her honestly would be particularly pleasant to hear. After all, Sinna told him over a year ago already to press for Jurian’s removal from the council and the war, likely to avoid precisely this outcome. Besides, she doesn’t like Jurian, which is likely to make her judgement of his actions rather harsh.

“Probably smart,” Sinna says.

Drakon is almost tempted to ask her for some reassurance, but in the current situation, that would basically come down to asking her to lie to him. Which is something he definitely does not want. Besides, reassurances are never quite as convincing if you have to ask for them.

----

Rhys doesn’t know how long it has been since he got captured. Days, weeks, months. It all blurs together. All he knows is that he’s in pain, so much pain that he can’t even think straight. The constant screaming of his dying soldiers rings through the camp, piercing his head like knifes.

He can’t take it anymore. All he wants is for it to end. But there is no end. The soldiers who are torturing don’t even ask questions, so there’s nothing he can do, nothing he can says, to make them stop. If there was anything they were asking, he knows he would have given it by now, if only to buy himself a moment of peace.

There’s only one thought that ever manages to pierce the haze of pain in his mind, and that is the thought of revenge. He will kill Amarantha for this. Kill her for what her soldiers are doing to his, to him, and for the fact that she doesn’t even seem to care. He will kill her. And if it’s the last thing he does.

They tied him up between two trees and spiked ash bolts through his wings. He’ll have to tear them free if he wants to fight, destroy his wings in the process, but that doesn’t matter. If he does manage to kill Amarantha, he will be killed soon afterwards, anyways.

As long as he just manages to take her with him, it won’t matter.

Still, he hesitates. Again and again, he tries to summon the courage to tear his wings free from the spikes, but his muscles refuse to obey his commands. He can’t. He loves his wings, loves the sky, and he can’t bring himself to destroy this.

And then, suddenly, it is too late. A horn blast rings out, followed by a second one, then a third, louder than the screams. Slowly, painfully, Rhys looks up.

From where he is chained up, he has a clear view over the camp, so he can easily see the army that is stepping out of the forest in the valley below and approaching.

Distantly, Rhys is aware that he should be glad. If Jurian and his army has arrived, if they are going to defeat Amarantha, he will be saved. But all he can think is they are stealing my revenge.

----

Sneaking through the forest with a thousand soldiers in tow is precisely as challenging as it sounds. It is made harder by the fact that there are magical traps and wards throughout the entire forest, and they keep having to stop and wait for the few Fae or humans with distant Fae ancestry in their group to disable them. They do their best to hurry, but they can’t risk setting off an alarm, so they are still slower than Jurian would like.

It takes them precisely fifteen minutes to walk around the hill and another five to climb up again on the other side. It isn’t much, but still, Jurian’s stomach clenches with worry with every moment they waste. With only half of his army, Xeni won’t stand a chance against Amarantha. They need to hurry.

Finally, they make it to the top of the hill. Jurian holds up a hand, commanding his army to stop, and steps forward until the edge of the forest. From there, he gets a good view of Amarantha’s camp lying a bit below, and the battle that’s raging at its edge.

Jurian can make out Amarantha amongst her soldiers. Her red hair is like a flag in the slight wind, clearly marking her where she stands, dressed in dark armour, at the centre of her troops.

Further down, he can see Xeni’s part of his army. They keep their position at the edge of the forest like he told them to. Jurian is about to give the order for attack to his army when Amarantha suddenly turns around towards him. Jurian freezes, sure that she has seen him, but Amarantha merely surveys the trees they are hiding in for a moment before turning back to the attacking army. Jurian could have sworn she smiles before she does, though.

A shiver runs down his spine. His gut tells him that something is wrong. It is too late to go back, though, and anyways, Jurian didn’t come this far only to turn back at a mere feeling.

He turns around to the soldiers waiting behind him. He opens his mouth to order the attack, but before he gets a word out, a slight tremor runs through the ground below. Jurian spins back around to the battle. His eyes immediately find Amarantha, who has raised her hands high above her head and appears to be chanting something.

Another tremor runs through the ground. But that isn’t possible. Amarantha isn’t a witch, and none of Jurian’s reports on her hinted at her having any affinity for spells. Her king is a witcher, but Amarantha, as far as he knows, rarely ever relies on magic in battle. Still, she is clearly casting a spell now. Jurian takes a step forward, as if he’ll be able to stop whatever she is doing.

Just below Amarantha’s camp, the ground bursts open. Behind Jurian, someone gasps, and he takes another step forward. But there’s nothing he can do as a fountain of water shoots out of the ground. Drops glitter in the moonlight, and for a moment, it almost looks pretty.

Then, the water goes crashing down into the valley in a giant flood wave.

Jurian is distantly aware that he screams something, but the sound is drowned out by the roaring of the water. The wave is high enough that he can’t even make out the tips of the trees anymore.

“No,” Jurian whispers. He can’t believe what he is seeing. There’s no way Amarantha just summoned a flood wave from nothing, there’s no way she… “No, please.”

His fingers begin to tremble. Below, the water recedes slowly, rushing further down into the valley. In its wake, it leaves trees torn from the ground, bent over and broken. There is no sign left of the army that was standing there until a moment ago. Jurian’s entire body is shaking now.

Amarantha turns back around, and this time, Jurian is sure that she smiles at him. He realizes that he is no longer hidden behind the trees, that he is standing in plain sight, but he can’t bring himself to care.

No. No, this can’t be real. His soldiers are fine, they will be fine. They didn’t… Half his army. He can’t have lost half his army in under a minute. It simply isn’t possible. And yet, his soldiers are gone, and he knows, deep down, that they won’t have survived this.

With shaking hands, Jurian reaches for his sword. As soon as his fingers close around the hilt, his mind stills. His senses seem to sharpen, and his focus zeroes in on Amarantha. Slowly, he draws his sword.

“Attack!” He shouts, raising his sword into the air.

 Around Jurian, the battle rages. He is only distantly aware that his side is losing, that they are sorely outnumbered and don’t stand a chance. In his mind, he still sees the wave rushing down into the valley. He lost half his army in under a minute.

Amarantha. He needs to find her, needs to kill her. As soon as she is gone, it will… it will all be fine, then. He knows it will be. But the battle is so chaotic, and he has no idea how to find her. He simply keeps fighting, killing his way through the enemy soldiers, hoping he will find her somehow.

In the end, he isn’t sure if he finds Amarantha or if she finds him. But suddenly, they are standing mere feet away from each other on the battlefield. Around them, their soldiers part, as if to make space for them. Jurian barely notices. All he can see is Amarantha, standing there, mere feet away from him.

He thinks of his soldiers, mutilated beyond recognition and left for him to find. Of the flood wave crashing down into the valley and killing half of his army. Of all the pain and guilt and suffering, all caused by Amarantha. It will end today. He will end it all, here and now.

“I’m going to kill you,” he says very softly, not caring if she hears him or not.

A smile twists Amarantha’s mouth. “You are welcome to try,” she replies.

They both attack at the same time. Blades flashing in the air, they circle each other, jump forward and back as if caught in some twisted form of a dance. Amarantha is faster and stronger, but Jurian knew that in advance. She is also undoubtedly good, her technique nearly flawless, but like he estimated, she fights angry instead of smart.

Anger seems to dictate her every movement. She puts too much force behind her blows, and takes nearly every opening Jurian gives. She’s like a wild animal, eager for his blood, and it makes her reckless.

In the end, it is him who lands the first blow, a slice across Amarantha’s shoulder. She snarly at him for it, as if she is truly more animal than person, and Jurian grins.

Amarantha raises her hand and sends a flare of dark power shooting towards him. Jurian dodges, but not fast enough to avoid the entirety of the blast. The fringes still hit – and bounce off harmlessly at the ward that jumps to life around Jurian. His entire body seems to vibrate under the power, but the ward holds.

“Learned some tricks from that witch-friend of yours?” Amarantha hisses. “Maybe she should have taught you how to counter my flood spell.” She laughs. “But wait. You’re human – you couldn’t have.”

Jurian charges. This time, he is the one whose attacks are fuelled by anger, and he forces Amarantha back a few steps. The laugh vanishes from her face as Jurian’s blade slices through her armour and into her arm.

In answer, she sends another wave of power shooting towards him. His wards crack under the assault, and he can almost feel them splinter. Amarantha might not have much magical power to call her own, but it is more than Jurian can counter with the few tricks Miryam showed him. Under her next attack, his wards shatter entirely and he gets thrown to the ground. He only barely manages to roll aside in time to avoid Amarantha’s sword shooting for his head, and jumps back to his feet.

“Are you so pathetic a fighter that you need magic to defeat me?” He shouts at her.

“I’d defeat you even unarmed,” Amarantha snarls back at him.

“Go ahead, then.” Jurian laughs. “Drop your sword.”

She doesn’t, of course, but she doesn’t use her magic again, either. For a moment, they simply circle each other. Jurian looks at Amarantha and sees his own anger reflected on her face. She loses her patience first and charges. Jurian manages a slice to her cheek, although she moves aside quickly enough to keep it shallow.

But to his dismay, Jurian notices that he is beginning to tire. Amarantha is faster, stronger, and with each moment the fight lasts, he is finding it harder and harder to keep up. He needs to end this before he becomes too exhausted to keep fighting, but while she makes more mistakes than he does, she doesn’t give him to opening he would need to win.

They break apart again. Circle each other before attacking once more. This time, Jurian is a bit too slow in his reactions, and she manages a cut to Jurian’s side. Her sword slices through his armour and bites into the flesh below. He barely feels the pain, but the blow still makes him stumble.

Amarantha is already moving again, so quickly Jurian can barely follow. She brings her blade down in an arc, metal glinting in the moonlight. Jurian jerks his own sword down in an attempt to counter the blow, the movement far too sloppy. He only barely catches the blow, and with his sword’s hilt instead of the blade. It isn’t a clean parry, and Amarantha’s blade slices his leg as she swings it around.

Jurian changes his grip on his sword to meet her next attack, but the hilt is suddenly slick in his grip and the sword almost slips out of his fingers. He looks down and finds his hand drenched in blood. It is running all over his sword’s grip, dripping down the blade. So much blood… Jurian blinks down at his hand, suddenly dizzy. It looks wrong, under all that blood. Almost like…

Jurian stares and stares at his hand. The hand that is now missing three fingers. His index finger is gone entirely, and from there, the slice goes diagonally over his hand, severing most of his middle and ring finger. Then, as if it had been waiting for him to realize what had happened, the pain hits. Jurian gasps, tears making his vision go blurry.

A movement at the corner of his eye catches his attention. At the last moment, he jumps back, only narrowly avoiding being beheaded by Amarantha’s blow. He nearly drops his sword in the process, though.

Amarantha bares her teeth in what might have been a smile. “Already done?” She taunts.

Jurian grits his teeth and changes his sword hand, doing his best to ignore the pain, and the blood still gushing from where his fingers used to be. The sword must have gotten heavier in the last moments, though, because he can only barely lift it.

“Not yet,” he manages through gritted teeth.

But he is done. He feels it with every blow he manages to execute only sloppily, with every too-slow reaction. His body is trembling and he can only barely hold onto his sword. He does not land a single hit, and with each moment, his vision swims more and more. As Amarantha continues to attack, he has to yield step after step.

Amarantha smiles at him. “Oh, I think you are done,” she says.

The force of her next blow knocks Jurian’s sword straight out of his hand. He stumbles back, loses his balance and falls to the ground. The impact knocks the air straight out of his lungs and for a moment, Jurian simply blinks up at the dark sky above, unable to so much as move.

Amarantha’s face appears above him. She still has her sword, and its tip is now hovering only an inch away from his throat.

No, Jurian thinks, this is all wrong. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. But he can’t even summon the strength to move. His mind is moving too slowly, he has a hard time holding on to individual thoughts. He is strangely cold, and everything hurts. Maybe he will die from blood loss before Amarantha manages to kill him.

Slowly, he tears his gaze away from Amarantha and towards her sword, its blade painted red with his blood. If he is going to die, her face isn’t going to be the last thing he sees. His thoughts drift to Miryam. He should have waited to speak to her before rushing off to face Amarantha. Now, he won’t get the chance. And his soldiers… he led them to their deaths, all of them, and then, he didn’t even get the chance to avenge them. When it came down to it, he failed. He failed all of them.

His vision blurs further, but still, he keeps his eyes trained on the sword, waiting for the blow to come. What is she waiting for?

“I won’t kill you,” Amarantha says.

Jurian refuses to look at her, won’t give her that satisfaction. He keeps his eyes trained on her sword, still waiting for it to fall in spite of what she said.

“No,” Amarantha says softly, almost gently and moves her sword up towards his face. “I won’t make it that easy for you.”

The sword comes down and Jurian screams.

----

Jurian faced Amarantha in battle and lost. Most of his soldiers were killed, he himself captured.

The news arrived two hours ago, brought by one of Grand Duke Zeku’s spies, and the Alliance has been in an uproar ever since. It is almost worse than when Miryam got captured, although this time around, most people seem more concerned with the lost battle than the fact that a member of their council got captured by the enemy. In fact, most of the Fae don’t seem to care about Jurian’s fate at all. At least that’s the impression Andromache got after listening to the council’s endless arguments for the better part of an hour.

Only a week without Miryam around to deal with the council, and she already feels like she is slowly losing her mind. With every passing day, she hates the council more and more. Their endless quarrelling, the needless arguments, the fact that they never ever do what it takes without at least an hour of arguing in advance.

But what annoys her the most is the lack of loyalty, of principle. Andromache is human, and if there is one thing she learned, it’s that you always stick together. You have each other’s back. Most of her Fae allies seem more inclined to put a knife in her back the moment she lets her guard down, though, and loyalty seems to be a foreign concept to them as they prove again and again.

“Amarantha is no longer at the Heseia Pass,” she says slowly, trying hard not to let the annoyance creep into her voice. “An attack could be executed with little risk, especially with Amarantha so focused on Jurian that she likely doesn’t pay attention to anything else.”

She tries very hard not to think about what Amarantha’s focus likely looks like. She has seen what Hybern does to their prisoners, and Amarantha will likely think up something especially gruesome for Jurian. Andromache needs to get him out somehow, but the council is blocking her at every turn.

“How many times do you wish to go over this, Your Majesty?” Shey asks. He actually has the nerve to sound like she is the one who’s being difficult. “We do not risk lives unnecessarily to free captured commanders.”

And this is exactly Andromache’s problem. These are their allies they are talking about. It is their duty to do everything in their power to free them, and even though Andromache isn’t in favour of sacrificing many lives for one, this is hardly the case here.

“It isn’t just about Jurian,” she says. “It’s also about all the soldiers that got captured with him, and about the Night Court soldiers.” She hesitates. “Rhysand,” she adds, because it is entirely possible that the Fae will care more about one of their own than about a human and because she knows Mor cares. “And about the chance to win a big victory against Hybern. Why are you so opposed to this?”

She looks around the table, desperately searching for support. But the only Fae who seems to be on her side is Drakon, who winnowed over from the Callian Pass specifically for this meeting. (Unfortunately, he didn’t bring Miryam along, which would have made things easier for everyone involved.)

“We simply cannot spare the troops right now,” Shey says. Complete and utter bullshit, of course. The war is going well enough for them that they would have the troops to spare, and easily.

Andromache shoots a helpless look at Drakon. He just lifts his shoulders slightly and turns to Zeku with a pleading look on his face. The Grand Duke ignores him, as he ignores most of their problems lately. Andromache will need to have a word with him. Or better yet, she will ask Miryam to have a word with him once she returns, since she will probably be more diplomatic about it.

Andromache considers calling for a vote, but what use would it be? She already knows the outcome. She probably shouldn’t have hoped. If their allies weren’t willing to save Miryam, odds of them moving a finger for Jurian, whom most of them don’t even like, were slim at best. Still, Andromache had hoped… But she should have known better.

Abruptly, she rises to her feet. “If you insist,” she says, and now, her voice is sharp. “I certainly won’t forget your generosity.”

With that, she stalks out of the room. She only barely manages to keep from slamming the door.

By the time she reached her room, she at least managed to calm herself down far enough that she can offer the guards a smile. Inside, Mor is waiting sprawled on the couch in the drawing room. When Andromache enters, she straightens.

“Anything?” She asks. Andromache knows that her concern is probably more about Rhysand than Jurian, but that’s only fair, since Andromache is certainly more concerned about Jurian than about Rhysand.

“No,” Andromache says, letting herself drop to the couch next to Mor. “Fuck each and every one of these bastards.”

Andromache’s calling, she decides, does not lie in diplomacy. She thought she was good at it, and before this war began, she never had any trouble, but these days, she feels more like screaming at Shey with every passing moment.

“Shit,” Mor says and buries her face in her hands.

She worries about Rhysand, enough that she barely sleeps anymore. Andromache cannot claim to care a whole lot about the heir to the Night Court, but she cares about Mor, so she keeps reminding herself to also care about Rhysand.

“We’ll figure something out,” she says and puts an arm around Mor’s shoulders. “Rhysand is still alive, I’m sure he will be fine.” Even though he’s currently being tortured, as both of them know. It makes her reassurances far less convincing.

Andromache’s thoughts drift back to Jurian. The report they received said nothing of what state he is in, only that he’s alive. Andromache privately thinks that it might have been better for him if he hadn’t survived the battle. Now, he will still die, but Amarantha will likely find a way to make it slow and painful. And Andromache won’t be able to stop it. They got lucky with Miryam, but Andromache isn’t stupid enough to believe anything like this will happen again. Not when Amarantha has likely been planning Jurian’s death without pause for weeks.

A knock sounds at the door and one of her guards pokes his head in. “Your Majesty?” He asks. “Prince Drakon is waiting outside, he wants to speak to you.”

“Sure, let him in,” Andromache says.

Drakon enters a moment later. Both his feathers and hair are slightly ruffled and he looks about as tired as Andromache feels.

“Hello Only Fae Council Member I Can Currently Stand,” she says. “Could you pass me the wine from the cupboard?”

“Sure,” Drakon says. He walks over to the cupboard and searches around a bit before fishing out a bottle of wine. “I can’t find glasses,” he says.

“Doesn’t matter,” Andromache says.

Drakon sits down on an armchair opposite them and hands the bottle to Andromache. She takes a swig, then passes it to Mor. They end up passing the bottle around, although that strategy is hardly very effective since neither Mor nor Drakon can actually get drunk on human drinks. Andromache for her part could theoretically get drunk, but she takes care not to drink too much. There might be developments at any moment, and she needs to keep a clear head.

“I keep feeling like we should have done something,” Drakon mutters. “I mean, we all saw this coming, we should have…” He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“We should have taken away his command position,” Andromache says. “Months ago already.”

Drakon wraps his wings around himself like some kind of blanket. Andromache wonders if it’s as comforting as being hugged. If it is, she finds it extremely unfair that she doesn’t have wings – she could certainly use a hug right now. As if sensing her feelings, Mor moves closer to her and wraps an arm around her. Andromache leans into the embrace, immediately feeling better.

“I tried to talk to Zeku after the meeting,” Drakon says. He sounds miserable. “But he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“He doesn’t listen to me either,” Andromache says. “You wouldn’t by chance have any news regarding Miryam?”

Drakon shakes his head. “Still unconscious.”

“Damn,” Andromache mutters. Miryam might have been able to somehow turn this around. And if she would have had to cleave the world apart to do so, she would have found a way to save Jurian. Andromache rubs her hands over her face, sighing. “One army. We’d only need one army and we could free them.”

One army capable of travelling more swiftly than humans are able to, unfortunately. Andromache could take her own army and go – considered doing just that more than once already – but Amarantha’s spies would see them coming from miles off, and any chance they might have had of freeing the prisoners would vanish. Even if Andromache should win, chances are Amarantha would kill Jurian and Rhysand before she allowed them to be freed.

“I have an army,” Drakon says, “but…” He shrugs helplessly.

“You can’t, I know,” Andromache says. “There’s nothing any of us can do. We’ll just have to wait.”

----

A/N: This chapter was originally meant to go longer, but I had to split it up for pacing reasons (and also because of the length). This means that the next chapter is already mostly written, though, so I should have it done within a few days.

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed

#writing this was PAIN #😭 #still not entirely satisfied with how some parts turned out but ig that's just how it is sometimes #before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon

[aqua-the-smiter]

Wind Guide You

Chapter 2 - The Runaway

Arcee was just out for a walk. That’s all.

Why couldn’t she ever catch a break?

Her peds crunched along the gravelly ground and her servos were clasped behind her back as she slowly trudged forward, going nowhere in particular, just out to clear her processor. The land was barren and surrounded by cliffs and ridges, and the sky was overcast, swathed in a blanket of grey clouds that took away most of the shadows. It was calm if a bit gloomy, and the wind whispered over the ground, occasionally flicking pebbles.

The two-wheeler guessed it was just one of those days where everything was dull and a bit slow. She could tell some of the other ‘bots felt it as well, and seeing as there were no present emergencies to tend to, she’d come out here. Partially for some peace, partially just because she wanted to be alone, and (though she’d never admit it out loud) she still felt a need deep in her spark to silently mourn Cliffjumper.  

Maybe it was silly. Maybe she should have gotten over it by now. She had, somewhat, but something in her still ached everything she thought of him. Thus, she took small chunks of her time every day to grieve, and it slowly minimized her pain by degrees, bit by bit. It helped.

What didn’t, however, was finding a Decepticon passed out among the stones.

“What in the  Pit? ” Arcee asked herself out loud, staring down at the dull silver chassis of Megatron’s right servo bot.

Starscream.

At first she thought he was dead. He was lying as still as the rocks he was surrounded by, but as she watched him, she noticed like bits of movement: a wing flicking, a digit scraping, a ped twitching. No, he was still among the living, unfortunately.

She stood frozen, staring at the motionless form of the seeker, the very ‘Con who had murdered the bot she was out here mourning. Her spark clenched in anger, and she let one of her servos turn into a blaster before backing up and lowering her arm, trying to calm herself. It would be stupid to just shoot him right off the bat.

  Think, Arcee.

Primus, she wanted to just shoot him in the faceplates and be done with it. He was the reason Cliff was gone, and he’d put them through so much grief besides that, both on Earth and off. Her spark seethed, even the small bit of pity she held for him not enough to quench her desire to pay him the same mercy he’d paid Cliff; that meant none at all.

She took a better look at him. He looked...ragged. Worn out, like he’d been flying solo for a while, the kind of wear that couldn’t be faked. Her optics widened when they landed on his chest plate. The Decepticon insignia was gone, and in its place were scratches. She thought hard. How long ago had their last battle with the ‘Cons been?

Somehow, by some miracle, Starscream had defected between the aftermath of then and now. What else could it be? Maybe a trap, but something like this wasn’t Megatron’s style. Sure, he could’ve been kicked out, but if he had been, most likely, if she even found him, he’d be a corpse. He decidedly was  not  that.

She sat next to his still chassis, thinking. What to do with a possibility renegade ‘con? Primus, her luck was shoddy.

She was oblivious to how long she’d been there, feeling the cold breeze over her chassis, listening to it howl between the empty places in the rocks. Starscream did nothing more than twitch.

  What to do, what to do?

It would be easiest to just terminate his aft right there, pull the thorn that was him out of their collective sides right away. Nearly all of her  wanted  to, and yet...that little drop of pity still yanked at the edge of her processor. She didn’t know exactly why, but something about the ‘Con just made her feel bad for him. Maybe it was the desperate way he vied for Megatron’s favor, maybe it was the fact he was always getting whacked in the ankles every time something was going right, or maybe it was just that he was excellent at making  that  particular sad face. There was something just...pathetic about him, and she granted him a bit of mercy for it.

  Wait…

Call Prime. Of course, the simplest solutions were often the best, and she berated herself for not having thought of it sooner. It should have been the first thing that sprung to mind.

Maybe she was still much angrier about Cliffjumper than she thought.

-Optimus, it’s Arcee.- she said over her comms.

-We were just starting to get worried about you.-  came the reply of his usual firm but kind tone.  -Where have you been for so long?-

-Like I said, just out for a walk. You’ll never believe who I found.- she baited, her voice unintentionally taking on the same excited tone as Miko’s whenever Wheeljack came around.

-Did you run into trouble? If you've found an energon mine, come back, don’t try and clear it yourself.- Prime warned, sounding for all the worlds like a gently chiding father.

-That was  one time  , I’m  fine. I didn’t go out looking for trouble, it found me, in the form of Starscream. He’s recharging on the ground right next to me, all dinged up. What do you want me to do with him?-  she asked, getting straight to the point, and trying not to sound too willing to offline him.

-Starscream?-  The Prime paused, just a little bit alarmed  -Are you sure he’s alone? Is there anything off about him?-

-He scratched his insignia off his chest. Just a bunch of claw marks there now. It looks like he’s defected. He’s definitely still alive.- Arcee confirmed.

-Scratched the insignia off his chest.- Optimus repeated slowly, the gears in his processor whirling. That sounded like a sure sign of defection. Was it too much to hope for? He has long since seen potential in bringing Starscream over to the Autobots, and now might be his chance.  -Give me your coordinates and wait there with him. I’ll meet you there.-

-Personally?-  Arcee asked in surprise.  -Are you sure?-

  -I’m sure. Don’t worry, I won’t come alone.-

-Alright.- She relented, berating herself. This was Optimus Prime. There was nothing to worry about.

<>{◇}<>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The familiar green spirals of the groundbridge gave way to the figures of Prime, Ratchet and Bulkhead. Arcee rose to her peds when she saw them, raising an arm in greeting. Starscream still rested next to her, optics firmly offlined. She resisted the urge to give him a swift kick and ran over to her comrades.

   “Hey ‘Cee!” Bulkhead called to her. “Where’d you dig up Screamer?”

  “He was on the floor when I got here.” Arcee replied, hands on her hips as the four of them made their way over to the recharging seeker. She nudged him with the toe of her ped as the others looked on. “And if you’ll look to your right you’ll see the Decepticon’s possible ex-commander, passed out cold.” she gestured to him with a servo.

  “He looks like a Predacon chewed him.” Ratchet said, eyeing him warily. “Probably been on his own for a while now. Almost definitely has an energon deficiency.”

   “You can tell all that from looking at him?” Arcee questioned, raising an optic ridge.

  “More or less. I’ve been at this for a long time, you know.” Ratchet said, his tone implying a lecture if this conversation kept rolling

   “So...what are we going to do with him? We can’t just leave old Screamer here, can we?” Bulkhead asked.

   “Who says we can’t?” Arcee spat. “If we take him with us, he becomes even more of our problem then he already is.”

   “We’re not leaving him.” Optimus interjected, his voice having an air of finality.

   “Why?!” Arcee exclaimed, failing to tamp down her anger. “What could we possibly do with  Starscream of all bots?!”

  Optimus gave her one of his looks that could possibly make even Unicron himself feel guilty. “We could help him, make him one of us. Show him the mercy he was never granted from Megatron.”

   “And that he never granted Cliffjumper!”

  “If we pull him to us, he’ll never be in a position to do what he did to Cliffjumper again.” he replied coolly. Arcee said nothing, just crossed her arms and turned away.

   There was no argument after that. Optimus was determined, and he made a good point. They brought Starscream to the base, dragging him home like an abandoned kitten found on the side of the road.

<>{◇}<>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Starscream’s red optics flew open and were greeted to complete darkness and silence. He felt strange, and it took him a few moments to realize he wasn’t hallucinating or shaking from energon starvation anymore. That should have been comforting, but it only shot him through with fear. Someone had gone through some effort to take care of him. Had Megatron found him? Was he back in the belly of the Pit that was the Nemesis?

His head whipped back and forth trying to get some kind of grip on his surroundings but it was black as pitch. He tried to sit up, but his wrists and ankles were tied down to the berth. Megatron must have found him when he collapsed, there was no other explanation. He was probably thinking up some new, horrifically creative way to ensure his loyalty, or wanted him for some nightmarish way to end his life. His spark was hammering inside it’s chamber.

His bonds wouldn’t break no matter how hard he strained at them, but that could possibly be because he was too weakened after so much time alone and with no energon. He felt his optics well up with washer fluid as his spark pounded, so loud in his audials he would’ve sworn anyone outside this...place could hear it writhing in his chest as he started to shake and quiver.

An audial-splitting shriek tore from his voice box as he tried to tear free of his bonds, his back arching as he struggled.  

He couldn’t do this again.

#fanfic #fanfiction #transformers prime #tfp #tfp arcee #tfp starscream

[bnhascribbles]

Acrophobia

Hawks x Reader

Friendship, Secrets, Arguing; This was supposed to be something completely different, but stuff happens the way it does I guess. This was a hard one to trudge through and there MIGHT be a part 2 eventually if I can get through this slump I’m in. As always, thanks for reading!

Words: 3k

Warnings: swearing

Your bubble tea sweats in your palms, condensation gathering along the thin plastic and mirroring the layer of moisture clinging to your forehead.  Despite the heat (or maybe because of it), the air feels icy as it whisps across your cheeks. The sensation makes it impossible to forget exactly where you are, where you’ve been coerced to spend your lunch break.  You duck low, taking another gulp of your drink as you lean your back against the concrete barrier lining the rooftop.

It doesn’t help. Your tea—every dentist’s nightmare, infused with all sorts of artificial sweeteners—is bitter on your tongue.  The world seems fuzzy too, like you’re looking at a video taken by the world’s crappiest flip phone.  Underwater. With a cracked lens.  Through it all, you tingle from head to toe.  You’re half convinced you’ve got ant colonies ready to crawl out from beneath your nails.

So much for exposure therapy.  Whatever psychologist came up with that brilliant idea—overcoming your fear by throwing yourself into it—was probably some sort of sadist. Sure, it was a bit more complicated than just forcing yourself into an uncomfortable situation. You’d worked yourself up to this point. After what felt like thousands of appointments with your therapist, you could finally look at pictures of cliffs and feel nothing. You could close your eyes and imagine peering over the edge, seeing the drop. That was an easy thing to do when you were sitting in an office on the ground floor. This wasn’t easy.

You wish you could be more like Hawks. He had a “thing” for high places. It wasn’t entirely unexpected considering his quirk. He’d probably been flying for as long as he’d been walking, and what person takes the time to think about the pavement between steps?  To really consider the possibility that they could trip, crack their face on the cement and...whatever.  Never once in your many years knowing him had you ever seen him show an ounce of hesitation in his work.  Cartwheels performed midair, nosedives from thousands of feet up—it was like the man had no fear whatsoever. Not even the healthy kind. Maybe he believed he just couldn’t fall, not even if he tried.  

The tingling starts up again. God, what you would do to have some of that blissful arrogance of his. Distraction. You need a distraction. As if on cue, one presents itself in the form of Hawks’s ridiculous ringtone blaring out of his pocket.

“Shouldn’t you get that?” You ask, only pull your lips away from your straw for long enough to finish the question. 

If Hawks hears you, he does a god-awful job of showing it.  Rather than reaching into his jacket, doing anything he can to silence the sound of the Angry Bird theme—already nearing the end of its third repeat—he simply swings a leg over the same barrier you’d take cover behind. He seems completely unperturbed by the noise and the 40-story drop beneath the soles of his feet.  Even imagining the look of it is enough to make it feel like rooftop is rocking beneath you, less-than-solid. 

“It’s probably just the agency.” Hawks says, like that’s a perfectly normal reason to ignore a call in the middle of the day.

“All the more reason to answer it.  It’s your agency!”  When he doesn’t so much as turn back to look at you, you press on.  “What if it’s an actual emergency, huh?  What if some daycare somewhere is burning down and they desperately need society’s darling to go and do damage control?  Really gonna risk letting the whole of society crumble because you need a longer coffee break?”

Hawks twists so that he’s facing the rooftop, his coffee can pressed to his lips.  The phone rings and rings and rings, and he just stares down at you, unconcerned, with one eyebrow quirked upwards. Only when his phone finally goes silent does he let his smirk peek over the edge of his drink.

“Whoops.  Looks like I missed it.”

You shoot him a look.  He has the gall to grin.

“Don’t look so disappointed, now.  They’ll call back if it’s important.”

You roll your eyes and lean your head back against the wall.  “If you’re the best and brightest the heroes have to offer, then I’m honestly terrified of what’ll happen the day a competent villain decides to strike.  How a lazy bum like you ever got to be number two is still a mystery to me.”

“Hell, me too.”

You scoff.  “Liar.”

“Wow, there’s really no pleasing you, is there?”  Hawks laughs.  As usual, your chiding has absolutely no effect on that carefree air of his.  In fact, you have to think that it’s encouraging him, making him work extra hard just to see if he can’t get some sort of reaction.

“Not—“

You’re cut off by Angry Bird as Hawks’s phone rings to life a second time. You shoot the man a look that you’re sure embodies every ounce of the I-told-you-so energy you feel yourself exuding. Hawks sighs like it’s all such a hassle—this picking up the phone business—before he finally reaches into his pocket and peers at the screen. 

Something is different this time.  It’s almost imperceptible, but you see it nonetheless—the way Hawk’s eyes go wide for a fraction of a second. It’s over quick though, and he’s back to sighing as he balances his coffee can on the ledge beside him and tugs at the finger of his glove. 

“Guess I was right, huh?” You all-but sing. It wasn’t everyday you got the opportunity to hold something over him, and it wouldn’t be right to let this one pass. 

Hawks doesn’t take the bait. Instead of biting back with something witty (as he was always so fond of doing), he settles for muttering a heart hearted “oops” as he sideswipes his drink off of its perch. It plummets into your lap, and although the can is already empty, that fact doesn’t stop the surprised yelp you let out. 

“Hawks, you damn chicken—“

“Heeeeey, how’s it going?” Hawks says, speaking loudly, his voice so bright you can practically hear the grin stretching across his face. You give his leg a shove, and it swings back around to smack you in the shoulder with more force than you’re willing to attribute to momentum. “Nothing much over here. Same old same old. But keep talking—it’s been a while, and you know I miss hearing that voice of yours.”

Consider your curiosity piqued. You mouth “who” as you tap at his knee. Hawks casts you a glance, then places a finger to his lips in a silencing gesture that makes you grind your teeth together. 

“Hey now, what’s with the attitude? I did everything I could to be there, but you know how hero stuff is—” Hawks stops abruptly, and you manage to prop yourself up on your knees just in time to listen in on some incoherent chattering on the other end of the line. That’s about all you manage to catch. You can’t seem to pick up on anything from this mystery (?) caller, not when Hawks is interjecting with mmmhm’s and yeahs every second or two. You lean in to get a better listen.

Before you hear anything, Hawks stands, planting the soles of his feet on the narrow ledge and rising to his full height. It’s a sudden movement, and instinctively you make to follow him.

A stupid thing to do given the acrophobia.

The moment you rise—the very instant you catch sight of the open air just beyond the concrete barrier and remember what lies below—you drop back down to your knees. You inhale shakily and fight the urge to curl up into a tiny ball.

It’s absolutely ridiculous, you know. You’re not going to fall—you physically can’t. You’re on solid ground. Well, mostly solid.  There are offices below you, empty space for the roof to fill when it crumbled like a stale piece of bread. Then the ones even further down could do the same, then—

No. No. That’s a dumb thought. God, why were you always like this? Why was one, insignificant thing enough to just...set you off? Nothing had changed since you’d first braved the way up here. It was the same solid roof beneath your feet (that could still crumble). The same sturdy barrier against your back (that could still give way). You were with the same reckless companion, the one that always walked the thin line (or ledge) between safety and certain death. 

You begin to hyperventilate. Knowing who Hawks is talking to seems far less important now.

“No...no.  Listen, I—mmhm.” Hawks paces, still focused on his conversation. Then he turns to face the roof and sees you, your unfocused eyes, your trembling shoulders. He stands there for a minute, mouth opening, then closing. Like he wants to say something, but the words are just...stuck. 

Hawks’s wings make a smooth, whooshing sound, extending slightly as he hops back down to the roof. He squats down beside you, reaches out, but hesitates when he sees the way you flinch. Concern mars his features, and you take his hand in yours, scrambling to piece together some semblance of a reassuring response. He didn’t need to be worrying about you.  This was nothing and you’d be fine.

The voice at the other end of the phone speaks up before you do. You can’t make out a single word of it, but the way Hawks’s eyebrows furrow says enough. It isn’t a pleasant thing being said. You give his fingers a squeeze and he inhales sharply.

“It’s nothing, don’t—okay, I get it. I just said I get it. No use lecturing me now, I’ll be better. Prove myself to you.” Hawks glances up at the skyline, then to the door leading to the stairwell. His eyes eventually meet yours.

You’re good. You mouth the words and give his fingers a squeeze. Hawks stares for a moment longer, hesitant, then sighs.

“In fact, I’m on my way over right this second...yes, right now. Just so you know, I’m bailing on something important for you; does that make you happy?” There’s a pause. Hawks laughs, and you know the man well enough to know how fake the gesture is. Higher pitched than usual, less of a cackle, more of a grunt. It doesn’t sound right coming from him. “I knew it would. See ya’ in a few.”

He hangs up. Hawks doesn’t even have to speak before you’re cutting him off.

“Don’t say anything.”

Hawks frowns. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Yes you were. You were gonna ask if I’m okay, which I already told you I am. We don’t need to talk about it any more.”

“Is this a height thing again?” When you shoot a severe look his way, he pulls his hand away from yours and scratches at the back of his neck, exhaling. “We don’t need to talk about it any more.” Hawks echoes.

“Good.”

Barely a second passes. “...but you do know that you’re not gonna fall, right?”

“Hawks,” you groan.

“Statistically speaking, it just won’t happen. But even on the one in a million chance that it did—”

“—this really feels like ‘talking about it...’ ”

“—you really think I’d let you hit the ground?” Hawks continues, unfazed. He says it like it’s so simple. ‘Can’t fall if I’m here to catch you.’ Problem solved. 

“Mmmm, okay you’ve made your point. That’s a very good argument you have there, ” you offer, leaning forward on your knees and making a face like you’re deliberating on every word, “but see, the whole thing about irrational fears is...well, they’re kind of irrational.”

Hawks lets out a quick “hah” sound and shakes his head. He makes like he’s going to stand up, but you grab his arm and yank him back down. “Oh no, I’m not done with you yet. Tell me about this person you’re bailing on me for.”

“Like eavesdropping, do ya’?” Hawks jokes with an easy tone of voice.

“You weren’t exactly whispering. Besides, you didn’t sound too happy talking on the phone.”

“Because it was somebody telling me to stop enjoying myself and get back to work. Not something that’s really fun to hear.”

“Interesting.” You ponder out loud, intentionally. “What kind of work is ‘hero stuff’ keeping you from doing?”

“The same ‘stuff’ that’s gonna be pissed if I don’t get my ass in gear and go already.”

“Come on, Hawks.”

“Maybe next time.” Hawks sighs as he rises. What he really means is ‘no.’ He never says it outright though. He’d rather dance around questions of “when” or just lie outright and let you forget in the meantime. That way, the pair of you never have to have that conversation on how friendships are kind of supposed to be two-way things.

Sometimes, calling Hawks a friend feels wrong. He has habits and quirks you’ve come to recognize after knowing him as long as you have, true. But he’s still a mystery as far as his personal life goes. You know he never went to U.A. or some other hero school, but you don’t know why he started his agency in the first place. You know he likes coffee and snacks loaded with sugar, but you don’t know if he has any family to pester him about his lousy eating habits. You know he’s brave and proud and his smile can light up an entire room, but you don’t even know his real name. Really, the only thing that separates you from the hundreds of thousands of people that worship him from a distance is the amount he knows about you. 

Every time the pair of you meet, he sees fit to interrogate you about all the happenings in your life. Had you finally been assigned to that one project you’d been gushing about? Was your landlord still being an asshole about the plants you keep on your balcony? Were you ever going to check out that new club  on the other side of town? A little birdy told him it was good, and he thought it was your sort of thing... But everything always changes when you try to flip the conversation and talk about him. Hawks flutters around your questions like they’re nothing, uses jokes to derail the discussion or finds some excuse to leave. Information only floats in one direction with him.

If all you wanted someone to listen to you talk about your life, you’d see your therapist.

“Not the agency then.” You say, pushing yourself up to your feet. You’re going to fight to get anything you can out of the conversation. “So is it a girl?” 

Hawks begins to pull his gloves back on. “That’d make for a hell of a headline.” 

“Is it a guy?”

“Why? You jealous?” Hawks counters with that lopsided grin of his. He’s doing what he does best: he’s driving things in the direction he wants them to go. “You sure are asking a lot of questions today.”

“And you’re not answering any of them!” 

“I’m not?”

“No, you’re definitely not.” You say, and you mean for it to come out playful, but the edges of your frustration peek through the cracks.

Hawks’s hesitates. The corner of his smile twitches. “And you’re mad about it.” It isn’t a question. Your silence is an answer nonetheless. “Because I won’t tell you about a phone call?”

“It’s not just about the phone call, Hawks.” Hawks doesn’t respond after that. He knows. He’s far from the idiot he pretends to be. ‘Too fast for his own good,’ and his wit is no exception. 

“It’s fine.” You lie. “You’ve said it before: it’s a hero thing. There are going to be secrets I can’t know and I’ll just have to get over it. But it’s everything with you, Hawks. Everything is a secret. Heroes have to take off their costumes and turn into people at some point—even the fucking number one Endeavor becomes Enji Todoroki—but not you. You’re always just Hawks. Keeping everyone at an arm's length and pretending you aren't, me included.”

There’s silence, a tense moment where neither of you speaks. They don’t come often, and maybe that’s why it feels as strange as it does. There’s this...empty feeling deep in your stomach as Hawks stands there pulling his headphones over his ears.

“Hawks is my name.” Hawks finally says with a little bit of a lilt to it. Another joke, the only thing he knows how to do. And you laugh. Not because it’s actually funny, but because of course you should’ve seen this coming. The conversation is over—Hawks has made that clear in his own way. 

He’s still the untouchable number two, and you’re still out of your element. Why would he ever need someone like you looking out for him, caring about him?

“Not your real one.” You spit when Hawks turns his back to you. “But like everything else about you, that’s just a guess.”

Hawks peers over his shoulder at you. You don’t know why; he doesn’t get the chance to say or do anything before his phone rings for the third time that afternoon.

He mumbles a quick “shit” under his breath and he’s taking off, vaulting over the edge of the rooftop, becoming just another part of the cityscape. You usually try not to watch him take off; Hawks is comfortable in the skies, and that means he flies like a madman, narrowly avoiding collisions with billboards and edges of buildings by what looks like centimeters. This time though, you watch. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him as he goes nearly vertical, soaring upward into a cloud bed only to reemerge from a completely different part as an obscure splotch of red on the horizon. You swallow down the sour taste on your tongue when he dives downward and gets lost in the glare of the sunshine. 

Standing there, obsessing like you always seem to, an image floods your vision. It’s as clear as the sight of your own hand creating craters in the remains of your cup. You see the crowd beginning to form. The blue and red flashes ricocheting off shop windows. The looks the officers shoot your way, the way they tug down the brim of their caps as you shove past and see the wash of crimson staining the street, the handful of feathers floating so easily on the air. You figure that even in the deepest parts of your imagination, he really doesn’t think he can fall. Doesn’t think he needs to give anyone the opportunity to catch him.

#hawks x reader #bnha x reader #bnha hawks #keigo takami x reader #bnha keigo takami #bnha reader insert #mha x reader #keigo takami

[botw-oneshots-and-other-bs]

A/n: The art above gets credited to @coconut-mocha. I hope you guys enjoy the newest chapter!

Tags <3 : @awkwardspontaneity

Chapter 2  ~  Chapter 1

Chapter 3 - The Archer

After the events of Vah Ruta, the scientists took their sweet time heading back to the Royal Lab. The soupy and humid air of mid-summer soaked Alyss’s body with sweat as they rode their horses gently down the twisting roads of the surrounding mountains. The whole journey out of Zora’s Domain, Alyss had been quiet. Robbie had tried to talk to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything that would ease his nerves. She knew this upset him. She knew this was childish and she should just talk to him, but she was scared. 

Her silence had forced a heavy fog of uneasy tension down upon the entire group making the air feel even more suffocating. Passing through the Tabahl Woods, the group could see, every now and then, through the gaps in the tree canopy a tall, slender tower glowing a bright orange. The sight was enough to make everyone veer off the path and make a beeline for the enormous piece of Ancient Sheikah Technology. 

The forest was not large and it was very easy for the group to get out of. The company dismounted their horses and tied them to tree trunks nearby. With a few apples given and pets to the horses heads, eventually everyone was facing the deep decline of the nearby valley. As they turned to convene with one another about the best way to go about heading to the tower, Link walked up to the group and put a singular finger up to his lips in a signal to be quiet. The group quieted down quickly. Each person listened as well as they could only to hear a deep snoring noise coming from the direction they needed to travel.

“A Hinox? Here?” Impa whispered looking at Link who shrugged and pulled out his sword. This made Impa freak out a little for the chaotic Knight’s safety. Grabbing his arm she pulled him back and gave him a hard stare before turning to the Princess who had her hand on her chin deep in thought. “Princess, if we follow the path we can approach from the other side. A hoard of Lizalfos and Bokoblins would be better than a Hinox.”

“Nonsense,” Alyss spoke up from where she stood rubbing her hand down her horse’s face. “A Hinox is tall and strong, sure, but there’s only one of him. There’s six of us.” She turned to look at the three people contemplating what to do. Impa’s face was one of contemplation while Link and Zelda stood listening to Alyss’s thoughts. “A Hinox is stupid and we could easily confuse it long enough for Link to take the giant down.” 

“I hate to say it, but I agree,” Robbie spoke, causing Alyss’s thoughts to swirl with every possible meaning to that sentence. What did he mean he hated to admit it? Did he find her stupid or worthless to the group? A moment later she managed to convince herself to put it on the back burner and think about it later as to better focus on the situation at hand.

Princess Zelda nodded to Link who motioned for everyone to gather close to him as he went through the plan he had come up with in his head. “Robbie, I want you to the right of it. Purah and Impa behind it, and Alyss to it’s left. No matter what you do, you have to keep him turning to thoroughly confuse him.” When he looked to the others for confirmation that they understood the plan he laid out, he saw the three staring at him dumbfounded.

“Oh Linky, your voice is so ADORABLE~!!’ Purah cried out, grabbing Link and pulling him into a tight embrace. The good feelings anyone had at the sound of Link’s voice left with each heavy step that they heard rushing towards them. “Sorry,” Purah whispered, realizing that her loud outburst just then had caused the Hinox to wake from it’s deep slumber.

“Purah, let Link go,” Impa cried out forcing Purah to release Link from her death grip of a hug. She watched as Princess Zelda grabbed the Sheikah Slate and searched it for anything that could possibly help while the other group members jumped into action. 

“Hey, over here you big freak,” Alyss called out, picking up a small rock from nearby and lunging as hard as she could at the Hinox’s bald head. She whispered a slightly panicked curse as the Hinox turned around and focused it’s large, hideous yellow eye on her. She quickly realized she didn’t have any sort of weapon to defend herself with as her smog could possibly take out her teammates. Her eyes widened slightly as she turned quickly on her heel and focused on just dodging and throwing rocks as best she could. While she played tag with the gigantic monster, Link did his best to swing his sword where he could to bring the monstrous beast down. 

Not long into their game of tag, Alyss was backed up against a nearby cliff wall watching this black Hinox rear back it’s bulky arms. She closed her eyes quickly, preparing for the crushing feeling of it grabbing her in it’s fat hands, but it never came. She opened her eyes with a certain fear and caution that came with a near death experience only to see Link in front of her breathing heavily, his sword buried deep within the wet, jaundiced tissue of the Hinox’s eye. Alyss watched in shock as Link removed his sword, causing the large monster to fall on it’s backside and hold it’s eye, kicking its feet like a small toddler throwing a tantrum. This presented the best opportunity for Link to jump onto the Hinox’s knee and slit its throat, ending it’s sad existence for good. 

Alyss sank to her knees, her eyes wide with the shock that continued to ravage her body. If Link had not showed up when he did, Alyss would have been crushed. This was the deciding factor that made her realize she needed to learn to defend herself in case, Hylia forbid, nobody’s there to help her. As the large beast fell to the ground, Link slid down it’s belly and back to the ground in front of Alyss. He extended a hand to her, which she gladly accepted, and pulled her up to a standing position. He was about to walk away when she reached out to stop him, “wait, Link.” 

This not only caught the attention of Link but also a certain rebellious scientist. One turned around because his name was called while the other one eavesdropped on the conversation while procuring certain Hinox parts to make into future elixirs or experiments.

Alyss dropped her hand and picked herself back up straight mustering up any sort of self-respect she could still find. “Will you teach me how to properly fight?” Alyss’s eyes followed Link as he turned back to the Hinox lying on the ground. Confused as to what he was doing, she waited with baited breath as he climbed the monster’s body and made his way to its neck where he leaned over and cut loose a royal broadsword. Making his way back to Alyss, he placed the royal broadsword on the ground and grabbed her arm so he could show her how to hold his soldier’s shield properly. This was the most interaction Alyss had ever had with Link and his proximity to her made a small blush form on her face which was not missed by Robbie. Link picked up the royal broadsword and carefully used his hands to wrap around her own on the hilt in the proper form, unknowingly making the jealous scientist follow the others up the small foothill.

Robbie could feel his head swimming with angry thoughts, but he had been trying to push everything down into an imaginary bottle. His jealousy from her interacting with other people was childish and she was an adult. She could do whatever she pleased and obviously talking to him about what was going on between them was not something she wanted to do. Why should he waste his time when there is a gigantic piece of brand new Ancient technology he was dying to get his hands on standing literally a hundred feet away? 

“Shouldn’t we follow them?” Alyss asked as she watched Robbie quickly catch up to the others who had started to scale the foothill to the tower. She caught out of the corner of her eyes Link shaking his head no. He reached behind him to grab his own knight’s broadsword, his bright blue eyes never leaving his opponent. He watched as her purple eyes left him and followed the rest of the group up the mountain. Taking this opportunity, Link swung his sword at Alyss - unknowingly to her - testing her reflexes. It was sloppy, but Alyss barely managed to block the sharp sword with her own, however Link’s strength quickly overcame her own and he sent her flying backwards, the sword flying out of her hand. 

He walked over to her and held out his hand in a gesture of friendship pulling her to her feet when she took it. Alyss turned to pick up her sword, but stopped dead in her tracks when she felt the sharp blade of Link’s sword against her throat. He had a small smile on his face as his surprisingly light voice broke the silence, “First rule of sword fighting, never turn your back on your enemy.”

 Alyss swallowed thickly as she realized he wasn’t going to go easy on her at all. Quickly she picked up her sword, and held up her shield prepared for another attack, but all she received was Link moving forward and gently kicking her feet to the proper stance with his own. As he held up his own sword, Alyss prepared for anything he would throw at her. 

Princess Zelda and the others had reached the base of the tower by the time the sound of sparring had reached their ears. Turning to witness Alyss’s struggle, Zelda giggled. “Link sure isn’t going easy on her is he?” She asked no one in particular, watching as Link swung hard to Alyss’s right and sent her stumbling backwards connecting his sword with her shield. 

Purah and Impa stepped forward to witness Alyss try to slice at Link’s midriff but was gracefully avoided by Link who countered with his own relentless slashes. “Linky sure takes his job seriously. There’s no wonder why the King made him your appointed Knight Princess.” Purah mentioned before turning back to the tower. “Don’t you find it strange though?” 

The Princess turned to watch Purah walk back to the tower and run her hand along the copious amounts of holes littering the entire tower. Looking up she saw the platforms on each side alternating as it rose to the sky leading up to a flat area with a point. 

“Alyss shows up and not long after we discover our first Divine Beast. Nobody is able to do anything with this Divine Beast but Alyss is able to - not only activate it - but talk to it as well? It’s just strange.” Purah stood next to Robbie at this point who was trying to fit his hand through a hole long enough to feel the middle of the tower. 

“Maybe there’s something we missed?” Impa asked, turning to the Princess who was once again focused on the mysterious Sheikah. 

Zelda hummed in response. “I’m sure we will figure it out with time, but in the meantime we should focus on these towers that have popped up. Why don’t we try to climb it and see what we find?” 

The Lanayru tower was the only tower the group came across on their way back to Hyrule Castle, but it wasn’t the last tower they saw standing high in different parts of Hyrule's skyline. Purah wasn’t able to readily access the information she got from the tower and she was itching to get back to the Royal Tech Lab and plug the Sheikah Slate into the Guidance Stone to figure it out. On the last night of their journey back home the group had decided to stay a night at the Castle by the Princess’s request. Alyss sat on the bed in the guest room of the castle she was put in. The uncomfortable atmosphere of the Castle was nothing compared to the uncomfortable thoughts plaguing her mind. 

After a good bit of pacing her room and convincing herself to not be a total wuss, Alyss grabbed her long, hooded robe and headed out into the chilly Castle halls. It didn’t take long at all to arrive at the large wooden door of Robbie’s guest quarters. Alyss lifted her fist up to knock but as she let her thoughts roam free she chickened out and lowered it. Mentally kicking herself to grow a pair, she gripped the bottom of her forearm and lifted it as though it was another person’s arm. All she could muster was a couple small knocks which was all that was needed. It didn’t take long before she heard rustling behind the door of his bedroom. She felt her heart start to race at the inevitability of explaining herself to him, but all thoughts escaped her mind at the sight she saw when he swung his door open.

Robbie stood there sort of slumped over, one arm on the door frame for support. He was definitely in disarray, Alyss could tell this much. She’s seen the same look on him when he would go days without so much as a single wink of sleep due to his research, or the one time he corrected Purah and she put him through the wringer for a couple days. He was Alyss’s best friend and she cared for him immensely, so to think she caused him to feel this pain made her heart shatter into two. His crimson eyes locked with Alyss’s as he silently questioned her why she was standing outside his bedroom door this hour of the night.

“G-good evening, I-” she stammered trying to find some way to break the awkwardness, but she was quickly cut off by an irritated Robbie. 

“What’s up Alyss?”

She was a little thrown off by his curt attitude, but it wasn't anything new. He had been standoffish and sort of short for a few days now and she completely understood why that was. As she grasped at her chest trying to gather the courage to ask him to invite her in, her robe wadded in her fist. “Can we talk?”

Robbie furrowed his eyebrows and stepped aside, motioning with his hand for her to come in. The large, wooden door made a soft click as he swung it closed. Turning to stare at the clearly nervous woman, he rubbed his face and eyes with the bottom of the palms of his hands. He felt bad for her, but he couldn’t shake the feelings of the past week. She had been clearly ignoring him, and every attempt he made to talk to her up until now had failed,  so why talk to him all of a sudden? “It’s late, what do you need?” He asked, trying not to be a complete dick. He still majorly cared for this woman, but he felt like he needed a small break from everything. 

Alyss stared out of the window and sighed. She shed the heavy robe and draped it over the desk chair as she racked her brain for the proper way to say what she had to say. “I’m sorry,” she started refusing to meet his eyes. She knew she had hurt him and how often he had been there for her, but - even though she deserved it - the possibility of him rejecting her apology wasn’t something she thought she could handle. She played with the thin dress the Princess had let her borrow for the night as she listened to his feet shuffling back towards his bed. She allowed herself to look over only briefly to see that he was still paying attention before continuing hesitantly. “I… I have a lot of issues…” She picked her hands up and held them out in front of her. They were shaking just as bad as they shook that night in the horse stable. Tucking them under her arms, by her sides, she continued, “I’ve been avoiding you and I can explain why, I-” 

“Robbie,” Purah knocked on the door before opening it. “I think I’ve figured something out! I’ve been going over the Sheikah Slate and I found something on here that looks like a map. I think when Alyss touched the Sheikah Slate it had something to do with all those towers popping up around Hyrule! I-” Purah stopped her rant when she finally looked up to see Alyss in her thin nightgown and Robbie sitting on his bed. The air in the room screamed tense, but Purah smirked reading it as a different form of tense. “My, my~ what’s going on here?” 

“Nothing,” Robbie answered with a shrug. Standing up he walked over to the eccentric scientist and grabbed the Sheikah Slate from her hands. Looking at the screen he tried not to notice the tears forming in Alyss’s eyes or the way she put on her robe and bolted out the door. Shortly after she left, he felt a wave of misery wash over him forcing him to give Purah the Sheikah Slate back and saunter over to his desk. 

Purah watched as he placed his head in his hands. “Hey, Robbie, if you need to go after her I won’t stop you. She seemed pretty upset,” she commented, twisting the Sheikah Slate in her hands. 

“No thanks.”

The sheikah woman placed her hands on her hips and leaned over slightly, eyeing his slumped over back down, “Robbie this isn’t like you. What happened to the rebel I grew up with? The one who would chase down the girl who was upset no matter the elder’s opinions or what your parents said?” She saw him rub his eyes and start tapping his foot, but she was determined to get her point across. “Or, how about the young man who would take a sad maiden and show her the intricacies of some sort of machine just to get her mind off of whatever was bothering her?” 

“Purah, please,” he begged. 

Her heart dropped. She has never seen the man she considered closer than her own flesh and blood so visibly upset by something. Nothing she could possibly say or do could make things any better and it killed her inside. “Ok… well, if you need anything…” 

Robbie nodded, not moving from his desk. He needed some time to figure things out in his own head before he could manage to even talk to Alyss. 

As that conversation went down, Alyss wandered the guest halls of the castle wiping away stray tears every now and then. She was trying to find someway out of this accursed place, but was having no luck. The more hallways she turned down, the more lost she became. Cursing to herself, she was forced to backtrack a little before eventually she came across a wide double door. Silently thanking Hylia she pushed the heavy doors open only to be led to a shut-in courtyard where a few guards were sparring with one another. Groaning loudly, Alyss turned and punched the nearest wooden post she could find. Her pain turned to anger in order to mask the true feelings inside and it just so happened that the wooden post was the unfortunate victim.

“Well, well, seems like you have quite the temper on you,” a man's voice spoke from behind her. 

Alyss narrowed her eyes and took a couple of slow breaths to steady her shaking. “I apologize, tell the King I will fix it in the morning.” She stood up to walk back inside, when a scoff stopped her in her tracks. She turned to see a bird about her height standing there with one wing on his hip and the other grasping a training bow.

“You seem surprised,” he mocked as he straightened up, managing to gain an inch to look down at her. “Yes, it’s not everyday you come face to face with the greatest archer in all of the Rito,” he vainly said, ignoring the dead panned expression on Alyss’s face as he lifted his wing up and back down dramatically. 

“Well… bye,” she flatly stated, turning back around. 

“Wait,” he quickly spoke. “It’s extremely late, what brings you out here? Surely it wasn’t to gawk at my excellent technique.”

Alyss turned, her tired eyes connecting with his. Upon better inspection he could tell that she had been crying about something. He might be pompous but he wasn’t an ass, especially to strangers who didn’t deserve it. “Are you OK?” he asked, putting his bow down on a nearby weapon rack and motioning for her to join him at a table for, what looked like, tea. 

Accepting it thankfully, she held the cup in her tiny hands, the slight prickling of her skin dissipating as her anger melted into the warm, soothing tea in her hands. “It’s nothing really,” she said quietly. 

“Come now, nothing doesn’t make you obliterate a solid wooden post,” he chuckled. 

Alyss looked back up at him and sighed. She was frustrated and this stranger seemed to want to talk unlike someone she knew. Running a hand down her face and resting it in her palm, she sighed. “Fine. There’s somebody who has been the only person who has bothered to give a shit about my shitty problems since I woke up, and I’ve pushed him away.” Growling at herself, she continued, “Hylia gave me someone to connect to for the first time in ten thousand years and I fuck it up.” She laughed at herself in disgust as the Rito stared at her from across the table. 

“Obvious question about your age aside, have you considered apologizing?” He asked, taking another sip of his tea.

Alyss deadpanned and stared at him. Sarcastically she bit back, “oh Hylia, thank you!” She cried out, “an apology! The answer was so simple, how did I not think of it?” To drive her point home, Alyss groaned in exasperation and forcibly slammed her face into the palm of her hand, executing a look of utter disgust when she moved her hand away to look back up.

The Rito raised an eyebrow at her and tsked, “you know, this attitude isn’t befitting of someone who’s trying to make amends with another person.”

Alyss sighed, her inner fury was starting to make her skin boil and the hooded robe she was wearing was quickly aggravating her. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take up your time, um…” 

“Revali,” he answered her silent question, “and you aren’t taking up my time. I’ll leave when I feel like it.”

Alyss looked up at him for a brief second before turning her attention to the inside of her cup, “Revali, I’m Alyss. My story is a long one, but I have tried to apologize. He just doesn't seem to care to hear it.”

Revali sighed and walked over to grab the bow he was using. “Well, if I were you, I would give him some space. Maybe it would do you both some good, but from what I’ve seen in the brief conversation we’ve had together you need to control your temper.”

Alyss stood and watched as he unleashed a flurry of arrows upon the different targets around the range. She furrowed her brows and threw her hands to her hips, “hey, I have my reasonings! If you were buried by your family for ten thousand years how would you feel?” She watched Revali push his wings to the ground. He seemed to be ignoring her words which was frustrating to her, but the small gust of wind that accumulated under his wings made her gasp and stand there in curiosity. 

Revali waited for the perfect moment as the whirlwind underneath him gathered. He could feel the warm air around him causing the sweat adorning his dark blue feathers to chill. Ignoring this sensation he pushed off the ground into the whirlwind with a shout. He knew the woman’s eyes were on him, but his focus was solely on pushing further into the whirlwind. He was about to soar higher into the air when he heard her voice shout out to him.

“Hey, I was asking you a question! You can't just ignore me!”

He felt his concentration slip along with his grasp on the newly formulated move. This lack in concentration caused the tips of his right wing to leave the eye of the whirlwind. He looked back at it and panicked as the tornado grabbed a hold of his wing and turned him around before throwing him hard into the wall of the castle. His body ragdolled after the initial collision and slammed to the ground. 

Alyss shouted out his name and ran to his body. Falling to her knees she watched as a couple of guards who witnessed the entire interaction assessed his body for damages. When they got to his wing, Alyss cringed at the loud hiss he let out. “Revali, I-”

“Save it,” he spat out pulling himself up with his other wing, cradling the hurt one to his chest. He was beyond angry. In his fury, he turned to Alyss, “If I can’t participate in the Archery competition tomorrow I will personally see to it that you never so much as step FOOT into the Rito Village,” he growled. “I am the PRIDE of the Rito! I am the reigning champion in these archery contests and YOU,” he pointed a large, feathered finger into her enraged face before pausing and trying to calm himself down. Covering his eyes he continued, “You must have the brains of a Bokoblin if you can’t see when someone is trying to focus on what they’re doing. Maybe this man you consider a friend is better off not dealing with you at all since it seems you’re so lost in yourself you hurt everyone around you.” 

Alyss stood up quickly and puffed out her chest. Her hooded robe was discarded as her anger became too much to handle. The words from the Rito had left her wounded, but she knew they had some truth to them. Her conflicting feelings fought within her, crashing over her heart like waves but expressing themselves on the outside of her body as a tranquil peace. In this tranquil anger, her feet left the ground and purple smog cascaded from every pore in her body to create a barrier around her newly formed scales. She watched the Rito’s emerald eyes turn to confusion at her state, but he didn’t get to give her much more than a look before she was floating high into the sky leaving smog flowing behind her.

Her state of mind was no more. She barely registered her arms and legs elongating into crooked limbs. Her fingers merged and formed into three extremely talons that shone in an ominous light along with the smog surrounding her body. The dress she borrowed from the Princess was torn to shreds as her scales grew to full size, and what wasn't ripped disintegrated off her body from the sheer toxicity of the smog. Her hair elongated to cover her body and form glowing horns at the top of her head. She looked something straight out of legend to anyone who witnessed her in the sky. She would be an unknown fear to some while others would reference her beauty to that of a Divine Dragon. 

             While her mind was blank to anything happening around her, she still had enough inner awareness to use her enhanced eyesight to focus on one thing. Off in the distance, she saw an old friend perched followed by rhythmic beeping. ‘Vah Naboris,’ she thought blankly as she started to float towards the Gerudo Desert.

#robbie aoc #botw #legend of zelda #revali #robbie x oc #revali x oc #robbie x oc x revali #breath of the wild #robbie botw #revali botw

[jubilantwriter]

Heart Shaped like Sea Glass

(Part 1)  (Next)

Part 2:  Unfavorable Choices to Ideal Circumstances

Summary:  A moment’s hesitation demands that Daniel come up with a reason for why he takes concern in his prey’s well-being, and why he finds himself refusing to eat his prey.

i guess i’ll be dropping drabbles for this au every once in a while as a little treat

// // // // //

(Do the humans know that the ocean speaks to them all?  Every day, he hears the cries and songs of the sea, but he can never answer back.  For a siren, it's heartbreaking.  The sea is their home, and yet, it finds new ways to reject them everyday.  Do they know?  Do they know the words the ocean speaks to them?  How envious, to be so ignorant of the ocean's love for them.  He wishes he could be deaf to the cries of the sea, if only so he could ignore the judgement that it passes each day.)

There once was a time where Daniel wondered why it was that sirens resembled humans so much.  From the navel up, they look just like humans, save for the talons at the ends of their fingers, and the wings that lay pressed against their backs.  Though some sirens have feathers dotting the edges of their face, as if to signify that yes, they are definitely not human.  As if to show that they have just enough differences to separate themselves from the humans they hunt.

As if that's enough to justify devouring man as natural prey.  But natural prey they are, as human meat can be so delectable if the right specimen is lured by their songs.  The healthiest, happiest humans taste the best, Daniel has found. Meat tender and flavored with so much emotion - sweet from happiness, tangy from adrenaline, and so very savory from the exhilaration of having their desires granted.  And while some catches aren't always the most flavorful, he can rely on the easy hunts to at least keep him full until his next hunt.  

So why is it that he hesitates now?

A human clutches tight to him, calling him by a name he assumes belongs to the illusion that came with his song.  This human desired a bygone love - he wasn't that special, Daniel has eaten plenty of humans that tasted like bitter regret and salty heartbreak.  They don't taste the greatest, but they make for a filling and quick meal.  But as he inhales more of the human's scent, he gets a whiff of... rot.  Well, no, not quite like rot.  But the smell reminds him of the struggling fish that swim around the ocean, sick and diseased and afflicted by infection that makes their flesh taste only a little more palatable than the bloated corpses he comes across every once in a while.  

Again, this human isn't that special in regards to that.  He's had his share of less than delectable humans.  But then the human cups his face, and Daniel sees eyes bluer than the depths of the ocean.  It's... striking.  And a bit heartbreaking.  For those eyes, they lack a shine to them.  He imagines that if this human were not so inflicted, he'd have eyes that shine like the ocean when the sun casts its rays on the surface, and oh, what a beautiful sight it would be to behold.  Carefully, Daniel rests his clawed hands on the human's shoulders and looks over him once more.

"...Are you alright?"

(The ocean threatens to crash over him, but falters at his question.  He can hear its whispers, but can't make out the words.)

He's not sure why he asks that.  It's clear from the stench and desire that reeks from this human that he's not okay.  But again, not the worst meal he's had.  

Still.

"Please," the human begs, and Daniel catches a whiff of another desire, "please."  Daniel wasn't always a fan of these desires, but they made catching prey so easy that he'd always hone in on these ones for a fast meal.  However, the ocean crashes against the rocks they sit upon and he remembers the human's dull eyes, and thinks.

Gently, he pushes the human off of him and takes a better gander at him.  The human is healthy - just the right balance of muscle and fat.  Had it not been for the stench, Daniel would have happily partaken in his flesh.  

But.

There's always a but, isn't there?

Salty tears continue to pour from the human's eyes as his smile falters and he slumps forward.  "Please..."  Daniel catches him, and he thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

There's this... activity, he's seen humans do.  They raise animals, yes?  To later kill and eat.  When he's up in the sky, hiding among the clouds, he sees the humans raise all sorts of animals to eat later.  Raise them up until they are the right age, fed the right diet, and killed when the right time comes.  Easier than hunting.  Easier than lunging for fish and hoping to catch one that's healthy and plump and not infected by a wound or sickness.

Easier than luring prey.

He hums softly, and the human relaxes in his hold.

Yes.  Yes, that's what he'll do.  Perhaps, that's what he wants to do.

(The ocean howls, and the spray hits the back of his wings.  It screams to him, "Liar!", but aren't all sirens liars in the end?)

"Aren't you going to eat me?"  The human's voice is muffled against his shoulder, and Daniel runs his talons through his dark, soggy hair.

"Oh no, not yet."  The human jolts, but doesn't pull away.  Interesting.  "You're not good enough to eat."

"...Oh."

"But I can fix that."  Daniel pulls back enough to grin, showing off his sharp fangs as the human stares.  Yet another difference between them.  He can't understand how humans have managed to thrive for so long with just blunt teeth.  "I can make you a meal to die for."

He expects the human to react in fear.  To try and get away from Daniel now that the spell is broken.  But he stays in place, looking ever so sad.  Ever so defeated.

It turns his stomach.

"...Alright."

It almost ruffles his feathers how easy it is to get this human to comply.  He expected a little bit of a fight at least!  Maybe a little bit of excitement!  Instead, he huffs and quickly scoops the human up.  The human makes a startled yelp and clings to Daniel.

Warm.

The thought sticks to Daniel as he spreads his wings and takes off of the rocky outcropping... only to splash haphazardly into the ocean.  They would have sunk like stones if it weren't for the down covering his legs, but Daniel refuses to give up as he beats his wings even harder.  The human is heavier than he realized, and he can hear the ocean laughing softly at his struggle.  Still, he manages to keep them both afloat, and his wings do enough work to lift them out of the water just enough that he skirts the surface with his feet.  He runs across as his wings propel him forward, leaning towards the beach as he keeps the human clutched tightly in his arms.

(Surprisingly, the ocean pushes him forward, almost making him ride the waves as it aids him to his destination.  The ocean has never helped him before.)

With a grunt, he lands on the sandy beach with only half of him thoroughly soaked.  The human shivers in his arms and he remembers, right, that humans can die if they’re too wet and cold.  He's seen a number of them perish this way.

And it'd be awful if his meal perished before he could make good on his word.

...Right?

Right.

Daniel walks towards the shack he's seen the human exit from earlier and kicks it open violently.  The large wooden slab of planks slams against more wood, making the human flinch.  He almost apologizes, before remembering that the human is a meal he's preparing for the long run, and nothing else.  Quietly, he dumps the human on the ground and folds his arms.

"I'll be back in the morning to make sure you're still alive."  He steps out of the human abode and watches as the human groans and rubs his lower back.  "Until then, get yourself dry and stay warm.  It'd be a shame if I came back and you've already perished like some abandoned chick."  Daniel waits for a response from the human, but gets nothing.  Frowning, he turns his back on the human and is about to start his running takeoff when he hears a soft sniffle.

...The scent is stronger than before.  It's enough to make him hesitate, before remembering the original desire that lured the human to him earlier.  A throaty hum is all he needs to warm himself up.

"...Take care of yourself, okay?"  A soft gasp escapes the human as he hears a scrambling behind him.  "I'll be back before you know it!"

"Davey-!"  The human shouts behind him, but Daniel is already running and taking off.  The heavy beat of his wings drowns out the cries of the human as he makes his way to the cliffs nearby.

The human will be fine.

He ignores the gnawing in his chest as he flies to his nest.

...The human will be fine.

(He thinks the ocean hates him and his kind.  It shouts to him, "Cruel monster!" as he lies and baits and tricks yet another human.  But perhaps his beloved ocean is correct in its assessment.  As he stares out towards the shack with the sobbing human, he wonders for just a moment if he has taken it a step too far.  And he wonders, perhaps, if killing the human would have provided a better, kinder mercy than what he has settled on.)

#camp camp #cc jasper #cc daniel #siren au #drabble #there's one scene in here where i was just #muttering to myself over and over again #just like ponyo! just like ponyo!!! #less angsty and more contemplative #but i promise more angst in the future #and also a few goofs #boy oh boy do i have a goof in the future

[savannah-lim]

Now You Sea Me || Kaden & Savannah

Timing: After The Student Body Location: Caves on Harris Island Parties: @savannah-lim and @chasseurdeloup Content: Gun use (on monster), body horror (description of mermaid), violence (on monster)  Summary: Savannah is both a professional and a disaster at mermaid hunting

Savannah knew from experience that New England winters were no joke. The nights were growing darker, the days chillier, and White Crest lay on the tip of the Maine coast, its cliffs and islands nestled among the glacially cold ocean. So of course, it was an excellent time of year to go mermaid hunting with a miserable Frenchman. She’d dressed in some thermal, water resistant clothes, form fitting to allow her ease of movement and make it easier to avoid getting snagged on the rocks, a thick woolly hat, and a lined parka. She didn’t know exactly what she needed for the trip, so she packed a bit of everything; her gun, extra ammo, a barrel-mounted light, regular flashlights, flares, and even snacks (they might get stranded out there!). She’d even got ziplock bags for her phone and keys. All in all, she was pretty proud of her level of preparedness by the time she went to meet Kaden at the beach on Harris Island. “I’d recognize that sullen side profile anywhere,” she said by way of greeting. Not that she could talk. “I parked just off the road up there. I have some extra supplies in the car just in case.” She honestly shouldn’t have been so excited about this. “So, mermaid?” 

Kaden always hated the water monsters. They always had the upper hand in a way, especially when in the water. And, of course it meant getting wet. Not usually a big deal to him, he’d dry off. But in Maine in the late fall? This wasn’t his idea of fun. Then again, he was severely questioning if hunting was ever his idea of fun anymore. He sighed and gathered up his nets and harpoons and spears. It didn’t matter if this was fun or not, there was a mermaid and he knew how to kill it. It would be irresponsible not to tackle this. Plus, he had Lim standing by in case he got hurt. Regan couldn’t complain about him being in the woods alone. He wasn’t alone and hey, for once, he wasn’t in the woods. “Sullen?” Kaden let out a huff of breath. “I’m not sullen. Putain.” Alright, that sounded a little sullen. “What’d you bring?” he asked, rebalancing the load on his shoulder. “You have a med kit, right? I just… I have a feeling.” With his luck, there’d be some injury or another. “Sounds like it. Lead the way, Lim.”

“I don’t know what Putain means, other than the food, but you’re kinda sullen,” Savannah snickered, probably just a little too at ease about this whole thing. She was sure that would go away once she saw it again. Kaden was a way better companion on this sort of thing than Agatha had been though. The girl was great with a gun, but way too quick on the excuses. “I do. I always have a med kit in the car.” She didn’t wait for that annoyed look of disbelief to flash on Kaden’s face, cutting it off with; “for this, I moved it to my backpack.” She went about listing what she had brought with her, hoping it would be enough for Kaden to declare that she wasn’t entirely useless. Sadly, she hadn’t had access to a harpoon. “Can I have one of those?” she asked, leading the way down the beach and towards the cave she and Agatha had entered. “I think the police tape it still up, just--yeah, this way.” It led a convenient trail towards the sea water pool in which they’d seen the mermaid. Being back in this place made Savannah cringe. All those bodies. “Do we use bait? Like a ribeye?” 

“No, no. Not poutine, putain,” Kaden said with a sigh. “It’s an expletive. Like fuck or shit. Sort of. Either way it’s not the same as the fries with gravy and cheese curds.” He couldn’t believe this was what they were explaining as they wandered down towards the beach. “Glad to hear it,” he replied in response to the med kit. “Hope we don’t need it but this is White Crest.” As fast as his side had started healing from his forrary during the full moon, it still stung as he walked. He hoped his gait and slight wincing didn’t betray it at all. He didn’t need to answer any more questions about that night. “You want a harpoon? I mean…” He didn’t exactly have a good reason to refuse. And if she was going to help. “When we get down there, sure.” The police tape wasn’t far and when they reached it, neither of them had to even pretend not to get caught as they ducked under and headed towards the scene of the crime. And the monster. He had to admit, being police really did have its advantages for hunting. “Yeah, we should probably come up with a plan,” he said as he started unloading his gear, handing her one of the harpoons. “The best thing to do is going to be to get it out of the water. If we can harpoon it and get the net around it we can try to drag it out.” Easier said than done, he knew that full well. “Didn’t really think about bait.” Shit. He stood there, arms crossed a moment. “You want to be bait?” He didn’t want to be bait.

"Oh," she shrugged. "I only know Merde. Now if you want to swear in Korean, I'm your girl. Gae-sae-ggi." Savannah was quite happy to discuss expletives. She was oddly energised by all this, and happy to talk him through some of her favorites as they walked. "This is White Crest," she repeated, giving a humorless chuckle. "It really is a weird horror show of a town, isn't it?" And yet somehow her words didn't seem disparaging. She was still amazed he'd even agreed to let her come, considering how unhappy he'd seemed when she and Regan were out there on the river. 

As they approached the cavern, she knew this was the place. It was practically burned into her consciousness. Savannah placed down one of the larger lights, turning it on near the wall so she didn’t have to hold it. "I've never used a harpoon before," she said, positively energised at the idea. The bait part, she was less enthused about. "Why? Why would I want to be fish monster bait?" She shook her head. "I packed food though. Do you think it might like some sandwich meat?" Probably preferred its food fresh, but she hoped Kaden wouldn't challenge her on that. “Or--do you have a knife? Maybe I could just cut my finger and drop some blood in the water.” 

“Merde’s a good one, too. Putain de merde is really the best, though.” Kaden’s brow furrowed and he tried to repeat her Korean. “That any good? I’m guessing not. I’ve heard my uncle complain about the French accent coming through in my German. I can’t imagine it’s better in any other language.” It was odd how easy the convo felt. Like they weren’t walking into potential death. “No place like it, that’s for sure. And I’ve been to a lot of places, I don’t know about you.” 

As terrible an idea as this probably was, having a normie with him on this hunt, and a Federal agent at that, Kaden couldn’t argue with how prepared she was. It almost made him question if she was as clueless as she let on. Almost. “Hey, I don’t want to be bait. And you don’t know how to use a harpoon.” He sighed and insisted she take it anyway. “I mean, I know I’m prettier but someone has to do it,” he said, jokingly. He wasn’t going to push it, though. She just seemed so enthusiastic, he hoped she just might go along with the bait thing. Kaden blinked at her a moment. “Food? Are you telling me you brought snacks? On our hu-- I mean, encounter.” Shit, he hoped he covered it up at least a little. Likely not. Probably didn’t matter too much either way. “Do I have a knife,” he repeated with a scoff, like it was the world’s dumbest question. “The real question is which one you want. Not that I’m advocating for blood letting. Let’s try sacrificing the snacks first. It might work,” he said and gestured for her to go ahead, his harpoon in hand, ready to face the beast. 

“Could be better,” Savannah answered, honestly, but not unkindly. “But Korean is tough if you’re not used to it. I wouldn’t complain about your accent coming through. It’s sort of part of who you are, right?” They weren’t left with much time to dwell on that conversation though before the subject turned back to bait. 

“I should have brought some leftover meatloaf,” Savannah groaned, putting down her bag. “Yes, I brought food! What if we get lost down here, or one of us gets injured? I wanted to be prepared.” She’d probably gone a little overboard, admittedly, but he hadn’t exactly given her a list. “There’s a water resistant thermal blanket, some spare socks…” But the one thing she didn’t have was a knife, so she took his gladly, pocketing it briefly before rifling through her backpack for her sandwiches, throwing in some sliced chicken from between the buttered slices of bread, then standing back as if waiting for a volcano to erupt. 

“Meatloaf?” Kaden asked, his face pulling into a disgusted frown instinctively. There was nothing that had ever sounded appealing about that dish. “Hopefully the mermaid isn’t as picky as I am.” He had a feeling that, knowing their luck, this mermaid just might be. “Well, glad you came prepared. I guess. But putain, did you pack for an overnight trip or a hunt?” Then again, sometimes those overlapped. He sincerely hoped that wasn’t the case here. “I’m going to need that back when we’re done by the way,” he said after handing her the knife as they backed away. He waited, harpoon in hand. It felt like they were there for a minute. Maybe two. Nothing so far. 

Kaden’s mouth pulled into a thin line and he gestured to indicate she should stay put where she was as he approached the water, slowly, weapon ready. One step, then two. Still nothing. Three, four. Maybe it had gone and fucked off. Five, s-- “Putain de merde!” Kaden shouted, stumbling back as what looked like a woman burst from the water. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was gorgeous, green eyes, alluring and practically beckoning him to the water as she sang. If he didn’t know better, he might be fooled. But he did know better. So Kaden charged towards the beast, harpoon in hand. As quickly as the facade had appeared, it dropped, and the woman bent back and away, revealing a row of teeth. He thrust the harpoon towards the open mouth, but before he could ram it through the monster, its fangs clamped down, snapping it in two. And then another head popped out of the water. “Fucking shit,” he grumbled. Lim better be prepared for this, too. 

"I know you're French, but you don't have to be a snob," Savannah answered at his reaction to her mention of meatloaf. She'd prefer a good Korean BBQ, but it was tough to find a decent one in White Crest, if there were any at all. "Okay, so I may have over-packed a little." But it was better than coming unprepared, she thought... Savannah accepted the harpoon perhaps a little too gladly. She wasn't someone who expected to ever have any joy in hunting, and this wasn't the type of hunting she'd ever anticipated, and it was hard not to feel the pure adrenaline and excitement of it mixed in with the fear. It wasn't the killing that interested her. Not in the slightest. It was being part of something unknown and exciting, discovering something new. "I'll try not to break it," she answered, her voice dryer than anything else managed to be in this cave. 

Before she could say anything else, her eyes widened at the sight of a beautiful young woman emerging from the icy saltwater, the very same she had seen just the other day with Agatha. "Hi again," she answered, "miss me?" Oh, she'd always wanted to say something cool like that, but she felt entirely less cool when the beast half-swallowed Kaden's weapon, and brought a friend. "Oh no! Hey! Look out!" She pulled her own trigger, hitting the creature, but just barely. It made an inhuman groan as the metal scraped across its scales, leaving jagged edges. “Hello?? Why is this thing so slow to reload?”

“Putain!” Kaden shouted again as the shot rang out, diving out of the way of the beasts and the bullet. “You could have hit me!” True as that may be, she had shot the one mermaid, no mistaking it. Not clean enough to kill it, though. He scrambled out of the way and reached for his own gun. Shit, he hadn’t been prepared for multiple. His mistake, really. He took the gun and started firing where he could. One want through the first monster’s mouth, though he couldn’t be sure if it did real damage or clipped its fucking fangs. It did give Kaden a second to scramble away from the edge. Taking them out with bullets wasn’t impossible but with the strength of its scales, it’d be a task. Especially with two. Best bet, drag one of those fuckers out of the water. “Aim for that one,” Kaden said pointing to the left. “Going to try something.” He took the harpoon he gave her and grabbed a net, running over to the creature on the right. He threw the harpoon into what looked like the “woman’s” shoulder before tossing the net at it. Teeth tangled in the net and he hoped like hell when he pulled back, they wouldn’t tear it to shreds. Just had to get it out of the water. 

“But I didn’t!” Savannah answered. Come on. At least he could give her some credit. She’d passed her marksmanship certification with flying colors. She took advantage of Kaden’s gunfire, loading the harpoon again and readying for another shot. She kept her hands steady, all her training coming together to teach her to keep a calm and steady hand. Quantico sure hadn’t expected their training to be used for something like this. Their attention being on Kaden made it easier for her to land her next shot, aiming at the one Kaden had indicated. The harpoon loosed, whizzing through the small space between them with a low whistle and hitting the mermaid square in the abdomen. “Oh, that was a good one!” She picked up Kaden’s intentions and started walking backwards, dragging the thing as it made ungodly screeches that she was sure would alert every house on the island. 

For not being a hunter, Kaden had to admit that Lim wasn’t too bad at all this. This time, at least. Guess coming prepared made a difference. Kaden tugged and pulled and finally, the monster was out of the fucking water, letf to fucking suffocate. He turned his attention to Lim and helped drag the second one along with her. Once they were both on the rocky surface of the cavern, it was almost embarrassing to think of them as terrifying. Both were flopping and flailing, gasping for breath. The lures on top of them, the ones that looked like women, were still trying to entice them as best as they could. “Help… me…” they moaned. The whines turned into screams and Kaden had had enough. He took his bowie knife out, dragged the one near him, slit it under its jaw, then same to the second. Blood and guts poured over the floor around them. But the beasts stopped moving. Kaden pushed his hair out of his face and assessed the situation. “Guess we did it. Didn’t die. So that’s nice.”

Savannah credited her FBI training for preparing her for this sort of thing. Okay, not exactly this sort of thing, but intense situations, those were something she was trained to simply tackle confidently and pragmatically. She lacked Kaden’s supernatural gifts and knowledge of the bizarre, but she did her best to hold her own. She watched, fascinated as the creatures struggled on the cave floor, her torch light falling on them, creating shadows on their faces that made them look even more horrifying. She didn’t even look away or flinch when Kaden dealt the final blow. “That was actually… pretty fun,” she said. “If you ignore the mortal peril. We saved lives today. No more frat boy snacks for these things.” She sounded, and looked, terribly proud of herself. 

Kaden leaned over, hands on his knees, letting the adrenaline wear down, trying to catch his breath, when he looked back up at Lim. Did she just call this fun? “Yeah. Sure. If you ignore that one small detail. Sure.” He shook his head and started to gather his equipment back up so they could get the hell out of there. “Maybe don’t start hunting monsters on your own just for fun, though. I mean, not unless you value that whole life thing you have going for you.” Once his weapons were all gathered and ready to go, he looked back at the monster’s bodies. “We should probably burn those or something, shouldn’t we?” It’s not like he could bring them to Regan right now.

Savannah's veins were flooded with adrenaline. She caught her breath, doing her best to wipe away what blood and monster guts had made their way onto their clothes with the anti-bacterial wipes she'd brought with her. "No, no, I'll leave the sea monster slaying to the professionals, Ahab." At the mention of burning, Savannah furrowed her brow. "Oh, yes, I suppose. Unless we want one of those teens with phone cameras to put it on Instagram." Regrettably, and very reluctantly, she reached very slowly for one of the most important things she'd packed; a hip flask. "I... suppose this might help?" She held up an index finger, taking a sip before handing it to him as if she was parting with precious jewels. "Don't say I never gave you anything." She definitely wasn’t going to tell Keen about this. 

#paras #with: kaden #body horror tw #gun use tw #violence tw

[astralsweetness]

Gravity (Jinho/Reader/Hyunggu)(m)

➣ I have never once thought about this duo outside of duets before this damn song - which I had to translate by hand because I couldn’t find any English lyrics for it. >_> thank you @re-sugance and @forevertrashforbae for letting me show off my translation afterwards like a proud kid lmao

➣ Reader is domme. I accept nothing less. | Warnings include: mentions of drinking, multiple descriptions of various sexual encounters, humiliation, handjob, blowjob, cockwarming, choking (slight), noona kink (kind of, it’s more of a title in general and less sexual), pain kink, mentions of spanking, multiple orgasms, edging, overstimulation, pegging, referenced size kink, exhibitionism (slight), biting, jfc it’s a lot but it’s all consensual | This is basically just a collection of different little scenes in the life of a Jinho/Reader/Hyunggu relationship 👀 If there’s typos I’ll just throw myself off a cliff because I can’t be bothered to proof-read, yikes

➣ “You’re making me nervous, kiss me slowly. You teach me love.”

You notice two minutes into the night that they are orbiting around you like planets, never straying too far nor too close. The bartender gives you a sympathetic smile but says nothing – no doubt he thinks you’re being hounded by two boys trying to win your heart.

The assumption wasn’t too far off, to be honest, but they’d already acquired your affections long ago.

The weight of the wine on your tongue was only mildly unpleasant – it was too sweet for your liking, but you felt their gazes on you every time you tilted your head back to swallow it, so you kept drinking. You noticed that while both of them were matching you drink for drink only Hyunggu was becoming more competitive – Jinho seemed more than willing to take a passive, backseat role to any flirtation. You didn’t necessarily blame him, either. Hyunggu got fiercely competitive when he got a few drinks in him (and it wasn’t like you were going to give one of them more attention than the other anyway).

“Noona.” Age had long ago lost its meaning to the three of you – noona was a title of honor, of power, one only occasionally used. Hyunggu slid into the seat next to you, finally taking the plunge to enter your orbit. He bites his lip in a way he knows makes him look sexy, looks at you through his lashes in an attempt to be seductive and demure. His body language aside from that is too open though, too cocky and commanding, so you don’t reward him with your full attention, keeping your gaze ahead.

“Yes, Hyunggu?”

You can see his pout from your peripheral and you hide your little smile behind another sip of red liquid. He was absolutely adorable sometimes, and oh so easy to play.

“You’re being mean.” He’s instantly sulking, and you just laugh softly at him, toying with the rim of your wine glass. “And you’re laughing at me -”

“Lots of people laugh at you.” Jinho has suddenly decided to appear – he looks somehow more at ease with a drink in his hand than he should, and suddenly Hyunggu is focused on him instead, like he hadn’t noticed what Jinho had looked like all night because he’d been so focused on you.

It’s endearing, you think, to watch the way his eyes gloss over as he takes in his hyung’s visage – you wonder if that’s how you look when you stare at either of them.

Hyunggu, always more proactive than either of you, takes the initiative and leans forward – you’re not sure if he actually says anything to Jinho or just breathes against his ear, but the elder stiffens and his gaze drifts, suddenly unsteady. His fingers stay curled around the stem of his glass until you gently pry them away, and then he stuffs them into his pocket where you can’t see if they’re clenched tight or trembling.

“He’s so easy to get riled up.” Hyunggu says this to you like it’s a secret he’s sharing, and you grin and nod at him, happy to pretend like you’re both conspiring together. Jinho just swallows hard and watches you both, the tables turned on him so suddenly that he’s not sure what to do except stand beside the two of you who were still sitting at the bar.

“We should take him home.” Your words could mean so many things, but to Hyunggu it’s a promise of fun and to Jinho a promise to be wrecked. You get a nod from Hyunggu in response, who leans in close to Jinho again, close enough to kiss – Jinho’s eyes flutter but Hyunggu just pulls away, drawing the elder towards him as he heads towards the exit like a moth to a flame.

The bartender seems thoroughly confused with the way this has turned out, but you just smile and place down the payment for the drinks, in an extremely good mood. It wasn’t like the two rarely got along, but it was always fun when Jinho was the one thrown off balance instead of Hyunggu.

Still, in the end, you were the one who always had the last say. It’s that knowledge that fills you with a power that makes you feel weightless as you move through the room, smile turning dangerous when you see your two boys waiting for you obediently at the door.

.｡..｡.

It’s ten at night in some hotel room, and you’re busy edging Hyunggu while Jinho lounges serenely to the side. The energy in the space around you is a strange mixture of sleepy contentment and electric tension. You absolutely love the dichotomy between the two halves of the room, love and lust managing to coexist at the same time, similar but oh-so-separate from one another.

“You really get off on this, don’t you?” Your taunting cuts straight to Hyunggu’s core and his hips jerk under you, cock red and weeping viscous pre-cum into your hand. “Being so debauched and whorish with your hyung right over there, listening to it all. It just gets to you, doesn’t it, having one of your bandmates watch you get put in your place.”

“Dirty~” Jinho hums from his own hotel bed, impossibly cheerful as he flips between channels on the TV. He’s not really actively watching the two of you, though his gaze does occasionally flick over to look. Hyunggu just lets out a thoroughly pitiful sounding sob in response, twisting to try to bury his face in the pillow his head rested on – your hand on his neck stops him from twisting too far and he gasps, face red from a heady mixture of humiliation and arousal.

“Ple-ase –” Hyunggu is begging for you to stop, for you to touch him, for you to keep talking – he’s really not even sure what for at this point but he babbles anyway, tears collecting in his lashes, unshed.

“What does it feel like, knowing every time he sees you on stage, or has to sing a duet with you, he’ll just remember you moaning and begging to cum like some sort of slut?”

“Every time I see him on stage I’ll only be able to think about this.” Jinho confirms, voice chipper and upbeat, always ready to help you out – Hyunggu’s fingernails dig into your arm as he explodes, throwing his head back, painting his upper chest white. His hips stutter beneath your hands long after the initial orgasm and you lovingly swipe your finger back and forth over the head of his cock until he’s shaking and locking his jaw, cumming a second time from your teasing ministrations. The second time is weaker than the first, but he still bucks at the sensation, moans more like pleading sobs now as the orgasmic fire burns him from the inside.

Covered in sweat and cum, dark hair plastered to his forehead with tear-tracks on his face and spit-slicked lips – Hyunggu is wrecked and he stares at you unfocusedly, gaze drifting around the hotel room unsteadily as he comes back to himself. His grip on your arm has loosened but he hasn’t released you entirely, so you uncurl his fingers from your forearm and kiss his knuckles lovingly.

“You came a lot.” Jinho appears at the side of the bed, inquisitive and unbothered by the wreck that was his dongsaeng. “Woooow.” He drags the word out, sliding one digit through the mess of cum and sweat that had collected in the other’s collarbones. Hyunggu, ever so sensitive, shivers from the mere contact alone, his eyes fluttering open. As exhausted as he is, he looks at his hyung hungrily – you’re amused, and go about gathering his attention again. You know his body better than he does and he’s at his physical limit right now.

“He did well, right Jinho?” Your praise is followed by a kiss pressed to the younger’s hairline, and a responding sound of acknowledgement from the elder who cards fingers softly through Hyunggu’s hair. He’s a bit disappointed that Jinho didn’t take his bait but he settles down with a sigh pushed out through his nose, tilting his head back invitingly as you run a damp washcloth across the skin there.

.｡..｡.

“Open.” You command Jinho and he looks up from his phone in confusion, dutifully opening his mouth anyway. His face lights up into a brilliant smile when you place a square of chocolate onto his pink tongue. Sweat sticks his clothes to his body and his hair to his forehead, and you think he is stunning.

“You’re ruining my diet.” He reminds you, focus back on his phone but smile still on his lips. You can tell he doesn’t mind your little interference overly much.

To be honest, maybe you were trying to ruin his diet – recently you’d noticed that whenever Hyunggu stretched you were able to count the individual ribs beneath the skin of his sternum, and it kicked your protective instincts into overdrive. You didn’t want either of your boys suffering like that, and while Jinho wasn’t nearly as thin that didn’t mean he was at a healthy weight. (You didn’t want any of their brothers in the same boat either. When you’d walked back-stage you’d given each of them some sort of candy or treat – even Hongseok, who you were sure had accepted just to make you happy. You were the favorite noona of the day because of that.)

Hyunggu had managed to escape you though, already off to get his makeup removed after the concert, so now you were sitting cross-legged beside Jinho, watching him watch his phone. He’d flick his gaze over to you every now and then, small smile widening when he saw you were still focused on him.

“You did well.” You praise, and he smiles with teeth and dips his head at you as he says his thanks. You always praised him after every performance and he always reacted just as genuinely as the first time. It makes your heart hurt with how much you love him.

When Hui sidles up beside you both you think he’s after more of your chocolate – you’re reaching for it when he nudges your shoulder, posture relaxed and open despite the knowing smirk adorning his face.

“We’ll be leaving soon, maybe twenty-five minutes or so.” It’s such a casual statement but his eyes glitter with amusement – he was probably the best wingman anyone could ask for, and you make a mental promise to think of a way to pay him back later. In the meantime you settle for thanking and giving him the remaining candy - he just laughs and says that he’ll probably get accosted now by everyone else instead of you. (Which works well towards your sudden plan, you both know.)

It takes another five minutes after that before you gently tug Jinho towards one of the many utility closets in the winding underbelly of the building, dodging past stylists and backstage workers who couldn’t care less where the two of you were headed so long as it didn’t interfere with their own job.

He whines at you that it’s a bad idea but almost outpaces you when you slow down, sulking as you pause to let a group slip by you, sweatier than Jinho, fresh off the stage. His gaze follows them for a split second, as if suddenly realizing where he was, before he goes right back to sulking.

In the closet he shifts from sulky indignance to compliant submissiveness, tilts his head to the side invitingly for your lips to press upon his pulse point. It’s always hard to refuse him when he’s like this, but you do anyway, pushing at his shoulders gently to back him up as far as he can go in the small space.

“You have makeup all over you, baby. I’m not putting my mouth anywhere above your neck.” Your words are, of course, met with a whine, but you place a finger against his lips to quiet him. When you pull it away it’s tinged slightly pink from the lip tint, silently proving your point. “Everyone would know if you went back out there with everything suddenly smudged.”

“Then what –“ He’s just so absolutely sulky that you can’t help but reach for his arm, pressing kisses to his forearm, up to his bicep. He goes silent instantly, swallowing hard, eyes wide. Simply kissing like this shouldn’t have been so.. erotic.

You can feel him stiffening against your thigh with every graze of your teeth over thin skin, and when he begins trying to grind against your leg you hike it up higher, watching with a piercing gaze as he tries not to make eye-contact with you. The way his eyes dart as he gets himself off gives you a warm feeling that coils contentedly in your chest, one that only grows whenever he locks eyes with you and instantly looks away, cheeks darkening.

His breath stutters and almost full-on stops when you reach for his slim-fitted pants – there’s not much room but you fit your hand inside anyway, not bothering to pull them down. Your thumb presses into his slit, leaking pre-cum, and he mewls pitifully at the feeling.

“Ahnn-n-no..” He tries to object but it’s a weak whisper, and his fingers curling around your wrist draw you closer instead of pushing you away. You step in front of him, slot one of your hips against his to pin him against the back wall, even as your hand continues its steady motion.

“No? Jinho, sweetie, do you want me to stop?” The words are spoken into the heated air between the two of you, and while you’d much rather say them into the soft skin of his neck you want him to be able to properly verbalize his response.

It’s a moot point anyhow, because he just squints his eyes shut and shakes his head quickly, almost frantically. His fingers tighten around your hand, as if afraid you’d decide this was a bad idea and leave him high and dry.

He didn’t need to worry about that – you nudge aside the collar of his ridiculously sequined stage jacket, nip at his inner shoulder. He tastes of sweat and bruises easily, arches into any of the sensations you deign to give him. The heat around your hand, shoved down the front of his pants, is humid and wet and you let him thrust into the loose ring your fingers have become, watching with predatory eyes as he ruts against your hand like some sort of horny teen, comes undone and bites hard into his wrist to stay quiet. (You sink your own teeth into the opposite side of his wrist and his moan manages to get out anyway, all of his weight against the wall as he fights to keep from collapsing.)

It takes little to no time at all to make yourself presentable again, but Jinho is a different story – no matter how outwardly casual he looks his gaze is still glassy, and dual teeth-marks dot one of his hands.

When you exit the closet Jinho tries to melt into your side, inconspicuous, when the maknae trio comes up to you to thank you again for the chocolate (even if Hyunggu hadn’t taken any in the beginning). You know he wants to escape to the bathroom right away to clean up and become orderly again, but he’s caged in by three of his dongsaengs, so he instead tries to take solace in the warmth of standing so close to you. In a distant corner of the room you can see Shinwon has, as predicted, stolen most of the candy you’d given to Hui.

It’s mostly Wooseok who’s thanking you, all big eyes and admiration, while Yuto stands slightly to the side murmuring his own thanks shyly whenever you turn your full focus to him. You find them both adorable, this youthful infatuation they have for you absolutely endearing.

Hyunggu just finds it funny, arms crossed as he watches them, Wooseok unable to stop talking and Yuto unable to talk at all. His gaze is stolen by Jinho though, and it takes him all of five seconds to send you an accusatory glance after taking in the way Jinho is still slightly red-faced, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably, gaze flicking between different occupants of the room at random intervals.

You just send him a serene smile. If he hadn’t avoided you earlier then that could have been him.

.｡..｡.

It was a running joke that Hyunggu was overly sensitive, cried too easily – you were used to seeing him tear up suddenly at some sweet thing either of you did or said to him. Jinho teased him relentlessly for it, poking at his cheek playfully while calling him ‘the cutest baby’. (The irony was not lost on any of you that Jinho was arguably smaller and more baby-like than anyone in the room, but it always made Hyunggu smile again anyway, which was the aim of the comment.)

During sex he cried just as easily, quick to tears if edged or over-stimulated, full on sobbing whenever he got the paddle. It was one of your favorite things about him, how responsive he was to everything, how unashamed of these things he was.

So, in short, Hyunggu crying was never really an issue and usually not a cause for concern.

It’s when you get home and he sees you, smiling and shining with love seconds before he crumples, voice evaporating midway through “welcome back” that you know there’s something seriously wrong.

He’s not laughing it off, his fingers clenched into fists as he ducks his head and clenches his eyes shut, shoulders hunched and bending inwards as if he was trying to physically protect his vulnerable front from the world. He tries to speak again and ends up just cramming one of his fists against his teeth, trembling.

“Oh, honey..” You have to draw him into your arms since he doesn’t move towards you at all, and he resists at first, keeping his arms stiff at his sides while simply resting his forehead on your shoulder. “What happened?”

It’s your question that gets to him, and he melts into your warmth, hands flying up to clutch at your sweater. You cup the back of his head and let him cry into your neck, his sobs nearly silent but still just loud enough you can hear them.

It’s breaking your fucking heart.

He never does answer your questions, just eventually stops crying and keeps his arms wrapped around you while you go about your tasks until you finally give up and sit down on the couch with him, letting him curl against your side. He falls asleep almost instantly, tear tracks on his face at heartbreaking odds with how relaxed he now looks.

When you ask Jinho about it later you get vague explanations – the elder is clearly keeping anything regarding the issue close to his chest, and eventually you stop pressing. As annoying as it was to not know, you understood why he was so intent on keeping it private, especially if it involved their career. (And while his not-an-answer-answer didn’t totally sate your worry, you knew Jinho was just as capable of taking care of Hyunggu as you were, and you trusted him to make these kinds of decisions just as he trusted you to do the same.)

Later that night Hyunggu automatically gets the middle position in bed – he blushes intensely at the combined concentration on him, usually so cocky about being the center of attention but shy this time in the wake of his breakdown, hides his flush in Jinho’s shoulder as you kiss down his neck with tongue and teeth.

Everything is kept soft that night, sweet and sensual, and when Jinho slots his mouth against Hyunggu’s you watch them in a sort of lovestruck daze. Despite all the hardships, you really never thought it possible to feel this happy and content in life.

.｡..｡.

You press a hand on Jinho’s lower back and force him into more of an arch, fucking into him aggressively – he splays out his hand in front of him and sobs, cock dangling heavy and abused between he and the wall. His hands are in fists after having been ordered not to touch himself, and it’s hard, it’s so fucking hard when all he wants is to reach down and wrap his fingers around himself, a single touch is really all he needs to finally get the release he’s seeking –

It’s almost painful, how often you can hit his prostate dead-on with your infamous strap-on, and he bites his tongue hard enough he tastes blood. A few rooms away are the rest of his members, Hyunggu included, and while it wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t been caught before (you were still apologizing to Changgu for what he’d walked in on) it still sent a sharp thrill down to his stomach to try not to get caught again.

Not that it was easy – he wasn’t exactly known for his deep or quiet voice. You were pretty sure he’d been heard more often than you’d been caught.

“I’m –“ His voice is thin, and he has to swallow once before beginning again, body stiffening after a particularly hard thrust. “I’m so – so close..” The moans he’d been fighting so hard to keep silent slip from his mouth as you sink your teeth into his shoulder, stalling your hips in favor of taking his cock in hand. In seconds his release is covering your hand, dripping down your knuckles – he reaches to help keep the mess minimal but ends up just gripping your wrist tightly, head lolling back and eyes closing.

Jinho slides down the wall to his knees once you pull out, full-body trembling as he rests his forehead against the smooth, cool surface. He’s breathing hard, shoulders heaving as he sucks in deep breaths. Your rake your fingers through his hair and he lets out one last soft moan at the feeling, how impossibly tender you are with him now that you’d completely wrecked him.

“You did well.” Your praise is like a physical balm to his exhausted body, the kiss you drop onto his lips as you hand over tissues a type of physical warmth that envelopes him and makes it impossible for a content smile not to linger on his face.

You can’t help but laugh softly after checking your phone, which garners Jinho’s attention as he pulls his clothes back on. When you show him your screen he just smiles even more and murmurs something softly about sensitive maknaes always needing attention, a scoff to his voice that doesn’t quite match his fond expression.

Hui’s text to you is stark black against the white background: Whenever you’re done corrupting our hyung you need to come out here and console Hyunggu, he’s been sulking ever since he realized what you two were doing :(

.｡..｡.

Hyunggu makes a soft sound and you glance up at him, knee beside your face bouncing anxiously – he’s looking back at you dazedly, dark hair ruffled from where he’d pushed his hand through it moments before. His teeth dig into his bottom lip and his fingers curl against the edge of the studio’s desk. His phone sits forgotten somewhere on its surface, his promise to start a V Live completely abandoned. An old recording of a live performance from Ella Fitzgerald plays quietly in the background, a track he’d intended to use as background music for the stream.

You smile and rest your head against his thigh, thumbing the head of his cock lovingly, reveling in the way his hips roll minutely into it. His breathing has turned harsh and all you’ve done so far was wrap your hand around him.

“You knew what I was going to do when I got down here.” While you’re speaking his hand reaches towards you, but a sharp glance has it hesitantly freezing before gripping the arm of the chair instead. “Didn’t you?”

He swallows hard once and nods, eyes so infinitely dark that the light reflects off of them in little astral bursts. “Y-yeah..” His voice is rough, and you drink in the sound of it. “I just – I mean, it was kind of.. hard to imagine – to come to terms with you really doing it..”

“Relax.” Your murmur is soft, and he glances at the studio door once – the unlocked studio door. He makes no move to change that. “I just want you to feel good before you meet Universe, yeah? You look so tense right now that you’d just worry them.”

You know some of the tension is because you’re right there, mouth inches from his cock and fingers looped loosely around it, but you can’t accredit yourself for all of it. He’s been undeniably strained ever since the fansign was canceled, a tightness to his shoulders every time they had to go out and perform for the cameras without an audience to dance for –  not to mention the fact that ever since promotions had started he’d kept himself busy enough that the two of you hadn’t had any solo time together for about two weeks.

“So, I’m going to make you orgasm.” You say it straight-forwardly, eyebrows raised, waiting for an objection – you never get one. Hyunggu instead just shifts lower into his seat, trying to mentally prepare himself.

He knows, the moment he feels the first blindingly hot stripe licked up his cock, that he could never have been prepared.

Two weeks of abstinence has left him sensitive and more desperate than he realized, and he’s almost embarrassed by how quickly turned on he gets, the feeling of his pre-cum mixing with your saliva making his head spin.

One of his hands is half-covering his face while the other clutches at his side in a desperate attempt to hold on to something, anything – when you offer your hand it takes mere seconds before his fingers are interlacing with your own, a grounding, loving connection even as you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper.

He swears he’s fucking dying.

There’s a fire in his stomach, pure white-hot flames licking at his muscles, his skin, causing sweat to collect under his shirt, and the tightness in his shoulders and neck can’t compete with the feeling building up in his hips, bone-deep and aching. He can’t do much else than breathe harshly out through his nose, eyes falling shut. It was too much effort, energy, and focus to keep them open, and he feels so completely ripped apart by your tongue and lips and fucking mouth that any of the usual sounds he makes have been stolen from him, replaced by wheezing gasps of pleasured pain.

He doesn’t manage to warn you he’s close verbally, but you recognize it anyway – his entire body locks, fingers crushing your own, and you have just enough time to pull your mouth off of him so he can cum in your hand.

Between each gasping heave of his chest he murmurs a thank you, until his words run together and he bites his tongue to stop from sounding like even more of a fool in front of you. He can feel your lips pressing tender kisses against his cock even as you clean your hand off, and he can’t stop the way he shakes at the feeling.

Tears are caught in his lashes by the time you’re finished, and you cup his feverish face in your hands and draw him towards you, pressing more kisses against his eyelids. He is an absolute wreck, emotionally and physically, so when you try to remove your hands and he grasps for them and keeps them pressed to his collar you let him do as he pleases.

“You feel better, sweetheart?” Your words aren’t answered, but you keep talking all the same. “You’re so beautiful, you know that? Perfect and wonderful and talented, and so so good. You know I love you, right? Because I do, so much, Hyunggu, I love you so much.”

He sniffs, finally pulling one of his hands away to scrub furiously at his face, a watery sounding laugh escaping him – and you know he’s okay now, safe to be left on his own. Still, you linger in the room until he’s fully composed, checking his appearance in his phone’s camera. When he catches you watching him through it he smiles, a genuine smile that drags at your heart and makes your knees feel weak.

“I love you too.” He’s saying it late, but that doesn’t mean he means it any less. When you press your lips to his all you can think of is how you’d give anything to make sure he kept smiling like that.

.｡..｡.

Love, you think, can be shown in many different ways. One of the biggest is seeing Jinho under the covers, nestled down on his phone, waiting for you to come and join him before he falls asleep.

“You should have gone to sleep!” Your chiding is gentle and so affectionate that it loses any edge you’d wanted it to have had. “You’ve been complaining about being tired so often – why wouldn’t you take advantage of any free time you had?”

“It’ll be better with you.” His answer is so direct and short that you can’t help but laugh – his face crinkles into a smile at the sound, and he pats the empty space next to him invitingly.

By the time you’re ready to crawl into bed with him he’s become restless, and as soon as you’re semi-laying down you find yourself being clung to. His head rests easily on your chest, fingers curling into your night-shirt, lashes dark against his skin as he heaves a sigh that relaxes his entire body.

“Sweet dreams.” You whisper your words into his hair, one hand at the base of his skull and the other on his back. He doesn’t respond with much more than an acknowledging hum, already slipping into a deep sleep.

You’re not tired at all, but you settle down anyway, content with stroking fingers through his hair. The resulting silence is almost suffocating, but you don’t find it uncomfortable – there’s a warmth in your bones that isn’t from the blankets or the body on top of you, a harsh lurch in your chest that flows through your veins. It’s almost staggering how much you care for the man asleep on you.

Yes, love didn’t have to be verbally exclaimed. Actions could show your devotion to someone just as well.

.｡..｡.

“Stay still now, honey.” You smooth a hand over Hyunggu’s sweat slicked chest, his breathing an endless staccato that matched in time with the fluttering of your innermost walls around his thoroughly abused cock. “Just relax.”

It was so easy for you to say that, laying yourself down on top of him and pillowing your head on your forearms across his collarbones, a comforting weight that would have been soothing if not for the blinding heat surrounding him. Every time he started to relax one of you would shift and painful electric shocks would shoot through his nerves all over again.

“I’m not good at this sort of thing..!” Hyunggu’s mewls are lost to your lips, and he switches from whining with words to letting out pathetic sounds into your mouth, pliant despite his protests. He can already feel himself hardening again despite knowing it wasn’t what you wanted.

“Baby, I’m not in the mood to go again.” Pet-names flow from your mouth like a stream as you apologize, pressing kisses against his cheeks and temple. “I thought you’d be able to handle this sort of thing by now.” More kisses are dotted in between his shaky “me too”, and his sucked in breath becomes a thin and fragile moan as you slowly rise up and off him. “Maybe you’ll get lucky, sweetheart, and Jinho will –“

“I’m back!” The very first thing he’s greeted with upon arrival is the sight of Hyunggu staring at him hungrily as his essence drips from your slit in viscous rivulets. His cheerful, upbeat demeanor is frozen on his face as a congenial smile, even as his mind flashes to dark places and he swears he can suddenly taste the combined arousals from the both of you on his tongue.

“Broke him.” Hyunggu’s soft laugh is breathless and aroused, even as he pushes himself up and tries to cover his bottom half with the sheets, as if being shielded would make everyone forget about how red and wet his cock was at the moment.

Jinho’s gaze locks with yours briefly, assessing the room – at your small nod his fingers are unzipping his jacket, losing it to the floor somewhere as he tugs his shirt over his head. Fading bruises swarm his naturally tanned skin, still a bit purple but not nearly dark enough for your liking. You’d gotten so much shit for that, from his stylists and bandmates and everyone else except for him who had worn them with a type of embarrassed pride, ducking his head and not looking at all upset that he’d had to cover up for their performance.

The bed dips as he crawls onto it, Hyunggu’s swallow audible in your ear as Jinho reaches for your bare calf tentatively, settles on his stomach and rests his head on your crossed ankles. He’s always been the more obedient one, knowing that he’d end up more satisfied if he played by your rules.

“You should learn from Jinho.” Hyunggu scoffs at your words, wrapping his arms around your waist. You can feel the tension in his forearms threaded across your midriff, the way his hands grip at his own skin to keep himself from taking the pleasure he wants so badly. Jinho, meanwhile, has crawled up your body with the behest of a single one of your fingers hooked beneath his chin, gaze glassy.

“I’ll clean up after him..?” Jinho’s statement shifts to a question last second, dark eyes switching to his dongsaeng briefly – there’s a strange feeling at parodying the hierarchical ladder they usually exist in, the idea that as the eldest hyung Jinho had to clean up after the messes Hyunggu made. It feels.. wrong, in a very satisfying way, to apply that logic to a sexual encounter.

At a nod from you his tongue darts out, tentative and shy at first – you let out a sigh of encouragement and contentment, fingers threading through his dark hair. He tilts his head into your hand and closes his eyes, shuffling forward the last few centimeters so he can attach his lips to you. Hyunggu’s chin has come to rest on your shoulder as he watches Jinho work with eyes that are equally dark as they are sparkling, intense hunger for the moment overridden by a sort of awed reverence as he observes how his elder pays tribute to you.

Even once you are clean he doesn’t let up, continues to lap and suck as he was instructed until you are content and release your grip on his hair, fingers trailing down his cheek to his chin. Lips slick with saliva curl into a smile at your gentle touch, eyelids fluttering open.

“Take notes, Hyunggu.” Your words are lost to the younger, who was still staring at Jinho intently with eyes blown wide – whether or not he was going to be able to recollect any of this was up for debate, more likely to remember everything as a blur of sexual need.

“I think he does an okay job already.” Jinho’s voice is slightly rough as he speaks, grinning widely when you shoot him a look before becoming conveniently focused on taking his pants off. Your gaze burns into his back as he does so, filling him with a giddy sort of excitement. He knew you weren’t actually upset, maybe a bit miffed at most.

“Just come here, you mouthy little thing.” You reach out to him and he goes to you instantly, posture suddenly less open, doing his best to fade into your commanding aura. His body language was always so easy for you to read, even without the very obvious sign of his arousal out on full display now.

Jinho nestles onto his back, squirming a bit until he’s comfortable – he doesn’t stop squirming until you wrap an arm around him and guide his head to rest on your inner shoulder, a convenient place for him if you want to be able to drop a kiss to his temple. (Or just an easy way to make him feel small and protected all over, since he could turn his head and have it buried in your chest with your arms around him.)

Hyunggu’s plastered against your back, practically vibrating at this point, his cock an annoying bother poking into your side. Jinho notices his intense gaze and flushes, amused and embarrassed in equal measure.

“I can’t tell if he wants to fuck me or eat me.” Jinho’s comment has Hyunggu flushing this time, ducking his head – it wipes away the ravenous expression that has lingered ever since Jinho got home, replacing it with a type of happy embarrassment. Being teased by one of you always made him feel warm inside, accepted, instead of ridiculed.

“Fuck you.” He promises, and then dips his head to nip at your shoulder impatiently. You can feel his tongue dart out against your skin before he’s trailing open-mouthed kisses towards your neck, too riled up for his own good.

“Then you’re focused on the wrong person..” Jinho’s grumbling is met by your laughter, a gentle tug at the crook of Hyunggu’s arm to direct him away from you and towards his real goal. A bruise blooms along the gentle sweeping of Jinho’s hipbone, left behind by Hyunggu as he gets into position. His fingers frame it nicely, surrounding but never pressing down on it.

“Fuck..” It’s more a whimper than anything else, Jinho’s nails digging into your arm as you press kisses to his furrowed brow. Hyunggu trails his hands up his hyung’s side, willing him to relax, to take all of him. A low groan is tugged from Hyunggu’s chest at the feeling.

Jinho squirms once Hyunggu bottoms out, clearly uncomfortable – it’s not uncommon for him to take a while to acclimate to the stretch, and the two of you have become pros at soothing him until he does. It takes a little while, but between your soft caresses against his face and Hyunggu’s open-mouthed kisses against his neck his shifting becomes more needy and less pained.

To be completely honest, you were incredibly impressed with Hyunggu’s self-control – for someone who had been so horny he’d barely remembered the need to prep he was being immensely tender to Jinho, holding as still as possible until he was given the okay to move. Even over-come by lust he was always so thoughtful.

“Perfect boy.” The compliment comes out instantly, not directed at either of them but instead just said to the room – Jinho, feeling exposed, tucks his face into your shoulder while Hyunggu lowers his head and smiles, edges softening just a bit at such blatant love.

You apologize for killing the mood by wrapping your fingers around Jinho’s cock, paying extra attention to the pre-cum trailing down its side – it causes a chain reaction of movements that culminate in hands grabbing hard at hips and mouths falling open helplessly, a beautiful display of the best kind of agony.

Lithe fingers tug at yours insistently until you allow them to take your place, dark eyes watching you as you watch Hyunggu take over. He’s more aggressive with his touch than you are, falling into the same pace his hips are making, and Jinho’s moan gets lodged in his throat as a choke, muscles tightening.

“Ohh –“ Hyunggu’s back bows and his forehead knocks against Jinho’s collarbone, hips pressing as close to the elder as he can – you can tell by the way he’s just folded that the orgasm took him completely by surprise. Jinho, even with his eyes squeezed shut and his mind somewhere far away, pushes his hand through Hyunggu’s hair comfortingly. It makes your heart ache with adoration.

“Hyunggu, baby, Jinho hasn’t cum yet.” Your gentle scolding has the younger trying to move again, rising up on trembling forearms, weak thrusts that are uncoordinated and shaky yet make Jinho cry out all the same. “I know you must be so sensitive by now, you’re doing so good.”

Jinho’s bottom lip has been torn to shreds and his hips roll against Hyunggu’s, doing the job for him as he chases after his orgasm with a single-minded mentality – his eyes are squeezed shut but he still turns his face into your shoulder, pants open-mouthed against your bare skin as you hug him closer to you.

“Can’t –“ Hyunggu is shaking, his head bowed and back arched, shuddering – everything is too much for him now, pleasure white-hot and bursting across his vision in a way that makes him more than dizzy, makes him feel close to fainting. He knows he’s supposed to be doing something, moving his hand for some reason, but he really can’t remember why anymore – he feels slender fingers wrap around his own, his hyung’s fingers, and they’re moving again and Jinho is moaning louder now and he’s not really sure what’s happening with the way his head is spinning but he’s glad Jinho sounds like he feels good. “I can’t –“

“You can, baby, I know you can.” You hold out your free hand, the one not on Jinho’s shoulder, and Hyunggu cranes his head towards it and presses a kiss to your palm, lets your thumb slip past his plush lips. “Just a little bit longer.” His silent moan can be felt vibrating through your fingertip, hips twitching. Jinho is still making enough noise on his own for three people, the hand that’s not occupied curled so tightly into the bedsheets you’re almost positive they’ll be cramping later.

He stops moving entirely when Jinho seizes and then thrashes violently, the same fingers that had been guiding his hand now wrapped so tightly around them that they begin to lose feeling. (He manages to crack his eyes open to send you a grateful glance when you reach out and loosen them, drawing Jinho’s hand into your own instead.)

Jinho’s pants are high and exhausted, covered in his own cum and sweat from exertion, and you can tell from the way Hyunggu’s biting his lip that he isn’t going to be able to crash over the edge himself this time – you quietly tap his shoulder and all the tension drains out of his body immediately as he takes your cue to finally pull out. He and Jinho make a sound that is so surprisingly similar you wonder which one of them picked it up from the other.

“So tired..” Hyunggu collapses across Jinho’s legs and neither of them move after that – you stifle a laugh and disentangle yourself from them both, going in search of washcloths and comfortable outfits they could easily pull on.

It’s a bit of an ordeal to work around two limp and exhausted bodies, but as someone who was used to dealing with two idols who were constantly over-worked (or over-sexed) you had it down to an art form, and both of your boys are fast asleep in a tangle of limbs under the covers and in soft clothes in short order.

It gives you time to settle down next to them and just breathe, safe in this little pocket of time and space the three of you had managed to carve out and solidify for yourselves. When you glance over at them they’re dead to the world, and to be completely honest you’re not totally sure where one of them ends and the other begins. You like it that way, though.

In fact, you liked everything about this, the way they made your life feel a little brighter or warmer, how it was so easy to connect with one or both of them despite how rarely your projected paths would usually cross unless one of the three of you didn’t actively change courses to make it happen.

The gravity that love had was seemingly inescapable, and you were immensely grateful for it.

#sub!jinho #sub!kino #jinho x reader #kino x reader #pentagon x reader #smut #sub!pentagon

[tinycaprisun]

a song not about love

title: a song not about love characters: chuck taylor x trent beretta word count: 1864 part: 1/1 warnings: mild cursing, no character names are said (but the perspective is alluded to be chuck’s and the “best friend” is trent) a/n: hi! so, holy crap i’m actually doing this... i know, it’s freaking me out too. i guess for context, yesterday i literally did not sleep at all and in a 5 am sudden burst of energy, this little fic came out of my brain. i’ve never posted my work online before, so this is kind of a big thing for me? also, this is so different from how i normally write because there is next to no dialogue, and it’s not, uh... funny? but it sure is something ahah

He won’t say it. That one fucking word that has been tormenting him for what feels like his entire life. He will not under any circumstance say it, or hell, even feel it. It sets you up for failure, for a gashing claw directly to your heart as it punctures and plays with what little you have left.

It’s like that song from Hercules, he thinks. The one where Meg is singing by the fountains about her feelings for Hercules and denying them every step of the way. It feels like that, except the brunette knows this isn’t some sappy Disney movie. This is real life, the one that made him hate himself every time he looked in a mirror. The one that gave him no other option to cope with everything that swirls in his mind at blinding rates than to drown what he does have away. 

Words were never his strong suit, with him always clinging to actions and movement, as more often than not, his mouth would betray him with what would come out of it. 

There’s this burning sensation, festering deep under his skin, well into the flesh, that tingles and jumps no matter what he does. It gets worse when he’s around. Not that he would know it, his friend was never good at picking up on just about anything. Itching, almost, with him unconsciously rubbing his arm over and over trying to forget that was where he had last touched him. A congratulatory pat, and that was it.  

The thought of already being dead crosses his mind. That perhaps, he is already dead, and that what he is living now would be his own personal hell. Set up explicitly to torture him for the wrongdoings of when he was alive. He wonders what that life was like, and if the people he knew now were there. That gave him no solace, as even if he were still living, there would still be his best friend there ruining it all.

Ruin in the best way possible, he amends. Because without him, the brunette can’t picture his life in any capacity. There would be none as far as he is concerned. There was so much of him that did not have, that lived in his friend.

Someone a long time ago said they were soulmates. Platonic, he assumed at that moment, was what the man meant. All this time later, he knows what he was getting at. He won’t say it, he never will, but he knows why the other man said it. That memory liked to crawl into his brain sometimes, replaying like a song you have stuck in your head until you can’t take it anymore and finally listen to it. It does not ease your pain, the song is still stuck. 

Soulmates were someone that housed all of the pieces of you that you did not have. The parts of you that you could fully - the word - because they were in someone else. Maybe that was why he liked keeping his friend around all the time. Because they were the same person.

Except they weren’t. His only slightly shorter friend was better than him at literally everything, not that it bothered him. It just made for more to... This was getting harder and harder to not say by the ever so slowly ticking seconds.

His mind takes over again. Blocking him even farther from reality than he already was, to think.

It’s the way he smiles, he ponders. But only when it’s at him. Tiny, unguarded, and sweet like pineapple fluff. Adoration is always in there too; along with warmth, and if he himself was feeling extra in his own head, intense longing. He silently prays for the last one. Never has been sure why, but he hopes with everything he’s got, that it’s in there somewhere.

What was longing? Catching his eyes across the room as they sparkle under even the dingiest of LED lights? They’re brown, like rich earth that used to be beneath their feet when they would do an outdoor show. Exposed from years of treading, letting others walk upon it without question, working down to its most basic form. It’s very core. He decides that him and the earth aren’t so different.

There is no reason to be like this. So deep into his own recesses that even the most forceful of tactics will not rouse him. Akin to a coma, however his eyes are certainly still working and there is definitely a concerned friend staring at him through their own pair of sunglasses and a neutral expression. 

He says something, slow and quiet like he usually does. It does not compute. His friend says it again. He cannot speak, but he can shrug while moving his gaze to stare past him.

It’s radiant over there, a shining oasis asking to have its glory basked in. Unsurprisingly, it’s him. Recognition helps bring back his question. Longing is time. All of it wasted, even if there is still so much to go. No mercy is given to him, not that he believed he deserved it.

His mind jitters and trails off again as it usually does. It’s his voice, he considers. Peering at him would make you guess it’s low and gritty, but he knows far better than that. His voice is of a baritone, but it’s far too uplifting and sometimes outright high to be anything else. Smooth also felt applicable, calmly finding its way to the right words and pitches as his hands say what his mouth can’t. He really enjoys that quality about him.

Reality is boring, he concludes. Sinking back into his cave of wonders and mostly misfortunes he calls his brain. He has his muse of which to think about... again, and the brunette couldn’t be any more content.

Content is the wrong word. Again, he is no good with those, but he does know that content is something he will never be. His is different though, for a reason he will not say. Fuck, are we really back to thinking about longing? For a third time? Is this what he wanted; to be caught in an infinite time loop, ala Groundhog’s Day, where he relives every thought he’s had for the millionth consecutive time? 

To be fair, that was how it always was when he saw him. Everything surfacing at the same time and he gets caught in the crosshairs, winning the wonderful luxury of wading through them again. 

His laugh is nice. His hair looks good today. The tank top he has on is way too tight fitting and leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Not hard to imagine anyways, he’s seen it a thousand times, having roamed it with his hands. But only briefly, and the idea sends him into a tizzy.

One that marks the end, the one that finally has snapped him and made him have a new goal. It’s like drowning again, except not in his usual Crown. This is one where he actually can’t breathe, unable to get above water safely and take those precious gulps he so desperately desires.

He is standing in front of him now, fueled by this very known force that has a known name that managed to carry his battered body to the other side of the room, without him even noticing. There is no one else in the room. Or maybe there is, but he can’t tell. For him, it’s only his friend and himself, which is all he could ever want.

His best friend asks him how he is. He does not answer. The other brunette seemed vaguely alarmed by this, commenting on this fact and letting the notion hang in the air. There is no true reply, not to what he is asking nor to anything else. They stand in silence, pressure building and concern rising, like a dam that’s about to burst open and destroy everything in its wake.

Being forward has always been his calling card. Breaking any tension or an awkward silence with little tact and a lot of bluntness. He’s rough around the edges, as are most things in his life. 

This one comes off as a cliff though, hurtling himself off of it and waiting until he hits the bottom. But there is none, all there is- is his best friend, still concerned for his well being, because of course he was. Did he really need another reason? 

Now there was even less reason to be cautious. If he didn’t say something now, the brunette was going to faint, the lights behind his green eyes going out like the flickering flames of a candle. Where he would drop, essentially dead to the world, straight to the floor and live there for eternity. Or until his friend kneeled down and checked on him.

That idea… The thought of waking up to his face. Seeing him tending to him because for his friend, life seemingly depended on it. But he didn’t know that. What he did know was that the thick and uncomfortable quiet that had filled the room; reminiscent of a smog like haze, was becoming unbearable. 

Caution. Wind. Blunt. Do it. He has to. He will explode if he doesn’t. His best friend is staring at him with what feels like baited breath and stitched brows. He looks completely mental, clearly needing to say something, anything really to amend the situation. At this point it doesn’t matter, he’s so gone for him that even if this irreparably damages their relationship, he would at bare minimum be rewarded with getting real sleep at night.

His mouth opens on its own accord, letting the words waterfall out nearly unceremoniously as he keeps eye contact with his friend.

“I’m in love with you.” 

He says it. 

The one fucking word that has been tormenting him for what feels like his entire life. He says it out loud, to his best friend’s face, with a few words before and after it. Sure, he could say that they don’t matter as much to this whole ordeal he got himself into, but truly, they make up the full saying that has been playing on loop on his head for months. 

His friend doesn’t react, not instantly, staring at him with a blinking gaze as either his brain self-destructs, or tries to figure out a way to let him down easy. Heavy doubt sinks into his bones, weighing him down and taking residence within him. 

It’s a new, hellish, spiraling sensation that the brunette was not ready for. He was used to his usual downward hole of thoughts, usually brought about by his unmitigated need to bash himself, but this… This feeling didn’t even compare, with it being so much more destructive and raw, it opened him up like he was a frog being dissected and leaving him vulnerable to the world.

He finally speaks, his words soft and slightly timid as he can’t seem to look away from him. Unlike what he was expecting, his friend's expression was open and understanding, albeit still taken aback by his forwardness.

“I… I love you too.”

#chuck taylor #trent beretta #chuckie t #trent? #no real names #aew fanfiction #wrestling fanfic #shut it liz #tinycaprisun writes #my writing #chuck tea #trenty b #fics #current song: why not me

[abizarreyodelingincident]

Ridiculous Optimization: The Art of Finding the Right Tool for the Wrong Situation

Chapter three: Meet your spirit animal, BE your spirit animal

(fair warning, Wind's the viewpoint, he's crude and a sailor)

Wind's grin threatened to lock his jaw muscles into place and he didn't give a shit about it. Their latest portal jumped had dumped them in three feet of salty water and the song of the waves was calling his heart.

Outset Island. Home.  

Wind half-swam, half-ran up the sands of the beach and beckoned the rest of his friends to come over, with a loud 'Come on!'

He couldn't wait to show them his home. Gran would love them and force them to take better care of themselves with her patented 'old lady's guilt tripping'. He couldn't wait to see her use it on the old man. Oh, oh, he could make Twilight wrestle with Mrs. Rose's giant pig. And show the woods on top to Hyrule. At least on this island, they weren't likely to lose him. And Wild would probably love to try the jump of courage on the other side-

“Big brother!”

Wind's heart leaped in his chest, joy warming him at the sight of his little sister running down the dock to greet them.

“Aryll!” he called out, rushing to hug his sister. How long had it been? Weeks now! At least!

“And who's this one?” Wind asked, kneeling to better coo at the seagull in her arms. His sister had tucked a hibiscus in her plumage, on top of her head.

“Her name's Marin.”

Behind them, a cacophony of metal and wood rang out loudly, followed by squawks and yelps. Wind whirled around, ready to draw his sword, only to see that his friends were helping up Wild, who looked like he'd just been pushed, and

Surrounded by the flippers he'd been taking off, Legend rested on his knees, paler than a ghost.

***

Wind… was worried. It wasn't like Legend at all.

Obviously, Warriors had teased him at first, mocking their experienced know-it-all for his two left feet. Right up until the point it became very obvious that this hadn't been a mere accident. Warriors had been equally quick to apologize and back off, but Legend hadn't really spoken to anyone since. Very gently, he'd gone up to Aryll (Wind hadn't placed himself between them, but the desire to had been there) and he'd asked if perhaps he could borrow her friend.

Under their astonished eyes, Legend had then walked up the dock with the seagull in hand and sat next to the tower, facing the sea. He hadn't moved from that spot since. Just one hero and a bird, one silent, the other singing.

“It's okay, Link,” Aryll had told him, “Marin likes him. She only sings when she's happy.”

They'd collectively decided that Legend needed time on his own. Fair enough. But he couldn't help think there was something more to do. However stupid it was, Wind felt a little responsible. This was his home, his timeline-slash-dimension-thingy. Maybe he could have warned him if he hadn't been so excited to show off the island.

He'd gotten to give the tour to the others, at least. Left Warriors at the dojo, Four on the beach looking for seashells, Twilight and Wild at Mrs. Rose's little enclosure ('Whoo! Go, Twilight! Show it who's boss!' 'THAT PIG IS WORSE THAN GANON!'). Sky had found a tree to nap in the shadow. Time had opted to stay on the porch of Wind's home, drinking tea and eating scones with his gran. (He was never living it down, the Links agreed.)

It was nearly as great as he'd imagined.  

Except…

“Still there?” Hyrule asked, following Wind's gaze back to the docks.

“Yup,” Wind grunted. Surely there was something he could try and help Legend out of his funk.

“Do you think he understands her singing? I don't know a spell for it, but it's Legend. Maybe he has a ring for hearing animals' thoughts?”

Possible. But he didn't really react much to Wolfie differently, so… probably not. There was something about that seagull that mattered to him.

He kicked the sand, grumbling. Come on, Link! Think. His mask wouldn't do much except tell Legend how much vitality Marin had (and that felt really counterproductive here). Hyrule didn't have a spell. Twilight only really got the body language. Aryll… eh, his little sister had to be pretending to get their words. No way in hell could she really talk to animals.

Not like he interacted with animals all that much himself. At most, he just found Beedle and…

“Oh, I've got it!”

***

“What do you want?”

“Hey, Legend, look what I got you!”

“A… pear with a screaming face?” It spoke of Legend's unease that the words lacked any acidity, but were merely confused, as if he'd been daydreaming for hours. Scrap that 'if', actually.

“A Hyoi Pear. They're super rare.”

“… I'm not hungry.”

Wind snorted. “Thank fuck, because that'd be really awkward. They're not for eating. Well, not hylian eating at any rate.”

Legend's eyebrow ticked, and his expression nearly resembled its usual self. “Well, thanks for the horrible babble, I'll put it on the chimney back in my world. It should serve as a deterrent to visitors. Or maybe I'll feed it to Ravio.”

Give Wind another fifteen minutes of talking and they'd get their snarky badass back. But it was unlikely the conversation would last this long.

“Oh stop yapping for a minute, you greenlander. I wasn't done talking. The Hyoi Pear allows you to take control of the animal that eats it.”

The seagull's song cut off with a startled screech. Wind had to cover his ears. Ouch.

Legend glared at the fruit, holding a protective hand over Marin. “I'm not-”

“Don't feed it to Marin. Obviously. There's like a metric ton of those winged rats around the place. So, you just need to wear the pear on your head-”

“Okay, now I know you're bullshitting me.”

“I'm serious!” Wind shot back, his face scrunched up in annoyance. “If you put that fruit on your head, it will absorb your thoughts and when a bird eats it, your mind will go inside the bird so you can control it!”

“That's… unexpectedly dangerous, if you ask me.”

“Well, it usually works until something jars you out of it.” Wind shrugged. He'd never had a problem with it, except maybe the guilt of having driven a bird face first into a cliff. “Or the bird shits it out.”

Legend sneered. “Charming.”

“It is what it is. But it's probably better than just whispering all day, if you ask me. So, you want it or not?”

For a moment, Wind almost feared Legend wouldn't. That he'd stay there, glaring at Wind's hand, glaring at the fruit that dared promised such a thing. And then Legend snatched it out of his hand, and near tossed his signature hat aside.

Yup. Wearing a Hyoi Pear really made you look like an idiot. But for once, Wind had zero desire to laugh, at all.

One of Marin's brethren dove straight for Legend's head. In the corner of his eyes, Wind saw Hyrule flinched, itching to protect his fellow hero, but more than that, he saw the tenseness in Legend's body. The hope he held at bay, the fear that this was somehow a prank. That he'd done something he thought of as ridiculous on the blind hope that maybe, maybe this would let him speak to Marin…

Wind whooped when he saw the seagull had taken the bait, and Marin took off after him. She rapidly twirled around the flailing Legend-in-a-bird, chirping softer than a winged rat had any right to do. Soon, she was leading him by the tip of his feathers, playful, gentle. Two old friends in the under the clouds, riding the sea breeze.

“Is he…” Hyrule began, hesitant. “… is he crying?”

Oh, Hylia-damnit! He was so sure that would have helped! Well, nothing to it now. He'd tried.

As he was moving to slap Legend upside the head though, a gentle hand grasp his arm and pulled him back.

“Leave him,” Hyrule said. “You told him how it works. Let him make his decision. Some things… well, you gotta face yourself.”

Wind rubbed the back of his head, a little puzzled. He could get the feeling, but why seagulls? Honestly, they were, at worse, little pests. Not exactly inner demons, right?

But well, Legend appeared alive again for the first time since they'd made it to his home, and that counted for more than a hell lot.

And above, two seagulls danced on the breeze, singing.

BONUS:

Beedle liked heroes. Heroes helped his business stay afloat, as no one else was quite the brand of rich and desperate as an adventurer on a time limit. So they usually didn't mind his gouged out prices so much. Oh, sure, he was the recipient of the stink eye from a little boy in green tunic every so often, but you couldn't be loved by everyone.

The sail clothe that served as his door flapped dramatically, like someone had attempted to kick it down.

Contrarily to his expectations, the person that entered wasn't some burly seven feet tall pirate, but a young man with a kind face and a superbly woven sail wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak.

“Welcome, welcome to Beedle's wandering shop! For your daily travelers' needs.”

The customer smiled pleasantly. “Why, hello. I hear you're the only place in all the great seas where a man can find Hyoi Pears.”

“Ah, you are well-informed.” Beedle rubbed his hands together. Another soul with a desperate need, ready to pay through the nose. “Indeed. Hyoi Pears are very rare and even I only have a limited stock.”

Limited until he found more buyers, of course.

“How many do you have?”

“Oh, for you, sir, I believe I can go up to fifteen.”

“Perfect. Here's all my money.” The adventurer tossed a silver rupee on his counter and leaned forward, a dangerous glean in his eyes. “I want your entire stock.”

“What?!” Beedle jumped in indignation. “Fifteen pears go for one hundred and fifty! Are you trying to bankrupt me?!”

He faced down pirates with bad breathes and more scars than face! Hylia, he sometimes made deals with bokoblins from the great sea! Who did this upstart adventurer think he was dealing with?

A fist slammed against the counter and rattled the very structure of his boat. The man was almost halfway over the counter, his eyes burning. For a second, Beedle feared he understood what demon gods and monsters felt like when staring down the blade of a hero's sword. It was… a certainty… a promise that if you moved the wrong way, you'd find your vital organs in four different locations by the next time you blinked.

“Your. Entire. Stock.”

Beedle squeaked. What in the world was up with this madman that they wanted to control birds so badly?!

“IT'S FOR LOVE!”

DOUBLE BONUS:

“So, Wind, we're very proud of you,” Time said, his face the very picture of neutrality, “Hyrule explained everything. You have shown compassion, kindness and creativity in helping your fellow hero. We couldn't agree more with the principle.”

Wind crossed his arms. “Don't butter me up, old man. Where's the 'but'?”

As one, Time, Hyrule and Four gestured to the beach.

“Last warning, Legend!” Warriors screamed, bolting across the sand whilst a seagull divebombed after him. “If you don't knock it off, I'll start shooting you down with my firerod!”

“Nooooooo!” Aryll screamed from atop the observation tower. “Don't hurt them!”

Wind didn't need to borrow his sister's telescope to see the grimace twisting Warriors' face. Nor any sense enhancement to hear the barely restrained shriek of rage from their captain. Well, at least he was practicing his stamina.

He'd say Sky could use the exercise, but their cloud-headed harpist was sitting on a rooftop and cooing over a few birds of his own.  

“What?” Wind said, digging his heel in the wood of the porch.

“Did you perhaps consider what might happen if you gave Legend the power to control a bird?”

Well, no, but fuck if he was gonna admit that to the others. Besides, it was only a bunch of seagulls. What would they do if the Helmaroc King's chicks showed up? Piss their breeches? No, Wind knew it hadn't been a mistake at all.

Legend, who had until this point been sitting in a meditative pose, dusted off his tunic and stood up.

“Wait,” Hyrule started.

They turned to look at the beach, where, yes, Warriors was still being chased by the seagull, then to Legend, getting back into Wind's house, humming.

Twilight jumped out from behind the corner, eying the sky warily. “It's as we fear, pops,” Twilight said, solemn. “He struck a deal with them.”

The seagulls cackled.

Okay, so maybe he was gonna hide the Hyoi Pears from Legend till they swapped worlds again.

#Linkeduniverse #Linked Universe #LU Wind #LU Legend #RO:ART

[videogamelover99]

Reason

A/N: I physically cannot write something that’s not angst. Anyway, with Episode 15 of TAZ Graduation (by far the best episode, in my opinion), I couldn’t help but need to write this. Warnings for: sexual coercion, abuse of power, classism. AO3 link here. 

Summary: 

"When you transformed Silvia Nite, the fear in her eyes made you feel powerful. Don't you want that again?"

"...I kinda do."

Chaos takes their time to convince Fitzroy that their power is worth it.

When Fitzroy was eight, his father finally took him with his caravan. It was hired out to a Madam Adaman Fern, a human whose new estate was waiting to be moved into. Fitz had watched the items get loaded in by his father’s crew, one by one: solid red wood furniture, silverware of the purest metal, a grandfather clock, and pounds and pounds of jewelry, carried in malachite boxes, full of amber, jade, gold and precious stones that he’d never thought existed. He’d excitedly watched from his father’s place at the head of the wagon, his father smiling as he calmed the horses down, stroking their necks. It was a long trip, passing fields and rivers and mountains, each more beautiful and grander than the last. Fitzroy, in his short life, had seen nothing father than his nowhere town and the local farmer’s market his mother liked to go to. He tried to consume all of it, to not miss a glimpse of anything they passed on their way. That night, the crew had a hard time wrestling him to sleep.

When he woke up, earlier than he ever had out of his excitement, the first thing his eyes were drawn to was the large, three story mansion. It loomed above the horizon, its marble columns reflecting the light of the dawn in a way that made them shine with early morning luminescence. The caravan pulled up in front of the large iron gate, and the crew got out, ready to unload. Beyond the gate, he could see a cobble-stone driveway, circular and in the center of it – a marble fountain, shaped like many outstretched hands, holding up the sky. In front of the carriage stood a woman, helped down by a man in a black and white frock. They slowly approached the caravan, stopping a few paces away from Fitzroy’s father as he got down to greet them. They had not a speck of dirt or road dust on their silken garments. Jerry, when right in front of them, with his grass stains and horsehair covering his overalls, looked a bit like a homeless vagabond. He nodded politely at the two as they watched the luggage get unloaded.

“Careful with that,” the woman said softly, eyeing the people handling the grandfather clock, “it’s been in my family for generations.”

Then she spared a glance at Fitzroy, and the boy smiled wide, like he always did to grownups he didn’t quite know yet. His mother loved that smile, said none of their neighbors could ever resist it.

The woman did not smile back. Instead, she gave him a look, one that made him want to climb into one of the wagons and never crawl out again. A look of pure, unashamed resentment. They she turned away quickly, as if Fitzroy was not worth any more of her time, her jewelry clinking gently as she did so.

Fitzroy remembered that look well. He’d remembered it, because it was the same look that the students at Clyde Nite’s Night Knight School sent him as he passed down the hall, weighed down with expensive, barely affordable books, and ill-fitting clothing his dad had given him. It was a look he chose to remember, when his body was too tired to stand, when his mind was unfocused, when his muscles ached from the overexertion of his training, when his hands shook when holding the sword. He remembered it, and pushed on, past the pain, past the sickness, past the shaky adrenaline.

You could say that at some point, his tenacity had become singlehandedly fueled by spite.

At first, he thought Silvia Nite was better. She’d called out his potential early on, when he’d felled several on the training field, his shirt clinging to the sweat on his back, his face and hands covered in dirt. She’d smiled, and he smiled back, proud that finally, finally someone was noticing his potential.

He had run into her in the hall once, embarrassed and out of breath from being late to class. She’d offered him a helping hand as he tripped over his own feet, mumbling an apology. “Your class can wait,” she said, leading him by the arm, “walk with me.”

He nodded frantically, at loss for words. She led him through the hall of the castle, and into the courtyard. They walked side by side, and Fitzroy had to fight the impulse to lower his head. She breathed power the same way he breathed oxygen. He’d admired the way she held herself, above any trifles or misunderstandings.

“I hear you’re making quite the progress,” she said, stopping just under an old apple tree.

“Y-yeah…I-I mean-” he choked on his words, nervously wondering if he’d already fucked this up.

She smiled at him. “Breathe.”

And, on command, he did. “That’s me! Always, always punching the clock, working those books…” he wanted to jump off the nearest cliff.

“Good,” she turned away from him, plucking one of the flowers from the tree, watching as a few stray petals flew to the ground, “you know, a lot of the other staff members didn’t believe me.”

“Believe you…?”

“About your potential.” She stroked the petals with the tip of her finger. “You’re a talented young man, Fitzroy,” she turned to him, and grinned. “I’m glad you were able to prove them wrong.”

“Oh…I-uh…thanks, I guess? T-thank you.”

She shook her head. “Don’t thank me. You’ve got no one but yourself to praise.” He nodded dumbly. His chested swelled with pride. She’d noticed. Silvia Nite had noticed him. His hard work, his monkey, his time, his pain - everything was finally worth something. “It was very good talking to you, Fitzroy Maplecourt. It’s time for you to head back to class,” and she walked away, the flower still in her hands.

He might’ve felt a little giddy when, after one of her lectures, she’d approached him again. He’d noticed the looks of the other students, some sneers, some of unidentifiable pity. He shrugged them off, thinking them envy. It wasn’t hard, given how much better he was than everyone else at mostly everything. Magic excluded. A Knight didn’t need magic to be successful. A Knight did, however, sometimes needed a helping hand. Which was what Silvia offered to him, placing her long, perfectly trimmed fingernails on his shoulder. She was much taller than him, her elven features similar to his own, and yet so much more pronounced, regal. “I believe there are some people in the oversight guild I can introduce you to. You’d want to build up contacts once you graduate.”

He’d nodded, already having thought of that for months now. Because even though his kingdom, Goodcastle – was already lined up for his taking, something told him broadening his scope was a wise decision.

She let go, stepping back toward her desk. “Meet me at my office tomorrow afternoon. There, we can continue this discussion.”

He should have suspected something, then. But he was too much of a fucking idiot, wasn’t he? And the opportunity seemed so close. Silvia Nite had tossed in the bait, and he’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

But when the time came, and he poked his head into her office, even he could tell that something was wrong. The window blinds were down, and as Silvia walked up to greet him, shaking his hand, and reached over his shoulder to lock the door behind him. A part of him knew, when she told him to sit down, not letting go, smiling, her praise oozing out of her lips like molasses. Suddenly agitated, he shifted in his seat, all to aware of her gaze wandering all over him. They sat down, Silvia behind a redwood desk, him sitting across from her, hands writhing on his lap.

“I can help you, of course,” she’d said, her tone matter of fact, “graduate faster. Find important people to introduce you to. It would be an opportunity you wouldn’t want to miss.” Then she sat back in her leather chair, adorned with the carved faces of eternally hungry wooden lions, and said: “I am a busy woman, though. It would take quite a lot of my schedule to do that for you, do you understand?”

He’d nodded. And flinched, when her hand covered his, and the whole time, his mind was screaming that it was wrong, wrong, wrong. He felt trapped. Under her gaze, in the shadows of the closed blinds, by the lock in the door behind him.

Then her other hand moved to grasp the back of his neck. “So you’ll have to do something for me as well, Fitzroy.” Then she tugged on his collar, and he sprang back, his legs finally working correctly. He was breathing shallow, panicky, because he knew that look. For so long she’d masked it under the pretense of kindness, with nice words and smiles, but at its core, it was all the same. The look of someone who thought that Fitzroy was nothing more than the mud under their shoes. He’d been such an idiot not to see it sooner.

The older woman moved back in surprise, her hand still hovering in the air. Then her gaze narrowed.

“Y-you…” he tried to find his voice, but it was shaking to much for him to form any words. He suddenly wanted to laugh. “You think…you can just…I will never-” He’d never felt so angry in his life.

Her eyebrows rose up, perfect arches she’d no doubt spent hours of her precious time on. She eyed him up and down, standing from her chair, and he bristled, his hands turning to fists. No matter how skilled in combat he’d become, he would still be no match for her. She held his gaze.

Then she sat down, waving a hand. “Alright. You may go, then.”

He practically flung himself at the door, turning the lock with his shaking fingers. “And Fitzroy?” she called, just as he was about to leave, with a tone that sent a chill down his spine, “not everyone is as accommodating as I am.”

After that day, the calls of kissass and teacher’s pet turned to something much more vicious. He made himself suck it up and carried on. Only a few months before graduation. He could make it. After all, one thing was made clear to him. There would be no one who would ever respect him, not until he left this school behind.

The anger didn’t go away. It festered, with every jeer, every rude gesture, every pitying gaze the other teacher had sent his way, and had boiled over when he had to face her once again, in her magic class, trying to light this goddamn candle that would not light the piece of shit-

Her gaze dug into him, ignoring all the other students, the resentful look so clear, so unmistakably present, and if he could just light this goddamned candle so he could leave-

And then the whole room exploded. And moments later, when Silvia Nite was turned back to normal, her gaze wide-eyed and terrified, Fitzroy felt like he couldn’t get enough of the fear in her eyes.

Chaos paused the memory, turning it over in their hand. “You were angry. Good.” They smiled at him, hovering over his shoulder as he looked alongside them. Their shifting head of hair wrapped around his shoulders like a cloud, undulating and free. “You had every right to be.” Their voice was like a whisper of the wind. “She wanted to possess you, control you. Her position gave her the illusion that she could own you. And she was wrong.” They waved their hand, and the memory faded from view, melting around them like sugar. “This is why I chose you.”

They came to him every night, his nonsensical half-dreams replaced by their strange, every-shifting world. Sometimes it was a room in a castle. Sometimes they were out in the woods. And sometimes, the two of them would just sit there, on the foot of his bed, his own body sleeping fitfully behind them. Chaos looked delighted whenever they came. They were possessive, but not in the way people were. They lacked that look in their eyes. They knew they owned him, but not from any illusion of power, not because they thought they were better than him. They owned him, simply because they could.

They turned to him them, smiling, but not amused. Reveling in their truth. “With my power, there will never be such humiliation. Isn’t that reason enough?”

#taz graduation #taz g #sir fitzroy maplecourt #chaos #taz grad spoilers #fanfiction

[curiosity-killed]

a bow for the bad decisions

canon-divergent AU from ep. 24 (on ao3)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16 | part 17 | part 18

Note: I’ll be on vacation Thurs—Mon so updates will be on pause till I get back (sorry lmao!)

He is a little irritated, deep in his belly, at being so weak as to need tending, but he lets the warmth of their care offset that frustration. It’s easier today, when everything is bright and warm with happiness.

Then Wen Ning stiffens, twists, and his hand closes around an arrow a hands’ width from Wei Wuxian’s skull. “Wei Wuxian!” calls a tiny figure on the cliff’s edge. He squints, trying to decide if he recognizes them or if they’re some errant cultivator who thinks they can take down the Yiling laozu on their own. The sunlight glints off gold robes and he can just pick out the vermillion dot between their brows. How gracious, he thinks. Jin sect sending a welcoming party when I’m already on my way to them. “Wei Wuxian, remove your curse at once!” “Do I know you?” Wei Wuxian calls back, bracing his hands on his hips.

He has only ever cursed one person, and this Jin disciple certainly doesn’t look like Wen Chao. Even then, forcing Wen Chao to tear strips from his own legs and eat them was more of the blowback than an actual curse, a return on the sentence Wen Chao gave him when he dropped him into the Burial Mounds.

“You! How dare you!” The outrage is familiar, niggling something at the back of his mind. “I know it was you who cursed me,” the man shouts. “Who else would lower themselves to such nasty tricks?” “Who else indeed,” Wei Wuxian mutters, but it’s tired. Mostly he doesn’t care what people say about him, but his patience is thin and strained when it comes to this. What has he done that’s so wrong, after all? He has tried to repay his debts, to protect his family, to live justly. What part of that is so malignant, so repulsive in the eyes of the world? “Is this not your work?” the Jin disciple demands, tugging open his hanfu. “Release me at once!” Even from this distance, the speckling of gory holes across his chest is distinctive. Wei Wuxian recoils, horrified.  The hundred holes curse is particularly gruesome, cruel in both its agony and its appearance. “Why would I curse you?” he yells. “I don’t even know you!” He can pick out the sneer on the disciple’s face, curling his lips in disdain. “Since you are incapable of honor and won’t release me,” the disciple spits. “I will have to kill you!” Amusement creeps up Wei Wuxian’s throat, cold and edged. If they want to kill him, they ought not to have wasted time with such theatrics.

“Kill me? Can you?” He glances toward the archers lining the cliff, eyebrows arched in doubt. “Can they?” They should know better than to think him defenseless by now. Resentment is everywhere; he carries it in his bones.   There’s a small snap beside him, the sound of Wen Ning’s suppression necklace breaking. Resentment rises in a rush, a geyser-roar that echoes in his marrow.   A volley of arrows pierces the sky. Wen Ning throws himself forward, grabbing hold of a boulder wider than he is tall and slamming it down as a shield in front of Wei Wuxian before flinging himself up the cliff. Wei Wuxian tucks close behind his new shelter and waits. Wen Ning had been the one to suggest he go as Wei Wuxian’s companion, and he had gently refused to be put off by protests. It had seemed too risky to let him come among the people who’d had him killed, but now, Wei Wuxian is reluctantly grateful for his presence. There will be a mess, but at least they’ll walk out of it alive. He can feel the anger, the bitterness, crawling up the ladder of his ribs. The injuries the Jin get are deserved, are less than what they’ve earned. How dare they set a trap for him with his nephew as the bait? How petty and despicable. Today was meant to be for celebration, meant to be a bright-glow day of family and joy. Now, they’ve gotten their dirty-gold hands all over it, twisted and reshaped it into another mess that will be pinned to his name. Fine. Let it be. He’s tired of staying politely in his cage, of constraining himself to fit within their mean tolerance. They opened the gate. They carried the stick. “Wei Wuxian, this is the price of your arrogance!”

He turns to see the leader standing there at his side and, oh, he does remember him. Vaguely. Some cousin of Jin Zixuan — the loud-mouthed brat who was in charge of the Wen prison camp that used to be here. “Let’s see your capability now,” the cousin spits, raising his sword. He lunges, throws himself into a flurry of offense. It might be impressive against someone else, someone unused to defending theirself with a flute. But Chenqing is not just a stick of bamboo, and Wei Wuxian is no one else. Lan Zhan insisted on training together during the war, dragging Wei Wuxian out to clearings and small yards in their camps until they were both soaked in sweat. Bichen could not scar Chenqing; this rat-faced junior is little more than a gnat. He skirts out of range of a strike and feels something shift, slip loose from his robes. He reaches, instinctively, for his chest, but the box that should be there is held in the cousin’s unworthy hand. “Give it back,” he demands. This cousin has no right to touch the gift, is undeserving of even knowing it exists. He turns the box in one hand, lips curling in a sneer. “Is this the gift you think worthy of Jin Rulan?” he asks, derisive. “Did you really think we’d let you attend his celebrations? You, the Yiling laozu, at the Chief Cultivator’s own tower?” His hands are shaking, the edges of his vision hazy. The invitation was signed from Jiang Cheng. His brother wouldn’t betray him, not like this, not with family on the line. But— But if the rest of the Jin sect knew of the invitation, knew the quickest path between Yiling and Koi Tower is through this pass— It would be the perfect opportunity for revenge. They might have even encouraged Jiang Cheng to send the invitation, knowing it a better lure than anything signed by a Jin hand. His nails bite into the pad of his thumb as his hand tightens around Chenqing. He can feel the shift, the black-sand blood rising in his veins. If they want a trap then let them have his teeth and claws. He lifts Chenqing to his lips. “Stop! Both of you!” Jin Zixuan’s golden robes are strangely ruddy, as if viewed through bloodied waters. Wei Wuxian is aware, distantly, that some part of him is trembling; his heart is too loud against the bone of his ribs and sluggish. “Zixuan, what are you doing here?” the cousin demands. His voice is too loud, screeching. It would take so little to silence him. A single note, a flick of his fingers. Resentment could curl around his neck, throttle him. A single spirit could bite out his larynx with jagged red teeth. He deserves it. It’s only fair. He attacked with the intent to kill. Isn’t it right, isn’t it only equal exchange, that Wei Wuxian give answer? Did he not ask a question seeking a reply? He can’t kill Zixuan. It takes some effort to remember this. Shijie would be sad. It might be better for her, in the long run, to be free of him but — but she would be sad. He can’t hurt her. His shaking hand closes tighter around Chenqing’s burning surface. He can’t hurt him. Trash — indelible stain — dirty waters —  There’s a crack, the scraping sound of nails against wood. The box bursts, splinters. Rage rushes through him, a river undammed. “Wei Wuxian! That’s enough!” Chenqing shudders with the impact of the sword against her side, and she echoes with his anger, a cave-ring of resentment rippling between them. She hums, high and keening and hungry. “Stop Wen Ning and we can talk,” Jin Zixuan says, as if there is any room for words here. “Don’t make the situation worse. There is still space for common ground.” Common ground? Common ground? Are they not the ones here with blades unsheathed to cut his own neck? How reasonable it must seem to them to ask him to prepare the parched earth between them with his own blood. Of course he must be the one to stop. He is the one broken and snarling and rabid, after all, the wild creature they never should have brought in off the streets. It doesn’t matter how many men he killed for them, how much of himself was carved out in their service. “The moment I stop him, he will be pierced by your arrows and die,” he snarls. “I should stop? What about you?” “Don’t be unreasonable!” Jin Zixuan snaps, facing him fully. “This is a misunderstanding. If you both follow me to Carp Tower, you can stand and give a full account.” He speaks so reasonably, so sensibly. Of course he would believe anyone at Carp Tower would listen to a full account. Of course he trusts in the pulleys and levers hidden behind their golden façade. What cause has he ever had to doubt when his family’s corruption has carried him from cradle to throne? “Jin Zixuan, let me ask you,” Wei Wuxian says. “When you invited me, can you really say you knew nothing of their plan to kill me?” He fumbles through a protest, affronted by the audacity of a claim against him. The Jin sit so high in their tower, so removed from mundane things like blame. They’ve removed the bodies from the prison camp, but this is an old pass and the rocks have not always been so steady. The dead are everywhere, if you know where to look. Wei Wuxian has shared their company as close as lovers and brothers and old friends; they rise up to greet him, eager with relief. Revenge is the sweetest song. There’s a wet crunch: flesh, tendon, bone. The gasp and choke of a punctured lung. Something flickers in his periphery, a figure wound in qi and resentment together with a saber’s edge. The lines of the world are blurred, hazy with the red of spirits hungry for new flesh. They’ve waited so long for their answer, for their peace. They have starved in the desolation of unquiet rest.

“Wei Wuxian! Jin Zixuan!” He’s heard the voice before, rough and hard with command. It’s faint compared to the hisses and screams of his companions. All the world seems shifted on end, a bottle balanced on a precarious edge. Red floods the pass, writhing, crackling, snarling. There are familiar fingers hooking around his spine, slipping into the spaces between his ribs, running lovingly up his throat. There’s a scream, a wet howl of pain. Wei Wuxian, they sigh, whisper, sing. He knows this multitude, has been scoured by this choir. Wei Wuxian, do you remember? He made a promise once, a long time ago. He said he would be their speaker, give breath to their petitions. Blood breaks across his lips, gasps out of his shredded lungs. He promised the world would not forget them; they promised he would have revenge. The world shudders, shivers. It takes more than blood to make an oath like that. He stumbles; his knees shake. A sacrifice isn’t worth anything if it isn’t full-hearted. There’s a dark figure blurred before him, gold laid out in their arms. Shijie must have looked so beautiful at her wedding; he wonders if she’ll forgive him for cutting it short. His legs give out and the dark rises up to meet him. Wei Wuxian — don’t you want revenge?

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #untamed fic #wei wuxian #my writing