#'it adds so much more spice' well it sure—[gets dragged away by the collar]

[trillscienceofficer]

B'Elanna's tormented history gave Roxann [Dawson] plenty to play—not only her Klingon heritage, but her background as a Maquis freedom fighter. “The more you have to chew on the easier it is, because the less you have to create yourself,” she says. “I love conflict. When you're handed a character that's just rocked with internal and external conflict, what more can you ask for as an actor? It gives you something wonderful to tackle.” Roxann acknowledges that the Maquis conflict with the Starfleet crew couldn't have played out indefinitely, but she would have liked to see it continue a little longer. “I feel that it's a bit of a shame that it was resolved so quickly. I think that what makes a show good is conflict; when things settle down too quickly you lose the tension in the characters, I understand that in the STAR TREK universe—in Gene Roddenberry's world—we all get along, but I find it interesting if we have to actually struggle to do that. Whenever there has been conflict between B'Elanna and any of the other characters I've tried to heighten it, because I think that what's interesting.” […] B'Elanna's other relationships have mostly been antagonistic, notably with Captain Janeway when she and the Maquis crew first came aboard the U.S.S. Voyager, “I feel like I've lost touch with the captain a little bit; we had wonderful things in the first couple of seasons and I wanted to get back some of that adversarial kind of mental battling kind of confrontations that we had.” The captain, of course, had another rebel on her hands when Seven of Nine joined the ship, and B'Elanna had problems with the new Borg crew member. “I loved the conflict between B'Elanna and Seven of Nine. I know at some point we had some discussion with the producers; they wanted to soften the antagonism, and I said, ‘Please, this conflict is good; let's not discard it too quickly! Let's work for an understanding between them.’ I think conflict is exciting, and they did actually maintain that. It adds so much more spice, in my opinion.”

Interview with Roxann Dawson on Star Trek: The Magazine, June 2001

I'd been told before about Dawson having expressed the opinion that it was better to keep the relationship between B'Elanna and Seven antagonistic, as a bit of trivia. I'm glad that I finally found a source for this piece of information though because the context of the interview makes it clear that Dawson was trying to keep the character of B'Elanna interesting in a way that made sense to her, without having to necessarily fall in line with the idea of a ‘conflict-less’ future that didn't accommodate for the actual effort to get there. It's an approach to storytelling that I find really appealing as well. What's disappointing to me though is that on the show we never really saw the ‘work’ that could've brought B'Elanna and Seven to an actual understanding, but rather only caught glimpses of its possibility.

#voy #b'elanna torres #seven of nine #roxann dawson #'it adds so much more spice' well it sure—[gets dragged away by the collar] #b7 #sorry. i have to tag this for organizational purposes

[homoose]

Enter With Abandon: Part I

Summary: Reader accidentally orders three meal kit boxes. Spencer takes one off her hands.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: none

Word count: 1.4k

a/n: I just love a good meet cute, you guys. This is part one of four. ☺️

———

She had come to terms with the fact that she was a terrible cook. She’d grown up just above the poverty line, with parents who worked long hours on odd schedules. That meant that she and her brother had gotten by on a lot of PB&J, hot dogs, and TV dinners. They certainly didn’t learn how to prepare and cook meals. So when she became an adult, with a real job and an actual salary and without a college dining hall at her disposal, she began ordering a lot of takeout.

It didn’t take long for her bank account to remind her that delivery four days a week was above her pay grade. As a compromise, she’d ordered a HelloFresh box. It was still kind of expensive, but it was a far cry from what she’d been spending on Postmates. She tried a Blue Apron box, and those were a little too advanced for her skill set, but she kept the account open just to look. HomeChef quickly became her favorite service— the meals were ridiculously easy and tasted pretty good once they were doctored up with various spices.

She had just started to level up into mediocre cooking territory when she came home to not one, not two, but three meal kit boxes in the mailroom. She frantically pulled up the apps to see that she had somehow missed the day to skip the box for the HelloFresh and BlueApron boxes that week. She now had nine meals to cook in the next seven days (five when accounting for produce freshness).

She hauled the boxes upstairs to her apartment and pulled up the app to check what meals she had even ordered. The BlueApron recipes were thankfully not too difficult, and she opened the box and unpacked the ingredients into the fridge. She did the same with the HelloFresh box, actually excited to try out a mahi mahi recipe that she probably wouldn’t have been adventurous enough to pick on her own. The recipes in the HomeChef box were fine other than a cavatappi recipe she wasn’t too thrilled about, but she ultimately decided that there was no way she’d be able to cook everything from all three boxes without something going bad.

Which is how she ended up in front of apartment 23, huffing out a breath. Apartments 20 and 21 had been… less than friendly. She’d never actually seen anyone enter or exit this apartment, so she wasn’t even sure anyone lived there. Still, she knocked three times and waited, box in hand.

There was some shuffling, footsteps, and the click of the deadbolt. She opened her mouth to start her spiel, but the sound died in her throat at the man in front of her.

Her neighbor stood in his doorway, all fluffy curls and glasses and stubble, and she forgot why she was even standing there. He was wearing a navy cardigan that looked incredibly soft, a white collared shirt underneath, the top two buttons undone, and heather grey slacks on his long legs. On his feet were mismatched socks— one bright green and the other rainbow striped.

“Can I help you?” he asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and drawing her out of her ogling.

“Oh— I, um.” She held up the box. “I’m your neighbor, um, unit 22. I—I do these um, meal kit boxes and I— well, I’m signed up for three different plans, and you have to remember to go into each individual app and skip the week if you don’t want a box delivered, and I thought I did that, but apparently I didn’t, and so now I have three meal kits and that’s way more than I need because I’m only one person so—”

She paused to suck in a breath. The very corners of his lips twitched into the start of a smile and she about spontaneously combusted. He waited for her to continue, one very cute eyebrow raised at her rambling. She gave herself a mental thrashing and a get it together before continuing.

“So. I’m trying to give away this box, because I don’t want the food to go to waste. However, as it turns out, people are not keen on taking food from a stranger, even when it’s in a sealed package from a reputable meal kit service.” She shrugged. “That said, um, do you want this box? Of food. For you.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I— I don’t know if I’m the best candidate for the box.” He bared his teeth sheepishly. “I’m not a very good cook.”

“Oh! Well, this is the easiest kit, actually. Like, they even pre-cook the pasta so all you have to do is add it in, which I think is kind of ridiculous because who can’t boil noodles? But you know, it’s good if you like, work long hours or whatever.”

He considered her for a moment. “Okay, I’ll take it.”

She was so shocked that he hadn’t closed the door in her bumbling face that her mouth dropped open. “You will?”

“Yeah, you convinced me. Do you wanna…?” He held his hands out and she nodded.

“Yeah, of course, sorry.” She handed him the box. “Thank you so much for taking it off my hands,” she said, dusting imaginary particles off of them. “My conscience feels a lot lighter knowing I won’t be contributing to our nation's issue with food waste. Like, did you know that the average person throws away 219 pounds of food per year, and that most of that food gets sent to landfills where it decays and produces nitrogen pollution, which causes algae blooms and dead zones?”

He pressed his lips together. “I actually did know that.”

“Oh. Well. Good.” She crossed her arms. “It—It’s good that you know that, because, you know, maybe you’ll be more mindful of your own food waste.” Her eyes went wide and she held out an apologetic hand. “Not that I’m saying that you’re not mindful or anything. I just—it’s—it can be good to know things.” It can be good to know things?!

“It certainly can be good to know things.” His lips were turned up in the sweetest smile, golden eyes crinkling at the corners, and she didn’t even care if he thought she was a complete idiot, because she just wanted him to smile at her like that for the rest of eternity.

“Absolutely. Knowing things is… awesome.” She wished the floor beneath her would open up and drop her straight into hell. “Okay. Well, bye.” She turned and took two steps, then did a 180 just as he was closing the door. “Oh, just— you might wanna add more spices than they write in the recipes. I think they write them with the intention of being kind of bland to appeal to a wider audience, but you know, they can end up being kind of… well, bland.”

He smiled again and she couldn’t stop staring. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“You’re welcome. Okay. Well, really bye this time.” She turned and walked as calmly as she could back to her apartment. When she heard the click of his deadbolt she dropped her head into her hand in complete and utter mortification at the sheer lack of chill she’d just exhibited. “What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

…

It quickly became obvious why she hadn’t known if anyone lived there— because he was hardly ever home. She listened a little more purposefully to the footsteps on the stairs and the noises through the wall. She wondered if maybe he worked odd hours or had a significant other whose apartment he stayed at.

She was busy enough with work and cooking the other six meals that she had almost forgotten about the humiliating encounter with the man from apartment 23. By the following Friday, she was so tired from the week that she didn’t even glance at his mailbox like she’d been doing all week, S. Reid scrawled across the label. She dragged herself up the stairs and across the landing, fishing her keys out of her bag.

She stopped in front of her door to see a small glass container sitting on her doormat. She looked up and down the hallway before bending to pick it up. There was a paper note taped to the top, written in the same chicken scratch from the mailbox. She saved the note, opting to pop open the lid on the pyrex to find four perfectly baked scones with some sort of citrus glaze. She balanced the dish in one hand and shuffled the note open with the other.

I’m not a great cook, but I’m a pretty good baker. Thanks for the box.

Spencer, Unit 23

P.S. You were right about the spices.

———

Permanent tags: @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @saspencereid @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection

#spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #homoose writes

[capriccio-con-espressione]

Birthday Present | Pt.2

(GIF cred)

Genre: Smut

Warning: Sub!Ten, Dom!Reader, Femdom, Dry/Pillow humping, Blindfold, Handjob, Pet play, Hair pulling, Spanking/Belting, Degradation, Pegging, Vibrators, Thigh riding, CFNM, Profanity, Edging, Tooth-rottingly cheesy ending, Ten is lewd and loud and cries

Word Count: 2511

A/N: This is the sequel to this ask (and kudos to @yangyangthelightskin for sending the original ask in 😘😘 and thank you @sunflowerkeen​ to request a full version of it as well ). Indulge in some seductive Ten!

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

  You feel surges of bliss consuming your body as Ten's lewd moans and gasps corresponding with your every slap fill the air, spicing and heating up the atmosphere, and the way his bottom rocking and perhaps deliberately brushing against your palm certainly isn't helping.

  "Umphh…" Ten's breathing pattern becomes more and more ragged, indicating his building arousal as your gazes meet while you suddenly begin to gently rub his pulsating hard-on. You can easily detect the evident lust in the crescents of his eyes, knowing too well he can see the way you are toying with his cock as well as how the back of his flesh ripples against your every slap.

  "Say, since when have you planned to do this? Seducing me like a little whore you actually are?" You break the ice as you suddenly land a slap on the back of his rock-hard balls, drawing out a nice long breathy whimper from him.

  “W-When last time we w-w-w-watched T-The Handmaiden together...ahh…”  Ten stutters out in a moany voice as you devilishly begin stroking his glistening cock. “I-I couldn’t wipe your facial expressions out of my head when you...mmphh…”

  “When I what? Specify.” You order with a grin, though already knowing too much what he’s referring to.

  “W-when that B-BDSM scene came up...your h-hungry dark gaze...t-the way you b-bit your lip...oh God...don’t stop mmmm…” Ten manages to gasp out an answer as you are palming his tip, his whole body shaking at the tantalizing stimulation yet his tied hands behind his back can do nothing to support his buckling form.

  “You should’ve come clean much sooner.” You darkly add. “Say, you must have wished me to fuck you right there after that movie just like this if Lucas weren’t there to ruin the mood, am I right?”

  “Hnngh I don’t think so-ahh!” Ten’s feigned smirking expression soon falters into a yelp while you harshly slap his ass as a warning.

  “Liar.” Your fingers roam up and down on his perineum, drawing out whimpers after whimpers from him.

  “Hahh fuck yeah...I wish you had r-ruined me like more than this...all I fantasized about you…”

  “Now you want more? You want more, you greedy little slut, huh?”

  “Ahh-oh yes fucking please…make me your nasty little kitten...ahh...use the things in that box...”

  “Oh, you mean this? The particular one you told me to unbox later instead of opening up in the party? Now I can see why...” You immediately reach for the black box lain on the armrest of the couch, before carefully opening it, revealing a set of tortoiseshell-patterned kitten ears with a matching collar with a bell and leash on it plus a furry tail plug, and last but not least, a lacy blindfold.

  “Look how prepped I am…” Before Ten can finish his sentence, you flip him over, slamming his body into your embrace as you entwine your lips with his, feeling the smooch getting gradually wetter and messier whilst low grunts and moans vibrate through the plump flesh that tasted like champagne. Your hand snakes down again to fervently jerk him off as you feel him crumble onto your body even more, whilst deeper and deeper you both fall into the frenzy state of boiling lust, with the remains of his clothing coming off as if you're both gradually stripped of the last bits of your rationality.

  All of a sudden you withdraw your hand, leaving the boy on your lap mewling with a great sense of loss.

  “You’ve really got all the things fully planned out, haven’t you? Come.” You beckon as you untie Ten’s hands, before adorning him with the accessories while he crumbles to his knees pliantly. “Let’s not spoil the fun by unleashing the dirtiest side of you too soon.”

  “You mean us...the dirtiest sides of us...”

  “You know the safeword rules? The color system?” You change the topic into a more serious one.

  "Red means to stop everything, yellow is to slow down, green means…" Ten slightly chokes at the sensation when you pull on the leash attached to the collar to test it. "...fuck yeah…"

  "You sure you want to go further, so I can use my best boygift to whatever extent I want?"

  "Green."

  "You sure you're going to let me take matters into my own hands and let me be ruthlessly sweet but also cruel on you?"

  "Green. Look at this..." He gestures to his twitching cock as he sighs when you insert the tail plug into him after some profuse lubing. "...It's so fucking hard for you and only for you..so fuck me and take me down a peg every way you want…"

  "Good boy." You cradle his jaw before leaning in to plant a soft brief kiss again. “Now follow my lead.” You pull on the leash, guiding his crawling form across the living room to your bedroom.

  Ten’s intense eager gaze burns into you all the time as he moves with his back deliberately arched, his ass swiveling from time to time, his brazen attempt to allure you still evident.

  “Now sit.” You order in a stern voice when you reach the desired designation, as the prettily-adorned boy immediately sits up on his ankles, his tongue darting out coquettishly to moisten his lips.

  “Think I didn’t notice your lewd behavior just now?”

  Ten goes silent though his expressive smirk already says everything.

  “Speak.”

  “No I-”

  “Words.” You cut him off with a firm tug on his hair as he moans out with a ditzy smile in response. “Do I give you permission to use human words, kitten?”

  Ten mewls out with a provocatively indignant huff, pouting, then attempts to reach up and claw at you, yet fails because you pull him away to the other side of your body with the leash, making him fall to the ground.

  “What a bratty kitten.” You concluded with a smirk while scratching his chin as he nuzzles you，his eyes closed at the enjoyment of your touch. “Since you want to be a naughty horny kitten rutting in heat, I’d let you. Come here.” You coo as you sit on the bed with your legs spread wide, while motioning him to sit on your right thigh, as he immediately leaps up at your order.

  “Now ride it.” You command, still pulling on the leash. “Ride it like a keen little kitten eager to please.”

  Ten soon commences humping your thigh back and forth, eyes boring hungrily into you as wanton moans at the friction leave his parted lips, making you unable to take the weight of his stare as well as the wonders of his hips anymore, both of his cock and your core dripping with need.

  “This shall hinder you from arousing me too much…” You grin coquettishly as you blindfold him with the lace you remembered to bring with you from the gift box, while tracing your fingers on his torso afterward, pulling his face close to you with the leash. “I want my naughty little kitten who thinks he can toy with my heart as much as he pleases with those pretty kitty eyes completely overpowered and humbled…” You growl into his ear, sending shivers down his spine, sensory deprivation evidently heightening his arousal.

  You then wickedly pull out the tail plug slightly, making his motions seem as if he’s pushing back and pleasuring his sweet spot on his own. “Fuck yourself, my pretty boy pet.” You feign sweetness in your voice as continuous broken gasps begin rolling out of those luscious lips. “Looks like my cute little kitten is desperate, should I make him cum now hmm?”

  The only syllables that Ten can utter are urgent yet breathy mewls, which you take as confirmation to your slightly degrading question.

  “Yet bad needy kittens like you don’t deserve the privilege to cum yet. Kneel.” You cruelly conclude as you yank him on the leash, supporting his weight with your arm while standing up and lifting him off your thigh, forcing him back on his place on the ground with your foot pressing down on his thigh.

  “Who do you think you are, messing around with my mind with that smug sensuality of yours hmm?” You pull and sway slightly hard on his leash, but still in a controlled manner, while uttering out every single word, making his body jolt and shake helplessly just like a rag doll for your entertainment. “Now you should get the taste of your own medicine...” You chuckle as you drag him even closer to the bed, putting his hands on it. “Crawl onto the bed right now.”

  You reach for the two fluffy pillows situated at the end of the mattress as Ten begins to fumble his way to the spot of your desire, then you instruct him to lie on his stomach after placing the pillows underneath his pelvis. “Fuck the pillows just like you imagined I would do to you.” You demand whilst dishing out a belt from your closet. “Continue the little show for me that was somehow interrupted earlier…” You simper while pulling out the tail plug, before tapping the leather on his ass and drawing out shivers of anticipation from the blindfolded boy.

  Ten drives into the pillows, burying his face into the mattress as if he’s basking into the warmth of euphoric paradise, as red marks and loud snaps commence blossoming on his seductively swiveling rear.

  “Fuck you are really something, aren’t you?” You taunt as you land another loud smack on him again. “You are enjoying this a bit too much, aren’t you? My little slut…” You conclude before lashing out several consecutive blows.

  Just then you hear Ten mutter something under his breath. “What is it, my sweet little kitten?” You inquire, now worried.

  “Green…” Ten breathes out, this time a bit louder. “Greengreengreengreengreen…”

  “Awwww you insatiable one…” You coo when caressing his now red flesh. “I’m gonna wreck you until you’re a helpless begging mess…”

  You then fish out your magic wand vibrator from your bedside drawer, then retrieve the ribbon that Ten used to mesmerize you early on, before instructing him to lift his ass up and tying the wand to his swollen red cock, just to switch to the highest setting immediately, making the kitten boy fall back to the pillows again while desperately moaning out loud.

  “This is the punishment you get for riling the birthday girl up…” You darkly comment as you resume whipping him again. “And don’t you dare cum unless I say so.”

  Moans after moans of prurience emerge from the boy as you fully lash out on him while still pulling his head back on the leash. Ten’s hair is now a ruffled mess, trickles of tears oozing out from the blindfold, making his confident appearance a while ago seems laughable now.

  “Do you want to cum, my depraved little kitten?” You inquire condescendingly again as you yank on his hair, as he fervently nods in response, his whimpers so desperate that sound utterly pathetic.

  “But sadly you can’t until I’ve had my fair share of fun yet…” You devilishly grin at Ten’s suffering, while switching the vibrator completely off, before grabbing the lube and your favorite strap to the play. You climb onto the bed, sitting down next to him once you’re fully equipped and have him lubed and prepped. “Ride it.” You order once he’s guided to the proper place, where his entrance is right on top of your proudly girthy strap.

  Ten’s facing you with his backside, hips making enthralling motions as he bounces up and down on your cock, while whimpering sweetly and throatily. You grab his hips to support him, fingers sporadically tracing and scratching along his body to fire up signals to his senses even more. Ten’s breathing gradually accelerates as he’s building up closer to his next orgasm after getting denied too many times.

  “Does my little kitten really want to cum this bad?” You whisper while switching up the vibrator again, earning gasps of surprise and vehement nods from him. “If you really want to, bend over and let me use you like the little fucktoy you only deserve to be.”

  Ten lets out faint cries upon the humiliating sentence and quickly obeys. You lube up your strap once more, before positioning yourself and slamming into him ruthlessly, switching on and off the vibrator from time to time to tease the already destroyed boy up, as you can tell that he struggles to heed the rule of using no human words. “You may now use your pretty human words to beg now, my sweet little pretty boy..”

  “P-please just let me c-cum...s-stop teasing me…” Ten cries out.

  “You promise to be my good little kitten instead of acting up like a lust-filled pervert?”

  “Y-yes please!”

  “Are those all the words you can think of? I can’t feel your sincerity.” You taunt as you switch off the vibrator while pulling him back with the leash. “Where’s that bad kind of player who was witty and naughty and thought he could have his way with me?”

  For a few seconds, Ten’s mind is completely boggled as all he can make is incoherent sounds. “Please please please allow me to cum...it’s driving me crazy...I’ll be a good little kitten only for you so please...I’m begging you…”

  Upon his choked voice, you can tell he’s nearing his breaking point. “Cum for your birthday girl then, my cute little kitten.” You softly speak as you switch on the wand again, finally granting the sobbing boy some release after a loud throaty cry.

  “You’ve done so well and beautifully for me, baby….” You remove the restrains on him while begin soothing his spanked flesh and still heated body with some lotion after you both come down from your high, as Ten meekly leans into you for a tight embrace.

  Some tranquil silence passed between your afterglow as you both hug each other tightly, both knowing too well that this relationship has crossed its line to another level.

  “Hey, “ Your giggle breaks the silence. “I know this may sound cheesy and lame, but I have to say this.”

  “What?” Ten lazily responds as he reaches up to plant a kiss on your cheek, making you internally flustered despite your cruel appearance just moments ago.

  “Thank you for trusting me this much to fulfill your fantasies.”

  “You did great as well, much better than my own imagination.” Ten flashes that reassuring smile that makes your heart flutter a little again. “What’s most beautiful about sex is the mutual understanding and chemistry between the partners even when no words are exchanged. After being such great friends for this long, I do believe we can make it, from the bottom of my heart.”

  You just nuzzle closer to him, not willing to break this intimate harmony after those enchanting profound words, knowing you just received the best birthday present you could get, ever.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

Tagging: @lovingonrepeat​

Thank you for motivating me to write this when I hit the writer’s block due to my hard-pressed life outside Tumblr <3  

#subidolnet #nct #wayv #superm #ten #chittaphon leechaiyapornkul #ten smut #ten imagines #nct smut #nct imagines #wayv smut #wayv imagines #superm smut #superm imagines #sub!ten smut #dom!reader smut #sub!idol smut #sub!nct smut #sub!wayv smut #sub!superm smut #my writings #birthday present pt 2

[nntssy-old]

Time Heals

Written for Writer's Month 2021, Day 12 - Time. 

Fandom: Gintama Characters/ships: Hijikata/Mitsuba, Hijikata/Tae, Hijikata&Gintoki, Kondou&Sachan Word count: 4396 Rating: T? Also on AO3

They say time heals all wounds. If they haven't healed, there hasn't been enough time.

He already left her behind once. But this time was different. There will be no spicy crackers sent to their headquarters every month. There will be no peeking over Sougo's shoulder while he's reading the letter that came with them. There will be no hope that she'll be able to find her happiness one day despite everything. There will be no chance for him to atone for ruining the only chance at happiness she had got.

Every once in a while Hijikata goes to the stash of crackers she had been sending them and takes a pack. The pile is gradually decreasing — he suspects Sougo is eating them too, although he has never seen him do it.

He bites on one of those crackers and thinks about what he could have done differently. About her spending the decade alone in her house, after everyone she knew and cared about left her behind. He could have stayed with her. They could have taken her with them to Edo. They could have found some way to get her a proper medical treatment…

His vision gets blurry, but he blames it on the damn spice. Because he has no right to cry after everything he had or hadn't done.

He finishes the pack by adding some mayonnaise occasionally. Both his eyes and taste buds burn by that time, but he feels a little bit better. For the time being.

*** 

It is the middle of the day, and the chief of the Shinsengumi is nowhere to be seen, but there's some minor thing the vice-chief can't do without him. Knowing Kondou's habits, Hijikata goes straight to the Koudoukan doujo. Next stop would be Snack Smile.

There is always a ladder or something else left near the enclosure wall — usually from the back side of the doujo — that Kondou probably used to get in. This time it's a few crates stacked upon each other. He jumps on them and over the wall easily, and, indeed, here he is — the commander of the Shinsengumi, lying unconscious on the grass, no doubt after being discovered hiding under kotatsu or something. The vice-chief doesn't feel sorry for him one bit — his stalker of a superior had it coming.

After a sigh, Hijikata just grabs at the back of Kondou's jacket and drags him towards the exit.

He has done it a few times before — before Mitsuba's death, that is. But now, for some reason, the situation brings the memories of a more distant past — how he dragged Sougo to the doujo practice back in Bushuu.

Passing by the front side of the doujo, he glances at the porch, and for a moment he sees her — Mitsuba — again. Seeing him away, as she used to back then, and smiling. Startled, he even drops the cigarette out from his mouth.

But as sudden as it appeared, the vision goes away, and it's Otae who is sitting on the porch.

"Good afternoon, Hijikata-san," she says to him with a smile. "Good work, as always." But then her face and tone change to concerned as she adds, "Are you alright? You look pale… like you've seen a ghost."

He might as well has seen it.

Hijikata tries to compose himself again, but all he can muster is a nod in response, not even the usual apology for his superior's behavior. He proceeds with dragging Kondou-san away in silence.

For the next two months, he sends Yamazaki on the dragging-Kondou-back duty.

***

He hasn't been to Mitsuba's grave since the funeral. A good chunk of the Shinsengumi was present then, with Kondo and Sougo doing all the speeches, so he just mixed in with the crowd and didn't stand out much.

He brings her a bunch of her favorite flowers. He didn't do anything like this in her life even once. In retrospect, he probably should have. The flowers are of the wild kind, and while in abundance in the countryside, it's not so easy to find them in a big city. But there aren't many impossible things for Hijikata once he sets his mind on something.

He sets them near the gravestone and looks at her name etched on it. Looks at the dates. Thinks how in between those numbers there is an entirety of human life — her life — even if it was a rather short one. Thinks how one day he too will be reduced to just a name and numbers on a stone — and that's a best-case scenario. Thinks that, if he ever gets a proper burial, he would like for it to be here, next to her.

Hijikata barely suppresses the urge to touch the stone. His throat feels strained.

In a hindsight, he should have probably brought the spicy crackers with him. But there are many things he should have done.

Hijikata leaves without saying a word. But his imagination decides to play tricks on him. Because turning away, he catches a glimpse of Mitsuba in the corner of his eye. She looks saddened.

***

It's late autumn, and they are still a bit shorthanded after the Itou incident, and there's no one brave enough and available to get the chief back, so Hijikata goes himself for once.

He hesitates a little bit before getting over the wall. Like a damn thief. Or worse — stalker.

From here it's the usual routine: locate Kondou-san, grab him, pay respects to the hostess, leave.

Otae is sweeping fallen leaves with a broom near the entrance. He raises his hand in a silent greeting.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Hijikata-san," she says with a smile. But there's something else to it. Hesitance? Concern? Sadness? "I'm sorry… Gin-san told me about what happened… I'm sorry for your loss." She bows her head.

Someone has his tongue a bit too loose.

"There's no need…" he starts, but he's unsure of what to say.

"He also told me that I might have reminded you of her. I'm sorry."

That damn Yorozuya!

It is true that the first time — the very first time — he saw Otae, she reminded him faintly of Mitsuba. But he has given it a thorough thought recently and came to a conclusion that the similarities were rather superficial. Both were in charge of their younger brothers after being orphaned, which made them mature faster. There are also devotion to a proper lady image and a slight similarity in the hairstyles. Also the smile, the kind of which makes your heart skip a beat — although he is pretty sure that with Otae it's because of fear half the time. That's about it. Mitsuba was a delicate and humble woman. Meanwhile, Yorozuya calls the Shimura girl a gorilla woman, and he's… not entirely wrong, as much as Hijikata hates to agree with him.

Kondou lets out some grunting noise breaking a rather awkward silence. Talk about gorillas. He seems to be coming about though, so it is time to leave.

"Apologies for the disturbance," Hijikata says as he turns towards the exit.

"Take care," he hears her voice in response, slightly muted.

***

Next time is less awkward. Or so he thinks at first.

"Hijikata-san, you're dropping the ash all over the place," she reprimands him. 

It startles him a little bit. But luckily, there's no threat in her voice. He's not quite sure what he can do about it though — it's not like there's a—

"Here." She holds out an ashtray towards him. "I keep it for when someone like Otose-san visits."

Hijikata stands there for a moment, holding Kondou by the back of his collar and looking uncertainly at the object, but then taps the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, while Otae is still holding it.

Somehow, the gesture feels way too intimate.

***

There are usually several bottles of sake stored under a certain loose piece of flooring back at his quarters. They are there in case he needs some time alone to unwind after an especially stressful day. Or to drown away his sorrow and guilt — like in today's case.

Recently he has relied on his stash perhaps way too often. The amount that usually lasted him for months he now drinks up in a matter of two or three weeks. He has forgotten to restock, so right now there is only one half-empty bottle. Not enough to calm all the intrusive thoughts. 

But it's too late into the night, and Hijikata isn't in the mood to go anywhere or deal with anyone, so he will need to make do with what he has. He hopes that it at least will dull the anguish inside of him.

He doesn't even bother with getting a cup, just uncorks the bottle and drinks straight from it.

From the corner of his eye, he can almost see Mitsuba again. She looks concerned. With a hint of disapproval. 

***

This time it is tea.

"Oi, Hijikata-san, would you mind joining me for some tea? I prepared too much because I thought Shin-chan and others were coming, but it seems they're running late. We wouldn't want it all go to waste, would we?" Her voice sounds way too innocent. "Please, I insist."

Otae isn't a woman who will take no for an answer, and he isn't feeling very adventurous today, so he props unconscious Kondou's back against the wall of the doujo, and reluctantly joins her at the porch. The ashtray is already waiting at his side as he sits down.

They do some small talk — well, mostly her — about the weather and the sorts of tea — but otherwise sit in silence, sipping on the hot liquid, watching the clouds pass by. 

It's not uncomfortable. Rather soothing actually.

Perhaps having a calm moment like this wouldn't hurt every once in a while.

***

Next time when Kondou is missing from the Shinsengumi compound, it is right on time for the quarterly reports, and Hijikata is drowning in the paperwork. Reading a particularly lengthy account of accomplishments, complaints, and suggestions from the 1st Division — Sougo apparently does it on purpose — he finally snaps and goes looking for his chief who is supposed to do at least part of this. 

But Kondou is nowhere to be seen at the doujo either. Hijikata has done two circles around the building, checked all the pits, but the usual perpetrator is nowhere to be seen. But Otae is clearly at home today, so her devoted stalker is probably somewhere inside as well. He is starting to lose his patience.

Hijikata cautiously knocks at the main door.

"Excuse me," he starts, trying to suppress the irritation in his tone, but the door slides away too quickly for him to finish, and now he is standing face-to-face with Otae. At a rather close distance. Perhaps too close. He even forgets about being annoyed.

She smiles at him in a greeting, without saying a word, and puts a finger to her lips as in saying "be quiet". The smile on her face is a mischievous one. She gestures for him to go towards the west side of the building. It almost feels like they're accomplices of some sort. But he just wants his chief to get back to work — there's nothing wrong about that. 

As Hijikata follows her directions and goes around the building, she slides the door open there and points under the floor. He squats down and looks under it. It's pretty dark out there, and it takes time for his eyes to adapt.

Once they do, he is able to discern two silhouettes lying on the ground facing each other. Now that he listens carefully, he can even hear some muffled sounds and their muted voices. There's also a faint smell of natto and potato chips.

One of the people hiding under the floor is unmistakably Kondou-san. Another seems to be the Glasses Ninja girl who usually follows Yorozuya around. And they're playing Uno of all things. While Hijikata has been buried in paperwork in a stuffy room back at the headquarters. His blood is about to boil.

"Sarutobi-san..." Otae meanwhile has bent over the wooden flooring to peek under it, her body half-suspended upside down.

The two stalker buddies turn right away. Their faces are pale like they've seen a ghost.

"I wondered why we had problems with rats recently," Otae continues, "but perhaps it is because of all the food crumbs the two of you are leaving around." 

"Kondou-san," Hijikata says in turn, trying to sound polite despite the anger, "if you're feeling bored, there's plenty of reports for you to read back at the Shinsengumi compound." He is grabbing at the hilt of his katana. Otae has already jumped to the ground next to him — he doesn't even ponder on when she has managed to get her naginata. 

But the ninja is fast. She grabs Kondou by the collar and swiftly crawls away in a perpendicular direction. By the time he and Otae catch up to them near the other side of the building, the so-called Sarutobi-san is already jumping over the wall carrying the chief of the Shinsengumi with her arms under his knees and back. 

Hijikata lets out a sigh.

"Any idea where they might have headed?"

~~ Intermission 1 - Sachan ~~

She was hoping to find Gin-san at the doujo today, especially after he loudly proclaimed such an intention yesterday.

But it seems there's only Otae-san now, doing the chores in the yard, not even her brother or Kagura-chan are hanging around. And Sachan doesn't even have any work today to busy herself with.

While thinking of what to do, hanging on the ceiling, she hears a rustling sound from somewhere under the floor. Perhaps Otae isn't completely alone after all.

Avoiding being noticed by the hostess, Sachan crawls under the floor, and indeed, Kondo-san is also on duty today — well, not on his proper duty duty — snacking on some potato chips and watching Otae's feet from afar. She decides to sneak up on him. It is so easy to startle him that she has to forcefully cover his mouth so as to not betray their presence.

"Ah, it's you, Assassin girl," he says in a muffled voice.

"You seem to be bored."

"I'm not bored, just taking a break!"

"Do you want to play some Uno?"

They start playing, but the chief of the Shinsengumi seems to be as unlucky in games as he is in love. Which, of course, gets him frustrated. She occasionally forcibly covers his mouth again to prevent him from getting too loud.

Suddenly, while they are still engrossed in another round of the game, her instincts kick in, and Sachan feels some sort of dangerous presence. Perhaps, even a killing intent.

"Sarutobi-san..." she hears a very familiar voice, as if right on cue.

Sachan turns to the voice — Otae's head is upside down as she is looking at their hideout under the floor — menacing aura and all. But she's not alone. There is also the Demonic Vice-Chief of the Shinsengumi right beside her, looking angry and just as his nickname suggests. Each of them alone would look like pretty bad news right now, but together... they are like a match made in Hell.

Sachan doesn't even hear what they have to say, her self-preservation instincts taking over, and all her senses telling her to run. She grabs Kondou-san by the collar of his jacket — in an act of solidarity, or perhaps she has already grown rather fond of him to just leave him behind in the imminent danger — and retreats.

Jumping from roof to roof, with protesting Kondou in her arms, she thinks that her love rival and the vice-chief actually look rather good together. She wonders what is the relationship between the two.

Sachan drops the chief of the Shinsengumi off at his headquarters. Literally. Through the roof.   

~~ Intermission ends ~~

Next time Hijikata is unlucky enough to come just before lunch.

She sees him from the east side of the building even before he's able to find Kondou-san. Out of courtesy, he comes closer to ask her. But his stomach betrays him in a rather loud voice.

"Oh my, Hijikata-san, you must be hungry. We are actually about to have some tamagoyaki. Why don't you join us?"

Oh, shit, the infamous abused eggs. They are slowly becoming a local legend. Of the horror kind.

"No, I'm in a hurry actually…"

"Oh… But you can't work on an empty stomach, can you? Wait here, I will bring you some." And she rushes back inside before he even has a chance to stop her.

Hijikata ponders on how rude it would be to refuse now. And what body part he should protect from the punch. But before he comes to any conclusion, she's already back with a small plate and a radiant smile on her face.

Otae doesn't take no for an answer. But he isn't even capable of saying no to such an enthusiastic face. Perhaps because he just has difficulties saying no to women in general. Yes, that must be it.

It's just burnt eggs, how bad could it be? Not to mention he has his emergency bottle of mayonnaise with him.

~~ Intermission 2 - Gintoki ~~

"Look, he's about to put mayonnaise on it!" Kagura lets out a loud whisper, peeking through a slightly open sliding door. "Ew!"

"Shh, maybe it will cancel out somehow. The more he eats the less we will need to. Until Shinpachi makes some normal food." Gintoki's head is just above hers, as he's peeping in the next room as well. He is expecting Otae to stop Hijikata from desecrating already desecrated eggs any moment now.

But it never comes.

"He's eating it!" Kagura exclaims.

Hijikata is sitting with his back towards them, so they can't see his face. But lately, the vice-chief of the Shinsengumi has been looking… not his best. He has reasons for moping around, but it has already been like half a year since the death of Okita's sister.

Like you're the one to talk when it comes to coping.   

They keep watching as Hijikata finishes his plate, without either choking or puking. He is about to return the plate and doesn't even look like he's in a dire need of a bathroom.  

"Hijikata-san, you need to take better care of yourself. If not for yourself, then for people who care about you," Gintoki hears Otae's quiet voice suddenly.

Says the woman who is about to give him a food poisoning.

"There are fewer and fewer people like that lately," Hijikata responds in a bit of a grave voice after some pause.

As he returns the plate, their hands — Otae's and Hijikata's — touch. The man freezes.

"You're… mistaken," she responds. There's seemingly an eye contact, and the vice-chief looks somewhat surprised.

Gintoki hears Kagura hold her breath and lean in a bit closer. Like she's sometimes doing when watching a romance drama.

Coming to his senses, Hijikata is visibly flustered and suddenly in a rush to leave. So much that he almost drops the plate. But still, it doesn't look like diarrhea is the cause.

"It seems Kondou-san is not here today… So I'll be on my way… Thank you for the meal." The vice-chief bows exaggeratedly and turns away to leave.

"Here goes our hope of salvation," says Gintoki after Hijikata isn't in sight anymore, but the possibility of food poisoning isn't what occupies his mind at the moment.

Otae hasn't moved from her place yet.

Kagura turns away from the door. She seems to be contemplating something. Perhaps processing what she has just seen. Gintoki follows and can't help but plunge into thinking as well.

Meanwhile, Kondou slides from under the kotatsu, looking rather sleepy. 

"Has someone called me?" 

~~ Intermission ends ~~

It is late into the night, and the silence seems too loud again. Hijikata is thinking about opening up his stash — he has restocked recently after all.

He gets one bottle out and is looking at the label, contemplating.

People that care about me, huh?

Kondou's concerned face comes to his mind. Sougo hasn't tried to kill him as much lately either. He remembers Yamazaki and his other subordinates exchanging glances when he was shouting at them while still being hungover. Even Yorozuya hasn't been as cocky when they happen to cross paths lately.

You're… mistaken. 

Eventually, he decides to put the bottle back.

Perhaps a cup of tea might be better.

As he's about to head towards the kitchen, Hijikata catches a glimpse of Mitsuba in the corner of his eye again, but the vision disappears as soon as he turns his head.

He's pretty sure there has been a trace of a smile on her face this time.

***

It's early spring and another drag-Kondou-back-to-work day. 

Hijikata is making a circle around the Koudoukan doujo in search of his superior. He's about to pass by the main entrance, expecting to see the irresistible — as in you have no chance of resistance — owner and her charming smile.

But it's Yorozuya's uncouth mug instead.

"Yo," he says simply.

Hijikata gets startled.

"What are you doing here?"

"Were you expecting to see someone else, eh, Hijikata-kun?" says the silver-haired samurai in his insufferable tone. "Someone prettier maybe? With a ponytail maybe? Am I not enough for you, Hijikata-kun?" He pauses but then adds with an even more shit-eating grin than before, "How were the tamagoyaki last time?"

Hijikata is reminded of accidentally touching Otae's hand instead.

You're… mistaken.

"I… You…" He is considerably flustered — there's no way around that — but for what reason?

"She went out to buy some groceries. Must be back soon," Yorozuya adds simply, picking at his nose, not even looking at him.

Hijikata calms down — more or less — and just goes past the other man, intending to proceed with his search.

"You know… if there's such thing as Heaven" — there's seriousness in Gintoki's voice that makes Hijikata stop in his tracks — "she probably just wants for you to be happy. Just as you did for her."

He remembers Mitsuba's concerned face conjured by his imagination.

"I know," he responds out loud without facing the other. But in actuality, it is a rather fresh thought in his mind. 

"You wouldn't want to disappoint her, would you?"

He didn't think of it like that before. Not explicitly, at least.

"Anyway, the Gorilla should be just around this corner. Otae has knocked him out just before leaving," Yorozuya says in a more casual tone.

Hijikata finds Kondou-san just where he was told. He grabs his superior by the collar and proceeds to the exit, raising a hand in goodbye to Yorozuya, still without facing him. The vice-chief's mind is deep in thought.

As he's turning out of the gate, Hijikata comes face-to-face with Otae. Again.

She's smiling radiantly. While he feels like he's getting flustered for the second time today.

"Good afternoon, Hijikata-san. Are you leaving already?"

He only manages to say something barely intelligible in response. He can almost hear Yorozuya laughing.

"Too bad… Thank you for your hard work anyway."

He nods and proceeds with dragging Kondou-san away past her. There are a lot of things on his mind. 

***

He comes to visit Mitsuba again.

He brings her a bunch of her favorite flowers. He always forgets their name, so there are certain difficulties when talking to the florists, but he is persistent in trying to describe them to the best of his ability. There aren't many impossible things for Hijikata once he sets his mind on something after all.

The grave is well tended to — Sougo must be visiting much more often than he is. And he better be.

He sets the flowers near the gravestone and looks at her name etched on it.

"Long time no see."

That's not exactly true. She has come to him — to his mind — quite often, almost every time he was left alone.

Hijikata sits down in front of the grave and starts talking. 

He starts with little things: the stuff that has happened recently, how is Sougo doing, how are Kondou and the others.

He talks, and talks, and talks. 

He bows his head and apologizes for not visiting sooner, and more often in general. He voices all of his regrets. The things he should have done. Apologizes for both the things he had done and the things he hadn't.

He promises to take good care of Sougo.

He tells her of all the connections they have made since coming to Edo. Yamazaki. Matsudaira and his daughter. Yorozuya. The Shimura siblings. Tells her of the weird rivalry Sougo has with the China Amanto girl. How their days are almost never dull.

He tells her all this so she doesn't have to worry. So she can rest in peace.

In the end, he asks her permission for him to move on. Not to forget — because her image will forever be ingrained in his heart. But he also feels that there is still some place for others too. To move on, for the sake of the people who depend on him. Who — just so happened — care about him, as hard as it is for him to acknowledge this. 

Then Hijikata sits in silence, with his head down, for a long, long time, as if indeed waiting for someone to answer.

When, in the end, he stands up, he feels lighter. Like the cage around his chest has finally broken.

"I will bring the crackers next time," he says with a smile before turning away to leave. After a few paces, he stops and slightly turns back to look at the grave.

He sees Mitsuba in the corner of his eye again. She is holding the flowers and smiling. He intends to keep it that way.    

***

The spring is in full force now, and the trees are blooming.

He doesn't remember when he stopped even thinking of sending someone else to retrieve the chief of the Shinsengumi from the Koudoukan doujo. 

For once, he decides to enter through the front entrance.

It doesn't take long for Otae to notice him. She's already waving at him. And, of course, smiling. And he cannot but smile — just a little bit — back.

They say time heals all wounds. If they haven't healed, there hasn't been enough time. Or the right words haven't been said yet. Or, more importantly, heard.

#writersmonth2021 #me writes #Gintama #Toshirou Hijikata #Mitsuba Okita #Tae Shimura #Gintoki Sakata #Isao Kondou #Ayame Sarutobi (Sachan) #HijiMitsu #HijiTae #HijiGin #longest fic i finished to date

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 28- In Shadow

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Returning to his hometown, Etho hs to balance his past with his present, as well as keep Keralis and Grian from embarrassing him in from of his old teacher and town. 

_______________________________

Etho always thought he was a handful- he may act mature, but his mind is full of mischief that would make even a criminal stumble. But dragging Keralis and Grian through the misty swamps of his home, he realizes there are more ways than one to cause trouble. 

Keralis goes sloshing away, swallowed up by the fog. The only way Etho knows he still exists is by the loud splash of the bug wizard, followed by a string of curses in his thick accent. Keralis returns to Etho’s side, wrestling a stag beetle and cooing at how lovely it looks. 

Grian on the other hand, Etho couldn’t get to shut up. “I think I have half the swamp in my boots.” 

“You could just fly.” Etho points out. 

“But I can’t see anything!” Grian’s whine echoes through the thick copse of trees, bouncing off submerged ferns and aged wood. “How do you even know where you’re going?” 

“Secret ninja techniques.” Etho muses, following the trail at his feet. Beneath the water, he can feel ridges carved into the stone, under the silt. Guiding him to his hometown. 

Keralis’s eyes get wider than usual at the sound of a branch snapping in the distance. He whips his head around, pulling on his hat and brushing closer to Etho. “Are you sure we’re alone?”

“We’re not.” Etho grins. Both Grian and Keralis whimper, searching the fog like they’re trying to see a ghost. They might as well be. “The town knows we’re coming. They’ve already seen us, even if we haven’t seen them.” 

“Ninjas.” Grian whispers. The trio continues in silence, or at least as silent as Grian and Keralis can be, sludging through the swamp. Grian chatters with himself and the bug wizard, his voice bouncing up cypress trees as tall as towers, clambering over the roots. He gets a foot tangled in the submerged vines, and goes headfirst into the slow moving brown water with a yelp. “Etho, when the hell are we going to get to this town? I haven’t seen any signs that we’re even close.” 

“Ah, yeah. I haven’t seen a spot of dry ground this whole time.” Keralis adds. “Are they on stilts? How does a town like that stay out of the swamp?” 

Etho feels the carved markings beneath his feet turn into a radiating circle, like a ripple across the surface. He stops, grabbing Keralis and Grian, a grin appearing on his unmasked face. “We’re here.” 

Grian turns around in a full circle, looking at the copse of trees. “Uhhh, are you okay Etho? This looks the same as every other part of the swamp.”

“Maybe it’s hidden in the fog? Fog magic?” Keralis waves his arms around as if he’s attempting to feel around in the dark. 

Etho leans against a root, grinning. “Try looking up.” 

Grian does so, and gasps. 

Above their head, a town hovers over them. Lantern lights split through the fog, unveiling themselves like a stage curtain, warm yellow glows dancing off the wood and paper. Beneath the strung lantern lights, dancing will-o-the-wisps above their heads, bridges of plank and rope connect tree to tree and guide the townsfolk across the swamp without making a sound. 

The fog continues to disappear, and the town of Shellor unmasks in ripples. Homes and businesses nestled in the massive trunks of the trees or perched on the expansive branches, the open air filtering the earth and water tone of the swamp air through bars, abodes, shops, and shrines. For a second, Grian wishes Mumbo was here to rant about the engineering marvel above his head. How much time it must’ve taken to build a town in the sky, where they even get the fire from, and hidden out of sight, out of sound. He never even realized they were walking beneath it. 

“How...how do we get up there?” Keralis tips his head, holding onto his hat so it doesn’t slip off. 

“Normally, adults can just climb up ourselves.” Etho launches from the root, grabbing hold of a branch and swinging himself up, higher and higher. “And Grian can fly, obviously. But- I’ll grab the basket.” 

“Basket?” Keralis watches the two disappear among the intertwining bridges. A second later, something is dropping back to the ground. It’s not a basket he thought it would be. It’s a lift of sorts. The wood floats like driftwood on the murky swamp water, the walls opening to invite Keralis in. He clambers on the wood panel, surprised to find that the weight hardly even shifts. Even when the walls pull back up around him and the basket starts to rise, he feels like he’s on solid ground. It’s the smoothest lift he’s even been on, something that would put Darlon to shame. 

Etho and Grian have their heads poking over the railing as Keralis rises up. “A pretty neat invention, huh?” Etho laughs, running a finger along the rope, watching the pulley system release the weight a distance away. “It’s not used often anymore, really just for when kids need to get down, supplies, the like.” 

Keralis stumbles onto the bridge. The warm glow of lantern light invites him deeper into Shellor, and the scent of food makes his stomach growl. Spices that dance with the mist, a warm rumble of quiet laughter from the nearby restaurant. But everyone’s movements are lithe and silent, even if their talking isn’t. Everyone in the town walks without a sound, like cats stalking their prey. Exactly how Etho walks, constantly spooking Keralis when he’s in the middle of reading or baking. 

It quiets down, and even Etho pauses. Grian and Keralis turn around, surprised to find Etho prostrating before a shrine. They never took him to be the god-worshipping kind. But they sit down next to him, looking at the shrine. It’s made of stone- how that got up here, neither of them can guess. Lanterns are kept aglow and the crescent shaped bowl protected with a carved wooden gazebo. After a few moments, Etho speaks. “Manys, god of the moon. Patron to Shellor, teacher to the art of stealth. I remember my first lesson to harness my power was to watch the full moonlight travel across the swampwater. Silent, but present.” 

“Is that how you learned to be a shadow ninja?” Keralis whispers while Grian lights a dying candle. 

“Nope.” Etho chuckles. “I definitely took a more...physical approach.” 

“Etho!” All three hermits stiffen at the shrill shriek of the shop owner a few bridges down. “I knew you’d come back! Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about all that candy you stole!” 

“Ah, that’s what you mean.” Grian muses, watching as Etho is given an earful by the man. It’s the first time Keralis and Grian have ever seen Etho embarrassed, the pale skin under his white hair blushing red, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Mr. Toku, I think Etho has heard well enough.” A warm voice, quiet but persistent, cuts through the berating tirade. Before her first syllable was uttered, Keralis and Grian knew this was someone of importance. An unusual sense of raging peace, like sitting next to a swollen waterfall in the middle of a forest, exudes from the woman like an aura. She turns, and immediately sweeps Etho into a hug. “It is good to have you home, my pupil.” 

“Hello Reverent Nama.” Etho squeaks, hardly able to breathe against such a tight hug. A weak smile appears on his face, the one person he missed most when he left being his teacher, the head monk of Shellor. Nama. He doesn’t even remember her real name, he’s always called her Nama. 

“Look at you, so tall! You grew like a shoot, Etho.” She grabs his cheek, looking at the scars on his face. “I still remember the day your magic first showed itself. Have you been using my teachings, anak ko?” 

“Nama, I remember it all. But you know me.” He offers a sly grin, but nods silently. “I still like to watch the moon, though.” 

“The best teacher, and the mother always with you.” Nama’s voice dips into a lower octave at her sagely advice, before rising back up as a smile creases her warm, deep toned skin. “But you must be starving, walking through the swamp. Come, bring your friends.” 

She waves her hands, blue and white robes beckoning the weary travelers deeper into the town. A glint of lantern light catches Grian’s attention, and his eyes go as wide as saucers at the sight before him. The biggest gong he’s ever seen in his life. Taller than Grian, even with his wings stretched high above his head, the silver metal glimmering like the moon at the center of the town. Archways decorate and dance around the massive instrument. Grian’s drawn to the gong like a moth to the flame. 

Only to be thwarted by Etho. He grabs Grian by the collar, dragging him back in line with Reverent Nama and the other monks. Keralis giggles and teases Grian even as they enter the raised, thatched house. Bowed roofs similar to the arches and pagodas they saw before protect angular, woven walls and open windows. The swamp breeze filters through the mat-strewn floor as Nama opens the sliding door. Nama disappears into an upper level, before returning with a steaming teapot and five different plates of food. The boys sit at the low table, suddenly alone with the leader of Shellor. Silent as shadows, her peers had disappeared. Like ninjas. “I assume this is not just a family visit.” 

“How did you know?” Keralis croons, sipping on the warm tea poured before him. His eyes light up at the fried, wrapped treat set on his plate. His massive bug eyes only unnerve Nama, repositioning in her seat at the sight of such strange friends Etho brought. 

“Etho isn’t exactly the visiting kind. A practical pupil, even to the day he left.” 

“Nama, you of all people know how to gather information. You see what the moon sees.” She nods at Etho’s words. It’s not hyperbole- it’s her magic. “Surely you have information about husk monsters attacking all over Lairyon.” 

“Why does that interest you, Etho?” Nama gazes over the rim of her teacup.

“We intend to stop it.” Grian states, flat and plain. Etho seethes, sending imaginary daggers at the blond angel before him. He needs to be more subtle than that! 

“Finally, someone to take up the mantle.” She responds. “I have heard worrisome things, are you three sure you can handle such a task?” When all of them nod, she continues. “Then you need to start here- husks have been attempting to enter Shellor for the past few days. They have broken through our mist barrier, but have been unable to reach the town. I do not think they will stop trying until they reach the bridges.”

“They want to steal your magic, your power. They’ll kill you all.” Etho growls. 

“Exactly as what my informants told me. Do you boys think you could defeat an army of mindless creatures?” She pauses, looking at their faces. Seeing the glint in their eyes and knowing. “Excuse me, I have underestimated you. It seems you have already done so before.” 

“We’ll need more than just your information, Reverent Nama. We need supplies, tools of stealth that only Shellor can create. We need to use every advantage we can find to stop these husks. To stop-”

“To stop Magistrate Dolios, yes.” Nama nods, a growl breaking through her neutral expression. “Whatever you and your friends need, I will be happy to give. But for now, eat! Tell me, anak ko, who are your friends here.” She leans over to Etho. “Is the one with the large eyes okay? Is he some sort of hybrid?” 

Etho chuckles, and welcomes the warm food of home into his body. He missed the taste of good palabok, wishing at least one other hermit could cook his hometown’s food like Nama could. He introduces Keralis, quickly explaining his magic, then moving onto Grian. Even Nama, in all her wise counselling, was shocked to learn he was an angel mage. She knew they existed, beneath the watchful eyes of the moon, but to see one in front of her? And in a guild as wayward as Etho describes? 

Their plates are filled as fast as they’re emptied, food appearing out of what felt like nowhere. Etho smiles as he hears laughter rise from his friends and teacher. He left Shellor because he felt restrained. But to be home? It felt freeing, now that he’s an adult. Now that he has his guild, he feels more connected to here than ever before. They continue talking well into the night, until the fog fades and the moon observes the quiet swamp. 

Nama closes her eyes, falling into a quiet meditation at the dinner table. But when her eyes open, it’s anything but calm. She rises so fast her knees almost spill the table over, robes fluttering like leaves in the wind. “They’re here. Oh gods, they’re already at the barrier.

“You wanted lessons in stealth? Well, lesson number one- don’t let your enemy see you.” Nama motions for another monk, and he casts his magic circle. In one deep breath, he inhales the magic. And a gust of wind from his lips blows out every single candle. Only the full moonlight bears illumination upon the town. 

And the distant crack of lightning, an ashen storm visible through the spindly cypress trees.

Townsfolk shuffle in the dark, accustomed but alarmed. Night is when Shellor is most alive, lanterns lit and moon in full view. Nama sends her monks to scout ahead, to be the first line of defense, before marching towards the center of town. 

Towards the gong. It reflects the moonlight, blue luminescence titillating across the silver instrument. A mallet the length of Nama’s arm is plucked from the arch, but she pauses. Looking over her shoulder, she sees Etho practically holding Grian back, the angle bouncing in his boots. Like so many of her other pupils, and who is she to deny him something so exciting? She hands the mallet into Grian’s hand. He wastes no time putting it to work. With wings unfurling and hovering at the center of the circle. One mighty reel backwards, he swings. The mallet strikes the metal, and both Grian and the gong reverberate in response. A low, loud ringing warns the entire town they’re under attack. Grian still feels the sensation of the strike in his arms even after he lands. 

“The husks aren’t after anything in particular- they just want as much magic as possible.” Etho warns, pulling free his kusarigama, watching the darkness. In the distance, a blood curdling howl of a banshee turns even his blood cold. He doesn’t want to face that beast on good terms, much less a creepy husk version. 

“How can you stop them?” Nama questions, dipping her arms into her robes. She doesn’t need a weapon to be dangerous. 

“There’s no crystal.” Keralis warns. “But there is a darkness storm.” He points to the distant canopy, black clouds roiling across the sky. 

“We just have to defeat them. One by one, it will weaken the storm and purge the land of their presence.” Grian flutters over the side of the bridge, looking down. Below, among the swamp water and cypress roots, monsters and mages scrabble up the aged cypress wood. Throwing themselves higher and higher, unlike Etho’s smooth agility to the town. “No matter what, don’t let your fighters get caught by the husks. They’ll turn into one.” 

“Stealth is our trade, angel.” Nama hums, arm reappearing and offering up supplies to the trio. Smoke bombs, firecrackers, magical climbing gear for Keralis, an enchanted mirror to Grian. “We shall do our best, but you three are clearly the masters in this battle.” 

Nama steps back, and bows. Pride swells in Etho’s chest, almost causing him to tear up. If he didn’t hear the snarls of darkness consumed being of pure anger, hatred, and power, he probably would’ve. He’s never seen Reverent Nama bow to anyone else before. 

And then she’s gone. Disappearing among her robes, the hermits next see her down at the roots. Battling with a cold rage, like sunlight reflecting off the moon. Etho hands a few smoke bombs to his friends, grinning. “Let’s raise hell, shall we?”

#hermitcraft #light of lairyon #lol #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft fic #wizard au #wizard hermits #wizard grian #wizard keralis #wizard etho #grian #grianmmc #keralis #ethoslab

[phcking-detective]

FOUND

Find Familiar: ch 1

Rating: E

Summary: Nines cast the spell Find Familiar, but instead of an animal, they accidentally summoned a werewolf. Gavin is just happy to have finally found his mate and start pack bonding with the half-elf wizard. His best idea for a fun bonding activity? Touching his dick of course!

***

Gavin wakes up with a warm, breathing body pressed against his own, and it's all he ever wanted.

Then reality seeps in like cold rain and he realizes it's just the one person, not a dog pile, because he doesn't have a pack. Only a wizard who maybe sort of magically owns him now.

So that's a great start to the morning.

He gets a stew started like he promised, once he finds some potatoes and carrots, one lonely haunch of meat in an icebox, and no spices beyond salt. There aren't many places to look, since the whole room is five, maybe six hundred square feet.

Gods. Gavin's a lone wolf living half-feral without a tent or even a fire half the time, and he still thinks this is pathetic.

He knows better than to touch any of the books scattered around—fucking wizards—so he doesn't try to clean anything while he waits for his new … boss? Alpha?? person, to wake up.

(He does risk moving a stack of papers to sit in front of the black leather collar on the desk. Not hidden. Just. Out of sight.)

"No celery?" the wizard asks.

Gavin bites down on a flinch and a few choice swears. Sweet Selûne shift him. Who the fuck goes from asleep to awake completely silent like that?

"No," he growls.

Nines blinks themself more awake. "Is your negative an agreement to my question or simply a negative?"

"Baby, I have no idea what the fuck you mean, but there's not any celery."

"Oh. Thank you."

The conversation ends there when he dishes out a bowl of stew, that Nines eats at their desk, one agonizingly slow bite at a time, almost as an afterthought as they work on creating papers and papers of writing.

Since the wizard is so absorbed in their scribbles they can barely notice food, Gavin strips down and takes a bath. The water runs hot straight out of the faucet, even without any signs of pipes. Sinking into a whole tub of it feels goddamn luxurious.

He's half-shifted before he even realizes, but Nines probably wouldn't notice he got out and swung his dick around like a propeller, so he doesn't force himself back. His hybrid form always feels better anyway, the best of both animals, with human hands and wolf senses, still able to stand and walk upright but with stronger muscles and thicker protective body hair.

He's still sunk down and amusing himself by blowing bubbles in the water with his near-snout when Nines finally surfaces for air on their own side of the tower.

"Gav—oh."

They turn around and blink at him. Gavin hunkers down lower in the water and prepares to force himself back, but even without actively poking the bond, he can tell there isn't any fear or revulsion from the wizard. He still pulls his snout of out the water and scents the air just to check, but … nothing.

"Good. Yes. Feel free to utilize any of the …" Nines pauses, stuck on the words. "Accommodations. Can you read?"

It's probably a fair question—especially since the answer is barely—but Gavin still hauls himself out of the bathtub and onto the sand pit so Nines will have to look at him. All the scars, the body hair almost thick enough to be a pelt, the way his bone structure is clearly halfway between one form and the other right now.

But instead of making the wizard flinch away and stop asking questions, Nines just grabs a different notebook and begins sketching him.

"Why?" Gavin growls out.

He can still speak, but just like his amount of literacy, the amount is barely. With lots of effort.

"Hmm?"

Nines looks up. Sort of. They lift their head at least, but their eyes stay focused down on their notebook, reluctantly dragged up at the very last second.

"Mm? Oh. Yes, here is your contract," they say.

They place the small stack of papers they'd written onto the dining table in the center of the room, then the two of them meet in the middle, each awkwardly taking a seat across from each other at the table, then staring at each other even more awkwardly.

"That is my brother's seat," Nines says.

Gavin raises an eyebrow but doesn't move his ass out of it. At least he put pants on before sitting down.

"I have never had another visitor," the wizard continues. "So. That has always been …"

They trail off, then grab their notebook and begin reading from it.

"My name is Nines. I am a wizard. I am thirty-two year half-elf. I do not have a gender. I use they-them pronouns. Pause for—"

They stop abruptly and look back up at him.

"… Gavin," he says. "I'm a fighter, thirty-six, werewolf. Born, not turned, so we don't really keep track of any races. You're either a wolf or you're not. Probably human though. Uh, he-him."

If they don't bother with human binary genders, maybe they'd understand just … switching genders? He thinks about it while Nines writes down what he'd said, like anything he says is actually important enough to be recorded.

Maybe he should let them get a little more attached to him before he tells them about the other crazy, evil wizard with a claim on him—and all the transformations they'd done on his body.

"Does your entire pack consist of born lycanthropes?" they ask, drawing him back into the conversation.

"Can just say wolves," Gavin grumbles. "And yeah. Haven't taken in a stray for a while."

No one does. That's why he's still—ugh, stop it. Fucking feeling sorry for himself.

"Is there a significant cultural difference between born and turned … wolves?"

Gavin stares at the wizard. Significant cultural difference, Selûne shift and collar him.

"Turned wolves don't have a pack," he finally says. "No one to share the mental load—most of the poor fuckers don't even know what's happening until they're already shifted and scared and starving. They've got just enough instinct to go back home, and then the screaming and running starts …"

He assumes he doesn't have to finish it from there. A hungry wolf sees something run, and they think prey, not child.

"I apologize if I ask simple questions," Nines states while still writing. "But I have never had the opportunity to meet a wolf in person, and so my knowledge is likely biased and incorrect. Is a coastal environment a suitable habitat for you?"

Gavin shrugs. "Sure. You gonna let me run around outside at some point?"

"Yes, of course. You may come and go as you please," Nines says. "How much land will your pack need? I do own the surrounding—"

His pack? Gavin stares at Nines as they ramble on about this land they own and how it's too rocky to support farming but has access to a cove, and the ensuing treaty with the local pod of merfolk, and—

And his pack. He has no idea what game the wizard is playing, but he never imagined it would include letting him "come and go as you please" and providing land for his—

"I don't have a pack," he blurts out.

Nines stops and blinks at him.

"Got kicked out."

He doesn't explain. It's impossible to explain just one thing, because it's all tangled together, in his mind, the words stuck in his throat. Refusing his pack's Alpha, bargaining to have his body changed and transformed, his womb scooped out so he could never be bred, never ever—

And where exactly that got him. They sit together in silence for a long, horrible moment.

"No one has need of a ninth child," Nines finally says.

"You really call yourself that?" Gavin asks in return, for lack of anything less dick-ish to say.

"Yes." Nines looks at him without any self-pity and factually adds, "It states all that most need to know. They do not need me, and I do not need them."

Gavin nods. "Fuck 'em."

"Yes. Well. I—" Nines stops and abruptly pushes the small pile of paperwork closer to his side of the table. "Here is your contract. It details what I … do need. And, expectations. I suppose the fifth clause is no longer necessary, unless you intend to create your own."

"My own … pack?" Gavin asks slowly.

"Yes."

He snorts. "I'm not going to run around and start turning people."

"Yes, that is included in the clause," Nines says. "Subsection A. Not to offend, but I thought it best to lay out a certain number of precautions first. B notes that you will be beholden to all the same laws as any other citizen, and C states you will make adequate arrangements for the full moon with myself or Knight Commander Anderson."

Gavin pulls a face at the rank. That shit's almost definitely a paladin. No sense of humor, holier than thou, and allergic to critical thinking. Just because you pledged allegiance to a deity society deemed "Good" doesn't actually mean literally everything you do is always going to be right or kind or morally just.

"He is also a lycan—" Nines stops and corrects, "A turned wolf, you called it? If expecting the two of you to … have commonalities … is unreasonable, then the subsection can be adjusted accordingly. The point is merely that you arrange for a safe and secure location each month."

"Yeah, we're not going to sniff each other's butts and be best friends," Gavin tells him. "It's probably how you feel about sorcerers and warlocks. Magic just looks like magic to me, but—yeah."

He stops when he sees Nines's face collapse into itself in the purest form of affronted disgust he's ever seen. This time, he can't stop a chuckle before it slips out.

"I can just stay here though?" he asks.

Nines unfurls their face enough to nod. "Yes. My power may be my own, achieved through my own studies, but I was sent to the same monastery as my twin. I acknowledge you have been sent by my patron deity, and I will fulfill my responsibilities to you thusly."

Gavin's eyebrows shoot up. "You're religious?"

"I worship Selûne," Nines answers.

Gavin stares at the wizard.

"Children born under the full moon often have enhanced magical ability," they explain. "She is also the goddess of navigation, quests, and all who work by night. It was the battle with her own twin that caused the formation of Mystral, the goddess of all magic. Many arcane users still worship her as such."

"And werewolves," Gavin says as how this shit all happened clicks into place.

"Your duties outlined in the contract." Nines stops and clears their throat. "Every power has a price, and mine was enacted at my birth. I have always needed certain accommodations. I realize now a mere animal would not be enough to serve as my familiar, yet a person has never been summoned before. A familiar that is both animal and person, however …"

Gavin nods at the stack of papers. "So am I your familiar or your employee?"

"Well, both," Nines answers. "You are magically bound to me, but you obviously are not a simple animal. I have made adjustments due to these extenuating circumstances, but this is a standard contract for all minions, assistants, and others employed by wizards."

He snorts. "Do I have a union?"

"Yes, subsection E, although you will need to opt-in," Nines replies, very sincerely.

Gavin taps the top paper to make a point when he asks his next question, and the paper suddenly yells the word "HEREFORE" at him.

"Oh, my apologies." Nines takes the stack from him and scribbles a few marks in the top corner. "There, the volume should be properly adjusted."

Gavin cautiously slides the papers back over, being careful to only touch the sides of the stack. He takes the first page off the top and pokes his name, one of the few words he recognizes.

"Gavin," the paper announces.

"I have paperwork I must complete to officially register you as both my familiar and my new minion," Nines tells him. "I trust you can be left to your own devices to review our contract?"

"Yeah," Gavin says.

"Very good."

Nines gets up and returns to their desk. Still no collar, only … this contract. Gavin runs his finger along the first line.

"The entity known as Gavin, herefore referred to as THE FAMILIAR, will enter into a magically binding contract with Nines, herefore referred to as THE WIZARD, to serve in the capacities of both a FAMILIAR and a MINION, as outlined by the Wizard Coalition of …"

***

Gavin nuzzles into his bed and groans. Three days of barely stopping to hunt and sleep to get here, and now it's been another three days of slowly figuring each other out.

Which hasn't been bad or anything. He got to run around outside, do a few laps around the borders of Nines's land. Cold, wet, and rocky, but he has to admit, he's kind of digging the melodramatic sea-side vibe. The air smells like salt and storms all the time, crowding out all the memories of soft earth and dense forest.

And he's got a contract. A "boss." That's the word Nines wants to use, so Gavin says that, but they both know he means Alpha.

It's good to have a job, food, and a bed, blah blah blah, he's really grateful and all, it's just—

Maybe not everyone has them or wants to indulge in them, but Gavin does for both.

And it's been nearly a week.

"Nines," he finally says.

He pokes at their bond too for good measure. The wizard won't pay attention to him unless he does. They'll look up and point their face at his face, but somehow their hand will keep writing in the scroll and they won't hear a goddamn word he says.

Even with the mental prodding, Nines barely turns their head. "Hmm?"

"I need to jack off."

Nines keeps writing for half a second before they blink and actually look at him. "… now?"

Gavin half-shrugs, still laying down. "I mean, tonight, yeah."

He's a werewolf using testosterone cream—kept in a jar in his coin purse, which was much more important to enchant to shift with him than shoes—who just formed a mental pack bond again. Full moon already past or no, his hormones are screaming at him that he needs to fuck.

But that's probably not Nines's idea of a fun bonding activity.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks, then continues with narrowed eyes before he can even reply, "Do not use my spell components."

Gavin barks out a laugh. "What—I'm gonna jack it with oblex ooze? That'd melt my fucking dick off!"

"Yes, it would."

He pauses. "Do … you know that for sure?"

Nines sighs. Deeply. "I attended an academy meant to train paladins, clerics, and perhaps the odd druid."

"All the most repressed spellcasters, huh?"

Nines doesn't deny it. Gavin snorts, imagining all the magically-inclined tithe-children being told to keep themselves pure so they can be properly donated to the gods turning into magically-inclined teenagers hit with guilt and libido in equal measure—and all the idiot fuckery they probably got up to without any actual education about their bodies.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks again. "I do not keep supplies for that on hand."

"You don't keep supplies or you don't uh, keep anything on hand?" Gavin wiggles his eyebrows.

Nines flushes and glares like they're still a prefect at that academy. "I—that is not—"

Gavin raises his own hands to prove they're above the sheets. "If that's not any of my business, sure. Figured that, honestly. Which is why I'm telling you that I've got needs, but I can just go downstairs if you want."

"Downstairs?" Nines frowns less furiously.

"That little entranceway at the door is large enou—"

"I'm not going to send you out into the hall," Nines says, like that's what will make them clutch their pearls in shock. "You can stay in your own bed."

"Yeah?" Gavin gives the wizard a once over. "I'm good with that. So good. But what I'm willing to do with pack and what you think is appropriate for a roommate probably isn't the same thing."

Nines's frown turns more calculating, like they're correcting the runes in a spell. "We are discussing you staying in your bed to masturbate while I continue my studies, correct?"

"… yeah?"

"Are you going to call me names, attempt to touch me, or—"

"No, no," Gavin rushes to reassure them. "I can just …"

He moves his hand down and cups himself, just to demonstrate that he's only going to be touching his own body, before he remembers that's not socially acceptable around humans either. Nines only cocks their head to the side though, a mild curiosity leaking through their mental bond.

And fuck, just his hand feels good right now. It's been nearly a goddamn week.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks.

Gavin shivers under the sound of their voice. "Don't need it. Get wet enough myself."

He feels the bond pulse again with that academic sort of curiosity, like Nines is going to start taking notes on him again while he jacks off. He pushes his trousers down, moving slowly enough to give his boss plenty of time to look away. He isn't wearing smalls of course. They'd just be another piece he'd have to pay to get enchanted.

Nines eyes his cock like they might sketch it in exact anatomical detail.

Gavin doesn't mention how he got it—his bargain and the Collar, the collapsed tower, the vows of vengeance—he'll get around to confessing it all eventually. But in the meantime: a fun bonding activity.

Gavin grips his cock and gives it a few strokes. Nines blinks in a way that's more like shutting their eyes repeatedly. He exhales slowly and makes himself stop, although he does still keep his hand held loosely around the base.

"If you don't want echoes, you'll have to wall off your mind on your own end," he advises Nines. "I'm uh … a little too busy here to concentrate."

"Echoes," Nines repeats.

Shit, right. Human. Doesn't seem to specialize in any divination or enchantment magic—so they probably don't have any experience being inside someone else's head.

"Yeah, that's why I offered to," He jerks his chin at the door. "Distance helps, some."

Nines does that tiny little head tilt again. "May I observe?"

Gavin licks his lips. "Yeah."

"May I ignore you?" they ask next.

"Uh, sure?"

He doesn't have any human hangups about nudity, but he's not going to whip his dick out and waggle it at anyone who doesn't want to see it. Jacking off in the same room is probably already pushing it, but then again, the rules seem to be different in boarding schools and barracks and sometimes bars but sometimes not—humans have so many weird fucking rules.

"Then," Nines says. "You do as you please, and I will do the same."

"Works for me."

Gavin gives his cock another squeeze, and Nines turns back to their scroll. Yeah, he's a little disappointed about that, but it's enough just to have his pack in the same room and know he's not alone.

Since the wizard isn't watching anyway, Gavin rolls over and shoves a blanket down around his crotch. He has a whole nest of them, all piled up on top of a mattress Nines insisted he have. They'd tried to bring in an actual bed, but it's just weird, sleeping so high up and away from the ground for no reason.

He gets a soft little mound built up and grips himself again through the blanket. Even if Nines makes him wash it after, this will make his bed smell like him and home and—

Gavin buries his face into his pillow and inhales. It still has Nines's scent on it. All the blankets do too, so now they'll smell like the both of them, like pack.

He feels a fresh jab of interest spike back through their bond and guesses Nines is watching him again. Maybe jacking off right in front of them like that was a little too much, but with everything mostly out of view now, they're back to curious again.

It only takes him a minute to build up a steady rhythm, rutting into the blankets and his own hand. He groans into the pillow and hears Nines breathe in sharply.

Echoes. He grins and keeps going.

He doesn't know what kind of needs Nines has or wants to fulfill, but he likes the thought of making them feel good. Would like it even better if he could crawl over between the wizard's legs and find out what they're working with by licking it.

"Gavin …"

The wolf whines in response to his name in his Alpha's mouth. He squeezes his hand tighter at the base of his cock against the knot trying to plump up there, just in case Nines wants it.

"Yeah, baby?" Gavin manages to growl.

"Oh."

Nines breathes the word, and Gavin can feel a small simmer of arousal bounce back and forth between them—this time from the wizard's end, not his.

"Does it always feel like this?" they ask.

He groans in answer, the only response he has to the soft wonder in their voice. He knows humans' senses are weak and dull, that they don't get hit with lust and frenzy the same way wolves do.

But hearing the awe in his human's voice the first time they feel it too makes him want to show them how good it can really feel.

"Yeah," he bites out. "Better with … you."

His canines get in the way of the words, the partial shift rippling through his body. He's never had particularly good control of it, so there's no stopping the change now when his blood's up.

"Are you wet?"

The question stabs through him. Gavin loses his rhythm with a whimper, nearly overcome with the instinct to crawl over and show his Alpha, present his cock or his mouth or whatever hole they want to use.

And he is wet. He can feel it dripping down the length of his cock, more pooling at the head, smearing into the palm of his hand.

"Uh huh," he pants.

Gavin bites down into the blankets as he ruts harder, but a sharply clicked tongue brings him back to awareness. He turns his head to the side and blearily stares up at Nines as he continues fucking his own hand.

"I would like to hear you," Nines says.

"Baby," Gavin breathes in reply.

Nines closes their eyes and shivers. Well, if they like his voice …

"Wanna lick you," he says. "Suck on you and make you—ahhh, make you feel good."

"I—" Nines stares at him with wide eyes.

"Shh, shhh." Gavin keeps making the noise in a low mumble as he slows down his pace into a dirty grind. "Gotcha baby, get my mouth on your nipples an' your neck, your mouth, make you wet too."

"I don't usually like to be touched," Nines admits.

Gavin's brain snatches onto the word usually, but he doesn't want to push. There's some shit he knows for sure he won't ever do, but then there's a lot more he just doesn't know if he really doesn't want, or maybe only in the right situation, with the right pronouns and body parts, the right person, but then how is he supposed to know if he wants it enough to try it if he won't know if he actually wants it until he's already tried it?

So that's a whole big nest of wyverns, and neither of them need to try to sort it out right this moment.

"Can give you this though, yeah?" Gavin asks.

He twists his wrist on the upstroke against the head, but then stops and holds completely still. Nines tries to strangle a whine in their throat at the lost sensation.

"… yes."

That confession sounds much better. Gavin grins at the wizard and starts thrusting again, still looking at them. Their long eyelashes and shoulder-length hair almost soften their face into pretty, but then thin lips, a straight nose, and strong jaw sharpen the effect back up again. And the ice-blue eyes set against pale skin and black hair just sends it all careening past beautiful or handsome into big words about being scary-haunting-magical that the wolf can't think of right now.

He can feel his orgasm building up, drowning in those eyes staring right back at him, but he squeezes harshly at the base of his cock. The sensation strangles at the root, like the little moans Nines won't let escape their mouth.

He probably shouldn't tempt it, but he sinks into the feeling of tightening and loosening his grip around his knot and the waves of pleasure that sends rolling through them both.

"You," Nines says but can't seem to find anymore words.

"Mmgff." Gavin huffs into the pillow and tries to make his own words work. "Good, feels good. Sorry. Won't knot if—fffuck."

If that scares you. Disgusts you. Bores you, to be stuck listening to him come and come and come while the exasperated wizard is trying to focus on their studies.

He pries his eyes back open when he hears footsteps and stares up at Nines paused in an awkward-half crouch over him, like they're not sure if they're allowed to touch. His tail makes the decision for both of them by immediately wagging in anticipation of pets and attention.

"May I touch you?" Nines still asks.

Gavin nods past a desperate whine. A hand slides up the back of his neck first, while another soothes over his bare flank. Must've kicked off his trousers at some point. All that matters is the hand on the back of his neck, pinning him down, holding him place, exactly where he should be for his Alpha.

His tail wags harder.

"May I see?"

The hands urge him to roll over, and he does, without hesitation, like a dog showing his belly when his master comes home.

Laying on his back like this, he knows the partial shift is even more apparent. Just about everything humans think they know is bullshit, but his hybrid form really does look like those shitty illustrations of big scary wolf men.

And that's without the thick, hairy cock jutting out between his legs.

He's proud of it, wanted it, needed it, but that was for himself. He wasn't trying to impress anyone, and he's not expecting a human to like it.

"Does your phallus typically have this appearance, or is it increasingly engorged due to your partial transformation?" Nines asks.

Gavin stares up at them and tries to impress through their mental bond just how many fucking words that was.

Nines flushes and tries again. "Does it get bigger when you shift?"

"Yeah," he says. "Touch me?"

He holds his cock slightly out toward the wizard in offering. Nines hums in consideration but doesn't make any move toward it. That's fair.

"Do you knot without …" They struggle with the words again. "Sex?"

Gavin strokes himself, tugging upward and pause at the head. It leaves his knot free below, not quite there yet, but noticeably swollen under the attention.

"Can. Sometimes."

"Will you show me?"

Nines stares down at him and meeting their eyes is like looking at the moon. Humans want so badly to sort everything into Good or Bad, even the deities they worship. But some things aren't good or bad, only intense.

Gavin nods, mouth slack and panting. He wraps his left hand around his knot to work it while his right keeps stroking the rest. Nines's eyes sweep up and down him like a search light scanning for a rogue.

"Feel … good?" he asks between pants.

Maybe he's already asked, but it's hard to think right now. He tugs at the bond, trying to pull Nines's mind closer to him, get them to come down out of the sky and feel it with him. The wizard's hands clench into the robes draped over their kneeling legs.

Then they open their eyes again, and Gavin could swear their irises really have turned a silvery-blue.

"Behave."

The order thunders down their bond and into his chest. Gavin groans, the tightness coiled inside him easing another measure. He's not quite ready to unspool, but maybe—maybe just a little?

"I am asking about you."

Nines's voice changes from questioning and a little stilted to informing him of how it is, like casting a spell. Gavin doesn't have any ability himself, but as far as he knows, that's kind of how they do it. Spell casting is just telling reality what to do with enough conviction that reality up and does it.

"Do you want to be mine?"

Gavin thrusts into his hands in answer. It's sloppy and a little pathetic, because there's nothing for him to rut into. But he starts nodding again, just in case that wasn't enough.

"Like this?" Nines touches him for the second time, one hand gently curling around his throat. "To be mine."

He's coming undone. Falling apart. Food and shelter and an Alpha, their own little pack of two, someone touching him and promising to claim him.

"Suh … 'posed to be … yours."

He knows it's true, it's true, true. The call in his mind, their contract, both of them bound by Selûne.

"Yes," Nines confirms. "Show me."

Gavin comes almost before they finish speaking. He tries to hold eye contact as long as he can, but eventually his own squeeze shut as he curls in on himself with a shudder. The first wave passes deceptively quick, with just a few spurts from his cock.

But he's not done.

"Good boy."

Those hands are back again, just like before, this time encouraging him to roll back onto his belly. They stroke through his hair and scritch behind his ears when he obeys, and he thinks life couldn't possibly get any better until there's a warm body sliding onto the mattress behind him.

Then he's being spooned and everything inside him unravels without any warning.

When he's done coming for the second time, he's aware of a few things: the hand wrapped back around his throat, first. That the gangly half-human, half-elf is tall enough to almost envelope him completely. The soft murmur of praise in his ear, shifted halfway up his head now and nearly wolf-like.

Yours.

It's harder to send the thought out when he's only partially shifted. Even with other wolves, they all share best as animals, some basic concepts as hybrids, and only faint echoes when unshifted.

But being the wizard's familiar must be different, since he'd heard the summons in his head from damn near across the country, in all forms, while Nines can't shift at all.

You are mine. I will take care of you, if you allow me to keep you.

Oh yeah, that's definitely different. Wolves share senses and feelings, not full sentences.

Keep me, Gavin manages to think back.

"Yes," Nines murmurs aloud.

The third wave hits him, and he sobs as he comes for his Alpha. His body is just doing the best it can to please, still managing to pump out another two shots of cum. He can finally feel a tinge of mild revulsion from Nines, but it seems to be aimed more at the mess than himself. Bold feelings from a wizard who left a hunk of bread to mold so long they mistook it for a stoneshroom.

"Perhaps I should invest in a toy," they muse. "A sleeve somewhat akin to a bag of holding, so that it can contain all this mess."

Gavin groans in a not-sexy way. "Don't make me fuck a void."

"No, the pocket dimension would only be applied at the tip of the—"

He can't help but start laughing. Pocket dimension applied at the tip—and said completely straight. Goddamn wizards.

Nines expresses their irritation at being laughed at by nipping his ear, and yep, there's wave number four. To their credit, they do continue to hold him until he gets another brief reprieve.

"How many times does this occur?" they ask when he's done.

"Depends," Gavin scrapes together enough brain matter to say. "More with … partner."

"Hmm," Nines says, like the feral scientist they are.

Gavin flips off his pride and goes straight to begging. "Please."

He's not sure what exactly he's begging for though—not to be forced into multiple orgasms while Nines observes or takes notes, or that the wizard will get started on that right away.

"Please, please, baby."

Nines pulls him back to rest half on top of their body, which lets them switch their right hand for their left hand around his throat without him laying on top of their arm. And that in turn frees up their right hand to drop down to his cock.

"Yours, yours," he mumbles. "Alpha."

"What do you need?"

Their hand brushes his own, the one gripping his knot. He lets go for an agonizing second to press their hand against it instead. Nines lets him wrap his hand back around theirs, using both of their hands to squeeze and lightly tug the knot.

"Ah … ahhh …"

"Ask properly," Nines orders.

"Alphaaa!"

He practically wails the word, shaking apart in Nines's arms and beneath their hand, but he can't now, it's not enough on his own anymore, not without permission.

"Hmmm."

Gavin cries freely, but doesn't make Nines grip him tighter or stroke him off. His Alpha will give him what he needs, and he'll take what he's given, like a good boy.

But that doesn't mean he can't ask for more.

"Baby," he groans. "Need it, need it, I—phck, please!"

"Yes."

The final wave sweeps over him so hard he goes blind, or his eyes shut, or he's back on his belly again, face smushed into the pillow, Nines's hand still around him and the blankets beneath his cock to rut into and it's not the last because Nines tells him Again and Again, until he's coming dry, throat hoarse from crying.

And then once more after that.

When he regains consciousness again, his whole body feels sore in the best possible way. There's drool running down his chin, tacky and drying to the pillow. He has his knees tucked up beneath him, but that's OK, because this is how he's supposed to present anyway.

Except the hand reaching between his legs doesn't breach him. Something soft and wet swipes over him instead, and he can't even muster up the mental energy to be scared, to explain why that's still there, that he managed to bargain for a working cock and all his insides scooped out, but that's still—

"Hush." Nines soothes him with another hand rubbing his back. "You did very well. All you must do now is rest."

Gavin sinks back down into the delicious ache and doesn't move while Nines cleans the slick from between his thighs, then further up to his cock. The blankets he'd rutted into have already been removed at some point. He knows from experience not even the best wizard on the material plane could wash his scent out though and takes a moment to feel a little smug about it.

"Yes, you came a truly impressive amount," Nines says. "Excessive, actually."

Gavin smacks his mouth before he can speak. "Your fault."

"Hmmm."

Nines stands when he's done and moves away. Gavin manages to flop onto his side and curl up. His boss did say he could sleep now. He just needs a little nap.

He gets a flask of water shoved in his face instead. The hand petting him goes back awkward again, pat-pat-pat instead of real pets. Nines doesn't seem to know exactly what to do now that they're done, but clean up and water was still really nice of them.

Gavin finishes gulping down the flask and heaves in air.

"I have work I need to finish," Nines informs him. "Have your needs been sufficiently met?"

Sufficiently met? Fuck, he's had orgies that didn't wear him out this good.

"Yeah," Gavin answers. "Need to sleep now."

Nines smiles at him. "Excellent. Good boy."

Gavin grins lazily back at them. "And when I wake up, I'm gonna crawl over between your legs and make you feel good too."

Nines flushes and half opens their mouth to protest.

"When you need a break from your scroll-thingy, and only if you let me," he adds.

Nines closes their mouth. They don't say anything else, but that means they also don't say no. Their blush doesn't go away either. They simply stand back up and sit down at their desk, spending far too much concentration fussing over the exact alignment of all their inks and quills instead of looking at Gavin.

Who keeps grinning, even as he yawns and snuggles down in his bed. He just needs a little nap, and then after that … he has all sorts of ideas for fun bonding activities.

***

***

This fic was commissioned by one of my followers to continue the first drabble! Subscribers to my Patreon get early access to all my commissioned fics 2 weeks before they’re posted to AO3 and tumblr ^^

#reed900 #gavin reed #dbh #dbh fic #detroit: become human

[crowleyellestair]

Hide ‘n Seek- Jaskier Drabble

AN// Some canonical facts are taken from Blood of Elves, though it was pictured with the Netflix adaptations for Jaskier, Geralt and Ciri

 Major fluff

 Jaskier x reader, Platonic witcher friends

Jaskier didn’t have enhanced witcher senses. He couldn’t smell what someone had for diner the say prior or sense people’s emotions. He couldn’t tell a lie by a heartbeat nor could he see in the dark. He was a humble bard, and a simple man, who loves a woman named Y/n completely. He also cares for his witcher friend Geralt, who could be blamed for this situation.

The bard and his healer had traveled with the White Wolf to Kaer Morhen with the intent to help raise Ciri. Winter so far had been perfect, despite the intense change in scenery. The two would usually spend time in the still bustling streets of Oxenfurt, but now they were in a half closed off keep. Raising the young princess had been a walk in the park so far, each of the witchers taking her under their wings. The five witchers had decided they would teach her as much as they could about the witchering world, and the bard had decided to teach her court etiquette. Most of the medical info the Lion Cub had been learning was through Vesemir, so Y/n wasn’t a teacher. She had decided to be ‘the fun aunt’ as she often said.

Last time the bard had checked, Y/n had been with Ciri, though once he had caught up with the young girl, she gave him worrying news.

“We were playing hide and seek. In a way it helps training, so I can locate people based on tracking and ‘environmental knowledge’.” The old witcher next to her grumbled from his seat.

“Environmental awareness.” Vesemir continued to page through the newest book that he was going to use for visual aid. His eyes flew over the pages, but his tone was scolding enough were Ciri shrunk without the scrutiny of his gaze. “Though, our little cub was unsuccessful.” The bard’s hand flew to rub her back, trying to sooth her despite her ‘failure’. It had taken a moment for his words to set in. Cornflower blue eyes darted between the two.

“So that means…we don’t have any clue where Y/n is?” Ciri shook her head, and Vesemir gave him a sparing glance that conveyed the obvious answer.  His head snapped to the barely audible footsteps coming in from the balcony. “Oh, perfect. Geralt, can you tell me where Y/n is?” Geralt looked to Vesemir with a raised brow. Every witcher in the keep had an idea, if not the exact location, of the healer. Familiar golden eyes flew down to the child he had come to know as his daughter, and Jaskier’s stomach dropped. A growingly familiar, playful grin started to spread on Geralt’s pale visage.

“Yes.” The bard waited for a moment to find he had nothing to add. His hands flew in a questioning gesture through the air for a moment before his arms dropped to his sides.

“And where, pray tell, is she?” Geralt’s gaze met the brunette’s.

“I never said I would tell you where, I was simply saying I could.” Jaskier’s hands fisted and rested against his hips. His mouth gaped like a fish for a moment before snapping shut, and letting out a dramatic huff.

“My dearest friend, why won’t you help me? Do you think it is fun putting my weary heart through this turmoil?” A small giggle came from the floor where Ciri sat. The playful smile turned to genuine joy as the witcher looked back down. Jaskier sighed, trying his damndest to not admit that he found it cute as well. He turned on his heal, and started to search. If Ciri couldn’t find her, his best bet was to look for the other two witchers, as Coen was also in the room smiling silently. Or, at least Eskel. He would help. Sadly, since the balcony was open, by the time the bard had gotten to him, he was chuckling and shaking his head.

“Come on, Eskel. Betraying me, sure, but Y/n? How will she feel about this?” The scarred lip tipped up, eyes shining as he looks to the bard from Lil’ Bleater.

“Oh, I am well aware that she will find it funny.” Jaskier’s shoulders dropped as he huffed, dragging his feet in the snow to try and force the witcher into pity. Y/n had known all of the wolves before knowing Jaskier, so he was fully aware of the truth behind Eskel’s words. He had barely turned the corner when said witcher called to him. “I also trust her tracking skills, but yours are just as poor as the cubs. Consider it training, bard.”

Jaskier looked through all of the outlandish spots he could think of in the more common areas they were allowed in. Under tables in the kitchen, behind boxes and above scaffolding in the main hall. Behind and in suits of armor. Along the way, he found Lambert taking care of the laundry. He was pouring over a small jam stain on Ciri’s shirt when he cursed the bard out of the room. Jaskier understood, knowing the youngest witcher was embarrassed about his own infatuation and immense knowledge of clothes and fashion.

His nerves flared up, despite knowing Y/n was most likely fine. Jaskier had finally gathered the materials he had needed for them to spice up the night. There isn’t much you can do in terms of ‘kinky’ when you’re staying in a keep full of witchers, but he had come up with a fun idea. A nice bottle of Est Est, clean furs and an old smut book he had found. He had wanted them to wrap up under the furs and read it to her, seeing where the slow and soft touches would go whilst he read. Now, he was going to have to wait, his mind bouncing to the extreme until she shows herself.

He huffed, sitting at the edge of their bed, his hands scribbling over his cheeks. He sat there for a moment, his eyes going to the spaces in the room. He couldn’t wait for her, he needed to see her now, if only to simply lay his gaze upon her. For a moment, his eyes landed on the closet before moving on, though they quickly darted back. Jaskier had some important doublet hanging in the space, and the two had always made sure to keep the door closed. He got up to close it before hearing a small rumble. Dread made his stomach drop as he didn’t want to open the door. What if an animal made its way into the closet? Into their clothes?! Jaskier took a couple of quick, readying breaths before letting the door fly open.

There, wrapped in a make-shift doublet blanket, Y/n dozed on the closet floor. Her nose was buried in the collar of his baby blue overcoat, her knees pulled to her chest. Her head had slid to the corner, head tilting in a weird way that forced her airflow to come out as a grumbled snore. He couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face as he knelt down next to her. His hand gently cupped the joint between her shoulder and neck, thumb gently rubbing circles into her soft skin.

“Dear heart, it’s time to wake up.” He chuckled when a harsh huff pushed through her nose and she tried to shift away from the light creeping past his shoulders, trying to touch her from the window. “Y/n,” Jaskier cooed. “Let me see those beautiful eyes of yours.” It took another moment, but her eyes eventually fluttered open. Despite her seemingly rude behavior in her sleepy state, a loving smile spread. She curled back up under the doublets that she had been using, eyes falling close once more. “Excuse me, but it’s time to get up.”

“No..Ciri’s gon’ find me.” The sleep slurred her words and it came out as a rumble trying to be softened.

“The cub hasn’t been looking for a while now, Darling.” At that, an eye pried itself open to look at the bard, a sly smile spreading.

“Oh, goody.” She slowly pulled herself free from the closet, grabbing his hand, and pulling him to the bed. Her hands pushed his shoulders, Jaskier bouncing a little. She still had a smirk before flopping down next to him, nuzzling into the fur below her cheek. He rolled his eyes, chuckling. He pulled at the edge of the fur, pulling her closer to the pillows before grabbing a different fur on the bed. He flopped half of himself over her back, an arm, leg and most of his chest covering her as he pulls the new fur over the both of them. It might not be what he planned, but they have the rest of their lives for it.

#witcher imagine #witcher x reader #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #dandelion x reader

[dorizardthewizard]

The Revival of Akillian: Chapter 5

Prologue / Chapter 4 / Chapter 6

5. THE HOLO-TRAINER

After making a few final adjustments, Clamp touches - not without a hint of apprehension - the white launch button on the touchscreen of his console. No lightning or spitting this time: the controls turn green and data is displayed, indicating that the system is charged to its rated power and ready to operate. Clamp leans back in his chair with a satisfied smile and folds his hands behind his neck.

- Voila! It should work perfectly now.

- "Perfection", - emphasizes Aarch. - That is exactly the word I was looking for to describe your machines... when they work!

Much more relaxed, Clamp still makes a few adjustments, which do not cause any catastrophic reaction from his devices: on the contrary, they beep, chirp and click with gusto.

- Do you think we’re going to get much turnout? Maybe football doesn't interest anyone on this planet anymore...

As if in response, the doors of the elevator at the back of the room - the first thing Clamp repaired so he could get all his crates of equipment down there - slide squeakily and dump a dozen young people, proudly led by Micro-Ice.

- Voila! - he declares to his buddies, who are amazed by the vastness of the place and the buzzing machines. - There are still plenty more coming! - he tells Aarch and Clamp.

The coach looks at the scientist with a mocking smile:

- How’s that?

Eyes wide, D’jok considers the enormous white cube in front of him, which seems to him like an elevator car for giants. From the open door springs a dazzling light.

- What is that thing?

- Well, it's… (Clamp clears his throat: he hadn't thought of giving his device a name yet). Uh… it's a holo-trainer, - he improvises. - A virtual training machine, in a way.

- Okay well, I'll be leaving now... I’ve got no reason to be here, - says Micro-Ice, returning to the elevator.

- You don't want to take part? – queries Aarch.

- No thank you, no way! Tests aren’t really my thing. Just hearing the word makes me feel like I'm in school!

- In any case, thank you for everything, kid... we can really say you fell in at the right moment!

Micro-Ice smiles at this joke that only he understands and stands in front of the elevator, ignoring D’jok's look of disappointment at him. The moment he raises his finger to press the call button, the doors creak open again...

On a dream creature.

Thin oval face carried by a slender neck, delicate nose, curled lips, huge brown hair pulled up in a thick ponytail, a perfect body in a princess costume… and huge blue eyes that land on an amazed Micro-Ice. His joke in Maya's cave, about the pretty girl and the treasure, comes to mind… if he hasn't found the treasure, he sure found the pretty girl!

The girl pulls away from Micro-Ice and enters the room, along with a dozen new candidates. A woman follows her, much older, also dressed elegantly in a coat with a Garo fur collar: her mother is oblivious, because she speaks vehemently to the visibly annoyed girl:

- Are you listening to me, Mei? You have to show them that you are the best! You understand? The best!

- Enough, mom!

“Wow, even her voice is awesome”, thinks Micro-Ice to himself, contemplating her graceful step dreamily. Love at first sight? He isn’t sure what that is, but what is certain anyway is that his heart is pounding hard and it is making him so hot inside...

- What's the matter, Micro-loser? You look even more silly than usual!

Sinedd! In terms of cold showers, it doesn’t get worse than this. Micro-Ice suddenly descends to earth, but his natural wittiness quickly takes over:

- What are you doing here? We came to practice football. Not your nutty card game!

- Exactly, losers like you and your friends don't stand a chance here! -  Sinedd scoffs. - Make way for the real players!

- So you think you're a real player, huh, Sinedd? - D’jok intervenes.

- Maybe my ball is causing his ankles to swell, - laughs Thran.

- Can't wait to start the trials, so I can humiliate you all! None of you come close to my level. You're going to take a huge beating!

Pushing past Micro-Ice and his buddies, Sinedd joins the crowd massed in front of the holo-trainer with an already victorious stride.

- We’ll see about that! - challenges Micro-Ice.

- Ah, so you're staying after all? - remarks Ahito.

- By the off chance, it wouldn’t have anything to do with that girl over there, would it? – quips D’jok, nodding at Mei, who is stamping her foot, still being harassed by her mother.

- You need to position yourself on offense, - she explains to her. - The biggest football stars are strikers!

- I get it, mom!

- A girl? What girl? - Micro-Ice blushes, ostensibly turning his back on him.

His friends burst out laughing, which makes him blush all the more.

- Well, we can start, - Aarch decides. – As far as I can see, we will not have more candidates...

- Think again, Aarch, - Clamp rebukes. - Look, the elevator is bringing more people!

Indeed, the doors slide open again with a horrible squeak of rusting metal. But it is not more candidates who come out this time...

It's Ballow and his three thugs.

- Hello, everyone! I see you have decided to have fun without us?

Aarch and Clamp exchange a look of apprehension: will this situation ever come to an end?

- Always so good at ruining the mood, this guy! - murmurs Micro-Ice from the middle of the crowd.

- Don't worry, guys, he's not going to stay long. - promises Thran, mysteriously.

- Okay, kids, get the hell out of here, and fast! - hollers Ballow at the gathering. – It’s not you we’re after...

With that, he walks wickedly towards Aarch, followed by his henchmen, who have drawn their tasers again.

Suddenly a bright light swirls down from the hole in the ceiling, accompanied by the characteristic whistle of turboprop engines. In the light a rope unwinds along which Callie Mystic, the Arcadia News star reporter, glides nimbly, filmed by her trusty flying holo-cam. She lightly jumps to the ground and immediately begins her speech:

- What did I tell you, dear holo-spectators? With Callie Mystic, nothing remains a secret for long!

She winks and gives the thumbs up in the direction of Thran, who returns the gesture, to the amazement of his friends.

- Did you call her? – blurts D’jok.

- Well, - Thran answers with a smirk, - I thought since we knew where Aarch was, it was worth telling Arcadia News...

Callie walks confidently towards Arch, sticking her microphone right under his nose.

- Aarch, it can be said you’re hard to find. But it takes a lot more to escape Callie Mystic's curiosity!

- So what do we do, boss? - asks Ballow’s big bald henchman.

- Arrrgh! Well, we massacre everyone on live television, that will give us publicity! Is that a stupid enough answer for you or do you want me to think of some more? - He shoves past his men and walks back to the elevator with an angry step - Come on, come on, let's get out of here!

- Well! - Callie resumes. - Aarch, how about explaining to our dear holo-viewers a little bit about this machine and what you expect from all these kids?

***

Onboard his jet-snow, Rocket rushes towards the Windy Plateaus, where he can hit real bursts of speed on this flat and empty plain, cracked with faults that add a little spice to the pleasure of sliding. The odometer is already reaching 150 km/h, but it can easily go up to 200. Beyond that, it becomes risky from a grip and stability point of view: you are at the mercy of the slightest bump or rut... but where’s the thrill, if there is no danger?

Suddenly a weird sound complements the regular growl of his turbo: a sort of roar accompanied by spitting... he checks his controls - it would be a problem if he broke down so far from Arcadia - but everything is normal: the sound is not coming from his vehicle…

It is coming from the sky.

A flying machine passes him with a thunderous noise, at a dangerously low altitude. Rocket slows down to better identify it: it's a Red-Bee-type shuttle, commonly used by moon dwellers on Obia or Tanaga to descend on Akillian. It seems in trouble: ominous smoke escapes from its reactor, the roar of which is interspersed with jolts and rattles. The shuttle plunges behind a hill - an instant later a low rumble echoes and a large plume of smoke rises.

The shuttle crashed!

Rocket steps on it and reaches the crash site in less than a minute. The Red-Bee is buried in a snowdrift, its cockpit broken, its wings twisted, its engine is spitting out sinister black smoke. Without thinking, Rocket jumps off the jet-snow, runs towards the machine and slips into the cockpit through the broken glass.

A young girl lies unconscious in the pilot's seat.

“She's not old enough to fly this,” thinks Rocket. “No wonder she messed up!”

There is not a minute to lose: smoke is invading the cockpit, it smells of burning in the back, sparks fly from the circuits... he gives violent thrusts against the airlock with the twisted door, which he manages to unlock. He grabs the girl by the shoulders and drags her outside. No sooner has he walked a few yards than the Red-Bee explodes, throwing burning debris around. Rocket throws himself into the snow and covers the girl with his body to protect her.

The blast and the sound of the explosion pulls her from her unconsciousness. She half-opens her eyes, flickering a pretty sea green. An Obiane, Rocket recognizes by her small size, her pale complexion and her silver hair.

- Aarch… I have to find Aarch… - she mumbles in a faint voice before relapsing into unconsciousness.

***

Rather than giving Callie Mystic a private interview, Aarch prefers to present his project live to all applicants:

- Let me introduce myself: my name is Aarch. You must have heard of me... whether for good things or bad. I was part of Akillian’s last great football team, before the Catastrophe. I came back because I intend to create a new, even more talented one. And this will be thanks to you! I am sure the Akillian Breath can be reawakened. Professor Clamp, here, will co-lead the trials today. We will only take the best. I'm counting on you to give your all! Well, good luck!

During Aarch's speech, Ahito almost fell asleep, awakened by a nudge from D’jok. Micro-Ice, placed "by chance" near Mei, kept his eyes fixed on her… eyes full of stars. He was paying attention, though, for he asks:

- By the way, sir, how are we going to do the trials? I see no football field...

- An excellent question, - Clamp intervenes. - I just need a volunteer. Come closer, boy, and put this on, please (he hands him a yellow and purple jersey and shorts filled with sensors). You're going to get changed in there (he points to the second white cube, the smaller one). And then you'll go in here.

He nods towards the illuminated entrance behind him.

A minute later, Micro-Ice shows up in front of the holo-trainer. Half blind by the light, he can only make out a white floor and black walls. Nothing very exciting in principle... he turns to his comrades, who support him:

- Yeah, go ahead, Micro-Ice!

- Show them what you can do!

But it's Mei's gaze on him - at whom he smiles - that gives him the courage to step into the light box. Clamp taps on his console, and the door slides closed again behind Micro-Ice.

He walks to the middle of the cube, taken aback. Is this a training ground? Where's the ball? Where are the goals, the opponents?

Suddenly, the black walls are erased, replaced by an artificial "sky"; the white ground turns green, the lines of the center and the penalty area are imprinted, virtual goals appear at each end. The whole place takes on the dimension of a real football field, much larger in appearance than the cube itself.

- Woah! – marvels Micro-Ice, breathless.

He kneels down and feels the ground with his hand: it seems real...

- Okay, let me explain (Aarch's voice comes from everywhere at once). See the red line at the other end of the field? You have to get there as fast as possible, dribbling the ball.

With his hand as a visor to protect himself from the bright light, Micro-Ice spots the line in question, in front of the goal that seems very distant to him. A ball materializes near him. He feels it with the tip of his foot: it is solid... he holds it under his heel and gets into position.

- Yeah, piece of cake!

- Obstacles will appear on your route - Aarch continues. - You will have to dribble past them without wasting time.

- Ah… smaller piece of cake.

- Ready… and go! – sounds Clamp’s voice.

Micro-Ice takes a leap forward, kicking the ball away. A few meters in front of him is virtualized a Shadow player, a completely realistic Fulmugus avatar… not that realistic actually, because Micro-Ice dribbles past him easily. Then markers appear on his course, which he must avoid in an increasingly tight slalom. If he touches one, it flashes red, emitting an unpleasant sound: a deducted point, no doubt.

- Uh oh… looks like things are getting complicated!

Seven terminals suddenly stand in front of Micro-Ice and rush over to him. He has no choice but to jump over them while maintaining control of his ball. As soon as he touches the ground and retrieves the ball, three Fulmugus avatars try to stop him, as the virtual goal appears in sight. He manages to dribble past the first by squeezing the ball between his legs, narrowly avoids the second with a turn-back, then shoots towards the goal from which the goalkeeper appeared - who catches the ball in his chest and disintegrates. The ball returns, Micro-Ice leaps to retrieve it and shoot at the goal again. But he doesn’t make good contact with the ball, he falls and slips on the pitch, pushing the ball with his foot… slipping between the spread legs of the third Shadow defender… who fades behind him. Micro-Ice turns his head… gives a smile of victory: the red line is there, just under his neck!

- Woooooooo!

The holo-trainer's door opens on a radiant Micro-Ice, immediately surrounded by his pals.

- So? How was it? - asks Thran.

- Absolutely awesome! – exclaims Micro-Ice.

- Very good, - Aarch smiles. - And now, who's next?

A good thirty arms rise immediately: “Me! – No, me! - Me, sir, me! - To me, to me! - Please, sir! - I am the best! … ”

***

Finally, she regains consciousness.

Rocket had carried the little Obiane on his jet-snowboard to his secret cave. Along the way, he considered taking her to his father's house, but quickly gave it up, imagining the scene: “Who is this girl? Where is she from? What were you doing on the Windy Plateaus instead of going to deliver my flowers? We must call the police and send her to the hospital! As if I don’t have enough worries without this…!” In short, the adventure would quickly come to an end, but it's not every day that Rocket meets someone - better: save a girl from certain death. A very pretty girl in addition: thin and petite, the face of an angel with thin, silver hair that he wants to stroke, and beautiful green eyes...

Raised by his father, his only family (since his mother passed away when he was a baby), Rocket is a loner, with no friends, and of course no girlfriends - girls are a total mystery to him. He's out of school, educated by Norata and Educator, TTV's (Technoid's) interactive education network. Norata fears that his son will one day leave the family home. This is why he employed him very early on in his small florist business, and plans to make him his partner and then his successor. Rocket only knows the world that his father allows him to know, and what he secretly learns from TTV - especially Galactik Football... because this reclusive and lonely life would be very sad and miserable if Rocket had not maintained that secret passion for GF. Like D’jok, who believes he has an extraordinary destiny, Rocket also dreams of becoming a great soccer player, of following the path of his revered uncle. But Rocket knows very well that this is only a dream, that as long as he lives by, for and in the flowers, this destiny will never knock on his door.

Until Aarch's miraculous appearance last week... his dream suddenly took shape and substance, and turned into a mad hope. A hope that Norata is working to bring down, but Aarch exists, he's on Akillian to recruit a new team - Rocket saw Callie Mystic's report on TTV. If he could be part of it... but how? Now here is this girl falling from the sky, who also wants to find Aarch… another sign of fate?

Lying on the only seat in the sparsely furnished cave, she stirs and sighs… her eyelids blink, her large green eyes rest on Rocket in surprise.

- Hey, are you okay? - he asks her, full of concern.

He tries to tend to the large bump that is blooming on her forehead with ice and bruising spray he has from the pharmacy. She puts her hand to her head and grimaces, but doesn't answer.

- What... where am I?

- Don't worry, you’re safe here… my name is Rocket.

- I'm Tia… (she walks around the cave lined with football posters, a surprising sight) Do you really live in this cave?

- Uh, not exactly, but let's say I come here very often. Do you need some ice?

Rocket breaks a piece of icicle, which he hands to her.

- For what? - Tia is suspicious.

- For your injury... it keeps it from swelling.

She carefully places the ice cube on her forehead: indeed, it relieves the pain.

- What happened?

- Your shuttle crashed... I pulled you out of it just before it blew up. You're from Obia, aren't you?

Again, Tia ignores his question. She throws the ice cube and stands up abruptly before Rocket's stunned eyes. It is true that the Obians, despite their fragile appearance, are actually very hardy… the harsh living conditions on this small moon without an atmosphere have something to do with it.

- I have to meet Aarch as soon as possible! - Tia looks at the photos, banners and posters again, stopping at Aarch's giant figure. - From what I can see, it looks like you're interested in him… do you know where he is?

Shy, Rocket can't think of anything better to do than kicking his ball, making it jump from one foot to the other.

- Well… to tell you the truth, Aarch is my uncle.

Tia's eyes light up, a smile on her face.

- For real? But that’s awesome!

Rocket pouts and kicks his ball, which bounces off a shelf of odds and ends, dislodging the box containing his collection of badges.

- Yeah, except I barely know him… I only spoke to him once.

- Is that so? - The ball returns to Tia's feet, who blocks it. – Still, I have to find him at all costs!

- Why? Do you want to be part of his new team?

Like nothing, she also kicks the ball, apparently without even aiming. Still, after a twisted trajectory that Rocket rarely did, the ball went straight into the hole next to Mark 10 - the most difficult one. His eyes go wide in disbelief.

- Yes, I’m counting on it! - Tia smiles. – What about you?

- Well… it’s not like I don’t want to, I just… hey!

Tia had rushed outside and jumped onto the jet-snowboard that she's now trying to set in motion. Rocket runs up to her.

- What are you doing?

She manages to start the vehicle, which begins to whistle.

- You have exactly two seconds to get in behind me. Otherwise, I'm going without you!

- Wait a minute, Tia. First, it’s my jet-snow, and I prefer to ride it myself. And you don't even know where Aarch is!

She backs up into the passenger seat, letting him take the handlebars.

- So go ahead, take me there!

#galactik football #the revival of akillian #gah sorry for the wait! end of semester was crazy #we finally see tia and mei here; and some cool details on where tia comes from!

[uncomfortable-writers]

Sugar and Spice (Tony x Reader)

(Gif credit to owner)

Fandom: Marvel

Character: Tony Stark

Persona: Female

Word Count: 2,984

Warnings: Sugar Daddy!Tony, hella smutty, a little rough/kinky (spanking, oral, choking, daddy kink), NSFW, swearing

18+ ONLY

A/N - For my love.  A little different to stuff i usually write, shameless smut without plot although I am kinda interested in turning this into a mini series if that’s something y’all would like to see? Feedback is appreciated! Anyways enjoy <3

Tag List: @ofmiceand-batman

♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡

It always started with a text, sometimes a phone call if he was feeling more daring or pushed for time. He always paid very generously even if you did decline the money it would always, somehow, end up in your bank. You couldn’t even remember how your arrangement started but you sure as hell were grateful for it. When your phone buzzed at exactly nine o’clock on the dot you almost didn’t check it. Today at work had been stressful so after you treated yourself to a warm bath, you all but collapsed into your fuzzy blankets strewn across your bed:

From: Daddy ♡

i’ll be over in 10, want u in that pink number i bought u, see u soon princess xo

It was like a weight dropped in your stomach. All the tiredness and pent up annoyance washed away in a second to be replaced by excitement, one that you didn’t realise you were hungry for.

Leaping up out of bed you made all the standard preparations like throwing on the tight, little pink bodysuit that hugged you just right and made Tony’s mouth water. It was very revealing, leaving little to the imagination. Checking the time on your phone you saw you had a few minutes to spare, Tony was always the punctual man. Dimming the lights you lit a few scented candles to add to the atmosphere. He loved it when the room smelt almost as sweet as you. Straightening out your bedsheets you made sure everything was in order, Tony liked your prim and proper organisation, it added a little order to his somewhat chaotic life. Just as you finished straightening out your pillows there was a knock on your door.

Skipping over to the door, you attempted to regain your composure before opening it to reveal Tony. He was dressed in one of his suits which cost more than your entire apartment. It helped add to the confidence he was already exuding. You couldn’t see his honey-coloured eyes as they were hidden behind his usual pair of sunglasses, they dragged slowly down your body and he couldn’t resist letting out a low whistle, after checking you out he tucked the glasses into his top jacket pocket. Looking dapper as ever with one hand resting on the doorframe, he used his other to nudge it open further, “Hey baby, you miss me?”. He walked further into the room and closed the door behind him, you let a giggle spill from your lips as you practically jumped onto the older man, your arms wrapped automatically around his neck like you’d done so many times before, “Of course I did”. He was a few inches taller than you but you still wrapped your legs around his waist, Tony’s large hand came to rest on your ass, the other on your hip. He squeezed it cheekily as his lips came to attack your neck, his beard tickling you all the while. He loved leaving marks.

Reluctantly Tony tapped your ass again to signal you to drop down, you wordlessly followed his order. “I missed you too princess”, Tony cooed as he gripped your chin and pressed his lips to yours, “I couldn’t wait to get away tonight and I mean look at you. All ready for me”. You intrepidly leaned up to steal another kiss. You felt Tony smile into it, his hands everywhere on your body and you mimicked his actions. You could never get enough of him, pulling back you looked up at him through your lashes, “Well let’s not keep you waiting then”.

You gripped his silk tie, using it as a lead you gently pulled him towards the bed. Tony didn’t protest, sometimes he liked it when you took control. You were about to push him down onto the bed so you could straddle him when he stopped and planted his feet into the carpeted floor.

Tony tutted disappointedly, “I think you’ve forgotten something, baby girl”. Your face visibly dropped as you scanned his own for any hint as to what it may of been. You room was tidy, you’d worn what he’d asked....Tony’s hand reached out and wrapped around your throat and in an instant you knew what you’d forgotten. “Where’s your collar baby?”, he cooed, his thumb rubbing circles as he constricted your air flow lightly triggering a flood of warmth to pool in your underwear. “I forgot I’m sorry”, you stuttered out in your panic, upset that you were displeasing your Iron Man. Tony’s face contorted further, “You’re sorry what?”, his voice suddenly dropped an octave signifying even more of his disapproval. “I’m sorry daddy”, you quickly added, your (E/C) eyes like a doe’s. Tony smiled at you, pleased with your response, “You’ve been naughty (Y/N). Very naughty. First you’ve forgotten your collar...”, his hand wandered to your cheek where his thumb then dragged across your lip, “And then you forget who you’re talking to? We just can’t have that now, can we?”. While maintaining eye contact you let your tongue dart out, licking his thumb and sucking it into your mouth. You shook your head in response to his question loving the way that every time you sucked harder on his thumb, Tony closed his eyes, his signature smirk plastered to his features. “You deserve a punishment, don’t you princess?”. 

You nodded again to show you understood, feeling extra risque you suckled harder. Tony was already going to punish you so you might as well have your fun. He groaned loudly and bit his lip, “On the bed. Now”.

You sauntered backwards until your legs hit the bed, a wicked grin on your face. Collapsing onto it you tucked your legs under yourself and waited with your hands on your knees just like Tony had trained you to do. The older man hummed in approval, he started to undo his suit jacket. Your stomach flipped in anticipation; Tony was purposely dragging it out knowing how excited it would render you. He draped the jacket over the back of a chair and discarded his shoes near it. Next he slowly undid his tie as he finally walked over to you. Sitting down next to you he watched you intimidatingly, delicately folding his tie and placing it near him. “Now sweetheart, how do you think we should punish you?”, his hand tangled in your hair, as he stroked it lovingly.  “Whatever you thinks best daddy”. Tony pretended to think, enjoying the way you were quietly whining and leaning into his hand, “I think we should start with a spanking, how does twenty sound baby girl?”.  

“Yes please daddy”, you eagerly answered in a flash much to Tony’s amusement. He chuckled and suddenly his hand tightened in your hair as he used it to pull you across his lap, “Get comfortable then. Make sure you count loud and clear for me you pretty little thing”.

Before starting Tony admired the view, his big hands squeezed the tender flesh of your behind as you laid splayed out for him. He pulled on the thong, of the bodysuit letting it ping back against your skin. You moaned out of pleasure but it quickly turned into a squeal of pain. The noise of skin hitting skin echoed around your room, “One”. Tony let his fingers dance across your cheek building up the tension which he finally ended with another slap to your ass, “Two”. “You’re doing great baby girl”, he praised. 

18 spankings later and you were a hot, drooling mess trying hard not to wriggle around in Tony’s lap. Your ass was redder than your cheeks were, the stinging on your behind soothed by Tony added to the pleasure stirring in between your legs and the fact that you could feel Tony’s arousal against your thigh was only helping to push you over the edge. “You are such a good girl for daddy”, he said, “Are you okay princess?”. He lifted you off of him to stand on the floor in front of him, you were at eye level with him. Only now could Tony appreciate the effect he had on you: wild eyed, cheeks flushed and lips puffy. His hand stroked your cheek as he waited for your answer, Tony would never push you past your limits and he always wanted to make sure you were okay. His hand burnt your cheek, you needed more, “I’m okay but I need you daddy. Wanna make you feel good”, you mewled. Tony’s eyes lit up, your words only adding to his hardness. His hands shot out and grabbed your shoulders pushing you down onto your knees, “You wanna make me feel good? Get on your knees and open wide baby girl”.

That was all the permission you needed.

In a heartbeat you started to work on his zipper, your mouth already salivating. Once that was undone you gripped greedily at both the top of his trousers and the waistband of his boxers. As you started to pull them down Tony lifted his hips to aid you. Tony’s cock never failed to make you go starry-eyed, it was big and it was girthy, the tip swollen and already leaking precum. Just the way you liked it. 

You gingerly let your tongue swirl gently over the head gathering the salty liquid as you lightly gripped the base of his cock. “Fuck”, Tony sighed softly trying to keep his head from drooping backwards. Your mouth opened wide enough just to take the tip fully in, you sucked softly as your hand teased the rest of his length. He was starting to grow impatient. Tony started to caress your hair and suddenly he tangled his fingers into it, forcing you to take in more of him. Relaxing your mouth you placed your hands onto his thighs, he grunted, “Be a good girl and take it”. You were midway down his length when he started to push into your throat, the burn all too familiar. You tried to repress a gag unsuccessfully, Tony relented pulling your hair to pull your head back up, strands of your drool coating his cock, “Just relax baby”, he instructed giving you a second to breathe before he started to push you back down. You hummed around his length as you soon got back to the midlength point, Tony moaned again pushing slightly on your head. You took a few more inches, you could feel your stomach tightening as he slid further and further into your throat until your nose was tickled by his neatly trimmed curly pubic hairs. “Oh fuck princess”, he held you still, one hand still on your hair, the other rubbing your throat where he could feel himself, “You’re doing so well”. 

Your fingernails dug into the sensitive skin of Tony’s thighs, increasing the pleasure. Your eyes threatened to leak tears. Your throat was even more sore than your behind but still you tried your best to swirl your tongue against the smooth underside of his length. Without warning Tony started to move your head again and soon the room was filled with the obscene noise of Tony fucking your throat. String of curse words floated freely from Tony’s lips, his eyes half-lidded as he relished in the sinful pleasure he took from your mouth. You could do nothing else but sit and let your throat be abused, (not that you didn’t enjoy it). You hummed and moaned as he guided your head up and down his cock, the vibrations delicious against him. A hand slithered down Tony’s thigh to cup his balls, you rolled them faintly loving the way Tony’s moans grew louder. His thrusts started to grown more vicious until he finally pulled out of your mouth with a pop, a trail of saliva dribbled down your chin as you grinned up at Tony. You were even more of a mess than before with your hair all wild and spit smeared across your cheeks.

Tony took a minute to wait for his conscientious to return to his body, “Damn baby, I almost didn’t last”, he took your arm amiably pulling you up onto the bed next to him, “Almost didn’t get to fuck that sweet little pussy of yours”. 

He pushed you down so you were lying in front of him, you hair fanned out around you as you watched him fervently. Quickly Tony discarded his white dress shirt throwing it onto the floor, the bed bounced as he maneuvered he way into the middle of the bed. “God look at you, you’re so beautiful angel”, Tony complimented you. He pulled on your ankles to bring you closer to him, “Can’t wait to fuck you baby girl but first I’ve gotta get a quick taste. Do you want that baby?”. Tony pushed your legs open so he could sit in the middle, he leaned down until he was hovering over your barely clothed pussy. “Please”, you mewled, trying not to buck your hips up to his mouth. He raised a bushy eyebrow as he pulled the fabric of your thong to the side, his breath hot against your core making you crave attention. “Please, daddy”, you begged. He smirked before diving his face between your legs. His beard scratched the tender skin of your inside thighs, he licked a line up your slit until he reached your clit which he sucked into his mouth, “Oh Tony!”, you droned, unable to keep your hips from moving, your hands were gripping the bed sheets, Tony adored the sight in front of him and how only he had the power to make you come this undone. There was a coil tightening in the pit of your stomach as he plunged a finger into your pussy. Tony was looked on knowingly, waiting for the signs that you were about to orgasm. Your breathing sped up, your back involuntarily arched and just as you were about to explode Tony removed himself from you.

Your brow furrowed. Your head raised and you wanted to scold him but he opened his mouth first, “You’re gonna cum around my cock princess, okay?”, his beard glistened in the candlelight from your juices, “You’re so wet baby girl, look at what you’re doing to me”, Tony leaned back on his haunches, he tapped his cock against your thigh as he fisted it. He was impossibly hard. “Are you ready princess?”. You whined, “Please daddy, I need you”. 

“Always the good girl aren’t you (Y/N)?”, he purred coming to rest his body between your spread thighs, cock in hand he rubbed it up and down you slit a few times making sure to spread your wetness. He poked the tip of his cock into your opening. He pushed at an achingly slow pace, relishing in the feeling of how easy he slipped into you. With a roll of his hips he was fully sheathed inside you, he cursed in delight, “You’re so fucking tight”. Thrusting a few more times Tony changed the position of your legs so that one was slung over his shoulder and the other was wrapped securely around his waist. The change allowed him to hit deeper spots inside of you, any moans that came leaking out of your mouth were quickly swallowed by Tony as his lips attacked yours furiously.  The room smelt like sweat, the air was thick with arousal, the bed squeaked comically with each precise thrust from Tony. He pulled away long enough for you to yelp, “Oh god Tony, harder daddy please!”. He pressed one last kiss to your lips before he moved to suck on your neck, as he started to lick and suck he started to pound ungodly fast into you, “Oh fuck!”. Your arms tangled around his neck, pulling on his hair.

When he was satisfied with the amount of purple marks he’d left, he raised your other leg onto his shoulders so that your knees where now pressed into your chest. Then he snaked his hands to your neck before he started to pound you at an ungodly rate, gradually increasing the pressure on your airways. “You look so pretty with my hands around your throat”, he teased, tenderly placing his forehead against yours. You were coming undone beneath him. With each thrust of his pelvis he was tickling spots inside you which you didn’t even know existed. You were seeing stars, babbling nonsense to the man fucking you like there was no tomorrow. His grip became so tight that you were starting to see little black dots cloud your vision, “Are you gonna cum for me princess?”, Tony was beside your ear, hot and encouraging. “Yes!”, your answer was stuttered. He tightened his grip just a little bit more, “Then cum for me baby”. A few more thrusts from Tony and the gates of heaven opened; your back arched until your chest was rubbing against Tony’s, the moans emitting from your mouth were downright pornographic only serving to fuel Tony’s lust. You could feel the heat leaking out of you, you were unable to come down from your high as his vigorous thrusts never let up.

The fluttering of your walls around his cock was starting to become too much for him. Tony’s groans started to match the sloppiness of thrusts. He was plunging further and further into you, changing his pace from rough and fast, to slow and deep. He placed his forehead on yours again muttering incoherent sweetness until finally he pulled back. Tony jerked his cock a few more times, his eyes shut  out of the sheer bliss he could feel approaching before he finally shot his load all over your thigh. 

Sweat was beaded on his chest reflecting in the light as he finally came around, he stilled his breath to match the calming speed of yours, he cheekily smiled down at you, “Fuck I missed you (Y/N)”.

#marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfic #tony stark #anthony edward stark #Anthony Stark #tony stark fanfic #mcu tony #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x reader #tony x reader #tony stark x reader smut #reader insert #female reader #reader x tony #reader x tony stark #iron man #'iron man fanfic #iron man x reader #reader x iron man #avengers #smut #uncomfortable writers #sugar daddy!tony #sugar daddy!tony stark #sugar baby!reader #sugar daddy!tony x reader

[silverarmedassassin]

To Save Me From Tears

Pairing: Bucky x Reader  Word Count: 2853 Warnings: Jealousy. Clueless Bucky™️ A/N: This was one of the first ones I wrote! It actually helped give me the idea to write all 25 days! I’m not sure how I like the ending (I struggled a lot with finishing this for some reason), but here it is. Day four!

Summary: Another year, another Stark Christmas Party. But this year, karaoke is involved and, even though you didn’t plan on getting up there, sometimes a song is the only way to express your feelings.  

2019 Christmas Masterlist 

“You’ll save me a dance, right Sergeant?” you ask coyly as you finish tying Bucky’s tie. It was light blue, the exact color of his eyes. He smiles down at you as you flatten the collar of his black-on-black suit, those eyes crinkling edges.

“‘Course. Wouldn’t dream of missing the opportunity to dance with the prettiest girl in the room.” He adjusts his sleeves as he examines his reflection in the metal of the elevator door.

You turn around to look at yourself as well, admire the way your cranberry-colored dress sways as you do so. You couldn’t help but notice Bucky did the same, his eyes traveling up the long skirt, up to the lacey bodice. When his gaze finally lands on your face, you can see, even in the distorted reflection, that his cheeks are now bright pink.

“Come on,” he grumbles shyly, grabbing your lace-covered arm as the doors opened. “Stark won’t like it if we’re late.”

You and Bucky weren’t together. Yes, he sent you the coveted “good morning” and “good night” texts every day, and invited you as his plus one to more than your fair share of game nights with the Avengers, but it was because he was a genuinely nice guy. A nice superhero guy.

There was nothing special or super about you. You worked in the public relations department for crying out loud, slaving around the clock to fix any screw-up the team made and making sure the public absolutely adored them. Bucky would never be interested in you, not when he was surrounded by agents and literal super-humans.

Everyone else disagreed, however. Even Tony made a point to tell both of you that if a move wasn’t made soon he would be forced to interfere. And that was the last thing you needed.

That’s why you decided tonight would be the night you were finally going to say something to Bucky. It was a perfect time - after all, there’s nothing more romantic than confessing your love for someone amid the overly-crowded Annual Stark Christmas Party.

Avengers, agents, and employees like yourself were spread out across the Compound. It turns out the room Tony had built specifically for press conferences doubled as a great dance floor.

You were out on the terrace with a group of your coworkers, watching as liquored-up bodies crammed together like sardines. Outside was just as beautiful as the inside - strands of white, twinkling Christmas lights bordered the open doors, and the standing tables were adorned with crystal votives. Stark hadn’t left a single pebble unturned when it came to this party, so the state-of-the-art heaters littering the space fought off the mid-December chill. It was just warm enough to be comfortable, but still several degrees cooler than inside. Perfect for a breather.

You were only half-listening to the conversation you had found yourself in, your focus more on the happenings around you. You could hear Thor singing off-key to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You.” How they convinced the God of freaking Thunder of all people to participate in Christmas karaoke was beyond you, but you were thrilled it was happening.

You smiled as you took a sip of your spiced cider, relishing in the way you could feel the warmth travel from your tongue to your belly as you drink. Maybe after another couple of these, you would finally get the courage to go talk to Bucky.

A hand flapping in front of your face draws you from your thoughts.

“Hello, earth to Y/N,” David, one of the IT guys said.

You feel heat spread across your face and you know it’s not from the cider. “I’m sorry, what?”

David huffs and your little group snickers to themselves. “We were asking about your plans for the holidays. Since Stark gave us the next two weeks off…”

“She was busy looking for Loverboy,” Carley says. You roll your eyes at your officemate’s snark.

“I was not looking for Bucky.”

“I didn’t even mention a name! Ha! I think I know what her plans are for Christmas.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you suggestively and everyone burst into laughter.

“It’s not like that,” you whisper, turning your attention back to the crowd inside.

“The man brings you lunch more days than not, walks you to your car when you stay late, and invites you to family game night. Almost every week, may I add.” Carley points an accusatory finger at you. “I’ve been here for seven years and I haven’t even been invited. It’s been six months for you! He’s got it bad.”

You could feel the embarrassment creeping back to your cheeks. Finishing off your cider in one massive gulp, you turn to the group. “I’m going to get another drink. Anyone need a refill?”

“Classic deflection,” David mutters as they all wave you off. You knew this conversation wasn’t over, but you were happy to dodge it for the time being.

You shove your way through the crowd that was now cheering for Thor. He bows dramatically before passing the mic off to Natasha, who is deeply focused on finding a song. The familiar, sultry notes of “Santa Baby” start to chime through the hall. You’d expect nothing less from Nat.

Finally, you make it to the bar, where you find Steve and Sam in the middle of a heated debate about which era produced the best Christmas music. Steve, of course, is partial to the early 1900s, while Sam insists Michael Bublé is the best Christmas singer to ever grace this earth. You chuckle as you slide your empty flute to the bartender and wait for a new drink.

“Ah, there she is!” Sam finally acknowledges your appearance, effectively ending the frivolous debate. He pulls you in for a quick side hug before Steve does the same. “Where have you been hiding? Been lookin’ for you all night!”

“I’ve been...around. Mostly trying to dodge getting drafted for karaoke. I’m not drunk enough for that yet.” You laugh as you watch Natasha shaking her hips on stage. “I don’t think I’ll ever be drunk enough for that.”

The boys follow your gaze. “Nonsense. You’d have all the men eating out of your hand if you got up there,” Sam sasses as your drink is slid towards you.

You hum in response, ignoring the comment as best as you could. “Have you guys seen Bucky? I uh, need to talk to him.”

Sam and Steve share a knowing look. “Are you finally going to say something to the pathetic sap?” Steve laughs as he peers at you over his whiskey tumbler.

Before you can reply, a familiar, gruff laugh drifts over to where the three of you are standing. Your heart leaps a little as you turn and spot the top of Bucky’s head, hair starting to fall loosely out of the bun at the nape of his neck.

Taking another drag of your cider and straightening your poster, you get ready to make your way over to him. Before you can get more than a step away from Steve and Sam, you’re frozen on the spot. Standing across from Bucky, using one of the tall tables as a rest, is a tall blonde. Her eyes crinkle as she touches Bucky’s left arm as she laughs at something he’s said. He never let anyone touch his metal limb. A slight pang of red-hot jealousy washes over you.

This was it. This is exactly what you meant when you said Bucky would never fall for someone like you. Not when there were women like her floating around the Compound, all fit and beautiful. This woman, who you come to recognize as one of the newest agents Natasha had recruited, exudes so much confidence that you can literally feel it from where you’re standing several feet away. She’s a literal vision in icy blue, the exact color of Bucky’s eyes. And that damn tie.

Steve clears his throat from behind you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder obviously trying to pull your attention away from the scene in front of you. You harshly shrug him off. You didn’t want his pity, nor did you want to hear the trademark Captain speech you knew always followed tense emotional situations. You watch as the woman leans closer to Bucky as he says something into her ear. She smiles again, a flash of something in her eyes and she takes a sip of her drink. You’d seen enough.

“Excuse me,” you say, downing your almost-full flute of cider and ditching it on the bartop. Before either of the men can stop you, you’re shoving through the crowd. You’re on a mission and nothing was going to stop you.

You make it to the front of the room in record time, stopping right in front of the make-shift stage where Natasha is finishing her performance. You catch her eye and she gives you a devilish smirk. “Y/N!” she yells into the mic. “Your turn!”

The crowd, despite more than half of them not knowing you, goes crazy. Good. They gave you the little needed confidence you need to pull this off. You knew exactly what song you’d be singing, exactly who you’d be singing to. You climb up the few steps of the platform and graciously take the microphone. It only takes you a few moments to find the song, and you let all nerves and self-conscious thoughts melt away as the retro beat of “Last Christmas” fills the room.

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart But the very next day you gave it away This year, to save me from tears I’ll give it to someone special

You let your gaze linger further out than just the group of people bobbing along in front of the platform. You spot Natasha by the bar, talking animatedly at Sam, who is shrinking in on himself like a wounded dog. Was she scolding him?

Once bitten and twice shy I keep my distance But you still catch my eye Tell me, baby Do you recognize me? Well, it’s been a year It doesn’t surprise me

Thank god he’s tall because there’s no way you would have been able to see Steve’s blonde head making its way through the crowd if he was as short as he was once upon a time. He’s headed straight towards Bucky, who has abandoned the blonde he was flirting with earlier to watch you.

You’re surprised when, instead of feeling triumphant in your ability to get Bucky’s attention, you’re filled with anger. Maybe a little tinge of regret for not telling him how you felt sooner. Definitely a surge of self-loathing and despair. Damn alcohol. You make eye-contact as best as you can with Bucky as you start belting the next verses.

A crowded room, friends with tired eyes I’m hiding from you, and your soul of ice My god, I thought you were someone to rely on Me? I guess I was a shoulder to cry on

You watch as Steve begins, what you can only assume, scolding Bucky. He’s yanking his hands this way and that, occasionally pulling them through his hair. Bucky breaks eye contact, briefly looking at his best friend in front of him before looking back to you.

The blonde agent is long forgotten now.

When the last line is belted out, storm off the stage and make towards the main hall. You were no longer in the Christmas spirit, and you definitely didn’t want to talk to Bucky off all people right now. You just wanted to sit on your couch with a bottle of cheap wine and wallow in self-pity. Unfortunately, it seems your Christmas wish isn’t coming true tonight.

“Y/N!” Bucky huffs as he runs up behind you, gently grabbing your arm to stop you. “I’ve been looking for you all night!”

You contemplate trying to pull away, but you know it’s no use with his strength. You take a deep breath in an attempt to bury the emotions you’re feeling before turning to face him. The look of pure excitement and happiness on his face cued you in on the fact he didn’t know you were upset.

“I’m sure you were,” you mumbled as you looked down at his hand still holding onto your arm.

“I can’t believe you got up there and sang,” he laughs, dropping his hand and using his metal one to rub the back of his neck. “I was just telling Yelena that…” Bucky trailed off when he noticed you stiffen at the mention of, who you could assume, the blonde agent you had seen him with not 20 minutes ago.

“Uh, yea well...” You shrug not knowing what to say to that. “I’m not really in the party mood anymore, so I’m going to head out. Better go find Yelena again” You know you’re being petty, but it’s more out of anger at yourself for getting your hopes up than anything. 

“What? No, I can walk you out if you’d like?” 

Before you can respond, a heavily accented voice breaks through the crowd you’d edged your way out of. 

“James! There you are!” Yelena says as she shoves her way out into the hall. “You ran off so quickly I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“Yea, everything’s fine. I found Y/N and didn’t want to lose her again,” Bucky turned back to you then a beaming smile on his face. “Y/N, this is Yelena. I uh, knew her back when Soldier was in control...”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Yelena interjects, holding her hand out for you to shake. “I’ve heard so much about you tonight. I was about ready to come to find you myself so this sap would shut it.”

She nudges Bucky in the ribs and he grumbles in response. 

“You know, I was just about to say how happy I am that Nat brought you here, but I take even the thought back.”

Yelena snorts and rolls her eyes. “Anyway, I’m going to leave you two to it. Sam challenged Natalia and me to a drinking game. I have some ass to kick.” And just like that, the blonde disappeared back into the crowd. 

As you and Bucky watch Yelena walk away, you couldn’t help but laugh. Watching the way they interacted made you realize that you may have slightly overreacted. Thanks, insecurity. 

“What?” Bucky asks, turning to look at you. 

“I’m just realizing how stupid I am.”

You look to Bucky and are met with a look of confusion. “What do you...Oh, you though...Yelena and...” He lets out a genuine belly laugh then, one that would normally warm your entire body but now makes you want to punch him. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” you pout, crossing your arms across your chest in defense.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky gasps between laughs. “It’s just, I’ve known Yelena since she was younger. Watched her grow up, even if it was from afar. Her attitude reminds me so much of Becca that I practically see her as my little sister!”

Bucky grabbed your hand as the karaoke faded away into the live-music portion of the night. I instrumental version of “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” started to float through the room. 

"I meant it when I said you were the prettiest girl in the room. I spent the entire night fighting with myself on trying to find you. Yelena was trying her hardest to get me to you but, I guess I was just nervous. The truth is,” he says as he brings his other hand to rest on your lace-covered waist, “I really like you.

“And I know everyone is always making comments about how we, ya know...I just didn’t wanna ruin anything. But,” he starts gently swaying you both the music then. The grin on his face reminds you of pictures of old footage of him back during the war, back when he wouldn’t have given a second thought about coming right up and asking you to dance. “When I saw you up there singin’, it reminded me just how beautiful you are. And how sweet, and gentle you are with me even though hell knows I don’t deserve it.

“So, I guess this is just my roundabout way of askin’ you to be my girl. Because I’d be stupid to let someone like you get away from me.”

“Buck,” you whisper as you step closer into his embrace. You blink rapidly trying to fight back the tears that are threatening to fall down your face. “I never realized how big of a sap you really are.”

This helps break the tension, and Bucky lets out a soft chuckle. “Is that a yes then, pretty girl?”

You smile as you lean in and rest your head against his shoulder. You let yourself get enveloped by the smell of the cologne you gave him as an early Christmas present specifically for tonight’s party. “Of course, Bucky. I’ll be your girl.”

#bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #bucky fan fiction #Bucky Barnes fan fiction #marvel fan fiction #captain america #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #christmas #marvel x reader #bucky x you #Bucky Barnes x you #marvel x you #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky fanfic #Bucky Barnes fanfic #captain American fanfic #captain american fan fiction #christmas one shot #marvel christmas #marvel holiday #holiday fanfic #holiday fanfiction #holiday one shot #christmas fanfic #christmas fan fiction #25 days of buckmas #james buchanan barnes

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Mutilated Mannequin (Part 22)

Azula’s festival dress is form fitting and reaches just above her knees with a hem lined with a shimmery fringe of electric blue. Well aware that much of the festival and viewing party will take place outside, she finds herself the custom leggings that match the complexion of her skin. She slips them on and goes to fetch her necklace. She isn’t sure that she needs a necklace at all. The collar of her dress is eye-catching enough with its line of glimmering rubies. The entirety of the dress is adorned with many zigzagging fingers of that same electric blue. It starkly contrasts the bright red silk of the dress and glitters in the light. 

She wears her hair up and spices it up with blue and red glitter. It is slightly curled. Her mother has worked the better part of the evening to style it for her before wandering off to check on Zuko--who, with the help of their father, should be in his tux. 

She hasn’t yet seen her entire ensemble, but assumes that it suits her better than her homecoming dress did and she is glad that she hadn’t wasted wearing it then.

Azula closes stands before the mirror for a very long time with her eyes closed. The skin beneath her fingers is still so rough and somewhat lumpy. It alleviates her nervous anticipation none. 

She lets a few more moments pass her by before she opens her eyes. She both wishes she hadn’t and wishes that she had done it sooner. She wishes mostly, that she would have looked at herself earlier, that she would have given herself time to get used to the damage dealt. Most of the scar tissue is gathered on her cheek left cheek; a long and thin raised line where the blade had once dragged. In some places there are still lumps. Small lumps, but bumps sizable enough to be noticed with ease. Strangely contrasting the lumps, that cheek is sunken. Far too thin. Thin enough to make her look almost malnourished.  

Though the scar tissue is less on the right side of her face, she thinks that, that side looks profoundly more horrific. It is just as thin, perhaps moreso, and makes her wish that she still had her babyfat. At least then she had looked healthy. She considers for the first time, and all too late, that the puffiness that she had hated so much was perfectly natural.

Movement on that side is still terribly limited, rendering that half of her face slack. It is that slackness that seems to create the lack of symmetry. 

Azula’s stomach lurches, she never did like asymmetry, it always made her headache. It instilled within her this unbearable desire to recreate the symmetry and her head would throb until she did. But, God, she can’t create symmetry on her face. 

She wraps her arms around herself, leans against the wall, and slides to the floor. She had expected to dislike her new face, but she hadn’t expected it to make her feel physically sick. She lets out a small, gasping sob.  

She should have waited until after the festival to ruin her night. 

She feels queasy and anxious and suddenly it seems like a trick or a joke that Katara wants to spend any time with her, much less take her on a first date to a festival. 

“Azula!” She hears her mother shout. She tries to pacify herself. “Katara is here.” 

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and stands up, her stance is unsteady and somewhat weak as she makes her way towards the door. By the time she reaches the staircase, Katara is already halfway up it. She greets Azula with a bright smile, those big blue eyes seeming to sparkle under the chandelier’s light. Her dress is more practical with long sleeves and a long train, made of navy blue velvet. It is simpler than Azula’s own having only a few faux diamonds at the neckline and a trim of fake white fur on the sleeves and at the hem. Still, the dress is lovely and it fits her better than any excess glitz could ever. 

She wears her hair down in deep brown waves. Thin strands of her bangs are held back with two small, pearl hair combs. A few more pearls are weaved into her hair, Azula can’t tell if they are genuine.  

“Hi Azula. You look nice tonight.” 

Azula doesn’t believe that, not for a second. But she believes that Katara does and she says as much. 

“Are you ready to go?” Katara asks.

“I need to put some makeup on.” 

She must sound terribly glum. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Azula insists. 

“Let me help you with your makeup?

Azula nods. “I hope that you’re amazingly skilled with makeup because…” 

“I promise, it won’t take that much makeup to make you look beautiful.” She takes a limp Azula into a hug. Her head hangs over Katara’s shoulder as the girl rubs her back. 

“You can say what you really think.” Azula informs softly. “I already know…”

“I am saying what I really think.” Katara holds her ground. “That dress looks nice on you.” 

“It would look nicer on someone who has a flattering face to go with it.” She folds her arms over her chest. 

Katara’s expression darkens and that enthusiastic glimmer in her eyes is gone. “I thought that you were done with that…” 

“Yes. But then I actually saw what it looked like.”

Katara’s eyes go momentarily wide. “You mean that tonight is the first time you’ve seen your face since the surgery?”

Azula gives a slow and forlorn nod. 

“Oh, Azula.” She almost sounds like her mother. “What are we going to do with you?” She adds a small and sad laugh. 

“Fix my face?” Azula mumbles. “It’s gross.” 

Katara takes her by the shoulders and moves her so that she can look into her eyes. “I don’t want to change you, Azula. I don’t have any trouble looking at your face. Sokka doesn’t either. Chan and Tylee… and Mai. I think that you’re the only person who thinks that it looks gross.” Before Azula can open her mouth Katara adds, “Jet’s opinion doesn’t count and Yue’s we can consider but…”

“It’s questionable.” Azula finishes she forces a laugh. “I’m skeptical of anything Yue says.” She stands and beckons for Katara to follow her to her bedroom.

“I promise, you look fine. Your face doesn’t bother anyone that matters.”

“It bothers me.” 

“I think that you just have to get used to it.” Katara guesses. She picks up two lipsticks. “Which one do you want?”

Azula points at the bright red, Katara is already applying it when it occurs to her that such a bold choice in color will draw unwanted attention to her face. She hopes that the lipstick will be bright enough to keep their focus on her lips rather than her ravaged cheeks.

“You don’t understand.” She says after Katara swaps out the lipstick for some eyeliner. Katara quirks a brow and Azula takes that as her cue to continue. “Look at my room.” She gives her girlfriend a chance to take it in. It’s immaculate cleanliness and the tedious and orderly fashion in which all of her belongings are arranged from the alignment of her shelves, dressers, and bed to the collection of trophies on her dresser and crystals on her nightstand.  Even the stuffed pandas on her bed and the fairy lights wrapped around the bed posts are perfectly straight. There is an impeccable balance about the room. “It’s all symmetrical or at least balanced. Everything is where it is supposed to be.”

“I can tell.” Katara replies. “You’d hate Sokka’s room.” She dabs some eyeshadow gently atop Azula’s lids. 

“I don’t like when things are lopsided or out of place. It hurts my head. It’s like this itch that won’t go away until I straighten whatever it is up. I can’t do that with my face. It’s literally going to drive me insane.” 

Katara puts the makeup brushes aside and takes Azula’s hands. “You’re going to be fine.” She looks around the room. “How about this, you can wear one of those masquerade half-masks to the festival. You family has crazy cash, I’m sure that your dad could buy you a bunch of those masks until you’re comfortable looking at your face again.” She seems to grow more excited with each word. “It could be your thing! I don’t know anyone else who spices up their school uniform with a mask. I’m sure Pathik would make an exception to the dress code for you. He likes you.” 

“I guess that, that could work.” Azula replies. She picks up the mask that came with her dress and slips it over her face.”

“But since it was my idea I want you to do something for me.” 

Azula rolls her eyes. “What?”

“Just promise me that you’ll look at your face, without the mask, at least once a day. Even if it’s just when you brush your teeth or comb your hair in the morning.” 

“Perhaps.” 

“You have to get used to seeing yourself like this. I don’t want you to have to cover your face forever.” She pauses. “I want you to appreciate yourself for who you are. For that to happen, you’re going to have to…” 

“Accept it first.” Azula finishes. She inhales deeply and removes the mask once more. “I’m still going to steal your mask idea though.” 

“You really like attention, don’t you?”

“I like to...make myself known.” She clarifies. “I feel like people will remember the person who comes to school wearing a different mask every other day.” 

“Every other day?” 

“Yes.” Azula says. “I’ll tolerate looking at the asymmetry for a day and then I’ll give myself a break from that. Is that a problem.” 

“No!” Katara says quickly. “That’s...that’s actually more than I thought you’d be willing to do.”

“You thought that I was going to be dramatic about this didn’t you?” 

“You were definitely dramatic. ‘It’s literally going to drive me insane’.” Zuko mocks from in the doorway. Azula chucks her mask at him. “Jesus.” He rubs his arm, that goofy grin never leaves his face. 

“I thought that you’d want to take baby steps, is all.” Katara answers. 

Azula crinkles her nose. “If I’m going to do something, I’m going to put a real effort in.” She turns back to Zuko. “Where’s Mai?”

“Fussing with Tom-Tom again. You two are probably going to have to meet me there.”

“You’re our ride, dumb dumb.” Azula collects her mask and finds her favorite perfume; a rose fragrance in a dragon shaped bottle. “Do you want a spray.” 

Katara holds up a different perfume with a seashell bottle, “I’d like to try this one.”

“Go on.” 

While she is there, she might as well start now; she takes another breath and spares the mirror a look as she gives the perfume bottle a few pumps. 

.oOo.

“It’s beautiful!” TyLee gasps. “It’s been such a long time since I really looked at the stars.”

“Your gymnastics season is almost over, yes?” Azula asks. 

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

“You can follow Katara and I to the astronomy club.” 

“Oh yeah! I could do that!” She replies. 

“Do you guys want to try candle making?” Zuko cuts in, he jabs his thumb in the direction of an activity stall. 

Mai shrugs, “I’ll tag along.” 

“I like scented candles.” TyLee tugs Chan towards the stall. 

Azula exchanges a look with Katara, “do you want to make one together.” 

“I’d like that.” She smiles. 

Azula finds that she likes working with the wax, it warms her hands as she shapes the candle. Katara had insisted that they use blue wax and let Azula pick the shape. Ultimately she decides to make a simple pillar candle. She fades different shades of blue wax into each other while Katara etches in stars of silver glitter. It smells of blueberry and ocean spray. Both Yue and TyLee have created candles of pink; TyLee’s is a bubblegum scented pastel and Yue’s a bright pink, peach smelling abomination. It grows worse still when Kei Lo adds a touch of red apple. 

Expectedly, Mai insists on a black candle that smells of licorice and cherry.

“Where’s your brother anyways?” Azula asks. 

“He and Suki wanted to do a little holiday shopping before coming here, that’s why I told them to drop me off at your place.” 

“And Aang?” 

“I think that he and Teo are trying to convince Toph to come. She says that she gets tired of pointing at random spots in the sky and claiming to see aliens.” 

“She knows that there are other things to do here, right?” 

Katara shrugs and then takes a step back to look at their candle. “I think that we’re done.” 

Azula moves it to the drying rack to be picked up at the candle lighting hour. Katara takes Azula’s hand, “why aren’t you wearing gloves?” She asks.

“They don’t match my dress.”

“Your hands are freezing!” She exclaims. “Take my gloves or let’s go get a cup of hot chocolate. Geeze, my mom would kill me if I came out here without gloves!”

“I’m not cold.” Azula denies. 

“You are too.” Katara huffs. “You’re shivering.” 

Azula gives a soft and stubborn pout. “I’m fine.” She insists, her words accented by teeny puffs of fog that do little to help her case. The smoky wisps trail in brief bursts towards the sky. She watches them drift, fading away before they can even reach the strings of soft gold lights that connect one food stall to the next. The strings of light bob in the same snowy gust that shakes the paper lanterns.  She supposes that the atmosphere is very pleasing. Beneath her feet, the ground is a mess of star shaped confetti and silver glitter, not that the glitter is necessary with the natural sparkle of the snow accumulating on the ground.

Every twelve feet or so is a small fire where people gather and warm their hands. Katara is pulling her in the direction of one of them. She rustles around in her oversized backpack and pulls out a blanket. “Here, take this.” She wraps it around Azula and steals a look at the nearest food stall. Azula slips her a handful of cash. She gives Azula a brief hug and makes her way to the stall. 

Azula sits there listening to the crackle and pop of the flames. She supposes that she is happy to be wrapped in the blanket. Her hands were beginning to grow red. Katara returns with two steaming cups of hot chocolate. “S’mors?” She offers, gesturing to the sticks. 

“Yes, that sounds nice.” 

As Azula sips her drink, Katara twirls two marshmallows over the flames. 

.oOo. 

Azula is rather quiet and Katara has trouble gauging her mood. She is fairly certain that the girl is content. At the very least, her teeth aren’t chattering anymore. Katara doesn’t think that she has ever seen someone get so cold so fast. 

She watches the girl tinker with her telescope and then with her own. If only having one free hand is slowing her down, she sure doesn’t show it. Azula looks up from her work and Katara can finally gauge her emotions. She does look rather elated, more so than Katara has seen her look in a while. 

They are only minutes away from Sozin’s comet passing. Katara looks down from the top of the hill; from top to bottom it is alit with hundreds of flickering candles. A sea of twinkling flames and thin wisps of smoke. 

“We’re all set.” Azula notes. 

Katara can’t imagine how thrilled the girl must be to finally see the spectacle that gave her family such an esteemed name. 

“Sozin’s comet will be the first to fall and then the rest of them should appear.” Azula remarks with more enthusiasm than Katara has ever heard in her voice. Every now and again she leans into the telescope. Katara decides that it is best to make her way over to her own. 

It happens quickly; a flash of brilliant orange in the sky as the comet flares into view. It is humbling to view such an old object. One that very well could have been around since the dawn of man. From such a distance it looks so small. Even still it is beautiful to behold with its fiery tail and the trail of dust and debris it leaves behind. Katara follows it with her telescope until it dips below the horizon and out of view. 

It was such a fleeting moment, but then, the most glorious moments usually are. A second or two of splendor, a minute at most and then all is ordinary once more. She supposes that the universe knows that beauty is best appreciated when it is a rarity to be seen. Even so, the moment isn’t entirely over. 

Just as Azula noted, the sky becomes crowded with many falling stars. A rain of them that leave silver-blue lines in their wake like contrails of an aeroplane.

“Wow this is…” 

“Magnificent.” Azula finishes.

Katara thinks that there is no better word. 

She feels arms wrap around her torso and a blanket falling over her shoulders. Azula isn’t quite tall enough to rest her had in the crook of Katara’s neck so she presses her mostly healed left cheek against her back. 

Content to finally see Azula initiating physical contact for once, Katara doesn’t move. Not until it occurs to her that her girlfriend is slightly trembling again.  

“Let me warm you up?” She offers. 

Azula takes a step back. Katara takes her blanket and wraps it around herself. She then takes Azula into a hug and wraps the blanket around the both of them. Azula peers up at her, snow clings to her lashes. Katara never realized how small the girl was until then. She gives Azula a cheerful smile.

The comets still burst overhead, she can see them reflected in Azula’s eyes as the girl stares up at them. She doesn’t want to interrupt her viewing, but at the same time, she craves their first real kiss. So she cups Azula’s less delicate cheek and leans in. 

Azula doesn’t flinch or draw back as Katara had anticipated. The girl closes her eyes and lets Katara guide her through what she assumes is the girl’s first real kiss. Katara can’t tell if Azula’s face is rosey with the cold or because she has never been kissed before. 

No matter, she seems to be at peace. 

She sniffles.

“Let’s look at the comets for a few more minutes and then get inside before you get yourself sick.” Katara suggests.

“I’m fine.” Azula insists, but she doesn’t protest when Katara begins to pack away their equipment and she doesn’t put up a fight when Katara begins tugging her towards the banquet hall. 

Katara herself is relieved to be out of the cold, she was beginning to shiver herself. She watches Azula wander over to the chocolate fountain where she greets TyLee who has a rather absurd amount of chocolate covered fruit already gathered. Chan says something and the three of them laugh. She wishes that she could have heard it but she is thrilled to see Azula in such good spirits, especially after seeing her look so dismal and beat down. 

“She seems happy.” Mai notes. 

Katara nods. 

“What did you do to  her?” Zuko flashes an amused grin. 

“I gave her some hot chocolate and a blanket...and then a kiss.” 

“Hey, thanks for doing this for her.” Zuko says. “She really needed a good night like this. Even if she doesn’t tell you, it means a lot to her.” 

“I know.” Katara smiles. “I can tell.”

#Avatar #Azula #Katara #Azutara #TyLee #Zuko #Mai #Fanfiction

[maximoffvizh]

fic: every witch needs a familiar

post-endgame fic born out of a conversation on twitter, sam and wanda friendship ft. a kitten

The apartment echoes with emptiness. Not her apartment, not yet. Just a collection of rooms with only the most basic furniture, only blinds over the windows instead of curtains. A world of blank walls and empty shelves, and her hollowed out self at the centre of it all, quiet and alone. She may have signed the papers and paid the first few months’ rent, but this isn’t her home. She can’t imagine how it ever will be.

A knock at the door forces her up from the couch, her socked feet padding over the floors, and she steps back in amazement at Sam outside the door, surrounded by bags and boxes. “What are you doing here?” she asks, and he just grins.

“Thought I’d help christen the new place,” he says. “So I bought dinner, wine, and a variety of snacks. But first we’re going to personalise the place. I went to IKEA for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, watching him just move past her. Unpacking more than just dinner and snacks onto the counter, plastic cartons of fruit and cartons of eggs and bottles of milk and bags of pasta and packages of ready-to-cook vegetables and boxes of tea bags. “Sam?”

“There are many things you don’t know about me, Wanda Maximoff,” he says with an enigmatic smile. “Before I got caught up in superhero shenanigans, I wanted to go back to school and become an interior designer. So I went to IKEA, and I used a red theme to pick things out. I tried to stay neutral other than that, so the red pops.”

Somehow, his grin drags her along into helping to make her apartment more of a home. He hangs the grey curtains at her windows, plumps cushions on the couch and her bed, and she almost bursts into tears when he sets a guitar in her living room. “I took the liberty of hunting down a similar one,” he says, and she puts a hand to her mouth to hide her trembling lip. “See. You can make this place a home.”

“But he’s not here,” she says softly. Sadly. And Sam slips an arm around her waist and kisses her temple, squeezing her tightly.

“I know,” he says, and opens the flap of one last box. “I also, ah, took the liberty of hunting down some memories for you. This was the best I could do since the compound was destroyed.”

She does tear up when she pulls out the first frame, the official photograph of the New Avengers team taken in 2015. Natasha’s frozen, touchingly proud face makes the first tear fall, and she ghosts a fingertip gently over Vision’s awkward smile, her chest aching with the need to have his arms around her again. Every frame is perfect, photographs of her with Clint’s children, with Steve and Natasha and Sam, with Vision. The memories of the life she’s left behind. “Thank you,” she breathes through tears, and Sam just smiles.

“You’re always welcome, Maximoff,” he says, and breaks away as she stares into a picture Vision took of the two of them on a beach somewhere in Europe, his hair falling over his sunglasses and freckles breaking out on her cheeks, her lips pressed to his cheek. “I bought mac and cheese. Even remembered to add some spice for you.”

They settle down on the couch with dinner and wine, and she finds herself relaxing into it, just a little. Even if when Sam leaves the shadows creep up again and she can’t sleep for the nightmares and she sits in the bathroom in the middle of the night shaking and crying, when he’s there she can relax. She can know he’ll take care of her.

Somehow, it turns into a weekly ritual. No matter what Sam is doing, what he’s dealing with out in the real world now the mantle of Captain America has passed to him, every Friday night he turns up at her door. Usually with a new knick knack for her apartment in one hand, and dinner in the other. Fairy lights to wrap around the curtain pole in her room, a pasta machine, a new houseplant, a record player including a few of his favourite records from before she was born. He chooses something mindless and uplifting on Netflix, and they sit on the couch and eat quietly.

She makes the mistake of telling him how much she’s struggling to sleep, and he appears at the door with a stack of lavender products, telling her they’re supposed to help her sleep. She confesses that she doesn’t want to go back to dark hair, and he helps her re-dye hers, even cleaning up the murder scene her bathroom becomes under the red dye. He shows her how to make bread, and she pretends not to notice that he never leaves her with any leftover wine for fear that she’ll use it to cope. He gently asks if she thinks she should see a therapist, and she shakes her head and they leave it at that.

Over the months, she thought it would get easier. But it’s been six months, and it never has. She still wakes up every morning in a cold bed, missing Vision, wishing she could just reach for him like she used to be able to. When Sam doesn’t come to see her, she eats leftovers, or nothing. She spends sleepless nights listening to love songs, the words of them eating her up inside, beautiful words she never said to Vision. She wasn’t brave enough.

Tucked into a heavy jumper, reading one of the books that Laura sent her after she cleared out the shelves at the farmhouse, she doesn’t bother to move when the doorbell rings. It’s Friday night, six thirty, and Sam has a key, and she can hear him opening the door, moving around behind her. Then she starts violently when he pulls the book out of her hands and replaces it with a tiny ball of brown fluff that lets out a squeak of a sneeze and blinks blue eyes at her.

“Sam?” she asks, twisting to look at him, hands instinctively cradling the kitten. “Why is there a kitten in my apartment?”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Sam says, turning the dial to pre-heat her oven and dusting his hands off to pull a food bowl and a litter tray and a bag of litter and an assortment of toys out of a bag. “I was at the shelter this week, because Barnes is thinking about getting a dog and he’s got it in his head that he wants a rescue and I grew up with dogs so I’ve obviously offered to lend my expertise in helping him choose the right one. And I was chatting to the girl there, being my usual charming self, and she recognised me and said I must know a lot of people in need of some animal companionship. So I said I did, but not all of them have the space for a big running dog like Barnes wants. So she showed me the kittens, and that little guy just caught my eye.”

The kitten presses his paws into Wanda’s chest, leaving pale hairs on the red wool of her sweater, and she cradles him a little closer, feeling his tiny thin body shivering beneath her hands. “What happened to him?” she asks, a rush of protectiveness rising in her at this tiny powerless little thing that needs someone to help.

“His mom got hit by a car,” Sam says. “Tragic accident. And they were a litter of five, and most of them got adopted quickly. He was the runt, and he never pushed to the front and purred. She thinks he needs a special someone to look after him. Someone who’s been hurt too.”

“I see where you’re going with this,” she says, and Sam smiles. And the kitten mews quietly, so high-pitched, kneading his paws into her shoulder, and she looks down into his huge eyes and feels herself melting. “I don’t know the first thing about looking after a cat.”

“Feed him, water him, make sure he’s scratching the post Uncle Sam got him and not the furniture, love him,” Sam says. “I even did some light Googling to check none of your plants are poisonous for cats. They’re not.”

“Sam, I...I can’t accept him,” she says, and the kitten mews when she moves him away from her, paws pulling at the air like he wants to get back to being cradled against her chest.

“I even bought him a collar with a bell on!” Sam says, shaking the length of red to jingle the tiny bell. “See, it’s to match you.” He moves towards her, the hum of the oven filling the silence, and carefully pushes her hands back to her chest, the kitten curling up against her with a contented sigh. “I know you’ve been going through it, Wanda. Don’t be too hard on yourself. You need a companion apart from me. Every witch needs a familiar.”

“Does he have a name?” she asks, and Sam shakes his head. She rubs two fingers carefully over the space between the kitten’s ears, his fur so soft, and asks, “What do you think about Hex?”

“I think that’s an adorable name for a witch’s familiar,” Sam says, and she smiles, suddenly teary-eyed. She moves Hex closer, and he chirps quietly, curling into her. “He’s going to look after you when I’m not here.”

“Sam,” she breathes, overwhelmed and trying not to cry. And Sam leans down to brush a kiss against the top of her head, and she ducks her head to hide the falling tears in Hex’s fur.

They eat dinner on the couch, Hex in her lap and staring at her with huge pleading eyes until she gives him a tiny piece of the salmon Sam made for them. When Sam leaves, taking the bottle of wine they only drank a little of with him, she means to start as she wants to go on, with Hex in a bed in the front room and not on her pillow. But he cries until she relents, and his tiny body curls into her in the bed, warming her the way it used to warm her to sleep plastered against Vision’s back.

When she wakes up in the middle of the night, breath coming in rapid-fire jerks after another nightmare, Hex is there. She cradles him carefully in her hands, and he purrs and butts his head against her face, his chest rising and falling beneath her hand. The motion of it soothing her slowly back to sleep.

#beth writes fic #wanda maximoff fic #idk what to tag this as

[robininthelabyrinth]

Mick/Georgie - on the Waverider or on some 2017 team up?

Fic: Patriae Pater - Plus One (Ao3 link)Fandom: DC’s Legends of TomorrowPairing: Mick Rory/George Washington; Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: In which Mick becomes a part of history. (my director’s cut of Turncoat)

A/N: This is not the fic that answers this request. But it may serve as the prelude to that fic, if I ever get more inspiration for it. Also, this is about 90% inspired by the fact that George Washington was considered an extremely tall man because he was 6'2" in an era where people were a lot shorter - and the fact that Mick Rory, as portrayed by Dominic Purcell, is also 6'2".

===========================================

“I’m gonna strangle him,” Mick says again. He does not approve of the new Rip Hunter, who had been smirking at them as they were dragged away, leaving Sara in the dirt. You don’t do that shit to your crew.

Hell, he hadn’t even liked it when Len had taken care of someone who wanted ‘out’; he knew Len did it when he was on his own, but Mick wasn’t interested in being a party to –

He’s not going to think about Len now.

“Even if they try to kill us,” he adds.

“They’re not going to kill us,” Washington says, also again. “As I’ve told you, I will talk to their commanding officer when they reach their camp and arrange a prisoner exchange. It’s the honorable thing to do.”

Mick rolls his eyes. He doesn’t believe in honor at all, but much less in war. He’s seen the movies. He tosses aside another scrap of his chip bag – the outside was dull and interesting, but the inside shiny enough that Amaya would have to be blind as a bat to miss it – and asks, “Who’s their commanding officer, anyway?”

“Lieutenant General Cornwallis,” Washington tells him.

Mick wrinkles his nose. “He the big kahuna?”

“The…what?”

“Big fish. Man of the hour. The boss man.”

“Ah. No, General William Howe is responsible for the overall British effort. After him, it would be General Henry Clinton.”

“I always liked Clinton,” Mick says nostalgically. The ‘90s had been a pretty decent time.

“I must admit I didn’t know him,” Washington says, blinking. “Are you from New York, then?”

“Keystone,” Mick says with a shrug. “But I’ve visited New York.”

“Keystone…I’m not familiar with that county. Is that out west?”

“Yep.”

“You must tell me more about it. When I worked as a surveyor, I – ah, I see we’re here.”

They get led up to the man in the fancy wig.

“General Washington, as I live and breathe,” he says, smile on his smug little face. He’s a good foot shorter than Washington or Mick, but then again, most of these assholes are.

“Lieutenant General Cornwallis,” Washington says, inclining his head. “I would’ve preferred to meet you on the field of battle.”

“I must give credit where credit is due. I have a new colonel who’s most impressive. One might say he’s ahead of his time,” Cornwallis drawls.

“If you two are done yapping, I’d like my last meal,” Mick interjects. The way this going, it could take hours; he’s not Len, to enjoy the endless byplay of words.

“Take these men to my tent, and have them well fed,” Cornwallis says. “You’ll both be hung in the morning.”

“Sounds exciting,” Mick mutters. “What’d I tell you, Georgie boy?”

“I am an officer in the Continental Army, sir,” Washington protests. “You must treat me as a prisoner of war in a manner which is befitting of my rank.”

“This is not a war. This is a rebellion. And you will be hanged for treason against King George III!”

Mick sees Rip hovering at the edges of the crowd, collecting a team of men for who knows what purpose. Probably to go cause trouble.

Means it’s Mick’s job to stop it.

Washington is currently bargaining for Mick’s life – good man, albeit wrong about Mick’s level of guilt – so Mick waits till he’s done with that and interjects, “Good place for a hanging.”

Washington shoots him a mildly irritated look, while Cornwallis looks smug.

“Pity Howe can’t be here,” Mick says. “But I’m sure he’ll appreciate getting your message about it being over and done with without his input.”

Cornwallis’ smile freezes.

“Of course,” Mick says, scratching idly under his collar. It’s made of pretty rough-spun wool, and he suspects he might’ve developed fleas already, just from being manhandled by redcoats. “I’m sure he’ll understand why you couldn’t send a message. Continental forces are pretty scary, after all.”

“We’re hardly scared of your rag-tag little band of rebels,” Cornwallis scoffs, almost on cue.

Mick smiles with teeth. “But you’re still shaking in your britches about the thought of sending any of your men through us,” he says. “Or is it that you’re looking to get the credit yourself? Not that that’s a problem, of course.”

“Every man for himself, and bugger the rest, is it?” Washington asks. Mick glances at him approvingly. That was almost maliciously innocent. Georgie’s twigged to Mick’s game and he’s backing Mick’s play. Mick appreciates that in a man.

“Way it is for you Brits, ain’t it?” Mick adds in. “No argument from us. We get it.”

Cornwallis’ back straightens with what Mick likes to imagine is an almost audible pop. “Are you questioning my honor as a gentleman?”

“Yes,” Washington says. “Quite blatantly, if you’ll notice.” He pauses for a moment, appearing contemplative. “I believe my private is also calling you a coward.”

Okay, fine. Mick’s a big man. He’ll admit when he was wrong. Georgie’s not half bad.

“I’m sure whatever men you send’ll make it through,” Mick says encouragingly. “You can’t all be half-assed pansies, however you dress.”

Georgie appears to be fighting a smile.

Cornwallis knows he’s being played. That’s what Mick likes best; when they know they’re being played and you know you’re playing them, and they know you know, and there’s still nothing they can do about it.

This is why honor is stupid.

“I will prepare a message to General Howe informing him I’ve captured you and that I intend to hang you as soon as I have either his approval or his presence,” Cornwallis says very stiffly. “Lieutenant Ross!”

A nearby man snaps to attention.

“Fetch Colonel Hunter and inform him that he will be carrying a message for me as quickly as he is able,” Cornwallis instructs.

Perfect.

That’ll keep Rip busy for a while, undoubtedly to his annoyance.

Mick and Georgie get put into a tent. There are some guards outside, but otherwise it’s not particularly notable.

Georgie grins at Mick. “Well done,” he says approvingly. “I must admit, I wouldn’t have thought of that – immediately, at least.”

Snarky bastard. Mick grins back. “Sure you would’ve,” he drawls. “If there’s one thing you can always count on fucking everything up, it’s bureaucracy.”

Georgie arches his eyebrows. “Bureaucracy?”

“You know. When everything’s got to go through four different offices for approval, and you’ve gotta get three different signatures, except one guy’s on his lunch break and the other’s been transferred to a new department and they haven’t replaced him yet, and all you want to do is get something simple fix but they want to have at least three copies of your petition in triplicate…”

“Oh,” Georgie says. “That.”

“That,” Mick confirms.

“Bugger that.”

“Here, here,” Mick says approvingly, and goes to see if he can scout out the way the shift changes by peeping out the tent flap. Some things never change.

By the time he’s done with that, Georgie’s started scribbling something.

“When they change shifts, I’m going to bust us out of here,” Mick tells him. It’s a shitty plan, but there’s nothing like a shitty plan to get a better planner’s brain to start ticking.

One time when Len –

No. Not thinking about that.

“Are you so eager to die?” Georgie says, and suddenly he’s back to his hoity-toity mannerisms and speeches about honor and principles and a goddamn love letter to his wife and what it means to be an American.

Of course, it’s all bullshit, which is what Mick tells him.

“You don’t know the first thing about being an American,” he says, crossing his arms. “We’re misfits, outcasts, and we’re proud of it. If they attack in formation, we pop them off from the trees. If they challenge you to a duel, you raid their camp at night. And if they’re gonna hang you, you fight dirty and you never, ever give up. That’s the American way. What’s it gonna be, George?”

Georgie’s eyes narrow. “Don’t think you can skillfully toy with me the way you did Cornwallis,” he warns.”

“You may be a big guy,” Mick tells him. “But I’ve carted around bigger. You wanna help me plan this, or you want to be a sack of potatoes over my shoulder, it’s your choice. But we’re busting out.”

Georgie looks at Mick for a long moment. “I’m listening.”

Mick grins.

With what Mick knows about Rip, he suspects there will be a very short delay before the letter with Howe’s approval arrives. Georgie agrees with him that Cornwallis will accept a decent forgery that arrived far too quickly as being sufficient to cover his ass –

“CYA,” Georgie says, shaking his head and looking gleeful. “A shortening to be used in letters, I presume? I must tell Martha of it – she will enjoy it tremendously. It quite captures the spirit without losing any of the spice.”

– so they’ve bought themselves a few hours, at most, but a few hours is better than none.

“I’ll go scout out the – what do you call them?” Mick asks. “The place where they hang you.”

“Gallows?”

“Yeah, that.”

Georgie nods, tapping his lips. “Perhaps if there was a distraction when they’re all focused on the execution…”

Mick grins. “Ka-boom.”

Georgie looks at him in silent question.

Mick mimics an explosion with his hands. “Ka-boom.”

Georgie’s grin looks a little like Len’s in the low light, all wicked and understanding.

“How will you set it up?” Georgie asks. “The gunpowder I understand, but if we want it to be adequately impressive…”

“Don’t worry about that,” Mick says dismissively. “You’re gonna lecture me.”

“I’m…what?”

“Lecture me. About something. Politeness or something. And you’re gonna do it loud, you get me?”

“I do indeed. Godspeed, Mr. Rory.”

“Mick’s fine,” Mick tells him. “Mr. Rory’s reserved for British assholes.”

He slips out the back of the tent as Georgie starts loudly talking about something called ‘decorum’ and ‘propriety’ which sound like crap to Mick, but whatever. Georgie’s really giving it his all, pacing back and forth and waving his hands and quoting things in Latin. It’s a masterful display of showmanship, given that the guy he’s lecturing ain’t even there.

Mick might not be familiar with the exact mechanics of guns back in ye olden days, but he knows how to start a fire. The gunpowder is stacked in a good place, right in line of the new gallows being constructed, and a touch of kerosene on the barrels and the surrounding area will guarantee a good fire goes up fast.

God, Mick loves a good accelerant.

Mick also plants a few surprises. That involves going through the camp somewhat more thoroughly than he’d originally planned, but it’s not a problem. He’s pulled off his very American-ish jacket and left it in the tent, which means it’s chilly as fuck, but the first time someone looks up at him and starts to look suspicious, Mick makes a long-suffering face and mimes a hand of cards, which gets him a laugh. Him offering the content of his flask with a conspiratorial smirk gets him a friendly punch on the shoulder.

Them drinking a swig out of the flask gets him raised eyebrows of approval and a spare redcoat, which Mick appreciates wholeheartedly despite the bloodstains indicating it’s a spare due to previous usage. And probably has fleas.

Well, it certainly makes sneaking around easier.

By the time he gets back, he’s got two over-sized redcoats (never show a thief where you keep the spares), a working knowledge of a flintlock rifle, the basics of a grenade in his pockets and two maps with 'X’s all over 'em that he picked from the pocket of the guy with the fancy hat.

He figures Georgie will appreciate that.

By the time he gets back, Georgie’s started in with the 'when I was a child’ stories with a vaguely pinched look on his face that eases when he sees Mick.

“- and let that be a lesson to you,” he concludes, then exhales.

“Nice,” Mick says. “Lesson learned. Here’s what I’ve got.” And he lays out his loot.

“Mick Rory, you absolute scoundrel,” Georgie says, giant grin on his face. “I approve entirely. Were you with Sons of Liberty before joining up?”

“I was never much for organized institutions,” Mick says honestly.

“And yet you joined the army?”

“I said organized.”

Georgie actually guffaws at that. “Well, then,” he says with a smirk. “Let us show them what our disorganized institution can do, shall we?”

“Let’s,” Mick replies, and grins.

“You’re certain that they will not put you in chains?”

“Even if they do, I can get out of 'em,” Mick says. “I had a buddy who could pop his wrist out of joint to get out of one; now he was a regular Houdini.”

“Hou- sorry, what’s that?”

“Means escape artist.”

“I would hardly say escaping was an art.”

“Sure was the way my buddy did 'em.”

There was the sound of marching outside. Mick and Georgie share a look and stand up straight.

Cornwallis comes in, smug and smirking, letter in hand.

“I would have thought you were above forgeries,” Georgie says, looking down his nose at the Brit. “But perhaps not. My death warrant, I assume?”

The smugness pops like a balloon. “It is hardly –”

“The fastest horse in the world could not have made that distance,” Georgie says. “Or are you claiming that your newest colonel has devised a way to travel beyond our imagining?”

���Well, he has –”

“You know, my ma used to be the believing sort of naif,” Mick tells Georgie. “Mostly lost money out of it.”

“Better money than honor,” Georgie replies.

“The orders – which are legitimate – are for your immediate execution,” Cornwallis snaps. “Men, take them.”

“Very well,” Georgie says, and permits himself to be escorted. Mick follows, amused; Georgie really looks like he’s doing them a favor by letting them take him to kill him. It’s all in the shoulders and neck, in Mick’s opinion.

They get all the way to the last words bit before Georgie decides it’s time to give the signal.

“Yes, I have some last words,” he says archly. “In fact, I’ve learned a new one from my private - ka-boom.”

Mick drops his meek prisoner act, grabs a gun, and fires at the tubs of gunpowder that he tricked up with accelerant. He’s relieved to see that the musket doesn’t lock up or misfire.

It makes a beautiful blast.

He drops that gun, grabs another, and uses his next bullet to clear the gallows and bull-rush Georgie off of it, yank off the rope binding his arms, and then they’re in the thick of the brawl.

“Back!” Georgie calls, and Mick retreats with him, which is probably a good idea because the element of surprise is all well and good but the Brits are bringing out their drummer and those muskets have bayonets attached - perfect for close combat. Definitely time to run.

“The new weapons Colonel Hunter provided -” Georgie says as they’re jogging away.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Mick says.

“Oh?”

Mick smirks. “Oh, yeah.” On his travels through the British camp the other night, he’d taken a bit of time to lay a few misapprehensions around. It’d been surprisingly easy - he’d thought he’d have to stay quiet, since his British accent was shit, but it turned out all the Brits talked like regular Americans back in the day. Well, except the toffs. They’d had fun trying to guess where he was from - apparently most of them thought that Keystone resembled a place called Newcastle.

It was also remarkably easy to convince them that machine guns were experimental weapons nicknamed 'the friendly fire’ because of their tendency to pump out bullets so fast that the recoil jarred your arm and killed your friends before you even blinked.

Half the troops - hell, half the officers - wouldn’t use them now if you’d paid them, at least until they were flogged into compliance, and the other half still thought you needed to dump gunpowder down the front of them first, which wouldn’t help their operation.

Let’s just say Mick wasn’t too worried about a machine-gun bullet to the back; not anytime soon, anyway.

“We need to go to a river before they catch our scent,” Georgie says.

“Yeah,” Mick says and produced the red coats.

“They’ll see those for miles, Private.”

“I know. S'why I’m ditching 'em in whatever way we ain’t going. After that, though, this cross-country bullshit’s all on you.”

Georgie was rather clever about it, too, laying false scents and zigzagging around, but eventually they were pretty sure they’d lost the fuckers and found themselves a nice abandoned cabin, half-burned down, to rest for a while.

“It’s hardly acceptable for a gentleman to even contemplate,” Georgie says, frowning at it.

“Good thing I ain’t a gentleman,” Mick says, tossing himself down on the bed, which was way too small. “Fuck my feet. They cut off people’s heads to make them fit on these things?”

Georgie laughs. “My cot is custom made,” he says ruefully. “I encounter the same issue otherwise.”

Mick squints at him. “You’re rich,” he concludes. “Great.”

“I am indeed. You object?”

“On moral grounds.”

“Moral grounds?”

“Sure,” Mick says. “The rich mostly care about making themselves richer, or not getting any poorer, and blame the poor who’ve got no way to climb up for being poor.”

“That’s hardly true.”

“Uh-huh,” Mick says. “And you made all your money on your own, I bet.”

“I grew my inheritance -”

“No inheritance, no growth. Try again.”

Georgie’s face does some funny things before he comes to a decision and cracks a rueful smile. “I married a very wealthy woman, which was of considerable aid to me when I fell vastly in debt despite my best efforts.”

Mick laughs, which turns into a yelp when Georgie crawls into the bedding next to him. “Uh,” he says. “Personal space?”

“We ought to rest for a while if we’re to make my camp by sundown,” Georgie says like it’s obvious. “And it’s quite cold.”

“That’d be the river water on your boots,” Mick says.

“Indeed,” Georgie replies, but otherwise seems unmoved.

Well, if Georgie doesn’t mind, Mick’s not going to object. He yawns and throws a friendly arm over the other man, mentally does a little “ha-ha, Len, look what I’m doing” jig in his mind, remembers Len is dead, and then goes straight to sleep to avoid thinking about it further.

He wakes up a few hours later with Georgie’s face only a few inches away.

Mick blinks.

Georgie regards him steadily.

“Your breath stinks,” Mick offers.

Georgie snorts. “Yes,” he says. “I suppose so. We should go soon – I have an army to return to. Though Colonel Knox has made such preparations, I suspect he would continue whether or not I was there to participate.”

“Crossing the Delaware?” Mick asks, then glances outside at the dimming light. It’s still mid-afternoon, but there are storm clouds brewing. “Bad weather for it.”

“I have little doubt that if the river freezes over in its entirety, Cornwallis will have ordered an attack. We must hope for ill weather to keep them unawares – but not too ill to make the crossing.”

“Somehow,” Mick says, “I think it’ll go all right.”

“You can be on my boat,” Georgie says.

“Um,” Mick says. “Okay?”

He’d pretty much been expecting to be rescued by now, since history was back on track, but then again, maybe by delaying Rip by several hours had distracted the Legends.

Or the Legends ditched him. That’s a possibility.

Well, at least he knows Washington doesn’t drown in the Delaware.

“Okay,” he says again.

“Since you’re obviously not a real private.”

“I…could be?”

Georgie looks at him.

“Yeah, no.”

“Do you even have a regiment you’re pretending to be assigned to?”

“…pretty sure we didn’t think I’d be here this long.”

“What was your goal?”

“Saving your life, mostly,” Mick says. “I’m American, and I’d like to keep being American.”

“How would you not be American if I died?”

“Just go with it,” Mick says. “It gives me a headache to think about it, and I don’t got the fancy words I need to make it clear. But you need to live and you need to cross the Delaware if America’s gonna be independent.”

“You’re very certain of our success,” Georgie says with a sigh. “I wish I were the same. Our retreat from New York was – not particularly good.”

“You’ll do fine,” Mick says gruffly.

“I pray to God it be so,” Georgie says, then turns and squints at the light. “Another hour, I’d say; then we head out.”

Mick nods.

Georgie turns back. “And how should we pass that time, I wonder?”

Now, Mick’s been in prison, where the chance of seeing a girl is non-existent and you do with what you’ve got. He’s been out drinking at the gay bars, where a man like him can get bought a drink instead of doing the buying.

If this was anyone but George frigging Washington, he’d assume he’s being hit on.

Actually.

Even with that, it kinda came off that way.

“Uh,” Mick says.

“Only if you’re partial, of course,” Georgie says.

No, Mick is definitely being hit on.

“I’m partial,” he says, because, uh, he might be a grieving widower but he’s pretty sure Len’s ghost just rose up out of his grave to yell ‘You’d better hit that with the force of a cannonball right now, Mick Rory, or I’m gonna disown you!’ because how many times do you get a chance to make it with a Founding Father. “Assuming we’re talking the same language about what we’re both partial to, that is.”

Georgie smirks.

Turns out they are.

It’s nothing complex – for one thing, the bed is too small, they don’t want to muss up their clothing too much, and it’s fucking cold – but Mick’s never said no to getting and giving a helping hand before, and he’s certainly not planning to now.

Also, it’s George Washington. That’s just fucking awesome.

Mick is still vaguely star-struck afterwards during clean-up, which at least is pretty easy – Georgie produces a handkerchief, Mick does the cleaning, they’re both sated and pleased.

“Shall we?” Georgie says, nodding at the door.

“Hell yeah,” Mick says.

He regrets it about seven hours later, when he’s on a goddamn boat. In the middle of a hurricane. “Fuck this,” Mick says through chattering teeth.

“Chance to fight for your country,” another guy says. He sounds excessively cheerful through his thick Irish accident.

Mick shoves him into the water.

Georgie’s hand snaps out and catches the man by the back of the jacket, yanking him out of the water, plopping him back onto the boat.

The man coughs wetly.

Mick hands him a flask.

“You’re a ruddy bastard –” the man takes a slug. “– with mighty fine taste in whiskey.”

“You can finish it,” Mick grunts.

“Good man,” the man says approvingly. “John Haslet.”

“Mick Rory.”

“Pass it over,” another man grunts. “We’re not all from the swamps of Delaware.”

“Shove it, Trumbull. Not like Connecticut’s better.”

In the interests of peace, Mick reaches into his pocket and passes his second flask – the one with the good stuff – to the second guy.

“Good man,” the second says.

Then he takes a sip.

“Saints and angels,” he says, sounding vaguely awed. “I’ll immortalize you and your name will go down in history forever.”

Mick snorts. It’s not an unusual reaction to that stuff.

Then he reaches out and grabs the back of Georgie’s coat, since the general’s standing for balance and looking like he’s about to teeter over into the water, and that would just be undignified.

“Much obliged, Private Rory,” Georgie says.

Mick grunts. He’d say something cutting, but it’s cold and it’s wet and there’s a goddamn hurricane blowing.

He should’ve paid more attention to seeing if that famous painting had had icebergs in it before agreeing to this.

But they make it to the other side, all intact, Mick gets his flasks back, refilled with something foul but exceedingly alcoholic, and they march.

Oh, god, do they march.

Mick disapproves of marching.

“You have absolutely no conception of soldiering, do you?” one of the several men with bags filled with paper that followed Georgie around. He sounds amused.

“It’s not really my element,” Mick grunts.

“At least you have boots,” the man points out.

“No kidding,” Mick says. He’s noticed some of the other people don’t, which is just awful.

“I remember my first battle,” the man says. “Sucked balls.”

“I like you,” Mick says.

The man grins at him. “Best of luck to you, Private,” he says. “If you survive, I’ve no doubt we’ll be seeing more of you soon enough.”

And then he winks.

Mick is the first one to admit he doesn’t have much book learning or any of that crap, but he likes to think he knows people pretty well.

He is totally surrounded by people who’ve been partial to Georgie, isn’t he.

“You dog,” he says admiringly under his breath. “Shoulda put you on the hundred instead of Franklin.”

“Pssst!” something hisses in his ear. “Mick!”

That sounds like Haircut.

“Haircut?” Mick whispers.

“We’re here to rescue you!”

Mick rolls his eyes. “About time. I think I’ve got fleas.”

“Gross. We’ll meet you by the camp, pick you up.”

Sure enough, by the time they get to where the impromptu camp has been set up – mostly to wait for the other groups they were meeting on this end – Sara and the rest of them are there.

Georgie motions for Mick to follow him inside and raises a flask. “To fighting like an American,” he says, grinning.

“I always do,” Mick says. Then it occurs to him. “Say, Georgie, I’ve got some thoughts on the criminal justice system –”

Georgie looks interested, but then one of the guys with the papers pops his head in. “The troops are all across,” he says. “No casualties. We’re awaiting you outside, General Washington.”

“And we have to go,” Sara says, entering behind him with Stein and Nate at her side, smile fixed on her face. “C’mon, Mick.”

Georgie eyes her and nods a little. “I don’t understand much of what I’ve seen, but the world is changing. And you are no small part of that. Sir.”

“Well, Georgie, it’s,” Mick tries to find the right words, and settles on, “it’s been a pleasure.”

Georgie smirks.

It also turns out the so-called love letter Georgie had tried to have him deliver was a battle strategy.

“I wanted to ensure my men would receive it in the event of my death. The Hessians will be receiving a Christmas surprise this evening,” he says with a grin.

“You sneaky bastard,” Mick says approvingly. “Not such a gentleman after all.”

Georgie laughs and puts his hands on Mick’s shoulders. “With your rebel spirit, your steadfastness, your crass yet effective use of language, you, Mr. Rory, represent the best of what our new nation can be.”

Mick blinks.

Sara blinks.

Stein blinks.

Nate blinks.

Mick’s pretty sure Ray’s there, floating, too small to see, but he’d bet he’s blinking right now too.

“Uh,” he says. “Yes, yes, I do.”

And then he gives Georgie a close hug and heads out with the others.

“That was weird,” Nate says. “George Washington thinks Mick is a good American.”

“He must be confused,” Sara says dismissively.

Mick contemplates telling them about the whole horny bastard bit, but figures they wouldn’t believe him.

He just thinks about the two maps with the Xs that he slipped into Georgie’s pocket – maps that looked pretty similar to the ‘battle strategies’ that Georgie had slipped into his ‘love letter’ – and grins.

Then they get back on the ship and Sara asks Gideon if the timeline’s been fixed and –

Goddamn fucking Trumbull.

Turns out he actually did immortalize Mick forever by plopping him straight in the background of a bunch of his sketches and paintings from the period, and that’s what inspired some asshole of a sculptor to add him to the set of statuary that got made permanent in Washington D.C. by Nixon of all people.

Though, in fairness, that was the good whiskey.

————————————————————————

“So what’d I miss?” Len asks, now that he was back where he belonged and the initial celebrations were over, though Mick had some additional celebrations in mind for later.

“Ninjas,” Mick says immediately.

“Oh god,” Len says.

“I got knighted by Queen Guinevere,” Ray says.

“I’m Captain now,” Sara says.

“Dinosaurs,” Nate says.

“Mobsters in 1930s Chicago,” Amaya says.

“Einstein,” Stein says.

“I slept with George Washington,” Mick adds.

“You saved George Washington,” Sara corrects.

“No, I’m pretty sure he meant what he said,” Len says, looking delighted. “You fucked a Founding Father, Mick?”

“Hell yes I did,” Mick says proudly.

“George Washington wasn’t gay,” Nate says.

“He was in the army,” Len says dismissively. “And without central heating, too. How was he?”

“No, but – it doesn’t – Mick didn’t –”

“I did,” Mick says. “It was decent enough. Mostly ‘cause it was Georgie. Star-struck, you know?”

Len’s nodding.

“Are you serious?” Sara says. “I can’t believe you –”

“You’re Lancelot,” Mick points out. “And you fucked the Queen of France while we were getting shot at. Least I did my fucking when it wasn’t bothering anyone else. Or the timeline.”

“– okay, shutting up now.”

“I have a statute,” Mick tells Len.

“We should go back and have a threesome,” Len replies.

“We should not,” Rip says, sounding horrified.

“Who’s ‘we’? You’re not invited anyway,” Mick tells him. “And you’re not even the Captain anymore.”

“Regardless: no,” Rip says firmly. “Absolutely not.”

———————————————————————————

“Okay,” Nate says. “We need to convince George Washington to come with us. We need to convince the Father of the American People to just up and leave behind his commitment to his country to help us.”

“To help us save the timeline and the world,” Ray points out.

“I know, it’s just – I feel like it’s going to be a tough sell. He’s doing his duty to his country already, you know?”

“When are we picking him up from?” Sara asks.

“1794. Two years into his second term as President. How are we going to approach this?”

“Let me try,” Mick says.

He spots Georgie walking through a garden, a pensive look on his face.

“Hey, Georgie boy,” he says.

Georgie looks up and his face clears. “Mr. Rory,” he says. “No – you prefer Mick, correct?”

“That’s right,” Mick says, grinning. Georgie remembers him! “So, if I said you could have a several week long vacation and get back in time for dinner this evening, would you agree to come save the world?”

“Lead the way,” Georgie says.

“That was – less trouble than I thought it would be,” Nate says, blinking a bit.

“You don’t have any questions?” Ray asks Georgie.

“I’m certain Mick will explain everything in time,” Georgie replies with a shrug.

“You’re very easy-going,” Sara says. “More than I remember.”

“Perhaps,” Georgie says. “Mick, what was that wonderful phrase you coined – the one about how government works – or rather, doesn’t work?”

“It was – uh –”

“Bureaucracy?” Len suggests, because he knows Mick’s brain better than Mick does.

“That’s the one,” Georgie says. “I repeat my sentiments on the subject, which I expressed to you on the previous occasion of our meeting.”

“Was this the one where he said ‘bugger that’?” Len asks Mick.

“Yep,” Mick replies, grinning. “Georgie, this is my partner, Leonard Snart. You’ll like him.”

Len sticks out a hand. “I’ve heard so much about you,” he drawls with a faint smile. “Heard you never got to talk with Mick about his thoughts on the criminal system. Got some myself. We’ll have to talk more about it.”

“You most certainly will not,” Rip says.

“Fuck you, Rip,” Len replies, still smiling. He’s been saying that a lot.

Mick slings a friendly arm over Georgie’s shoulder. “C’mon, Georgie,” he says. “Lots to catch you up on, I think.”

“I’m certain,” Georgie says dryly. “What manner of contraption are we in, to begin with?”

“It’s a ship,” Mick says. “It travels through time.”

“That seems useful.”

“Not as much as you’d think…”

#dccoldwave #mick rory #George washington #leonard snart #my fic #no I got nothing

[autumnpawtribe]

Seeking the Raptorblood - Reshka

Xiao grinned. "Yes!" He whispered excitedly to himself, wiggling on his cloud before practically ZOOMING off in the direction of the officer's quarters as he'd passed by them on his way to the pubs. Once he got near the marked location, he dispersed his little cloud and walked up to the door, hoping it was the right one. He knocked a few times and then waited patiently. All that could be heard was barking and the chittering laugh of a hyena.  No voices came from the door, but a large wolf, a small pup and that loud hyena were making quite a ruckus.  There was the smell of cooking meat that came from the door.  A Howl came from the home silencing the rest.  The door opened by magical means as a smaller female mag'har with auburn hair met him with a gun pointed dead at his face.  She was covered in grease and grime, blue overalls covered her for the most part, a plain shirt under them, torn at the shoulders.  She had tattoos, some of them rather trollish.  The blue and white sin'dorei marking was on her shoulder and her feet were bare with her hair tied up behind her head.  The cove's mark was on her ear, the communication she could turn on to warn everyone in the cove to be alert immediately.  On her back, a reserve weapon that was more 'knife on a staff'.  He would recognize it as one that Vol'raka had once owned and said he loaned to a relative. "Five seconds to tell me WHY you are at my door, Pandaren.  NO ONE is stupid enough to come down here." Upon hearing that distinct hyena laughter, he knew he'd come to the right place. What he wasn't expecting was the gun. His eyes widened and his hands came up as if to show that he was unarmed. Five seconds? He could do better. Three words. "... I'm Xiao Chun." "I could give less than three shits if you are Taran Zhu.  Explain why you are here, Autumnpaw."  She knew exactly who he was, blatantly obvious, but she did not put the small cannon she easily held to his face down a millimeter.

Xiao sighed. "You should know exactly why I am here, I am here for my mate. I am here for his child... our... child. You are the only one in the entire Cove who can tell me where he is. Please." Without a word, she grabbed him by the collar of his clothing.  She was not much taller than him, so not a stretch.  The room the huntress dragged him into was cavernous, with a large communal room to one side and a kitchen to the other.  The communal room had a small fire pit , with an area around it covered in furs and herpack returning to their nap there, a large pile of fur.  She pointed to the Kitchen, through a large dining area.  "Sit in there.  Give me ten minutes."  Leaving him to his devices she wandered down the hall, the pup trying to follow.  She hissed at it in Zandalari and it retreated to the kitchen and whimpering at its bowl.  It still contained fresh food, but the pup had eaten the middle and apparently thought it was now empty, though the sides were piled high. Xiao let out a surprised squeak as she grabbed him by his collar and tugged him inside, not fighting back as he allowed himself to be dragged into the large room. He sat down and nodded quickly. "Alright, I will wait." In her absence, his eyes wandered to the canine companions she kept. He furrowed his brows at the dog's whining and cautiously decided to wander over to it. "Hello little buddy..." He murmured quietly, offering his hand, palm up, slowly extending toward the front of the canine so he could sniff it and realize he came in peace. Assuming the pup didn't try to bite him, he'd go in for a gentle stroke of the fur on his head and lean down so he could use a claw to carefully stir the food around a bit, making it more evenly spread out rather than just sitting against the sides. "There you go, see? Who's a good pup, yes..." He murmured again happily, biding his time with his new fuzzy companion, or so that was his intent. The pup jumped up, much the fluffy headed pup that he was coming out.  He licked at the Pandaren's paws, chewing on it softly as he tasted the meat on his newest friend's claw.  The other two were watching him silently, the hyena licking his chops silently at the pandaren.  There was the sound of a shower running, faintly, down the hall.  Next to the wall was a large keg, the barrel a dark oak, looking like it had been lit on fire at one point.  There was a piece of cloth on the tap that said 'Reshka's.  This means you Koe.  Hands off'. Xiao chuckled in surprise and moved to fully sit on the floor, letting the pup crawl on him and lick at his paw, cuddling the fluffy friend now. Yes, this would do, this would do nicely. He looked around the house curiously as he relaxed with the creature, but for the most part the pup would keep his attention for the next ten minutes assuming nothing nefarious happened. Less than ten minutes later, the orc huntress wandered out, a linen skirt on her hips and a vest tied up to cover her chest.  Her feet, still bare, fell heavily on the stone until she came in, grabbing the keg and putting it on the ground between them.  retreating the the kitchen, she returned with two orcish style mugs. "If you can do this without getting sick, I'll tell you where he went.  And while we are at it, you are gonna explain yourself so I WANT to tell you.  You got about an hour before Dumbuss gets home."  She drained a measure into the mug and held it out.  The brew steamed like it was boiling, but just a bit chilled.  It had a fine sheen of something on top that was clear and smelled like a snake.  She did the same and lifted her own mug in a toast.  "Don't get dead..." Xiao moved to sit back in the chair as he heard her coming, furrowing his brows a bit as she brought the keg out. As she poured the drink, he stared at it suspiciously. Not as if she was going to poison him, but the smell made him nervous. "Sweet Celestials, what... what is this?" He asked cautiously, sniffing it before giving a sigh, a nervous chuckle, and raising the mug. "I guess it is good none of those Dwarves took me up on that bet about trying to outdrink them so I could find your location." With that, he drank. "Snake venom beer."  She took a swig and grinned, feeling the deep burn.  "And djalapeno's and those hot peppers your hozen seem to like.  I brew it myself and this one is immature, so..."  The burn was chemical, harsh and almost sickeningly bitter.  

Xiao coughed immediately, sputtering and almost choking on the harsh ale but managed to bite back outright coughing it up. "... Smooth..." He whispered out hoarsely, clearly being a tad sarcastic. "I am uncertain... how well I am going to be able to talk if I keep drinking this." He said in that same hoarse tone, the spice seeming to have marred his voice a bit for the moment.

"Drink the mug... we'll see.  I am sure you can write, if you can't talk."  She took another swig, used to her own brew.  "Thought you pandaren could hack it." Xiao let out a slightly less hoarse chuckle, shaking his head. "Normally, yes. I am just unfamiliar with this taste, it must be the snake venom that adds the... acidic almost chemical taste. It reminds me of something an Alchemist might use. To each their own taste, of course." He shrugged before taking another sip and swallowing with a hint of a grimace, though not as bad as the first. "Mm..." His voice was low and gravelly, very unusual for Xiao in fact. "Worst comes to worst, I have other methods too." He said as his hand lit up with teal Chi. "Before you think I am cheating, no I'm not purging the alcohol. Something else, I actually used it on someone who was a burn victim." He brought the Chi-coated hand to his throat and gently wrapped the fingers around his own neck. He closed his eyes and the Chi seemed to absorb into his throat. Now when he spoke, he sounded almost like a Jinyu with the minor gurgle present in his voice. "The mists coat the throat like a protective barrier. It was for one of the victims of Teldrassil, the entire inside of their throat was charred. This method made it so they could eat and drink enough to survive." With that, he took a much larger sip, seeming to do much better now with his little makeshift magical filter in place.

"Cheating won't help you, Autumnpaw.  Not like Vol wants to be found anyway..."  She took her last swig and set the vessel on the table.  "Hidden away in wherever he went."  In her eyes, the look said I know something you don't know' and she was going to flaunt it.  "the crib is cute at least and the Hammock." Xiao sighed now, giving her a disappointed and saddened look. "Reshka, I know you know where he is. I know I have been absent, spending my time at the monastery, but that does not mean he is no longer my mate or that him and the baby are going to be any less a part of my heart or my family..." He said before downing the rest of the mug and setting it down as well, biting back a tiny burp from the ale. "Yet, you have no clue where they are, weren't there when she came to him.  Not in communication for weeks..."  She had practiced the current guilt trip she was giving and in her mind, he fully deserved it.  "He's been hurt enough by others.  I'm not feeling nice today and I have a chopper that has to be done."  Her patience was wearing thin.  Her hostility was almost palpable as the hyena came and laid its head in her lap.  "And you smell like Athen, so I'll thank his ass for this lovely afternoon." Xiao narrowed his eyes a bit. "Blame me if you want, but I won't apologize for providing for my family. Vol does not know how much I spent on the house, I didn't realize how much it was until after the fact. I told Kyl to get it done no matter the cost... I thought I had enough. I did, but... it didn't leave me with as much of a nest egg as I'd like if we were going to live off of it for the rest of our lives, so I spent some heavy hours teaching... a lot of them. Vol is the love of my life, literally. I never thought I would find anyone who would want me, most just see my people as some furred punchline, like for the Worgen but worse because at least Worgen are still seen as sexual beings with needs. We are just asexual fluff balls for other people's amusement. Vol saw me... saw me in ways no one else ever has and I love him more than I could ever love another man in this lifetime or the next. Being away from him broke my heart every single moment I was gone. I did what I did for him... he may not understand that now, but it's because I did not tell him. He protects me, but I take care of him too. The homes, the gold, the stables I had built for him... that is how I provided. Now there is a baby, one he thinks I would throw him out over. He thinks I may not want to marry him still and it is the furthest thing possible from the truth. He is my one... and that baby? That baby is just going to make our family even better. Is it my blood? No... do I care? Not even a little. That baby is going to have two loving fathers... and I need Vol to hear that from my lips, not some stupid letter." He huffed lightly, having gotten a bit emotional during his speech, it being clear just how much he really loved and needed Vol. "Maybe you should have told him before you flounced off huh?  Learn a lesson yet, Teacher?"  As full of snark, and bitter as her drink over her relative, She stood up, growling.  "As much as I wanna keep that sorry ass of yours away, he'll be pissed more, and I'll feel guilty for it.  Better make this worth my while.  Hurt him anymore, and I personally will make sure you pay for it."  She wandered down the hall and came back with a book of maps, thumbing through it for a bit before sliding it in front of him and pointing to an area just above the cove, in Hillsbrad and on top of a cliffside.  "Vol likes water, no surprise he asked for the cottage to be built close to the sea.  He's probably here.  He told me Naddja is somewhere else, so he spends half the time there, but he's got his hunting lodge place thing here.  Said it was safer there, the Vipers wouldn't find him and the Admiral could protect him.  And no, I Don't know where Naddja is." Xiao let out a strained little sigh. "It... wasn't intentional, you know. It started as just a few extra classes, then full days, then extra night classes. By the time I got done teaching at the end of the day I was so exhausted I just started sleeping there half the time." He shook his head. "I never said it made sense or that it was good for either of us, I... I was just trying to prepare for our future. I guess I almost lost it in the process." He said quietly, sadly as he glanced down at the floor and shook his head. "Thank you for giving me this information." He said as he glanced at the map to memorize the location. He couldn't help but smile a bit. "Water... hm..." Maybe he was thinking about him still, maybe it wasn't too late. He shook himself of the thought. "You said you have a chopper to fix and Dumbuss will be home soon, so I will let you go about your business. Maybe in the future we will be able to... grow closer. After all, we will be family eventually." He offered a smile, though it was subdued given his inner dialogue in that moment. "Unless you want me for anything else? I figured you would want me out of your hair."

"If he forgives you, I'll try.  Dumbuss said you can come for dinner, one day."  She left it at that and thumbed toward the door.  "Good luck, Xiao Chun.  Hope he's up there."  She wandered back down the hall, the howl that had calmed, and now called her pack, the one from her own throat as she shifted into a small red furred wolf.

[thelastpitchbender]

Memory | Chapter 5

Summary: Link must relearn how to be a Champion before he defeats Calamity Ganon – but first, he needs to stop setting fires and backflipping off of cliffs. It’s too bad that his attempts to be a responsible hero keep getting interrupted by dumb things like owing people money, remembering hardly anything about who he is, and Yiga Clan assassins trying to kill him.

Rating: T for language, violence, dark stuff, and dumb, bad humor.

Read on: FanFiction | AO3

Chapter Index here.

Chapter 5

The Noble Pursuit of Something to Drink

It was hot in the Gerudo Desert.

Well, of course it was, Link reflected crankily. He wasn’t stupid. He always knew that the desert was hot. He always tried to steel himself. But somehow, he never quite remembered exactly how terrible the heat was.

Even with the protection of the sapphire circlet or the airy freedom he felt when he wore his Gerudo disguise, sand scoured every exposed inch of his skin. Sweat trickled down his forehead and into the collar of any armor he wore. The glaring sun burned his skin to an angry red crisp.

And then the lizalfos. Always with the Goddess-cursed lizalfos. All he’d wanted was to shoot a voltfruit off the top of a cactus, but suddenly one of the stupid electric ones had exploded out of the sand, disturbed by his arrow. What with the sand constantly shifting under his feet, harsh sunlight glaring off the yellow dunes and into his eyes, and the near-constant electric pulses from the lizalfos, combat was an exercise in frustration.

He trudged away from that fight with little but a lizalfos talon, a broken lizal boomerang, a bruised voltfruit, and a gash on his arm to show for it. He tore a strip from a spare cloth he carried and tied it around the wound as tightly as he could with one hand and his teeth. The adrenaline from combat was wearing off, and the wound was starting to throb in time with his pulse. Link gritted his teeth and looked ahead. He was almost to Gerudo Town. The walls were visible behind the shimmer of a heat wave. He could properly deal with the cut there. He only needed to avoid another fight.

As he made his way through the desert, a large rock caught his eye at the edge of the poorly defined road, if it could even be called a road. He glanced over his shoulder. There was no one within a half-mile of him. It was late afternoon, and most everyone who traveled in the desert did so before noon. Like he should have done instead of riding all night and sleeping at Gerudo Canyon Stable until two in the afternoon, he internally grumbled.

Yet another thing to add to the list of poor decisions Link had made in recent memory.

But at least the emptiness of the desert at this time of day made it easier for him to change into his disguise behind the rock. He stripped off his tunic and greaves and folded them neatly, placing them into his bag of supplies. Out came the Gerudo veil, top, and sirwal. They did feel better, he admitted. The thin silk garments didn’t chafe against his skin with sweat, and the bandage over his arm was less in danger of being pulled at and shifted around. He’d long since gotten past whatever embarrassment he may have initially felt at having to dress as a woman to get into Gerudo Town. These clothes were too comfortable for that.

Finally, finally, he was at the gates of the town. The two guards straightened as he approached. As if he didn’t need a reminder that pretty much every Gerudo was at least a foot taller than him.

“Vasaaq, Zelda,” one of the guards greeted him.

Oh, Goddess. He always forgot that that was the name he had given everyone in Gerudo Town. Someone had asked him on his first day there, he’d panicked and blurted out the first female name that had come to him, and then he’d had to stick with it. It was mortifying.

Still embarrassed, he tried in vain to search through his memory for the proper phrase. “Sav’orr…?” he tried.

“I think you’re looking for sav’saaba,” the other guard informed him in her accented Hylian. “Good evening, not good night.”

“Right,” he muttered, realizing too late that he had to try harder to make his voice higher pitched. He was fortunate that he was small enough to pass as a Hylian woman, but these Gerudo were scary and he didn’t want to get caught…

“Sarqso,” he said with more confidence. That one he remembered.

The Gerudo guards nodded, impassive as ever. What, no appreciation for his attempt to be polite? Typical.

He passed under the arch and into the town. It was like he’d warped to an entirely different place. No longer was he suffocated by the grit and heat in the desert air. He dimly remembered a shopkeeper explaining that Gerudo Town had been built on the site of an oasis, and that water circulating around the city walls kept the area cooler, if still comfortably warm.

The main market of the city had not died down yet; if anything, dinnertime made it busier. The air was filled with shouts, chatter, and laughter, as merchants hawked their wares and women from all over Hyrule came to admire them. Everywhere he looked were splashes of bright color: on tapestries that hung from stone walls, on the awnings over storefronts, in the geometric patterns of the Gerudo clothes everywhere. Somewhere, someone was roasting meat and vegetables with traditional Gerudo spices, and the warm, rich smell made Link’s stomach rumble.

He made a beeline for the communal cooking pots, right across from Spera’s stall. The merchant eyed him with poorly disguised enthusiasm. Oh, great, Link realized with a sinking stomach. He’d sold all of his monster parts to Beedle. He had nothing more than a couple of lizalfos talons left for the Gerudo merchants. They would tear him to shreds.

Link made a point of avoiding eye contact as he rummaged through his bag for something to cook. He pushed aside the bomb arrows, the Korok seeds, the chunk of ore he was saving for one of the fairies. Panic began to set in.

Where was his food? Had he already eaten it all?

Link grimaced, took a deep breath, and turned around. Spera had her chin propped up on her hand.

“Sav’saaba,” she chirped. “My, my, have you not eaten yet today?”

Link sighed, and at length said, “Uh, no.”

Spera’s grin gleamed like the blade of a scimitar. “I always do worry about you tiny vai from other places. Need something to cook with?”

“Stop it, Spera!” someone shouted from behind Link. “We agreed to split the monster parts!”

Link realized too late that his eyes had gone wide. How was he going to tell them? Were they going to convene some sort of war band and go beat up Beedle? Or worse, beat up Link?

He risked a glance over his shoulder to see Ardin, the mushroom seller, with her hands planted on her hips.

“Shut up, Ardin,” Spera snarled. “We all know you lie about where you get your mushrooms.”

“A deal’s a deal,” Ardin retorted. “You have to – wait, what do you mean I’m a liar? I am not!” She shoved past Link so that she could jab a finger in Spera’s face.

“Ladies, please,” Link muttered. As was typical, the Gerudo merchants paid no attention to him.

“I told you that I was going to start a line of skincare products with those parts,” Ardin was shouting. “Let me have this!”

“Oh, sure, you’re going to grind up some mushrooms and lizalfos talons and pray to the Heroines that it doesn’t give you a horrific rash!” Spera flicked her hand dismissively. “And what are you going to do when you run out of mushrooms like you always do, sell lizal powder featuring your rare, mysterious, invisiblemushrooms?”

“Seven sands, Spera, the invisible mushrooms are just a joke, no one actuallybelieves that I sell those – “

Their argument was interrupted by a commotion from the gates of the city. Link heard aggressive shouts and the metallic clanking of weapons and shields. He peered around the merchants, curious.

A group of Gerudo soldiers was pushing their way through the crowd that was quickly forming around them. “Out of the way!” Captain Teake bellowed from the front of the group, pushing unfortunate passersby aside with her shield.

The captain was limping, Link realized. As she passed by him, he could see bloodstained bandages binding her leg. And other soldiers weren’t so lucky. Behind Teake, several of them were being carried on makeshift stretchers.

The soldiers made it to the barracks, and the crowd went back to normal, although a nervous tension still buzzed in the air. He briefly wondered what had happened. The soldiers couldn’t have been fighting a molduga. Their wounds were definitely the result of blades, but lizalfos rarely gave Gerudo soldiers that much trouble. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he could guess exactly what had done so much damage to the soldiers.

Link cast a quizzical glance at Ardin and Spera. Spera muttered, “This has been happening for a while.”

“Those damn bandits,” Ardin added, spitting on the ground.

Of course. It always had to be the Yiga Clan, didn’t it? Because nothing could ever be easy for Link.

While Spera was too distracted by being angry at the Yiga to bug him about his monster parts, Link bought rice and some spices and whipped up a quick, simple meal. He scarfed it down and escaped to the Arrow Specialty Shop, eager to speak to the one merchant who wouldn’t demand he sell things to them.

The elderly Gerudo woman Danda reclined behind the counter of the arrow shop, eyeing him as he approached.

“Sav’saaba…” she grunted as she pushed herself up into a better position. “Your reputation precedes you. I assume you have monster parts to sell me.”

Blunt and to the point. Link couldn’t decide if he liked that or not. “Not so much,” he said, dragging the words out over several seconds. “Don’t tell the others, though.”

Danda raised an eyebrow. “I see,” she said flatly.

“Hey!” a woman shouted from behind him. Link turned to see Isha stalking toward the booth, tailed by a cohort of angry shop owners. Link felt his stomach drop to his feet. This couldn’t possibly end well. He had an informal agreement with the merchants of Gerudo Town: the merchants decided one person Link would sell to, and they would work out any issues about who wanted what amongst themselves. Link racked his brain for what they had agreed on the last time. With a sinking feeling, he realized that he hadn’tmade an agreement with anyone, and now they would all fight about it.

Isha jabbed him in the chest, and he almost wobbled. “I thought you were going to sell your stuff to me!”

“Whoa,” the fruit seller Lorn objected. “I thought we had a deal?”

Estan the butcher shoved her way to the front of the group. “Isha had a deal with me!” She cast a doubtful glance at Isha. “Didn’t we?”

Isha sighed. “Ladies, please.” She thought for a second, then smiled. “I know where we can work this out.” She pointed in the direction of – Oh. Link couldn’t see. Lorn was in the way.

Then Spera grabbed Link by the arm, forcibly dragging him away from Danda and her arrows. Link grumbled. Really? Was it too much to ask for him to buy her entire stock of bomb arrows? He hesitated to resist or even to speak too much, in case they got too handsy and realized that he wasn’t a vai.

“Looks like you lose again, Danda,” Isha teased with a flick of her hand.

Danda grunted, unimpressed. “Who really loses when Zelda will come by later and buy up my entire stock and no one else’s?”

Isha’s smile turned to a scowl for a second, then she was grabbing Link’s other arm and helping Spera pull him away. Link groaned. When had the Gerudo merchants gotten so competitive about his stuff? Weren’t there other adventurers with bones to sell them?

Link eventually realized that they were headed to the Noble Canteen, and his heart sank. There was no way this wouldn’t end badly. He needed to avoid any drinking if he was to get out of this with his dignity intact.

As soon as they entered, the bartender Furosa shouted out a greeting, and the group of Gerudo women surrounding him cheered.

“What do you think, little vai?” Estan asked as she peered down at him, then cracked a grin. “I’ll buy you a drink if you sell me your ore.”

Link did not know how to respond to that. The merchants were all staring at him expectantly, and he was made uncomfortably aware that although his swordsmanship was the stuff of legends, these Gerudo could still beat the living daylights out of him.

“Um,” he began, very ineloquently, “I have some bad news for all of you.”

He had ridden through a vicious sandstorm, withstood the heat of an active volcano, swam through freezing water, and soared thousands of feet above the ground to appease the massive Divine Beasts. He had faced vicious lynels and the deadly beams of the ancient, terrifying Guardians. He had destroyed the corrupted malice of Ganon itself, in the forms of the horrifying Blights. The expressions on the faces of the Gerudo merchants should not have scared him as much as they did.

“I only have, like, three lizalfos talons,” said Link.

Isha’s eyes narrowed. “Total?”

“Total,” Link confirmed, wishing he could sink into the floor.

Isha peered at him for a second, irritated, before she declared, “Well, this has been a waste of time.” Estan rolled her eyes and moved to the bar. The rest of the merchants followed.

Link sagged in relief. It was good to know that they were not as violent as he’d feared.

One of the bar’s patrons was watching him, Link abruptly realized. She was unfamiliar, but clearly a resident of Gerudo Town. “What?” he asked.

She shook her head. “You’re too young for them to be buying you drinks, aren’t you?”

An unexpected burst of indignation erupted in him. Screw not having a drink. This was a matter of principle. “I am one hundred and nineteen years old,” he said defiantly, straining to keep his voice high.

The woman leaned against the wall, nursing her drink. “Sure,” she said with a healthy dose of skepticism.

But he was! It didn’t matter if she thought he was lying. He had been nineteen before Calamity Ganon’s arrival, he knew that. And it was now one hundred years later. Actually, when was his birthday? It had been close to a year since he awoke in the Shrine of Resurrection. He might be twenty by now. Or one hundred and twenty.

After a few seconds of staring at the wall with a frown, he realized that the Gerudo merchants were now entirely leaving him alone, busy drinking their Noble Pursuits. The usual patrons of the bar were busy gossiping in the corner, and Furosa was pouring out more drinks for the merchants. They were all Gerudo, except for one woman at the very end of the bar. She was Hylian, dressed in dull, nondescript traveling clothes, with a sort of fidgety energy about her. Her eyes kept flicking around nervously. Link tilted his head as he watched her.

Then she turned and their eyes met. Link quickly looked away, but her eyes had already narrowed. That was…suspicious. If the Yiga Clan had the daring to attack Gerudo patrols, there was no telling what their spies could be doing.

Come on, Link. Not everyone is Yiga just because every monster in Hyrule wants to kill you.

Link plopped down in a chair. That was true. He needed to relax. But the Hylian woman did not stop acting shifty. She wasn’t drinking anything, either. Despite himself, he almost felt like the air around him was thicker with tension.

After several minutes, the woman got up to leave, but not before shooting a pointed look at him. Did she…want him to follow? Link shrugged. It was probably a bad idea, but he could defend himself.

He waited until she left, then crept out the door after her. None of the Gerudo merchants who had accosted him earlier noticed. The woman was headed for one of the sand seal rental stalls – a good way to leave the town with less scrutiny. There were many more guards at the main entrances than at the stalls.

He knew this lady was bad news. He felt it in his gut. He didn’t think it was heat exhaustion talking. She rounded the corner and walked into the stall, and Link took a step to follow her –

A hand clapped onto his shoulder. Link whirled around, half-formed excuses trying to tumble out of his mouth.

The Gerudo soldier who had stopped him raised her hands in a placating gesture. Link recognized her after a brief second as Captain Teake. “Seven sands, calm down. I’ve been sent by Buliara to find you and bring you to the chief.”

Link groaned. “I was kind of in the middle of something…”

Teake sighed, unconvinced. She only said, “Let’s go.”

After a few tense moments, Link ventured to ask, “It was the Yiga Clan that attacked you today, wasn’t it?”

Teake pursed her lips. The bandages on her leg had been changed recently, but she was still limping. She was paler than usual. At length, she tersely said, “Ask the chief when you speak to her.”

A sore point, then. Link awkwardly dropped the subject.

They reached the steps of the palace after a couple of minutes. The captain halted at the bottom of the steps and said, “You know, little vai, my offer still stands. Come join our forces after you finish that mission of yours.” Her tone was light, but the look in her eyes was strained and almost a little desperate.

Link hesitated for a second before mock saluting with an ironic smile behind his veil. “I’ll consider it, Captain.” Teake only nodded and set out back to the barracks.

Hylia, what was with all these Gerudo calling him little vai? He got that it was probably some endearing nickname, but… He wouldn’t be surprised if there had been people in his past who had teased him for being so short.

He reached the top of the stairs, and Buliara slammed the tip of her golden claymore into the ground, shouting, “Who wishes to speak with Chief Makeela Riju at this hour? Identify yourself!”

Now that Link knew how much Buliara cared for Riju, she was no longer nearly as intimidating. He grinned. “It’s, uh, Zelda.”

Riju shot him a knowing smirk from her place on the throne. “It’s about time,” she said, feigning anger and slamming a fist on the throne’s armrest. “How dare you keep me waiting this long?”

Link laughed, then realized that Riju had probably been in meetings all day due to the attack. The smile dropped off his face. “Look,” he said, “I’ve got some stuff to tell you about the Yiga Clan, and it’s pretty late, so I think we should get down to business first.” His desire to make a stupid seal pun that would make Riju laugh could wait.

Riju’s expression was more serious now as she nodded. “Buliara, I would like to speak with Zelda alone in my quarters.” Her tone of voice brooked no argument.

Buliara looked unhappy, but said nothing. Riju hopped off her throne in an undignified manner that perfectly fit her age. She pointed to her room, and Link followed.

Link cast his gaze around the chief’s room, trying to pretend like he hadn’t been in here before. It was roomy, but still managed to seem cozy and warm. It was probably because of all the stuffed sand seals everywhere.

Riju collapsed onto her bed, letting out a great sigh. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m tired, and I wanted to talk to someone.”

Link raised an eyebrow. “Is that the only reason you had Captain Teake drag me here?”

Riju shot a glance at him. “Of course not,” she replied primly. “I do have important matters to discuss with you. I just already spent the whole day talking about it to Buliara…and you know how she gets.”

Link chuckled. “Yeah.” No matter how much Riju looked up to Buliara, she had done enough complaining about her bodyguard to fill several books. “So what’s up?”

Riju gave him a long, evaluating look. Link stilled under her scrutiny, suddenly suspicious. “The Yiga Clan has been acting up again,” she said after a moment.

“I saw the soldiers earlier today,” Link said, even as his blood ran cold. She knew that they were after him. Did she blame him for the injuries her soldiers had gotten while fighting against the Yiga?

“I don’t blame you,” she said with a sigh, almost as if she read his mind. “I was just wondering if you knew why they’re more active now.”

Link sat down on her bed, then flopped on his back and stared at the ceiling. Something told him Riju wouldn’t mind. He debated how much to tell her for a moment, then realized that Riju was one of the few people in Hyrule he felt comfortable enough around to be honest with. It would be a shame to waste that. “It’s been almost a year since I woke up in the Shrine of Resurrection. I think it’s been about six months since I defeated Master Kohga and freed Vah Naboris. I’ve been taking too long.”

“With what?”

“Defeating Calamity Ganon. If I can just do that, then, you know – “ Link waved his hand in frustration. “They won’t have a reason to exist anymore.”

“Other than to kill you and make my life difficult,” Riju said dryly.

Link let out a faint laugh. “True. What exactly have the Yiga been getting up to, besides today?”

He heard the covers on the bed rustling as the young Gerudo shifted her position. “They’ve been ambushing patrols out in the desert, mostly near the northern ruins. But they haven’t gotten much closer to us than that. I don’t understand it,” she mused. “Buliara thinks they must have a spy in the town that relays troop movements. Why else would they be holding back from attacking the town itself?”

Link nodded, grim. “I think I may have found who it was. She escaped, though.”

Riju sighed. “At least she’s gone. I don’t know what else I could have done. I’m sure that if we had captured her she would have warped away anyway.”

“Maybe not,” Link said, sitting up as he recalled his encounter with the Yiga footsoldier the day before. “I think their masks are what let them disguise their voice and appearance. I broke this one guy’s mask and his voice went all weird. Also, he couldn’t warp away, I don’t think.”

Riju digested this new information, a thoughtful expression on her face. “That’s good to know. Not all of our soldiers made it back, you know. A few of them had to be left at Kara Kara thanks to their injuries.”

Guilt crashed over him like a wave as he flopped back down onto the bed. If only he’d managed to stop the Calamity the first time he’d tried. Or the second. If only… Those thoughts weren’t helpful. They would drag him deep into a mire of shame and sadness.

“The spy I was talking about earlier. She was a Hylian woman at the Noble Canteen,” Link said, trying to be helpful. “She was wearing dark clothes. Too heavy for the desert. She had short, dark hair, but otherwise looked unremarkable. She left the canteen before Teake found me, so I don’t know where she is now.”

He heard the scratching of a quill as Riju wrote his description down. Link turned his head to look at her and noted with some amusement that she was writing it down in her diary. It was a very chief-like thing to write down in a diary, he thought.

Misinterpreting Link’s glance, Riju explained sheepishly, “It’s my diary. It was the paper closest to me.”

Link nodded, hoping against all hope that she wouldn’t realize that he had already read her diary when he’d first snuck into her room. That would be incredibly embarrassing. And would probably get him kicked out of the town for good. He decided to stare at the ceiling again.

Riju sighed beside him. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. “I know that I have to keep sending troops out. I’ll look weak otherwise. But it hurts when they come back injured.”

There was a strong undercurrent of despair in her voice now, and Link turned to meet her gaze.

“I don’t have enough troops to challenge the Yiga in their own valley,” she explained. “And no Gerudo soldier gets trained in stealth, so I can’t order good reconnaissance. I’m stuck, and if this keeps going, my people will consider me unfit to be chief.”

“I’m sure they won’t,” Link hastily put in, alarmed at the direction the conversation was taking.

Riju stared down at the blankets. “I know they’ve already been muttering about how I let the Thunder Helm get stolen. Sometimes I feel like a colossal failure.”

“I can sympathize,” Link said honestly. His heart went out to the young chief, who at this moment looked every bit her thirteen years of age. At least you haven’t repeatedly failed to destroy the ancient evil that will destroy your entire world.

Riju clutched a stuffed sand seal to her chest, a small worried frown on her face. Something about it was so painfully familiar. It was right there in his mind, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Then he felt the full weight of memory bear down on him like a pile of boulders, dragging him once again into a vision of a century ago.

“Big brother! Big brother!” A young girl’s insistent cries startled Link awake from his nap. He lay still for a second, trying to reclaim the peace and solitude he’d felt just moments ago.

Then he cracked one eye open to see Aryll before him, clutching her small stuffed horse with a worried frown.

Link decided he did not care. “Go away,” he muttered. He closed his eyes again, basking in the warmth of the spring sunlight.

“Link, no!” Aryll cried. “Dad and his friends got attacked!”

Link bolted upright, all sense of comfort and calm gone. “Where?” he breathed.

Aryll started to run back toward their house, waving him forward. “Follow me!”

Link cast one last longing glance at his nap spot. It was at the corner of their family’s small estate, wedged between a rustic wood fence and a gnarled oak tree, and at this time of day a shaft of sunlight perfectly lit the spot where Link laid down.

But he had a bigger issue to worry about. He ran after Aryll and gasped, “Is he okay?”

Aryll stubbornly shook her head, tears starting to well up in her eyes. Link’s heart jumped in his throat and he surged past her, throwing the door to their house open.

His father was sitting in a chair by the hearth, along with other knights and soldiers of his company. His mother was standing in front of him with her back to Link, blocking the extent of the knight’s injuries from his view. But Link could see his breastplate leaned against the wall. It was caked in dirt and mud and dented all over. Worst of all, there was a jagged slash in the metal, cutting through where his father’s shoulder would have been. The work of a lizal blade, Link realized with a sinking stomach. Hadn’t they escaped the lizalfos when they’d left Zora’s Domain?

Link took a hesitant step forward. Fear gripped him. “Mama – “

His mother whirled around, desperate irritation sparking in her eyes even with the exhausted slump of her shoulders. “Go play with Aryll outside,” she told him tersely. Short and slight as she was, she could still be intimidating.

Link could not think of a single thing to say. He saw the extent of the injuries on the other men in the room, and his throat burned as he tried to hold back tears. He had to be strong. For his father, for Mama, for Aryll.

His mother’s expression softened. “He’ll be alright, Link,” she murmured. “But I have work to do.”

Link heard a weak chuckle from his father. “Ah, leave him alone, Anith,” he said, trying to push himself up. “If he wants to be a knight, he’ll have to get used to seeing this sort of thing.”

His mother scowled and pushed him back down. “Sit down, Rossin. No, I mean it. Sit down.” His father relented after a few seconds of struggle. She slumped into the chair opposite him.

“Link is only twelve,” she told him quietly. “Let him have his last year of freedom before he begins his training.” Then she realized Link was still there, and turned around to fix him with an annoyed glare.

“I get it, Mama,” Link said, backing towards the door. He smacked right into the doorframe, then slipped out and slammed the door before anyone could make fun of him.

Aryll was waiting for him on the other side. She stared up at him expectantly, still clutching that stupid stuffed horse like a lifeline.

“Mama says he’ll be fine,” Link informed her.

Her expression immediately brightened, and she started bouncing on the balls of her feet. “That’s good, big brother!” Then she rummaged around in the pocket of her light blue dress for something. As soon as she pulled out her telescope, Link groaned. That telescope was bad news. It always meant Link would get dragged into a ridiculous scheme where he would help Aryll spy on the villagers and then get into trouble for it.

“I wanna spy on the knights!” she exclaimed.

Link frowned. Knights? Then Aryll pointed behind him, on the other side of their house. He turned around and gaped at the sight.

It seemed like his father’s entire company of knights and soldiers had set up camp in the field next to the house. He hadn’t noticed when he had been napping or so worried about his father, but it was very noisy. The clangs of armor and swords rang out in the air, and there was already smoke rising from between the multicolored tents that had sprung up in a loose block. The smell of roasting meat drifted in the breeze to Link and Aryll. Suddenly, spying on the knights didn’t seem like such a terrible idea to him.

Link heard the sound of crunching dirt behind him, and he spun around. There was a dark-haired man standing behind them, with a sallow face, bags under his eyes, and a well-maintained small moustache. He wore a navy-blue knight’s tunic, but had no weapons on him. Link vaguely recognized him, but couldn’t say whether he was one of his father’s friends or not.

“You’re Sir Rossin’s kids, aren’t you?” he asked without preamble.

Link stared up at him impassively, and Aryll nodded.

“I’ve heard him mention his kids before. Didn’t he say one of them was almost of age to start knight training?” the man continued, nonchalant.

“That’s me,” Link blurted out, unable to resist puffing his chest a little.

The man gave him a critical onceover with one eyebrow raised incredulously. “You? No offense, kid, but you’re a little small.”

Link recoiled, about to give the man a piece of his mind, but someone else beat him to it, shouting, “Linebeck, leave those poor kids alone!”

Linebeck scowled. “Aw, come on, Rusl, I wasn’t being mean!”

Rusl jogged up, soldier’s armor clanking. He had his helmet tucked under his arm. The red royal insignia emblazoned on it marked him as a captain. Link stared at him with wide eyes. Was this the Captain Rusl? Commander of the soldiers of East Necluda Company and his father’s right hand man?

Rusl also had a moustache, but he looked much nicer than Linebeck. “I assume you’ve already checked in on your father. How is he doing?”

Link was too surprised to ask how the captain knew who he and Aryll were. From beside him, Linebeck scoffed, “There’s no way he’s not fine. That man’s a real stubborn bastard.”

“I’ll thank you not to speak of the Knight-Commander that way in front of his children,” Rusl said pointedly.

Linebeck waved him off. “I technically outrank you, old man,” he said, but there was no bite to his tone.

Rusl chuckled. “Don’t let Rossin catch you saying that, Sir Linebeck.”

Link gaped. Sir Linebeck? The man was a knight? Linebeck vaguely saluted Rusl with an eye roll, then jogged off to the camp.

“Dad is fine,” Link blurted out, unsure what else to do.

Rusl grinned. “Good. I’d love to stay and chat more, but duty calls. Take care of your father for me.” Then he left, leaving Link to stare after him. He’d heard so many stories about Rusl’s bravery, leadership, and prowess with the sword. When he was younger, Link had hoped that he would one day be Rusl’s squire, but then he had learned that Rusl had not a single drop of noble blood in him and therefore was ineligible for knighthood.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tug on his sleeve. “Big brother!” Aryll said, smacking her telescope against his arm repeatedly.

“Ow, Aryll, no!” Link slapped her hand away, but the telescope went flying into the dirt a few feet away, and Aryll let out a shriek like she’d been burned. Oh, man.

His sister practically flew to the telescope, scooping it up and inspecting it closely for damage or even the slightest smudge of dirt. “I’m gonna tell Mama!” she cried.

Link froze. “Don’t you dare.”

Aryll shouted, “I will!” and promptly ran off into the soldier’s camp.

Link’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. He didn’t even worry about the fact that she was running in the opposite direction of their house. That crafty girl was probably just trying to dodge him. What – what if she got trampled? Then it would all be his fault! Mama would kill him! Without another thought, he dove between the tents where she had disappeared.

He burst out of the tents into a cacophony of activity. Soldiers were sparring, cooking, and tending to their wounds, all while laughing raucously and telling jokes and stories.

Link paled at the sight of practice swords swinging around. What if they weren’t watching and Aryll got hit? Oh no. No, no, no.

He caught a glimpse of bright blonde hair running in front of a tent across the central clearing of the camp. He sprinted for it, dodging and weaving around soldiers who yelped in surprise.

When he rounded the corner, he almost collided with Aryll. She had come to an abrupt stop, mesmerized by something in front of her. Link was about to start yelling when he realized what she was so enthralled by.

Music. A delicate, simple melody was being plucked from a small harp. The player wasn’t a man but a boy, a Sheikah youth no older than Link himself. As he watched, an older Hylian man seated beside him began to sing.

"The kingdom of Hyrule is a vast and storied land, Oft grasped in the palm of a villainous hand.

A dark force of destruction, many times undone, Rises once again - Ganon, the calamitous one.

But hope survives in Hyrule, for all is not lost, Two brave souls protect it, no matter the cost.

A goddess-blood princess and a fearless knight, They appear in each age to fight the good fight…”

Link had the strangest feeling while listening to the song. He could not place it, but it was as if he were both not him and more him than he had ever been. It was as if he were living countless lives that were not his, all in the blink of an eye – a future him that could exist, a past him who had been snuffed out. Visions of darkness stretched before him. He itched at his hands, breath suddenly short. Was there something on his hands? Dirt? Blood?

When he looked down, his hands were clean. The strange feeling broke. Link shook his head, alarmed. He wasn’t going crazy, was he?

Aryll poked him in the side with her elbow. He realized that the bard had stopped singing, and that everyone was applauding. Link halfheartedly joined them. He had enjoyed the performance, but… He didn’t know how to describe it. He inexplicably felt the urge to whack at something with a sword.

He turned his attention back to the bard, who was grinning and bowing for his appreciative audience. “Thank you, thank you,” he said. Link noted that his right arm was in a sling, and that he was wearing finery that befit Hyrule Castle, not the outskirts of Hateno Village.

“My name is Cassar, and I am Hyrule’s court poet,” the bard continued. “This young gentleman on the harp is Pikango, my apprentice. I cannot thank your wonderful company enough for rescuing us from those terrible lizards!”

The bard continued to speak, but Link turned to Aryll and whispered, “Please don’t run away like that again.”

Aryll grinned mischievously. “Aw, big brother, were you actually worried about me?” Link spluttered a denial, but she shoved her stuffed horse at him and said, “Epona will protect me!”

Link raised an eyebrow. “Epona?”

“Mama told me that Epona is the guardian spirit of horses,” Aryll informed him.

Link grinned despite himself. “Maybe Epona will protect me when I become a knight.”

Aryll said, “I hope so. Otherwise I think you’d get yourself killed really fast.”

Link squawked indignantly and tried to grab the telescope out of his sister’s hands. He never did succeed at that.

Link blinked the memory away. Riju was staring at him, deep concern etched into the lines of her face. He could not care less that she was worried.

He had – a sister?

Aryll. Aryll.

In that moment, a helpless, overflowing rage rushed through his veins, and it was everything he could do not to scream.

Did no one think to tell him that he had a sister? Impa – had she known? Bazz or Kodah? Had Aryll been with him at Zora’s Domain? In all of those images on the Sheikah Slate – had Princess Zelda really been so selfish to leave all memories of her and none of his family?

He clenched his fists, twisting up the bed sheets, and Riju timidly asked, “Link, are you alright?”

Something tried to crawl its way up his throat, halfway between a sob and a scream. He couldn’t breathe. Did Riju seriously think he could even form words right now?

Aryll. She was as bright as the sunlight, inquisitive, likely as he was to get into trouble. She took after their mother – slight, pale blonde hair, sky blue eyes. Just the thought of that brightness getting snuffed out – getting trampled into the dust, buried in an unmarked grave, if even – gone, dead –

Link didn’t know what he was doing, but he was out of Riju’s room, out of the palace, into Hotel Oasis and slapping a red rupee onto the counter, collapsing on a bed. The tears would not come. Why couldn’t he cry for his sister? It was like an endless chasm had opened inside him, swallowing everything until nothing, not even the rage, was left.

He was so tired. He couldn’t sleep, not when blonde hair and a telescope flashed behind his eyelids when he blinked.

How… how had he failed her like this? That was what hurt the most. Until Link had remembered, no one else had. She had been truly gone.

She still is truly gone, an insidious voice whispered in his head. It sounded a lot like how he imagined the Calamity to sound, and it also sounded a lot like Link. He shut the voice out, and shut his eyes.

#fanfic #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #botw #memory #link #riju #buliara #all the gerudo merchants #who i adore btw #gerudo town