#one of those many things is that my bird escaped and i was devastated and she came back but it was a whole ordeal

[onmyoji-posting]

Sorry for not posting anything lately, a lot of things have been happening and I also have a bit of a writer's block but I'm hoping that soon i can get back to it

In the meantime keep sending requests!

#one of those many things is that my bird escaped and i was devastated and she came back but it was a whole ordeal #also she smelled like a trash can so there's that too #oh and I've been studying for my nursing exam that's coming very soon #onmyoji

[attractive-nuisance-esq]

Ed’s journey this season is going to perfectly mirror addiction and recovery, and I am so fucking here for it. Watching these first three episodes of S2 was like watching a highly dramatized AU of my own descent into rock bottom (except everyone was dressed wayyyyyy cooler than I ever was), so I have a lot of thoughts, reactions, and insights that I want to share with other fans. I’m sure many of us who have struggled with our mental health connected with Ed in these episodes, but I think addiction is the most appropriate lens through which to view him because addicts (more often than people who struggle with other mental illnesses) so wholly destroy their own lives and utterly devastate those of their loved ones. I want to share - from the perspective of someone who has steered her own ship straight into a storm and woke up alone to face some very hard choices - what is going on with Ed at the start of this season and what I think is coming.

Let me start by saying that Ed isn’t literally addicted to any one thing, despite his heavy use of drugs and alcohol, but his goal is the same as that of all addicts: escape. He does not want to sit with the pain of Stede leaving him on an immediate, surface level; on a deeper, more habitual level, he doesn’t want to sit with the pain of his own self-loathing. Of course the two are related: the former brings the latter to a head. Stede abandoning him dredges up and brightly illuminates all of his insecurities, and now Ed has to run. Get out. Escape. Don’t think about it. So he is fighting, stealing, drinking, snorting, shooting, killing - whatever it takes to not think about it.

“Demon? I’m the fuckin’ devil.” People in recovery often talk about addiction as if it were a separate, sentient monster living within them. Ed taking on the mantle of demon - a creature known specifically for possession, for removing the host’s free will - is intentional. So is his insistence that he’s not just any demon but the demon. The worst there is. (More on that when we get to The Innkeeper.)

Izzy’s confrontation of Ed in the captain’s cabin and then on deck is a form of intervention. Izzy is trying to help Ed, but of course this goes terribly for him and for Ed because interventions (I cannot stress this enough) are maybe the worst thing you could do to an addict. All addicts know things are bad, but they cannot be pushed to change one single second before they’re ready. Ed knows things are bad. He’s well-aware of how he’s spending his time, how his crew feels about him, how disappointed Izzy is. Being confronted with all of those truths by Izzy was always only going to make him do two things: 1) dig further into his unhealthy coping mechanisms, never mind that they don’t have nearly the effect that they used to; and 2) lash out at the person who forced him to think about it. Izzy lost his leg the moment he stepped into Ed’s cabin.

The impossible bird. You guys remember the song Chandelier by Sia? The one about her addiction to alcohol? The whole thing may as well come right out of Ed’s mouth at the end of that first episode, because that experience is exactly what he’s trying to convey to Frenchie. Nevermind that Frenchie has the temerity to tell him the bird can’t exist, that it has to come down sometime, that flying forever isn’t sustainable. The bird can come down on its own terms, or crash… but Frenchie’s definitely not going to say that much. Still, “that sounds like something that can’t exist” hits Ed, and leads us to the next episode.

Now we’ve got Ed forlorn, heartbroken, almost catatonic while playing with his cake toppers. We don’t actually see him crying in the opening of the episode, which is the point. He’s done crying now. The impossible bird can’t exist, and Ed has already resigned himself to this. He’s decided to die. The only sure-fire permanent way to not think about it.

When next we see Ed, he seems to be doing better, but this is a huge red flag for anyone who knows to look. He’s giving away his responsibility to Frenchie; he’s cleaning the cabin for the closure. He knows the end is coming fast, and the relief that knowledge brings him leaves him weirdly at peace. It is he eeriest part of these episodes, IMO.

Then he goes to find his first mate, the person who knows him better than anyone else in the world, the man he just fucking shot and ordered killed. Ed needs his low opinion of himself validated, and of course he thinks he’ll get it from Izzy after everything he’s done to him. He wants the one person who has stuck with him through everything to confirm that he’s now irretrievably broken and no longer worthy of his love. Ed wants someone to tell him that he’s right: he should die.

He doesn’t get that from Izzy. Interestingly, Izzy doesn’t tell him he should die. He says “Clean up your own mess.” Izzy has learned the lesson now that Ed isn’t ready to get better and that he can’t make him be ready. (This post isn’t about Izzy, but hoo boy - I have big feels about that man.)

Ed has been indulging in various forms of self-destruction in order to not feel his feelings, and steering the ship into the storm is his worst indulgence yet. This is the worst of his crimes - not beheading or arson or a red wedding. It’s when he tries to bring down everyone who has ever loved him into his misery, into believing what he believes. The audience generally (and Ed’s audience of Stede specifically) can forgive him for hurting strangers and for the non-specific mayhem whose victims we’ve never met; but it is much less certain that anyone will forgive him for hurting the only family he’s ever known.

The storm itself is the perfect metaphor for Ed’s attempt on his and, incidentally, everyone else’s lives. One of the most common metaphors used by friends and family members of addicts is that of a hurricane: that their addicted loved-ones tend to destroy everything they touch, anyone who was foolish or brave enough to stick around. And, like hurricanes, addicts aren’t malicious. Ed’s primary goal here is to get himself killed, not to kill everyone else. He wants the ship to go down so his death is certain. His firing a cannonball into the mast and asking Jim and Archie to fight to the death isn’t malice: it’s utter and complete nihilism. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing and no one. The end is near, and he’s so fucking drunk and high off these distractions that he couldn’t think about it if he tried. He’s manic with relief. (See also: “Finally.”)

And now for the finale: Purgatory. Buckle up, because this is where the addiction analogy gets real *chef’s kiss.* Purgatory is the equivalent of the morning after the worst, most rock bottom binge night of your life. You wake up with no one for company but the ghosts of your former selves. Now what?

Well, first - who is Hornigold to Ed? Why is he the guy Ed sees? It’s because Hornigold is another addict, if you will, but one who is (in this Purgatory hallucination) farther along in his recovery. He can impart some wisdom from that place, but he can also stand in as someone Ed can loathe because they’re not as different as Ed once thought, even if Hornigold can say he’s grown.

Hornigold tries to give him soup. He tells Ed, “Gotta get these nutrients into you,” and then literally shoves soup down his throat. That’s what it’s like in rock bottom. You don’t want to take care of yourself, but some lizard brain survival instinct takes over and makes you drink water, eat a piece of fruit, take yourself to the hospital. These things don’t really happen voluntarily that morning after, but you can still count on that instinct to kick in with some damage control.

Ed telling Hornigold how he “got here.” Hornigold says “Mutiny. It’s always mutiny.” Ed insists his mutiny was special, worse somehow. This whole scene is exactly what happens in your first recovery support group meeting. You go in thinking no one has ever been as fucked and fucked up as you are, which makes you feel isolated and alone. But then you get there and everyone else in the circle has done the same shit, been through the same shit. Ed’s not actually the devil; he’s just another demon, like many demons before him.

Ed worries he’s insane when he reflects on everything he’s done. Hornigold’s reply that “Feeling bad isn’t going to rebuild an abdominal wall” is a concept that people usually learn a little bit later in recovery, so I expect we’ll see more on this theme from Ed. Guilt is a useless emotion that only serves to conversely make the addict feel better but doesn’t help the harmed party: the addict feels like their suffering is cleansing, but it’s not - feeling guilt is just more self-indulgence, more self-destruction. Hornigold - a fellow addict in this moment - is trying to get this lesson to him early. It’ll return.

“You’ve got to move on or blow your brains out.” We’re getting back to Purgatory as the metaphor for the morning-after rock bottom, because this is the exact calculation that every person in recovery has done. They all had to answer that one big question. Your whole life is a mess, and you made the mess. Do you want to clean it up? Or quit? (Or make some soup? Yeah. That big question can’t be answered without basic needs having been met. So let’s eat. Let’s start there. It’s easier.)

Now we have Ed’s fantasy about opening an inn: This is also a common part of the morning-after rock bottom. You start thinking about the wrong turns you took, the mistakes you made, the way your life was supposed to go and all the reasons you’re not where you wanted to be. (And all the people you can blame for the fact that your life didn’t go as planned.) And when that honest part of yourself starts telling you that actually it’s all your fault… well, a) you don’t wanna hear it, and b) you can’t silence (kill) that monster, no matter how hard you try. You’ve got to face it. Face all those truths you’ve been running from for years. Now you have to think about it.

So now the big question, the inevitable math. Hornigold suggests looking at the pros and the cons. That’s the easiest way to break the calculation into manageable variables. This is probably my favorite moment of the episode, because when you’re sitting there, morning after the worst night of your life, everything is fucked - these are the exact variables that go into your equation. Do I really want to live? You ask yourself that, and because your life is in fucking shambles, you come up with the stupidest goddamn reasons to keep going. You wanna see the next seasons of Good Omens and Loki. You wanna eat your mom’s spaghetti again. Sometimes it’s nice when someone hugs you. It’s never the big things that save your life; it’s a bunch of the littlest things. The smallest comforts. The big things… they’re too unattainable. They’re too much to hope for, and they’re more than you could possibly deserve. What are the pros of living for Ed? Warmth, good food, orgasms. This is a stunningly accurate representation of the things that will keep you alive once you’ve hit rock bottom.

And then the cons: “I don’t think anyone is waiting for me.” This is why addiction is the better metaphor. There is no human experience more isolating than addiction. You are alone in more ways than you’ve ever been before. You have pushed away or pissed off everyone who ever cared about you. And even the ones who will maybe still be there for you - they can’t help you clean up the mess you’ve made. You have to do the work alone, even if they’re still willing to stand next to you. And this con… it’s the scariest one. Your list of little pros looks so pathetic next to the horror of being utterly fucking alone. Who is going to brave that for some stupid shit like Tom Hiddleston sexily flipping his hair back in that Loki way he does? Why should Ed carry on just because blankets are cozy and marmalade is pleasant?

This is where we get to the moment on the mountain, and what Stede represents. Hornigold tells Ed “You’re unlovable, and you’re afraid to do anything about it.” Ed could do two things about being unlovable: He could try to fix it, or he could end it all. Hornigold represents the worst part of Ed: his weaknesses and cowardice. And if Hornigold is in the driver’s seat, he’s going to end it all. He throws the rock off the cliff, and Ed gets dragged down into the water to drown. (Let’s also talk later about how often addiction is compared to drowning, and how nothing else in the show actually threatened Ed’s life - not Izzy with a gun, not all the rhino horn, not Jim’s cannonball - like drowning in his own mind.)

But then there’s Stede. Stede is how the pros win over that one big, horrifying con. Stede is hope. Stede is just a glimmer of hope. Hope is the most important thing you need in the morning-after rock bottom. As much as I enjoy the idea that it was love that saved Ed, I don’t think that’s a wholly faithful interpretation. Because Stede’s love for Ed doesn’t solve anything, doesn’t fix anything - it certainly doesn’t fix Ed. It cannot fix Ed. Hornigold just told Ed that he’s the one who has to “do something about it,” because Ed is the only one who can save himself. But even if Stede’s love for him in itself isn’t what saves Ed, Ed’s trust in Stede combined with that love gives him hope. Stede loves Ed, truly loves him, came back to him even though he knows Ed’s nature, knows his list of crimes, knows what he’s done to Stede’s friends and family. And maybe Ed can find in himself what he trusts Stede truly sees. It’s a “maybe,” not a certainty. But it’s hope. Someone loves him. Maybe he can love himself, too.

This Woman’s Work: I read this song as referring more appropriately to Ed’s relationship with himself, in no small part because Ed literally made himself the woman in the cake topper couple. All the things that should have been done, should have been said - they’re things Ed needs to do and say to himself. He’s got a little life and a lot of strength left. The journey has just begun.

I want to pop back quickly to a few other moments in The Innkeeper that resonated, starting with Stede and Izzy’s discussion about what happened to Ed: “He went mad. He was a wild dog.” Izzy describes Ed’s breakdown as if he was no longer the same person he once was; this is exactly what addiction does to a person. Ed hasn’t been himself; he’s been held hostage by his need for escape, and he’s become something else. Possessed, if you will.

Izzy: “You and me did this to him, and we can’t let the crew suffer any more for our mistakes.” I’m not writing an essay on Izzy (yet), but this is a very interesting perspective that says a lot about Izzy. Stede and Izzy both owe apologies to Ed, but they are not responsible for his actions. I predict we’re going to see this theme explored in later episodes as a part of Ed’s healing process and recovery. And also hopefully in Izzy’s growth.

Frenchie’s line that “We’ve been living second-to-second for a while now” is a callback to the impossible bird idea. Which, again, is just Chandelier x Sia. “I’m holding on for dear life, won’t look down, won’t open my eyes, keep my glass full until morning light ‘cause I’m just holding on for tonight.”

So what’s next? For me, it was learning to sit alone in a quiet room with my thoughts. It was apologizing to the ones I hurt, because even if I didn’t mean to hurt them - even if I was suffering also and worse - they still got hurt, and in the end it didn’t matter why. It was developing the habit of liking myself, and acting on whatever self-love and affection I could conjure up. And yes… it was new seasons of Good Omens and Loki, my mom’s spaghetti, and hugs.

So I think Ed has a lot of accountability, reflection, and breaking of old habits in his future… but also warmth, good food, and orgasms. And good for him. That’s the beauty of recovery: we get to come back.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd s2 #ed teach #edward teach #blackbeard #ofmd kraken #gentlebeard #stede bonnet #izzy hands #ed teach meta #ofmd meta #ofmd analysis #taika waititi #david jenkins #recovery #ofmd predictions #ofmd season 2 #ed x stede #blackbonnet

[feria-reina]

SANDMAN (MORPHEUS) IMAGINE REQUEST - ANYONE PLEASE TAKE IT

Ok so first, english is not my native language, I'm fluent but about book descriptions I'm not that good in writting so I have a GREAT IDEA - maybe if someone really likes it will probably want turn it into a series? Who knows, feel free. Here is my REQUEST DESCRIPTION. I'll spam it daily once in hopes that a very fond kind writer will think it's a good idea and write it for me and everyone else. 🥺️🥺️ REQUEST SUMMARY/PLOT - warning: it's very detailed: I have a request, could you write one where Dream falls in love for the Magus younger daughter? He watches her growing up while she sneaks around to see him in her childhood, brings him nice stuff to show and talks to him, reads to him, he is her best friend - she is really lonely and doesn't agree with anything her dad does - but he never talked to her afraid that her father was using her to get info from him. Then when she is around 12 and is old enough to try to erase the sigil that keeps Morpheus from escaping - she cannot guess things, and as he doesn't explain what she has to do... well took a time to make research and find out how to free him - her father finds out about her meets with Dream exactly when she is trying to free him - dramatic scene here - and send her to a boarding school to keep her away from him. Then she stops visiting him and he doesn't know why she never came back after years. But he keeps have glimpses of her in his dreams when they sleep sync and dream of one another. She keeps growing up and never forgot him, fact is she was always in love with him, a pure innocent kind of love - anime sort of - and he keeps seeing her grow up as an adult in those glimpses which is his only distraction and refugee. Somehow Corynthian ends up finding out about her - maybe after visiting her dad - and as the Magus is stupid and doesn't know who he is and thinks he has powers he presents one to another in a holiday or something when she is going for her last year in school and then after years, she is in home and sneaks to seek for Morpheus and he finally sees her - first time and only time he stands up in the cage when she enters the room, he even makes a move as if he was going to say a word forgetting about everything but when he opens his mouth... - Corynthian enters the room after her to call her for the meal or something and she has to leave - note here, Corynthian follows her slowly, turns around to the cage when she isn't seeing it and put the glasses down to give a fuckin blink to Morpheus. Now, imagine Dream's despair reaction - surprise us please! A few days later we get the bird scene trying to help him out but the thing is, she is sleeping and trying to help the bird to find him in her dreams, while Corynthian, to hurt Morpheus sneaks into her room to kill her and when he is about to is the exactly moment when the bird dies in front of Morpheus and he glimpses her dying by the hands of Corynthian through the bird's eyes - Jessamy the bird was always watching over her for Morpheus.

Then after he escapes he goes after her to find out about her and confirms she is dead and he is devasted - well she would be dead anyways from being old. When in dream realm he kind of makes illusions about her to try to relieve the pain of failing her, of never speaking to her, so much things he wanted to say, she was his shelter and consolation for so many years. Then when he goes after his helmet in Hell he finds out she is being kept as Lucifer's hostage exactly to have another leverage over Dream - but she is well treated, in fact Lucifer always tries to seduce her or something like that, maybe they and the Corynthian were working together to hit Dream? Anyways, she is in hell because in fact she tried to kill her dad poisoning him in that holiday meal night she was at home to be able to set Morpheus free but it didn't work cause Corynthian had interveined since it wasn't of his interest the Magus and his son dying so Dream could escape - maybe she poisoned the wine glass and Corynthian did something to make them not drink it or maybe they did but the poison didn't really kill anyone, just got sick, feel free about it. So it's a murder attempt and she went to hell - cuz we know the place is full of good intentions. Then Lucifer present both, Dream and her in a very cruel and gentle way telling him that she end up there trying to save him - and they know it's first time they've seen each other, maybe she had a diary before when alive where she confeessed her feelings for Morpheus and Corynthian has read it and informed Lucifer. So now Dream wants not only capture Corynthian for all his reasons but also to avenge her and also he needs to save her from hell. Now their meeting and how he is going to do it, that's up to you, the one who pick this probably MOST DETAILED AND LONGEST REQUEST FROM TUMBLR HISTORY. You can do smut - I hope you do but no dirty talk please cuz I don't think Morpheus would ever - and well, much fluffyness, ANGST and DRAMA please! Sidenote: if they're going to have their first night of love, please that be in Dream's castle not hell. Also if possible please add Desire and Death to this cuz I love them - maybe Desire is sort of more friends with Lucifer and also visits the girl trying to seduce her to get her for themselves to hurt Dream too? And probably she has met Death when she died but she didn't know she was Dream sister and they somehow got friends or acquainted? Ah and if she can be gifted with a pet or something as Goldie/Gregory would be dang lovely.

Last and most important detail - and perfectly match with the duel scene - Dream when saying "hope" stares her because that's how he refered to her in his thoughts, the hope he got to escape and go back home.See there is a paradox, he was imprisioned and she was trying to set him free and now she is imprisioned and he is trying to set her free, places swatched. And when she is finally freed she, somehow - I don't know that either - become a new type of Endless or Entity: Hope. Because hope always believes in a dream to come true and dream always waits on hope to become true. Hope fuels a dream and a dream generates hope. Ok that's it! Ah if you want to DM me or something for more brainstorming I'd love to!

#the sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless #imagine #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #sandman imagine #the sandman imagine #dream imagine #dream of the endless imagine #morpheus imagine

[flownwrong]

october music thingie

i'm doing dreamwidth blind so i decided to talk about music. let's do it. here's my october rotation.

i know nobody's clicking that link so you can read it here too:

Faves:

Halber Mensch by Einstürzende Neubauten: a beloved album that went out of my rotation for most of this year but made a perfect return once the late autumn stuff got going outside. Great for long commutes and short walks. The first time I really appreciated Yü-Gung on its own merit, too. When the bass hits on the last refrain of "fütter mein ego" it's physically enjoyable.

Gris Klein by Birds in Row: it came out roughly a year ago and immediately landed a spot on my all time faves list, but especially my late autumn fave list. Not only is it a solid hardcore/screamo record on its own, but this time they really outdid themselves. It's such a perfectly paced listening experience—by the time the closer hits you are vulnerable to it, and when it's done, you get that perfect hit of "wow, I don't even know what to put on after this". The instrumental game is on point, too—I have so many loops and riffs from it wedged between my braincells, so, sonically, it's a win. And of course the songwriting here is impressive af. "Noah" in particular is a straight up masterpiece. I've listened to it outside of this record so many times. Ten out of ten, would recommend.

[untitled] by mewithoutYou: I just kind of forgot about it, but thanks to shuffle, I went back to it. I'm a fan of their earlier releases so I didn't particularly remember this one. And it's really beautiful! I'd say it's more smooth and melodic than their usual fare, but the usual songwriting quirks are all there, signature melodic decisions and lyrics and all that. Loved it anew!

Terror's Horns by Natural Snow Buildings: For some reason, I only now, after a couple years with this record, noticed there's a track called "King in Yellow" on it, haha. I've re-read it very recently and entered another small loop of my horror reading spree—and I must say this record would actually be a good soundtrack. It's only subtly creepy, but it does feel rich and heavy and mysterious and has bursts of pure ecstatic beauty near the end there and one of the most devastating closers I know.

Slow Riot for New Zero Kanada by GY!BE: a classic; and, by extension, Górecki's third symphony, since the iconic "Moya" is a nod to that. I love many different recordings, but my all time fave is the one with Beth Gibbons of Portishead doing the vocals. Her unique voice and manner fill the already gorgeous parts with something fragile and sublime that is simply unparalleled. It's one of the best pieces of music I've ever heard.

Discoveries:

Jeff Buckley: I have no idea why I have been putting off checking him out for so long (I have an oddly patchy impression of popular music, in that I know a lot of obscure stuff but most of well-known names missed me completely), but man, the beauty here is really on another level. I was tickled to remember that a semi-obscure progressive metal band I like did a cover of "Dream Brother" a decade ago and that's how I first heard of him. Which is hilarious, because before I remembered, I commented on "Grace" to my friend saying it sounds like that very band if they weren't progressive metal. Also, no one who can pull off Dido's Lament will escape my admiration. Grace is going on that fave list for sure.

The great Destroyer by Low: I've been a fan for some years, but I tend to be slow in catching up with big discographies, so I missed some records, this one included. It's everything Low is beloved for, their quintessential reserved harmonies and precise lyricism all on display. Plus, the opener has been covered by Robert Plant, which is pretty cool.

Wind's Poem/Ocean Roar by Mount Eerie: I adore the quiet and devastating spoken word pieces Phil Elverum is known for (among other things), but these two black metal inspired albums, with those same quiet vocals and tentative lyrics contrasted by gloriously noisy instrumentals, are new for me and I'm in awe.

New stuff:

Silence by Rorcal: I'm only sometimes in the mood for Rorcal, but when I am, this record is a good example of why. Fun blackened hardcore, and the record is pretty tight and runs for less than 40 minutes.

Everything is Alive by Slowdive: I love this one! More than I loved their first post-reunion record. I think it was released back in September but it was a perfect melancholy autumn sound for my October.

Sit Down for Dinner by Blonde Redhead: a new Blonde Redhead record! Can you believe it? I think it got quieter than 23 and I love it less, but it's still a good record.

Oscillating Forest by Tangled Thoughts of Leaving: another September release by my ultimate underrated faves that get tagged as post-rock but actually do something more free jazz-ey and noisy and chaotic but also yes, with crescendos and keys and all that fun. Another absolute banger. Check it out.

At Zeenath Parallel Heavens by Black to Comm: my scariest ambient fave. It's not his absolutely full of dread Seven Horses for Seven Kings, but it's still delightfully uneasy and beautiful.

in spoar by piiptsjilling: there's this obscure Dutch sound designer/electroacoustic/ambient/neoclassical guy Machinefabriek with a massive back catalogue, and piiptsjilling is one of his even more obscure side-projects. It's more melodic and has actual words and not just vocal textures! I love it.

Not yet released, but Neubauten finished a new record and I'm HELLA excited. Nothing they've ever done is boring. Let spring come soon.

#sound

[ellana-ravenwood]

“You’re not my real mom !” - Batkids x Fem!Reader (Batmom)

Synopsis : A story about those few dreaded words : “You’re not my real mom”, said by the batkids, to you, in a the heat of a moment. And the aftermath of it all... 

This has been in my draft for ages. I hope you like it :) : 

my masterlists : @ella-ravenwood-archives

__________________________________________________

DICK 

It happened so fast. In a quick moment of anger. 

A flash, a bang, words said too quickly to truly realize their meaning. 

Dick was frustrated because he felt you didn’t understand him, his point of view. And you were trying to explain to him that it was not okay to...

You know what ? 

You couldn’t even remember what he did. As if whatever it was, it was all wiped out of your memory when he pronounced those bone chilling words. 

You only remembered you were “scolding” him, just like parents do when their child did something he wasn’t supposed to. You rarely told Dick off, even when he would burst into fits of anger. 

You always told him : “When you came into my life, you changed everything. And I love all of you little bird. Not just when you’re joking around and smiling. But also when you get angry, and lash out. You are my son, I love all of you.” 

And you meant it. Often, you or Bruce would take the brunt of his anger, without batting an eye. After all, that child went through a lot. It was totally normal for him to lash out at times. 

He saw his parents died right in front of him. It wasn’t a trauma that would be solved that fast (Bruce was proof of it). “The magic of love” couldn't simply cure someone who was so deeply hurt. Although it helped, over time. 

Yes. Time. 

It would take time, and support, for Dick to heal. And you were here for it. Here for him. 

But there were times, you had to say something. 

Usually, it was when he was being too reckless. 

Your son could be overzealous, and go too far. And you were so worried about his safety and wellbeing...Very rarely, you’d have to “scold” him. 

And you couldn’t even remember what you were lecturing him about that evening (even if you had an idea it was about being a little more careful). All you remembered was...

“You’re not even my real mom ! You can’t tell me anything !” 

And him turning away from you, crossing his arms and refusing to look your way. Which was good anyway, because you were an instant mess. 

“Ok”, you managed to say, wondering how the hell you were able to get the words out. And then you left. Feeling the tears welling up in your eyes. And your heart slowly breaking. 

Bruce found you two later, both clearly feeling down... 

Dick stayed quiet the entire time they were on patrol, and Bruce instantly knew something was wrong. He wasn’t there during your fight, and he only arrived when you were already gone, surprised that you went to bed so early in the night, and didn’t stay with your son downstairs until it was time for patrol... 

The man didn’t push the boy, waiting for him to open up if he wanted to. And as usual, Dick did finally speak up. In a weak voice, as they were surveying the city from a rooftop, he said :

“I told her she wasn’t my real mom...” 

“Ah.” 

Bruce felt the urge to go back home and console you, knowing that you were certainly a mess, right now. But he had to take care of his boy, too. 

And oh, oh Dick looked so crestfallen and sad as the meaning of his words slowly etched into his mind. 

“I told her she wasn’t-she wasn’t-but she is I just-I-I don’t know why I said that-I...” 

The little one was on the verge of tears, and Bruce understood why. 

He probably understood more than anyone else. 

He told Alfred “You’re not my dad !” more than once, and remembered how even the stoic butler looked, whenever he said it. 

He remembered the hurt in his eyes, the resignation too. The “very well sir”, said in a neutral manner, but the stiff way he’d left the room. 

It took Bruce a while, to finally realize that Alfred WAS his father. That he raised him, most definitely. And was always there for him during the hard times. 

That he even helped and supported him, when he came back after disappearing for years, saying : “I’m going to dress up as a bat and wipe crimes from Gotham”. ...How many parents would be that understanding, eh ? 

Alfred knew Bruce. And always tried to do his best for him. So whenever Bruce would yell at him that he “wasn’t his father”, it hurt. 

Bruce knew it. He noticed how Alfred’s entire demeanor would change. He’d see a light go out in his eyes. 

“Very well, sir.”, a small bow, and the stiffness of his body as he left...

And Bruce remembered. 

The guilt and the pain he felt himself, as he regretted ever saying those words. As he knew they were going to hurt, which is why he said them in the first place.

It wasn’t that he wanted to hurt his adopted father, oh no. It was that sometimes he just...He just felt so angry ! Like everything was unfair ! And he missed his parents so much ! 

It was a force stronger than him, he wanted Alfred to leave him alone, and pushed him away...”You’re not my dad !”. So yes. Bruce understood little Dickie. He understood you, too. He knew how you must’ve felt, he saw it enough happening to Alfred. 

Once you’d get home, he would take care of you. But right now, he had to care for his son. 

Right here, on one of Gotham’s rooftop, the scary and mighty Batman slowly kneeled down, and took his boy in his arms, holding him tightly. 

Dick didn’t need more to throw his arms around his father’s shoulders, and hold him strongly too, with all his nine years old strength, sobbing slowly. 

Bruce drew soothing circles on his back, and whispered : 

“It’s ok, it’s going to be ok. It’s ok. Calm down, things are going to be ok.” 

Your husband lost count of the time passing. Were they there, holding each others while Dick was sobbing uncontrollably, for ten minutes, or for ten hours ? He didn’t know. And he didn’t budge.  

His son needed him. Just like once, he needed Alfred... 

Dick fell asleep in his arms, and that night, Bruce came home early. 

Not like he was going to stay out anyway, knowing you were probably devastated, all alone in your room... 

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

Dick fell into a deep sleep, and didn’t budge one bit even as Bruce came down the building, rode home, and put him into bed. 

Bruce’s guess was that all the pent up feelings truly exhausted him. Also, he knew that crying could be tiring. And freeing, in a way. 

Putting the boy’s blanket all the way up to his chin, Bruce laid a kiss on his forehead and then rushed to your shared bedroom... 

You had cried too, but you were not asleep. 

Your eyes were puffy and red, and your cheeks marked with your tears. You seemed surprised, when he came in, and looked at the clock. 

It was only midnight ? 

“Hello, my love.” 

He sat down next to you, and from the way he ran his fingers through your hair, and caressed your cheek, wiping the salty tears from it...You knew he knew.

He knew how devastated you felt. How those simple words that would mean nothing for many, truly wounded you. 

He knew how much you loved that boy, how as soon as your eyes laid on his little face that terrible night he lost his parents, you felt like he was going to be your son one day. 

He knew how much you’d sacrifice for that kid’s happiness, how far you’d go to keep him safe...And so, how hurtful him telling you you weren’t his real mother must’ve felt.  

There was no need for words. 

He knew what to do. He laid next to you, and you just cuddled up to him, letting him wrap you up in his warm embrace. 

He drew those same soothing circles on your back than he did on Dick’s. And whispered : 

“He didn’t mean it. He truly didn’t. He loves you, you know. I love you too.” 

You fell asleep to his words of love and reassurance, finally letting go after hours of not being able to sleep, reenacting the terrible scene in your head over and over again, making yourself feel worst each times. 

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

You woke up around 4 am, with Bruce’s arms wrapped around you.  

He was asleep and escaping his grasp (without Alfred’s help) took you a little bit..but you managed to leave without waking him up. 

He did groan a little at the loss of your warmth, and grabbed your pillow to hold it against his chest. Which was extremely cute, and oh how glad you were to be the only one to see this side of him. 

You went down to the kitchen and... 

Dick was coming from the other door, opposite to the one you took.

The kitchen had three access. Two doors facing each others, and one on the third wall. The door you took was because you got a little lost and did a detour through the drawing room. Dick, however, came from the door you should’ve come from too, which was the one you accessed from the West Wing third corridors, which was directly under your bedroom, and Dick’s. 

The boy probably stood up a little after you, and while you got lost in your own home (again), he took the normal way and...

Boom. Here you both were, arriving in the kitchen at the same time. 

There was a small silence. Awkward. And...

Your heart tightened. 

Dick was sort of cowering backward in fear. Fear of what ? 

Oh. But of course. 

“He didn’t mean it.” 

Bruce whispered to you many times, before you fell asleep. And the way Dick looked at you, worry in his eyes...He was thinking you were mad at him. And the regret in his pupils was as obvious as that fact. 

“Ice cream ?” 

You ask him. His eyes widen a bit, and you can almost see the gears in his brain trying to piece everything together. You’re...not mad at him ? 

Of course you’re not. You felt sad, and lost, and hurt, yes. But never did you feel any hint of anger. Of course not. 

You take out his favorite flavor from the freezer, and settle a bowl in front of one of the high stool around the counter. 

At that time, Dick was so tiny. A very short little bean. And he’d stay small for a long time, only having a sudden spurt when he was around fifteen. 

He climbed onto the stool, and watched you as you gave him some ice cream and a spoon, and then sat down next to him to eat some as well. 

The silent was slowly turning less awkward. 

Slowly, and unsurely, Dick picked his spoon up and looked at you. And completely missed his mouth, the ice cream spreading on his cheek instead. 

You turn around to look at him, ice cream on his cheek, and he’s clearly embarrassed, as a tint of color slowly rises on his face. 

You don’t really know why, but something snaps in you and you start laughing. And laughing. And laughing. 

Because honestly, the kid missing his mouth as he picked his spoon up full of ice cream, is kinda funny right ? And also, all the tension and stress you felt suddenly broke with this simple, silly thing. 

Unsure at first, Dick just looked at you. But your laughter quickly spread to him, and soon enough, you both were bursting out in laughter. 

Anyone not knowing what happened, would probably think you were both crazy, laughing that hard for no apparent reasons. 

Instinctually, you ruffle his hair and Dick gasps. You really weren’t mad at him ?!

You realized what you did, and slowly, both your laughter subsided. There was a small silence as Dick stared at you, and you stared back, and then : 

“I’m-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it !” 

He says in a small voice, and he can’t add anything else as you just pick him up and hold him tight against your heart, and you say : 

“I know.” 

And it’s all he needs to realize you’re not really mad at him, and although he messed up and hurt you, right now, you were both on the path of recovery... 

Next morning, Bruce woke up alone in bed, which greatly distressed him as usual (he often woke up first). But a gut feeling was telling him that...

He found you asleep with Dick in his bed, holding him tightly. 

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

After that event, you sat down with him, so you could have a serious talk about the underlining issue this raised. Talk about something important. 

“Little bird, you know I love you, right ?” 

He nods, but still cannot speak quite yet, doesn’t have the energy to. 

“I want you to understand something. Something vital. Are you listening ?” 

He nods again, his eyes fixed on you. And he’s listening, oh he definitely is. 

“It’s ok to be angry. It’s ok to lash out. It’s ok to not be alright. It’s ok to make mistakes.” 

He nods, a little slower than before, and you can see his eyes slowly becoming wetter and wetter. 

“It’s ok. It really is. I’m here. And I love you. Even when you don’t want me around. Even when you push me away. I’m here. And I always will be. Ok ?” 

He nods one last time, unable to hold his tears, and then his little arms latch around you, and he refuses to let go for well over an hour...

Oh. Sweet, sweet boy. 

Your son. 

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

Even now, at age twenty seven, Dick still often think about this day. And the regrets are as burning as they were back then. 

He often thought about it. 

Whenever you did something for him, went out of your way to make him happy, or were just there for him, always...

He’d have a flashback of this day, and feel nothing but regret and anger at his younger self. 

And then you’d read him like an open book. Know exactly what he was thinking, and would slowly shake your head, and say : “I know I often said that, but I will say it till the day I die if I need to :  when you came into my life, you changed everything. And I love all of you little bird. Not just when you’re joking around and smiling. But also when you get angry, and lash out. You are my son. I love all of you. Even when you’re a little bit of a jerk.” and you’d wink at him, making him chuckle and feel a surge of affection toward you. 

Kind of like the ones you’d feel sometimes. A sudden urge to hug your family, to tell them what they mean to you. Both you and Dick understood since a long time that with the life you all lead, you never knew what could happen, and should never waste a “I love you” if you felt like saying it. 

Well, the apple never fall far from the tree ? 

Yes. Because you were his mom. And nothing would ever change his mind on that. Ever. 

JASON 

"Well Jason, you did it you idiot !” 

He says to himself in the mirror, and oh he could’ve punch himself if it was possible. He took his desk chair, and threw it across his bedroom, letting out a scream of frustration. 

He went to his desk, and threw everything that was on it on the floor. He then went to his book shelves and...

There. Your book. The one you wrote for him. 

Jason fell to his knee, holding his head in his hands, crying softly. 

Yes. Yes he did it...He ruined this one chance life gave him to have parents. 

He hurt one of the person that meant the most to him, one of the person he loved the most...His mom. You. 

Because you were his mom, no matter what he told you, in that moment of anger as you scolded him after he did something dangerous during one of his patrol. 

He hadn’t been allowed to go out for long, by then. And Bruce had already scolded him before for the very same thing, so when you did it too, he had enough and...it happened before he could think about it. 

He was angry, about the lack of trust and about the sermons, and his brain tried to hurt without even thinking about it. Triggered by years of living in the streets, where he had to think quick and act right away, and then suffer the consequences. If he wasn’t fast enough, it could be the end of him... 

A gut reaction triggered by years of being all on his own, having to fend for himself. His brain went into overdrive, “hurt” is what it set into motion. 

“You’re not my mom !” 

And that was it...

As he saw your face fell, and his father’s face turn angry, he knew. He knew he messed up. He messed everything up, as usual !

“Jason !” 

Bruce called, but Jason wasn’t about to stop. He ran out of the cave, right to his bedroom. Oh, oh but if only he stayed a little longer. He’d realize that his father wasn’t angry, just hurt as well. 

Hurt to see the woman he loved being hurt. 

Not angry. Ah but being in pain could sometimes look like you are mad ? And Bruce hadn't been able to hide his frown as he heard Jason’s words... 

“Let him be, Bruce.” 

You say in a weak voice. You knew Jason, you knew sometimes he needed to cool down on his own. That he could be impulsive, but always came around. 

Ah. But that time, he needed everything but to be alone. 

Because, as he thought he ruined his one chance at having a real family, he thought... 

“Better to leave before they throw me away !” 

He knew he could never bear to face you and Bruce, as you’d certainly tell him you were “un-adopting” him. Jason saw it happened before. Someone thinking their adopted kid was “too much”, and sending them back. 

It was awful, of course. But it happened. For real. And Jason knew that life could really suck...But her couldn’t bear to face you as you’d send him away. 

Worst, what if you just send Alfred and that was it ?

No. Jason would leave before you could do that. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t. 

Filling his backpack with some clothes, and snacks, he opened his window and slid down the gutter all the way to the ground, and then ran away into the night. Tears trailing down behind him, as he left behind the one place in which he ever felt safe, warm, and loved. 

In the meantime, you and Bruce were unaware of that, and slowly falling asleep in each others’ arms... As usual, Bruce was there for you. 

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

“Jason ? I thought I wouldn’t see you anymore after you got adopted by dem fancy fellas. Are you here to get some work ?” 

“No.” 

“Really, why did you come then ?” 

“I didn’t, I’m just passing by.” 

“Nah, don’t believe it. Once a bad boy, always a bad boy !” 

“TAKE IT BACK !” 

As he ran away, Jason went back to a place he thought he never would need to. A few intricate alleys, in the Bowery, under the main city. 

The Bowery, a filthy underground neighborhood, hell on Earth for many. Although things did improve when Batman started his work a few years back. 

“Wow there tiger, relax.” 

Jason came in this specific area for only one thing. Retrieve a few items he left behind, thinking he would never need it again because he was leaving behind this life. 

He had a hideout, not far. In which he hid some materials to survive in the streets. He thought he probably had to go back to stealing cars’ tires...Although maybe he should change it. Thinking of what happened last time he did this hurt his heart. 

He knew that next time he’d get caught stealing tires, the person wouldn’t end up adopting him...Anyway, he didn’t want any other parents but you and Bruce. 

And he messed that up so bad, by being so mean to you ! 

“Listen, it’s not because you got all fancy schmancy that you can talk to me like that. Remember who’s boss in this part of town.” 

Batman did a lot of good to the city, but also, by getting rid of some big players in the “crime business”, he allowed small time thugs to climb up the ladders...It felt, at times, like there always was someone to replace whoever Bruce just put behind bars... 

The man who was talking to Jason, used to be a small time criminal. Turned boss, when the Batman kept arresting all the people above him. Jason used to “work” for him, bringing him watches or jewelry that he’d exchange against cash. 

Damn. He never thought he’d ever see him again... Oh and he definitely didn’t think this through. 

As the new boss, who’s name was Johnny Clancy, told him that he’d forever be a “bad boy”, Jason saw red and...getting mad at a crime boss was a bad idea. 

Before he could even think about an escape plan, Jason was surrounded by dangerous armed men. 

“How dare you talk to me like that ? Mmm. The Waynes adopted you right ? Mmm. They’re loaded. Probably would pay a fortune to get you back uh ? And to think they’re gonna give me a lot of cash to get a little runaway brat back haha. Because that’s what you did right ? You ran away ? As you always did before mm ? You know, I observed you Jason Todd. I saw you run away from anyone getting close. I saw you.” 

Jason’s heart didn’t need anyone to push and squiggle the knife he felt in around some more. He had just lost his family. Did he need more reminder that he always fucked up ?! 

“They won’t give you any money, they don’t want me anymore...” 

But Johnny didn’t believe him, of course. He told two of his thugs to grab the boy, but Jason, by instinct, dropped them to the floor with a few well placed kicks and punches. 

And that was enough to unleash Johnny Clancy’s wrath.

See, he was a new boss. He had to assert dominance. And an eight years old kid making a fool of him and his gang ? That wouldn’t go. 

So what if he had to off a child ? Anything to keep climbing up, and leave the Bowery’s slums. 

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

“Have you seen Jason ?” 

Bruce asks you, a few hours after your fight with him. 

“What ? No, I thought he was with you ?”

“No, he skipped his training and I thought he might be with you, apologizing for what he said yesterday ? You know, sounds like something he would do.” 

“I haven’t seen him since, you know. I thought he was avoiding me...” 

“He would never.” 

“Bruce...” 

“He would never, my love. I know what he said hurt you, but I’m sure he’s regretting it right now. You should go see him, he’s probably sulking in his bedroom. I wouldn’t be surprised if you meet him up the stairs as he comes down to say sorry.” 

“Bruce...” 

Your husband comes to you, and takes your hands in his. 

“You know him. He’s impulsive, and a little abrasive sometimes. But he’s a sweet child. And he regrets his bursts, you know it. Tonight was just tough, we both scolded him, he’s not used to it.” 

“You’re right.” 

“Of course I am, I’m-”

“I swear to God if you say “I’m Batman” I’m going to smack you.” 

Bruce smiles softly at you, glad he managed to at least made the tension go away a little. He pecks your lips quickly, and watches you as you leave to go to your son’s bedroom. 

He was about to go down the Batcave, when you came back, panicked : 

“He’s gone ! Jason’s gone !” 

Ah. Bruce knew that placing a tracker in his children’s molars was a good idea. 

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

“HOW HARD IS IT TO CATCH A FUCKING KID ?!” 

Jason runs as fast as he can, without looking back. He managed to break the line of thugs coming at him, and escape in-between to of them who didn’t pull their guns out quite yet. 

They were shooting at him. With no hesitation. 

Johnny was set on proving he was an unscrupulous boss. To earn everyone’s respect. So what if he had to shoot a kid ? It’d send everyone a message. He’d back off from nothing ! 

Jason turned in an alley and...Damn it ! He must’ve taken a wrong turn at some point, it had been a while, since he roamed the Bowery’s alleyways...

He was faced by a wall, stuck. And they quickly caught up to him. 

“Wooouh, you’re fast kid. And you’re sneaky. Too bad you’re such a brat, I bet you could be a nice addition to our-”

Johnny Clancy never finished his sentence. In fact, he never could properly speak after that night. After getting his jaw broken into a thousand pieces by the Batman’s fist. 

Bruce had come down from nowhere, with...you in his arms ?! 

This was the first time Jason saw you wear the costume he saw a few times in the Batcave. He thought you wore it only to go to the JLA’s watchtower, to hide your identity. Not that you could actually...fight ?! 

And wow, you definitely could hold your own ! You made a few disarming pass, taking the guns away from all the men before they could even react, and letting Bruce finish them off with well placed kicks and punches. 

Oh and that night, the Batman unleashed his rage and unforgiveness full force. How dare they touch his son ?! 

You didn’t have anything to envy from your husband either, however, as you worked through Johnny’s gang rather fast too. 

That night, the both of you exterminated (figure of speech, of course, neither of you ever killed, that was the one big rule...but there were never a rule against breaking a few bones) Johnny Clancy’s gang, who dared to even think of hurting your precious son. 

Jason, holding his backpack tight against him, couldn’t believe his eyes. You two came to save him ? But...why ? 

He messed up. You’d surely not want him around anymore ! 

Once Bruce dropped the last man, you rushed to Jason and before he could utter a sound, took him in your arms. 

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re safe baby, I’m so glad you’re...” 

Your voice broke at the end, and you chocked, the emotions too strong and squeezing your throat. 

Jason didn’t understand. And through his surprise, he managed to say : 

“I thought-I thought you’d never want to see me again, and that you wouldn’t want to be my mom anymore.” 

You hold him even tighter, as you feel Bruce get down on his knee and bring the both of you in his arms. 

“Oh sweety, never. Never.” 

You say, not letting go. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...” 

Your son manage to choke out, before sobbing profusely and holding on to you and Bruce. 

“I’m just glad you’re safe...it’s ok, it’s ok it’s already forgotten...” 

And it was. As soon as you saw that Jason-That your SON, was missing, you forgot he ever told you “you’re not my mom”. You forgot and it truly didn’t matter anymore, as all you cared about was to find him, and make sure he was safe. 

“Jason, oh my little Jason, I’m so glad you’re safe...”

Wether it is a conscious things or not, he returns your embrace fiercely, holding tightly as he looks up at you. It almost feels like he wants to make sure you really are there. And won’t go anywhere. Like everyone else did in his life. 

Jason was tired of losing those close to him. Those he cared about. Sometimes, he’d push them away, by fear of getting attached again just for life to rip them away from him. So he held onto you, as you held him back. 

Tightly against your heart. 

“Mom...” 

This was the day Jason Todd realized something very important : He wasn’t alone anymore. He had parents who loved him, and he loved them back. 

So much. 

And they���d never let him go. Never. 

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

Years later, this love he had for you and Bruce, turned out to be the very reason he became “Red Hood”. 

From that day he told you : “you’re not my real mom !”, he felt like he belonged. Like finally, the people he loved loved him back. Like he was cherished. And then Bruce didn’t avenge him. He let Joker get away. And you let him do it. You, the people he trusted and loved most in the world, betrayed him...

He felt like he wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth Bruce breaking his one rule to avenge him. He wasn’t worth it...He didn’t matter enough. 

Jason felt so angry. For years. He wanted to hurt you, to hurt Bruce. To show you what it felt like. What HE felt like. 

But Jason has always been a strong one. You knew it. You told him enough times : “you’re a fighter, my Jason. You went through so much, and always came out of it. You lost a lot on the way my little one, but you never give up. You never give up...” 

You never give up. 

Love. 

It’s what drove him to become the Red Hood. It’s what drove him over the edge. What gave him so much pain. 

Rather, the feeling of not being loved. The thought all you and Bruce said to him, about how much you cared and loved him, was a lie. 

Yes. The thought that you lied about loving him, is what broke him. What made him find every way possible to truly, truly hurt you two.

You never give up. 

He was so angry. But he never could quite give up on his family...that’s why he didn’t stay with the Al’ghuls. That why they didn’t keep him. 

He could never forget you and Bruce. Move on. 

He could never. 

Jason was a strong lad. Strong enough to see past his hate and need of revenge. His pain. His deep trauma. 

It took a while. But the change came from him. He’s the one that gave you another chance. And it allowed him to realize...nothing was a lie.

And you got your son back.

Because you showed him. You showed him nothing was a lie.

When his dad never gave up on him even as he killed more and more people, and even as Jason saw him completely erase people who used to be close from him as soon as they killed once. When you refused to let him go. When Bruce kept going back, even as he knew Jason would fight him and try to hurt him. When you pleaded with him, even when you knew his answer would be the same... 

Jason never gave up. 

But you didn’t either. 

“You’re not my mom”, are words he never meant. Not even once. Not even when he was the “old” Red Hood, the one that killed mercilessly any criminals, and that was trying to be exactly what Batman wasn’t. 

“You’re not my mom”, even at his worst, at a time he suffered greatly, Jason never meant it. He never did. 

And ultimately, it’s this filial love, and the love you and Bruce had for him, that brought him back out of the dark pit the Joker pushed him in...

TIM 

Tim knew that his overly pragmatic mind sometimes could make him sound tactless. That he had trouble, sometimes, expressing himself properly. 

He knew that what he said, although it could be the factual truth, could be perceived as not being very nice... 

He knew, yet sometimes, he couldn’t help himself. 

“But you’re not my mom.” 

He told you that day, as you asked when was the “mother/child day” at school. 

Tim’s school had a day each year, during which every mother would come and do different activities with their kids. You did it with Dick and Jason, and it was always great fun, and amazing bonding time. 

By then, Tim had been with you and Bruce for over a year now. And he did, see you as his mom. However, he was a little too set, at the time, on rules and specifics. In the “mother/child day” rulebook, it “specifically” said that the actual child’s mother had to come, not the nanny or anyone else. 

In Tim’s mind, although he did see you as his mom, he thought the school wouldn’t. For him, the way the rules were written, were clearly stating his birth mother had to come. And the official adoption papers were not processed yet. Those took quite a while. 

He had been living with you for over a year. He called you and Bruce “mom and dad”. He truly considered you two his parents. But the official papers were not done quite yet. So to him, in the eye of the law (be it a silly school rule), you weren’t his mom quite yet. 

So when he said : “but you’re not my mom”, that’s what he meant. Of course, you misunderstood...

How could you guess that Tim was thinking that only his “birth mother” could take him, because officially right now he didn’t have a mom, just “guardians”...

His mother was dead. Has been dead for a while, now. And even if she wasn’t, Tim knew she’d never come at this event...She wasn’t the caring type of mother. Not like you. Which is why it really bummed him out that those rules were so clearly stated like that !

What Tim misunderstood, is that this specific rule had been added to the rulebook because many family would send their nanny, or a big sister, instead of the mom. Because Tim was of course in Gotham’s Academy, full of rich families, in which the moms were very busy...

Which is why such a day existed. Some kids spend quality times with their mom only on this school day. Nowadays, everyone made an effort to come (the fact you appeared, the famed (Y/N) Wayne, a few years back, with Dick, and it made all the papers’ headlines, might’ve influenced others to participate too).

To tell the truth, Tim was very disappointed that you couldn’t go with him, and was considering asking the principle of the school to do an exception to the rule and allow you to go with him.  

He was already fomenting a plan in his head to convince the headmaster to let you come as his mom, and as usual when he was planning things out, he completely disconnected from reality. 

And therefor, didn’t see how your face “closed”, and your eyes turned sad. The boy was typing away on his computer, as if nothing had just happened, as if you didn’t feel your world crumble as he flat out told you you weren’t his mom...

Of course, it was all a misunderstanding. He meant it as “officially”. Not about his actual feelings. 

For some reason, the way he said it so nonchalantly hurts you more than when Dick and Jason yelled at you that you “weren't their mom”. Because at least, in your eldests’ cases, you knew it was in the heat of the moment. 

That it was because they felt frustrated and sad. 

But Tim just told you : “But you’re not my mom.” matter of factly, and moved on. And it hurt. 

It hurt so much, because that boy...You loved that boy, of course. And considered him your son for sure. Part of your heart, now. Part of your family. And he felt so far, right now...so far... 

You left the room and he didn’t even notice. 

Did he really not see you as his mom ? Was he just calling you “mom” to imitate his brothers ? ...You didn’t know, but it hurt. 

It hurt so much. 

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

You found Bruce in his office, doing some paperworks for Wayne Inc. When he saw your face, he immediately smiled, your presence lighting his whole world...But then he saw your expression, and he frowned. 

“What happened ?” 

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

“Mom ? MooOOooom ?” 

Tim had been looking for you for the past hour, but wasn’t able to find you. You weren't in all your favorite places ! Did you leave the Manor without telling him ? It was unlike you. 

Finally, he found you. You were in a room that was rarely used, but which was conveniently close to Bruce’s office, and had a couch. 

Laying on top of your husband, you were fast asleep as Bruce was going through his paperworks, letting you holding onto his waist as he kept working. 

When he saw the boy come in the room, he smiled at him. And it was hard, not to smile at Tim, seeing his own big wide smile. 

Tim was missing a few teeth, that fell not long ago, and it was absolutely the cutest, when he smiled widely. He looked so happy, eyes sparkly and genuine smile. It felt wrong to Bruce, to think that this sweet boy didn’t see you as his mom...

Maybe it was all a misunderstanding ? Wouldn’t be the first time. Although, Bruce knew how sometimes Tim could be brutally honest, and say the facts in a matter of factly way that could be very harsh on the uninitiated. 

Your son was holding a cardboard sheet almost as big as him, and looked very excited about something. He slowly approached you two, and said, whispering, yet the excitement was clear in his voice : 

“Has she been asleep for long, dad ?!” 

He called Bruce dad. Without an hesitation. And it felt so genuine. Like he was relishing in the word rolling off of his tongue. And it was often the case, with Tim. His parents, when they were still alive, never really noticed his presence... 

And sometimes, it could be even worst to have parents who acted as if you didn’t exist, than caring parents who passed away. Bruce realized this. 

“No, she just closed her eyes.” 

Bruce answers, looking at you. And oh he couldn’t possibly know how soft his expressions as as he gazed at your sleeping face. 

“Oh...” 

Tim was clearly disappointed. His shoulders fell down, and he looked on the floor, looking defeated.

“What is it, champ ?” 

“Well, I wanted her to-Oh ! Mom !” 

The rumbling of your husband’s chest as he spoke is what woke you up. Not the actual sound of their voices, just that low vibrations reverberating in his chest. 

You opened one eye, then the second, and was greeted by your youngest son’s face being very close to you. As Tim saw you were waking up, he kneeled down next to the couch, settling his piece of cardboard next to him, and approached you very closely. 

His smile and sweet expression filled your vision. And you felt even more hurt, as you saw him so happy to see you, to know he didn’t really think you were his mom. 

It was clear he cared for you. And loved you, and being with you. But to him...You weren’t his mom. And that was so painful. 

“I got a plan mom, I got a plan !” 

A...Plan ? For what ? You don’t even have time to ask him, and, still a little hazy as you just woke up from a short nap (that you took after crying exhausted you), you raise a little from your husband. 

You exchange a curious look with him, as you see Tim spring to his feet and get a hold of the piece of cardboard that is almost as tall and large as him. 

He turns it around and...

Your heart drops. 

It’s a lot of very detailed drawings, maps and words about...about...

“This is how we’re going to convince the headmaster of my school that you’re really my mom, even if officially you’re not yet !! I thought we could start with logic first, and then go down the path of pathos if he really doesn’t change his mind !” 

What ? Your brain is trying really hard to comprehend what’s happening, although it is starting to put two and two together. 

“The rules say that the mom HAS to be the one who comes, and the way they wrote it suggest that they wouldn’t accept someone who isn’t yet official. But I think we could convince that, in our heart, we’re already an official family, right ?!” 

Tim looks at you, and then at his dad, a little worry in his eyes (what if for them, he wasn’t their son yet because the paperworks weren’t finished and officials quite yet ?!?!). Bruce cannot help but smile, and nods, feeling his heart melt (a rare occurrence). 

And you. You have exactly the reaction he expected you’d have. You sit up, put the cardboard aside, and drag your son into a tight hug that makes him giggle and exclaim : 

“Hahaha mom wait I can’t breaaaathe !! Mom !!” 

But he hugs you back, knowing that this means yes, you do consider him your son already, paperworks or not, and you will probably follow his plan to convince the school to-

“Mom ? Why are you crying ? Mom ?” 

You can’t explain it to him. You feel silly, but also so emotional and touched. You thought he didn’t think of you as his mom. But he did. Oh he did, and was actually worried about technicalities of rules and...So sweet. That boy is so sweet. 

Carefully, Tim dries your tears, and look curiously at his dad, his eyes clearly asking : “Did I do something wrong ?”

You’re still unable to speak, as you hold onto him, and Bruce ruffles his son’s hair saying : 

“She’s just too happy, champ. She’s just too happy.” 

CASSANDRA

"You, not my mom !” 

She screamed. You never heard Cass raised her voice before. And yet, here, she screamed at you. And then closed her bedroom door right on your nose. 

And you felt it in your heart. That specific pain that you wished you’d never feel again. That kind of hurt you wished you’d never feel ever again. 

It happened just liked it did with Dick and Jason. You were “lecturing” her about putting herself in needless danger, and she felt frustrated at the fact you “didn’t trust her”. 

It wasn’t true of course. You did trust her. And you knew she could hold her own. Didn’t mean you wouldn’t worry, and scold her if she really scared you... 

It was pure instinct. You couldn’t stop yourself from telling them off when you felt they went too far. You did it with Bruce too. 

Once, he threw himself in the way of a bullet to save you, and once he recovered enough...Oh you were so mad at him. 

It’s not that you wanted to take that bullet, of course. You knew it was also instinct that made him move to save you. But in truth, you would rather take a thousand bullet than lose any of them. Bruce, or your children. 

And sometimes, it was hard for them to understand this. To get why you were so worried, when you accepted fully their night activities. 

Why you monitored the batcomputer, if it was to scold them when they put themselves in danger ? 

Ah but they didn’t understand that you only got “mad” when they put themselves in NEEDLESS danger. Pushing themselves too far that one night, being careless with something, ignoring their own safety to finish a task... 

You couldn’t help but be afraid. And your fear turned into you scolding them. And sometimes, on each sides, things boiled and...

“You, not my mom !” 

The meaning was clear. As Cass slammed her door right in your face, you knew not to push it further, not to tell her anything more. 

Maybe you should’ve ? Should’ve open her door, and continue lecturing her so she’d understand her life was valuable ? 

Cass put herself in danger more than any other member of your family, because she was raised as a weapon and thought of herself as an “expendable”. You weren’t mad at her for this, of course not (but oh, David Cain probably should never cross your path, it wasn’t pretty, when you were truly angry). 

You were just worried. And unfortunately, being a parent was complicated and sometimes, your worry turned a little overbearing for your kids. 

This was a mistake every normal caring parents made. Wanting what was best for their children, sometimes not realizing they’re going too far. And you ? Your family wasn’t normal. 

Your children were vigilantes. Your worries were tuned up to the max.  

Being a parent was hard. And sometimes, both you and your kids were frustrated. It happened. In any family. 

It was resolved rather fast, most of the time. A little conversation, understanding and indulgence, and boom. Sorted. 

However, there were times when things would go a little too far. Wether because one of you was tired, or didn’t feel well etc etc...

Tonight, was such a time. 

“You, not my mom !” 

Cass didn’t even register what she said. She was just mad and frustrated, and said the first thing that came into her mind. Her hand slammed the door shut before she could even think about it. 

And here you were. In the corridor. In front of your daughter’s door. 

Hurt. And feeling as devastated as you did when her brothers told you the same thing. You would think, after a few times of this happening, it’d be easier, right ? Well. No. It wasn’t. It really wasn’t. 

As usual in those instances, you went to seek comfort in the arms of your husband. 

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

Cassandra didn’t feel ok. 

In fact, she felt absolutely terrible. 

She couldn’t even remember the last time she felt that bad. 

When she went to look for you and apologize for her behavior, she found you in her dad’s arms, crying, and it made her run away...

She couldn’t face you, knowing she truly hurt you like that. 

The worst thing is, she knew she would hurt you by saying those words. Yet she still did it. It was as if she couldn’t control herself. It was like an ugly force took over her, and made her say those words. 

But she knew. She knew she’s the one who ultimately decided to say them. She’s the one that pronounced them. Under the anger. 

Anger. 

The ugly force. 

She turned around in her bed, holding onto the plush toy you gave her shortly after her arrival. You said “every child should have one” and that this one made you think of her. 

It was a fox with bright colors. And it still smelled like you. 

She was about to fall asleep, when she heard a knock on her door. 

“Can we come in ?” 

It was her older brothers. 

Dick, Jason and Tim. 

It was rare, to have them all in the same place nowadays, what with how busy they all were. Dick with Bludhäven, Jason with the gods only knew what really (the gods, and you and Bruce...but sshhh, that’s a secret), and Tim with college applications. 

So Cass immediately understood that they heard about the fight she had with their mom. 

And she felt a rush of shame come over her. She felt sad too, because maybe they’d be mad at her ?

Cassandra didn’t think she could bear to break your heart, and have her precious brothers mad at her all in the same day. 

She almost told them to leave. But she didn’t have the strength. 

They surrounded her, and their presence was so...soothing. 

And then they spoke. They each told her the story of the time they told their mom those few dreaded words. 

“You’re not my real mom !” 

They told her how awful they felt, and how they knew they hurt their mom. They told her that...well, they did have the best mom ever. 

You never held any grudge. Ever. Especially not against your own family. 

You never even mentioned again the fact they told you this awful thing, you never even mentioned once this, under any circumstances. 

Her brothers stayed with her for hours, talking about their feelings on the matter. Telling her it happened. That everyone wasn’t always on their best behavior...

It was hard, for Cass, to not be “good”. She did so many awful things when her biological father raised her to be a weapon, she felt like she had to catch up so much on those years of “badness”. 

She often felt like she was evil, and could never caught up to everything. Like she was doomed, and could never become good. 

On that, Jason told her she was wrong. That everyone could change, and no one was born truly evil. Environment, and the way you’re raised, matter. And what she did...wasn’t her fault. She was forced to. If she really enjoyed doing this she’d never become a Batgirl. She would never be part of this family. 

She often felt like she was a bad daughter. 

On that, Dick told her she was wrong. He too, felt like a bad son, when he “replaced” his parents with you and Bruce. He too, felt like a bad son when he would get so mad while you would do anything to make him happy. He too, felt like a bad son...on so many occasions. But he grew. And thanks to you mainly, he realized he was just human. Mistakes are human. And it’s not being a bad son, to sometimes feel so hurt that you lash out. That your trauma are so strong, things sometimes are tough. 

She often felt like she couldn’t fit in, and would never fit in. 

On that, Tim told her she was wrong. Him too, felt too different. He already had parents, they were alive, he just wanted to help, he didn’t have any friends...But in this family. In this family, everyone fitted in. Because you made it so. Bruce made it saw. You both accepted any flaws, and differences your kids might have. You loved them unconditionally, they all knew that by now. 

And Cass...Cass didn’t want to hurt you. 

They knew that, too.

It was an accident. In the heat of the moment. She didn’t mean it. Of course, you are her mom. Of course...

It felt good, to have her brothers there for her, when you couldn’t be. 

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

Later that night, after her brothers left, Cass slowly exits her room and take the known way to yours and Bruce’s. 

You are both there, and she knows her dad stayed because you felt bad. He always stayed with you, when you were feeling down. And vice versa.

Cass always told herself that, later, if she ever found a significant other, she’d want her and them to have the same kind of relationships than you. You and Bruce set up a rather high standard for whoever would come into her life. 

But that was another story. For now, she was opening the door slowly, scared of waking you up. But you were awake. 

Bruce was asleep, deeply. As usual when he felt your warmth against him. But you were not. Cass could see you slowly and absentmindedly caress your husband’s hair. It was soothing to both of you. His silky smooth dark hair were soft in between your fingers, and helped you get your mind off of the pain and focus on the sensation, while for him...Well, it put him asleep, when you did that. 

The door creaked a little, and you abruptly turned your head towards it, ready to fight and...You instantly recognize your daughter, even in the dark of the room. 

She doesn’t need to talk. You manage to roll over Bruce, who then by instinct roll too, and therefor you create a little spot for your daughter to climb in bed with you. 

You turn around in Bruce’s arms, and slowly wrap them around your middle, instead of your shoulders. You turn towards Cass, your back against Bruce’s chest, and tap the small spot you managed to create next to you. 

Cass understands, and climbs in, facing you. She lays her head on her arms, as you do the same. And then she mouthes : 

“Sorry mom...” 

And that’s all you needed. You gesture for your daughter to cuddle up close, and she does. By instinct, Bruce lets go one arm off of you, and grabs his kid to bring her closer. He is still asleep, but it wouldn’t surprise anyone that his subconscious holds onto the two most important women in his life like so. 

And there she is. Cass feels safe. And warm. And she hears your heart beat softly. And she knows it partly beats for her. 

And partly for Bruce. And partly for Dick. And partly for Jason. And Tim. And Damian. And Duke. And Alfred. 

It beats for your family. 

For her family.

Family. 

She has a family. 

And you are her mom. 

Her biological father never hugged her, never told her everything was going to be alright, never... 

Cass never felt safe and warm. 

Like she did, right now, held by both you and Bruce. 

“Family...”

She whispers, as she slowly falls asleep. And you’re the only mom she ever wants to have. You are, her real mom. Always have been, always will be. 

DAMIAN 

Damian didn’t really think this was a big deal, at first. 

Just like his father, he often made the mistake to think that people around him will simply understand his true meaning. 

When he told you : “You’re not even my real mom !”, he obviously didn’t mean it. He was angry because you told him he couldn’t go out on patrol for a few days, as he was grounded for skipping school and going to work on cases instead. 

“But school is boring, I already know everything ??” 

“It’s the principle of it, Damian. You can’t just do what you want whenever you want, this is not how it works. I don’t feel like we’re extremely strict parents, so when you betray our trusts like that, it has consequences.”

Bruce kept out of the argument, ready to jump in however if you needed him to affirm  that yes, actions have consequences and although you two are pretty lax with your son on many fronts, he still has to listen. You and Bruce made clear rules when you first adopted Dick, because you realized your lifestyle was anything but normal, but it didn’t mean your children could just do anything they wanted. 

Neither of you wanted them to turn into privileged little brats. Or to think they were above everything. And you were right, by skipping school so much, and lying about it, Damian did betray your trust. 

Understanding actions had consequences was a big step that took a while, with Damian. Unfortunately, he grew up in an environment that indeed taught him he could do whatever he wanted, no matter if he hurt people on the way... 

Unlearning all this, was tough. And you understood that. Which is why you let things go a lot, with him, and only slowly told him about things. Gradually teaching him about your values and principles. 

However sometimes, like in this case, you needed to be firm and strict, because otherwise he’d just keep doing it knowing it had no bad consequences, and you didn’t want him to simply not go to school anymore...School was important for his social development, you realized it as he made friends and...

And simply, an eleven years old kid couldn’t just roam around all day as he saw fit. That’s it. And so here you were, trying to explain this to him. And that’s when he said it. 

He scrunched up his nose like he always did when he was angry, and then, turning his head away from you, throwing his Robin boots at the back of the cave. 

“You can’t tell me what to do, you’re not even my real mom !” 

And then he bolted out of the Batcave, leaving you behind, with a broken heart and feeling guilty...What if he hates you, because you were too harsh on him ? 

Bruce, that night, did not go out on patrol either, and stayed with you. Of course, he did. 

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

The fact he still listened to you and didn’t go out, made him thought you knew he was just angry and didn’t mean a word of it. 

To him, it was so obvious he thought of you as his mom, and that he said this just because he wanted to have the last word, that he honestly didn’t think much of it. 

Sure he was frustrated and angry, just like any kid was when their parents said : “no” to them. But he didn't mean it... 

He didn’t really see you of the entire day. Finally, he decided to go see his father to ask him what was up. 

“Father ?”

“Yes ?”

“Is-is mom ok ?”

“Well, what do you think ?” 

“She doesn’t seem ok.” 

“Do you know why ?” 

“Did you do something to upset her ?” 

Normally, Bruce would feel vex at this statement. What, did he really do things to upset you that often ? Yes and now. Sometimes,  he would get on your nerve, and vice versa. It happened, in relationships.

But it was never anything major. Not anymore at least. Because now, when he had his “dark days” and could be a total jerk, you knew how to handle him. You knew not to take his bullshit. 

Yes. Normally, Bruce would pout like a child, at the fact his son thought that his mom was feeling down because of him. But not today. No. 

Because he knew that what made you sad, was something important.

Unfortunately, Damian inherited from him his bad habit of thinking others will understand his meaning. 

Like, when he tried to push you away at first so you wouldn't get involved in his crazy life, what he really wanted was for you to get closer...Or when he told you that he was fine at times, all he wanted was for you to hold him and take care of him etc etc...The first time he told you “I love you”, wasn’t with words, but by not going on patrol one night, to stay with you. And he thought you’d immediately understand that he truly loved you...Truth was, it wasn’t as obvious to you (or anyone really) than it was for him. 

And Damian had the same problem. Doing things that he thought would obviously tell his meaning, his real feelings, when really...No one but him would get it. 

Although you became quite good at deciphering your husband’s true intentions, you could still misinterpret things sometimes. 

And yesterday night, when you grounded your son and tried to teach him a life lesson...You definitely didn’t see that he didn’t mean what he said and just wanted the last word. For you, he was seriously meaning it. And that’s why you were avoiding him a little, because it was too hard to...to... 

Damian’s words truly hurt you. You often were scared he could never see you as his mom (even if he did call you mom now and clearly cared for you) because of how he grew up. You’d never give up on him, of course, but it didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt when he pushed you away or pretended to not care... 

Damian thought it was obvious, that his actions actually reflected how much you meant to him. That without you, he’d be lost and honestly wouldn’t want to live in a world where you weren’t. 

But it wasn’t obvious. 

Bruce sighed, and then smiled : 

“Since when is she acting odd ?” 

“This morning. She didn’t kiss me goodbye when she went to work !”

It felt like such a serious issue to your boy, in that instant, that Bruce wished you were there to see his reaction. You’d instantly know he didn’t mean it, when he said you weren’t his mom... 

But you couldn’t quite face him. You didn’t really avoid him or try to hurt him by not saying goodbye. Of course not, you were an adult, and you definitely knew that doing to others what was done to you is pointless, and mean. And why hurt someone the same way they hurt you ? You’re no better than them uh... 

“Can you think of anything that might’ve upset her ?” 

“I spilled my milk a little, but cleaned it after. I didn’t let Alfred do it like last time. I woke up a minute late, too. Jason hasn’t called in two days, but he was there yesterday afternoon. Dick said she messed up her pumpkin soup but he was just joking and she knows. Tim fell asleep at the breakfast table. You clinging to her this morning apparently made her late, I heard Alfred say it. Um...Cass um...Cass didn’t do anything bad really...None of those things sound like it would upset her though ! She really looked sad this morning, not like herself at all !” 

Bruce couldn’t help but smile. It was pretty cute, how Damian often acted as if he didn’t care about anything, yet no details would ever go past him. Especially not when it came to his family. He always noticed, when one of them felt down in any way, and tried to help (in his own way). 

Hell, he probably woke Tim up and told him to sleep more and take care of himself. Called Jason and told him to call his mom. Scolded Dick to not make this kind of jokes again. 

This was just the Damian that was privy only to them. A sweet child, who unfortunately often had trouble expressing his true feelings. 

Just like his father. 

Damian would often brag about his siblings, and how awesome they were, to his friends (notably to Jon, who didn’t have any siblings). But he’d never tell them right in front of their face. 

Bruce tried to help Damian see what was wrong, and said : 

“What about last night ?” 

“Ugh ? What about last n-OH !” 

Damian replayed the events in his head, and remembered his anger and frustration. But most importantly...What he told his mom. 

“I have to find mom ! Where is she ?!” 

Damian looked absolutely panicked, which was quite unlike him. Bruce answered : 

“She’s at work, she had a meeting with her editor. She should be back soon, though.” 

And on that note, Damian ran out to do god knew what, as Bruce shook his head and...Well, he just knew things would turn out alright. 

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

Alfred almost fainted, when he saw Damian tear off his beautiful flowers from his garden. He almost ran out, and had a very “get off my lawn !” moment...up until he realized that the boy was probably doing this for a reason. 

Oh. Oh his poor lilies.  

Hopefully, this really was for a good reason. A very good one. One so good, that it would stop him from strangling his grandkid, hopefully...

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

When you came home, Damian was waiting for you at the front door. He had a bunch of lilies in his hands (that you were pretty sure were from Alfred’s precious garden) and he looked absolutely frantic. 

He ran to you, almost threw the flowers in your arms, and yelled : 

“I’M SORRY I DIDN’T MEAN IT !! YOU ARE MY REAL MOM ! I WAS JUST ANGRY ! I’M SORRY !!” 

You were a little confused as to why he was yelling, but before you could continue he took a drawing out of his pocket and added : 

“THIS IS A DRAWING OF YOU ! I MADE IT FOR YOU !! YOU ARE MY MOM ! YOU REALLY ARE ! PLEASE FORGIVE ME !! I’M SORRY !! DO NOT BE MAD AT ME !!” 

Still confused as to why he was screaming, you bend down to look at him eye level, settled the flowers on the floor, and said : 

“It’s ok Damian. It’s ok. We all get frustrated sometimes...I won’t lie and say it didn’t hurt, but it’s ok. It happens.” 

Damian’s face showed great relief, and he leaped into your arms, yelling : 

“I LOVE YOU !!” 

You winced as he screamed in your ear, and said : 

“Why are you yelling, little one ?” 

Damian took a step back from you and said : 

“BECAUSE I HAVE TROUBLE EXPRESSING MYSELF AND JASON TOLD ME THAT SAYING THINGS IN AN AGGRESSIVE WAY MIGHT HELP !! AND HE’S RIGHT !! I LOVE YOU !!”

Damian told you he loved you before, in certain moments. When he got really hurt, when you were really hurt, if he felt really sad...It was always a moment full of emotions. And it was still rather hard for him to say the words. 

It didn’t really surprise you that Jason would have such a technique. Yelling his feelings. Yep. Sounds like him alright. And it did seem like it worked for his little brother too. 

Only you and your close family would know, because you were the only ones to truly know him, but those two were more similar than others would think. And it wasn’t because they already killed before. Oh no. On the contrary. 

“I love you too, my little one...” 

You say, as he goes back for another hug, clearly relieved you’re not mad at him. From this day on, he swore to himself that he would really try to tell others’ what he truly felt, even if it meant yelling it at them. Because other wise...otherwise it’d create this sort of terrible situations, in which his mom thought he didn’t think of her as his mom ! 

He couldn’t have it, anymore. Many “I LOVE YOU !!” were heard in the Manor, from that point on. 

DUKE 

“You know you can tell me anything, right ?” 

Duke doesn’t know why this time, this made him snap. 

Today was the anniversary of when his parents got “jokerize”, it had been two years already...And not one step closer to cure them ! He was so frustrated, sad, and lost. And you noticed. 

Duke tend to try to keep things inside. Not that he didn’t want to bother anyone, more like he just thought he HAD to handle things himself. Like it would make him stronger, and therefor, he could protect those he cares about. 

He could protect them, unlike when he could do nothing but watch as his parents fell into madness...He couldn’t bear the thought of this happening to you, Bruce, or any member of this family ! Not again. 

He couldn’t bear it...

“You’re not even my mom ! Stop acting like you are !” 

Are the words he heard himself scream at you as you asked him if everything was ok, and if he needed to talk. As you were caring, once again, and he just couldn’t...he couldn’t stand it ! Not today.

Not today. 

He immediately saw on your face the way you shut down, and took one step behind. The way your face “closed”, and as you said : “I understand.” and left the room, your body stiff and your face inexpressive (which was very unlike you), Duke felt it. 

The guilt. 

Right away.

When those dreaded words were said by all your other kids, they were young. They were all under the age of ten, and the immediate consequences of their actions didn’t truly registered. 

But Duke. 

Duke was almost eighteen. And he knew. He knew he hurt you. 

He felt the need to run after you and apologized, but there was something stopping him. 

After all, it was true right, you weren’t his mom ! His mom was still alive, and she could be cured one day ! HE ALREADY HAVE A MOM ! 

So what if you always cooked him his favorite meal, or knew exactly what his favorite food was ? So what if you would go out of your way to grab his favorite burger from his favorite joints when you knew he felt down ? 

So what, if you were always there when he was sad ? Cheering him up with comfort food, kind words, and just your presence ? 

So what if you knew exactly what would make him feel better, which movie to put on to put a smile on his face ? 

So what, if you spend entire night right by his bedside when he got really hurt, or when he was sick ? 

So what if you’d listen to him at any time of the day or night, and always took time to give him your thoughts on the matter, and truly, truly listen to what he was saying instead of waiting for your turn to speak ? 

So what if you’d make him laugh, smile, feel loved, even as he felt so alone and isolated, especially after he discovered his powers ? 

So what if you never made him feel like he was different because of it ? 

So what if you opened your house’s door without a second thought for this unknown teenager who was also a meta ?!

So what...so what...so what if you obviously cared a lot, and if you...if you... 

He already had a mom. And she might get better one day. 

He couldn’t have two moms. 

...

...

Right ? 

What would happen when his parents would be cured ? Forget all his feelings for the Waynes ? So it’d be easier to pretend he wasn’t part of the family, right ? 

It would be easier. 

Yes. 

But it was too late. 

It was too late... 

He ran after you. Caught up with you in the corridor. Tears in his eyes, he said : 

“I’m sorry, please don’t go...”

And fell into your arms. Almost eighteen years old, yes, but still needed the support of a mother. Of his mother. 

And you were there. You’d always be there, no matter what happened in the future. And he needed you, especially in that moment of frustration, where he really missed his parents, and was starting to lose hope to ever find a cure... 

And you were there.

Who ever made a rule that you could have only one mom anyway, right ?

BRUCE 

They did tell him “you’re not my dad !” too. And for him, it was as terrible as for you. If not worst, on certain aspect. Especially since he had a hard times truly expressing his feelings more often than not. 

He knows how devastating it can feel. He knows it even more, because not only did he feel it as they told him “you’re not my dad !”, but he also felt it as he told Alfred “you’re not my dad !”. He knew the feelings from both sides. 

It enhanced everything. 

Of course, in general, Bruce always felt things more than anyone else around him. He was born like that. Hypersensitive. That’s why he worked so much on hiding his true feelings, and appearing detached and cold. 

It’s much easier, than to always being overemotional. Of course, it didn’t mean he felt nothing. On the contrary, he felt everything. He was just better, nowadays, at pretending he was okay. At pretending he didn’t care. 

Ah. But you existed. 

You. 

The only person that could always see through his bullshit, and know when he was lying and fake smiling. 

Between the two of you, there has always been something. Even before you were together. It was an irrational and irresistible attraction. 

An unbreakable bond. Always supporting each others. 

You have no idea how you’d live without him. And he couldn’t even fathom a world without you. It’s a world he wouldn’t like very much...  

Even during the worst times, and oh you went through a lot together, you knew at least...at least you’d have warm arms to fall asleep in. At least, you’d have each others. 

Bruce had known pain so strong he sometimes wished death would just take him away. And then you came in. Ready to put up with his shit, and to not give up on him even when he gave you every reason to. 

And oh, oh he gave you back everything times a thousand. You knew he’d never let you fall. Not alone. 

Whenever something hurtful as your children telling you two you weren’t their real parents happened...It’s when you truly realized how vital you were to each others. 

When you fell, Bruce was there to catch you. 

When he fell, you were there to catch him. 

Better to fall together, than to stand alone. 

__________________________________________________

And here we are :). I hope you liked it ? Don’t hesitate to leave a little feedback and reblog if you want to ^^. I’m a little afraid I disappointed y’all for some reasons haha. I couldn’t explain. Self-confidence crisis hahaha. I finished writing that late, and exhausted after a hard week, maybe it plays into account ? Anyway, I really do hope you enjoyed your time reading this :). And thanks for reading, of course ^^. 

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Batman x Reader #Batmom #Batfam x Reader #Batkids x reader #Batfam imagine #Batmom x Batfam #Batfam #Batfamily #Richard Grayson x Reader #Jason Todd x Reader #Tim Drake x reader #Cassandra Cain x Reader #Damian Wayne x Reader #Duke Thomas x Reader #Bruce Wayne imagine #Richard Grayson imagine #Batfamily imagine #Jason Todd imagine #Tim Drake imagine #Cass Cain imagine #Damian Wayne imagine #Duke Thomas imagine #Nightwing x reader #Red Hood x reader #Robin x Reader #Red Robin x Reader #Signal x Reader #Batgirl x Reader #Fem!Reader

[witch-hazels-musings]

Angst in coming. Diluc Zhongli and your pick being haunted by the SO they couldnt save.

Lingering Regret

Warning -> Only Angst (there isn’t a happy ending here, the reader is dead, all interactions are memories*, mentions of Kaeya (D), illness non-specific (Zh)) 

( i made myself cry ) 

Character X GN Reader | Anthology 

Includes: Dainsleif, Diluc, Zhongli 

The ghosts of the past cling to our shadows and seep into our memories when we least expect them to. For some they can move on, they can be healed by the passing of time, but for others, it becomes a festering wound that will never seal. 

Dainsleif

He was no stranger to regret, absolutely everything in his life was a torturous experience. From the day he became the Bough Keeper to the night he failed them all, it was a memory burned in his mind for all eternity and as if he bore the weight of all of Teyvats karma he wove it into the fabric of his being 

There was nothing he thought could break him more, could lower himself further into the sinking sandpit that was his life - that was until the day he met you

Just how many years ago was it now. With the curse of immortality like a chain to a world he was obligated to avenge, it was growing harder and harder to remember you - but there were moments when he could see and those were the ones he longed to hold onto 

“Dainsleif, are you ready?” Your voice called down to him, his eyes flooded by the bright light that surrounded you as you patiently waited for him to climb the dark stairs. You followed him everywhere, much to his disagreement, but he had grown warm to your company. “The day won’t wait for us, you know.” 

The light was so bright, why was it hiding your face? Wait -- let me see your face, I can’t remember. Don’t … don’t leave. 

He blamed himself for your death - there was no one else who could have stopped it but him and, on the day you left this world to a place he had no way of reaching, was the day he stopped caring 

There were rumors of a man who took little to no payment for almost any job - 300 mora and he’d handle your issue. They called him “The soulless vessel” for he was void of any and all emotions 

How could he hold onto something that he didn’t understand anymore, how was he capable of experiencing a sensation that had no more purpose - he was nothing but a shell without you 

“Psst, Daini. Hey sleepy, wake up.” The sound of your laughter, let me hear it again.

“Silly, we can’t sleep forever, wake up.” The touch of your hands, oh I remember them now … were they always this small. 

“I guess we can rest a bit longer, you know I won’t mind.” Your lips, how could I have forgotten their warmth; I’ll let you remind me. 

“Dainsleif, I love you.” 

The birds pulled him from his dream, their chirping calls to each other a playful and carefree tune. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face, how it cast its glow across his lips but as the memory of his dream began to fade away he covered his eyes with his hand to hide the tears that disappeared into his hair.

“Forgive me …” 

 Diluc

Lingering ghosts loved to slip into the darkness that was Diluc Ragnvindr - when they fit so perfectly there, why wouldn’t they make him their home 

He had countless people close to him perish and each one was a direct result of his actions - his father, a slash of a blade, his brother, a clash of opposing elements, his values, a single dismiss of a hand, his friends, the darkness of the abyss and the hands of the Fatui -- there was nothing he let get close anymore because it was only a matter of time before he brought it crumbling to the pit of his existence 

How could he have been so naive - what was hope but a debilitating disease and yet you purged all of that from his mind every time you entered his space, every time you pushed your way past the walls he so expertly crafted -- you were the last thing he clung to, the last light he vowed to protect 

“You know, you don’t have to worry about me all the time, I’m more capable than you think.” You crossed your arms and gave him a cocky smirk, the bag of supplies resting at your feet as they waited for you to pick them back up again. It was only because of his hesitancy that they were there in the first place. 

“I have seen your capabilities many times, yes.” 

“So, what, you don’t trust me.” 

“That is far from the truth.” He looked at you for a moment before sighing in defeat. His hand reached for the bag and lifted it to your hands. “Do be careful, is all that I ask.” 

“You know I will.” With a bright smile, you took the pack and slung it over your shoulder. In your excitement, you turned toward the door before pausing as if you forgot something and when you hurled yourself back to him only to place a kiss on his lips, he felt the heat from his pounding heart rise into his cheeks. “See you soon, handsome.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

The distant and closed-off winery owner turned into a being of rage the day of your death. No matter how hard those closest to him tried to quell the wildfire that was his fury, they could only stand back and deal with the aftermath - The flame of Diluc’s devastation was so great that it left a permanent scar in Mondstadt and to this day the earth has yet to heal 

It was on him to protect you and he couldn’t, he wasn’t even there to try and he wasn’t sure what was worse - but one was for sure, the anguish he felt knowing you called out for him but he never came to save you ate him up inside. He wasn’t Diluc Ragnvindr anymore, he was no-one 

“Diluc! Come back!” Kaeya shouted but he couldn’t hear over the sound of the violent crashing and eerie nothingness in front of him. 

“Kaeya, don’t!” Another voice joined the noise but Diluc didn’t turn around. In front of him was the only answer to his shattered and empty heart. 

“Diluc please, they wouldn’t want this!” Kaeya reached for Diluc’s arm but the pressure and wind from the opening were so great it felt like a thousand anchors were strapped to his body. “Diluc!” 

Suddenly, there was silence. No noise, no sound but the world continued to whip around like a violent storm. Kaeya’s fingers touched the fabric of his brother's coat and, as Diluc turned his head to look back, tears were streaming down his face. It was strange to see Diluc’s lips moving as if he were saying something but there was nothing, an unbearable amount of nothing.

Riddled with fear, Kaeya extended his hand toward the rip in space and as soon as he felt the pulse of his vision escape his fingers, his others curled around Diluc’s jacket and flung him backward. In the settling explosion, the sound of the world slipped back in and as those who cared deeply for the man who no longer knew his name drew closer, the first thing they saw was his hunched-over body guarded by blue and the sound of his painful cries. 

Zhongli

To know suffering, to know loss was nothing new to the Geo Archon. For six thousand years he watched those close to him rise in greatness and fall in agony - for some they were thrust into death by a number of means and for others, well, his hands have never been clean 

Still, even if he had known what it was like to lose someone he loved, it was never easy and while he always knew the day would come when you left this world to walk a path he’d never know, it wasn’t something he expected so soon 

There were endless memories he couldn’t wait to make with you - the engraving your life into the notches of his soul, to be reminded of your face by simply turning around, to recall your wit with banter of his own, to be inspired by you every single day he stepped out the door -- why didn’t you stay 

“Welcome home, Zhongli.” You were already preparing the table with the teacups by the time he entered your home. It was elegant incarnate to watch you move around the room, to place everything so perfectly and properly that he wondered if you hadn’t been a spirit in another life. 

“I am home.” He reached for your waist and pulled you close, his smile setting yours off, and as the kettle began to sound he first greeted you with a heartwarming kiss. 

There are many things he can circumvent - his capabilities are endless but he found that no matter how strong a person is, there is one thing strength cannot beat 

To watch you slowly suffer was a torturous thing. Every day you grew weaker and weaker, your skin changed but the kindness of your smile outweighed it all until the day finally came ... 

A ceremony to send someone off is a beautiful thing, a celebration of their life while they kept it their own, a remembrance and blessing to hold strong every impact they made - but to Zhongli that day was laced with bitterness 

He made the arduous steps up the hillside. His legs carried him on even when nothing else of him felt the desire to do so. When he finally reached the peak, he prepared everything so skillfully as if he’d practiced this a thousand times, and it's possible he did for there was no end to his life even if he wished for it. 

“My dear, the flowers are blooming splendidly.” He set the burning incense by the weathered tombstone. It had faded and eroded over the years, but as he brushed the engraving with his fingers, he could still make out its marks. 

The chimes in the tree rang out as he poured a glass of tea before setting it against the small offering before you. “Ah, I can only hope you are able to see them from beyond the veil.” As he gazed out over the vast field, the sun illuminated the thousands of flowers that surrounded your grave, and, as he took a sip of his tea, he sighed contentedly before continuing, “Never worry, I shall cultivate more until you do. I know how fond you were of flowers.”

--

tag list:

@star-gods @mercurysmaiden @dourpeep @clemmywrites @handswritteeen @musekala @mooshymello @glazelilyy @twokissesforamelia @angel-melt @lucacandy @marianadi @smol-knife @nightlywallows @aoirohi @mguerra11 @lucy-roo @maiiikoo @nonniechan @tempehlust @zenith-impact @plumpkie @jaggedsi @salty-salty @onlyhereforinteractivestories @liebestraumss @jaemjenjam @softlybeloved @anatthesavage @mkazuyuh @excitedlysuffering @kaidou-pie @yujiia @cytomegalia @natxxu @fvushiguros @nua-fromliyue @nightlywallows @yoshikuno @anonymousficreader @cyphermagic @chichikoi @akira-kiryu 

#genshin impact #genshin impact X reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #dainsleif #genshin impact dainsleif #dainsleif x reader #diluc X reader #diluc #genshin diluc #genshin impact diluc #diluc ragnvindr #Zhongli X reader #zhongli #genshin zhongli #genshin impact zhongli #i made myself cry #sorry #also #leaves from the vine anyone?

[write-nerdy-to-me]

~ destiel fic, hurt/comfort, 1k words, for @castielsdisciple​  

“Be still,” Dean murmurs to Cas when he flinches away again. He’s tried to minimize how much he pokes and digs, knowing what a bitch it is to be on the business end of pliers, but he can’t help that some of the shards are buried deep. He waits patiently as Cas takes a large swallow from the whiskey bottle he’s clutched like a lifeline, then Dean picks out yet another broken glass piece and drops it into the cup next to his hip.  

It couldn’t have just been a cut-and-dry D-list case, because life — this life especially — doesn't work like that. It was inevitable for shit to go sideways on them, and it’s laughable, fucking inane Dean ever dared to think otherwise. (“Good things do happen, Dean,” Cas said to him once. Dean’s still not convinced that's true.) 

Dean doesn’t know what it is about Cas, but the monster, like, fixated on him. The whole night, no matter how hard Dean fought to get the ugly bastard's attention, it kept going after Cas. Then monster grabbed and fucking bodily tossed him out the window and let out a roar that felt like it shook the whole house; Dean's only felt his heart leap into his throat like that a few times. He didn't get time to even process what happened because the monster, having taken out one opponent, turned and advanced on him. Dean had to finish the job alone, not knowing if Cas was even still alive. He ran to find Cas lying on a patch of wood chips, shattered glass surrounding him like a halo. Those few short moments felt like several lifetimes as he slid to his knees next to Cas, who was winded and aching and breathing. ("You alive?" Dean asked, and Cas huffed out a pained laugh and flipped him the bird. "Yeah — yeah, you're alive, you asshole.") 

Dean could swear that Cas has a deathwish or something because the reckless motherfucker refused to be checked out at the hospital. Dean insisted that he needed to go, as only so much could be done with the sparse supplies they had. They argued, and in the end, Cas’ stubborn glare won out. If he was gonna be like that, then Dean figured the sooner they get a move on and save Cas from his own bullheaded stupidity, the better. The last thing they need is Cas getting an infection. And the way he climbed into the Impala, slow, graceless, hiding his winces and grinding his teeth, only further proved that they should head to the hospital, but Dean held his tongue.

The ride back to the motel was, to say the least, unpleasant. In their room, it’s not much better. 

For the past hour now, Dean’s painstakingly removed a myriad of embedded glass and wood shards from Cas’ back, wiped away the blood, and applied ice to the welts that have already turned angry and dark. Cas hasn’t said a word since their fight— that disagreement back at the old farmhouse, but Dean's talked plenty for the both of them. He’s lost count of how many times he’s repeated this mantra: Be still, be still. How many times it’s followed by tiny plinks of glass and wood into a plastic cup. Dean would think Cas finds it patronizing — insulting, even — if it weren’t for the way the coiled tension in Cas’ shoulders starts to ease whenever he speaks. If it makes this process easier for him… well, then who’s Dean to deny him?

“Be still. I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Another glass piece. Plink.

The A/C unit in the corner kicks over with a wheeze. Cas says, “I don’t deserve this,” in a voice so hushed Dean would’ve missed it if he wasn’t sitting right behind him. 

Dean’s hands stop, just for a moment. Plink, plink. “What are you talking about?”

Cas sighs. “I don’t deserve this. Your attention, your care, your lo—” He cuts himself off, arms coming around his middle and shoulders hunching away from Dean’s hands. A soft hiss escapes his lips as the motion tugs sharply at his wounds. He sounds like wishes he could take back the words the second they leave his mouth and hates himself for it. “Your kindness. I don’t deserve it.”

How could Cas think so little of himself? Believe himself so unworthy that he shouldn’t even receive the most basic care? But Dean gets it, maybe more than Cas realizes. “That’s bullshit,” Dean says mildly. Plink. 

“Dean...” Cas starts to shift further away from him, and that won’t do, because he needs to listen, needs to hear what Dean’s telling him, and he won’t if he’s already sinking into himself. 

“Don’t, I’m not finished,” Dean admonishes quietly. “I’m serious. Don’t move.” He touches Cas’ waist and— and he just stills with a shaky breath. If this were any other time, Dean would dwell on how Cas caves at the slightest touch initiated from him, how he always just lets him.

When it seems like Cas isn’t on the verge of bolting, Dean says, “I know there's something about this case that got to you bad — don’t think I didn’t notice, man.” Hunts aren't easy, and unexpected bodies turning up are never something a good hunter takes lightly, but Cas seemed to take each one like a devastating blow. Dean tried to press Cas about it, and he shook off Dean’s worry and pretended that everything was fine. Dean doesn't have to be a good hunter to know Cas was lying. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Cas turns his face away. “There’s nothing to talk about.” A beat. Then, “I think you’d be better off hunting with Sam again.”

The fuck? Taken aback, heat starts to crawl up Dean’s face. Part of him wants to be angry — hell, he kinda is, underneath the hurt — but he takes a breath and lets it out slowly, for once grateful Cas is facing the other way. “I like hunting with you. Besides, Sam's got his club going on, and anything with Eileen he likes to be involved.”

“Maybe you should have a different partner. One that doesn’t fuck up.”

“Everyone fucks up,” Dean says defensively. “Cas, if this is about what you did, you’re already forgiven for that—” 

But Cas isn’t listening. The dam's busted open. “I’m supposed to— I used to be an angel. My powers, I could... I could help you, I could help Sam, but now I can’t — I can’t even do that.” Cas covers his face with his hands, rakes them roughly up through his hair. “I’m — I’m useless.”

Dean’s heart clenches sharply. He knew that the fading powers and subsequent loss of them had been hard on Cas, but Dean didn’t know it was affecting him this badly. Then he feels like an asshole, because of course this was, for fuck's sake. “Cas…”

Cas turns around, winces as he moves too quickly. He touches Dean’s face with gentle, hesitant fingers. There are scrapes and cuts Dean hasn’t taken care of yet, too occupied with making sure Cas doesn’t get a damn infection. Cas’ eyes grow sad; his brow furrows. “I miss— With a touch, I could heal you. I wouldn’t need you to care for me this — this way.” 

“Cas, man, you gotta know that it’s never been about your powers. You’re not a-a tool, Cas. All I want— It’s just you. I told you, man. I’d rather have you. Nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

Cas is quiet for a minute. “Your faith... I've always admired it. How you put your trust in people. You're a good man, Dean."

"Yeah, well." Dean clears his throat. "Gotta make up for all the bad shit I've done, right?"

Cas hums, unconvinced. He grabs the damp rag that held the ice, shaking out the remaining pieces. He doesn’t seem to care where the ice landed. "Let me?" 

Dean almost says no, he's fine, but something in the way Cas looks at him... "Okay."

Cas wipes away the dried blood on Dean's face. Lately, he and Cas would be arguing, if they weren’t busy giving each other the cold-shoulder. It’s not the first time they’ve been at opposite ends or had disagreements — Dean refuses to say they bickered — not by a long shot. It’s just... been a while. Dean thought they were past petty fights. Now, though, they fall into a comfortable silence, for once not thick with tension from the unsaid. 

Cas’ thumb traces over the scar on Dean's chin, and he says, a hopeless look in his eye, "I love you. Did you know that?"

Dean just breathes and touches Cas' wrist. "Cas..."

"You don't have to say anything. I just thought you should know."

Dean tugs the rag out of Cas' hand. His mind is taking a second to reboot. But he knows — he knows he needs to kiss Cas right now. "C’mere," he mumbles and cups Cas' face between his palms and presses their mouths together. When they separate to breathe, Dean says, “It’s always you, Cas. You know that.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I love you.” The smile Cas gives him is soft and crooked and still sad. Dean’s not stupid; he knows things with Cas are rocky at best, but it’s a start. “Now turn back around so I can get the rest of the junk out, asshole.”

#i had a hard time getting this to flow but it's DONE #FINALLY #i hope this is to your liking #i tried to make it whumpy #also lol #it ended with cas taking care of dean #listen cas just wants to feel useful and maybe this way he can speak dean's language #they're not always good with words #cas whump #human!cas #hurt!cas #caretaker!dean #hurt/comfort #mutual hurt/comfort #dean is touch-starved #cas has self-esteem issues #dean has self-esteem issues #so on par with the show #destiel #destiel fic #fic prompt #nerdy writes shit #i've become spn trash #long post for ts

[rcksmith]

Felling — Five Hargreeves

Request: “Hi love could you maybe do #38 from the fluff prompts for Five where maybe Five is struggling with accepting the reader trying to be like romantic or affectionate with him !!! Thank you I love you !!!!”

Fluff Prompts:

38. “You say you hate it but your red face is telling me otherwise.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here!!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

I loved this request so much! I found it so cute and adorable!! ❤️ I hope it got close to what you wanted. I love you❤️

Here I used some fragments of Five's original chronology because it would help with the plot, but guys, keep in mind, please, that he is a 20 or more.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves/Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Just bad words, it is very fluff.

— — — — — —

The Hargreeves were a family full of wounds, trauma and deep-seated fears. They were trained to be super heroes. Strong, courageous, centered, perfect. And that was why no emotion could be on the way to that goal. Feeling love, passion, affection and affection was the gateway to becoming vulnerable. And a superhero couldn't be vulnerable. So they were denied that their whole lives.

Within each one pulsed a different problem, a different trauma. Denying love to a child only made him develop complications to connect with his emotions, feel empathy and be able to deal with different contrasts in a healthy way.

The Hargreeves brothers' lives were not easy, but some of them found, in the beginning, a way to connect with different types of love; Luther and Alissom for each other, Diego for the maternal love, Klaus and Ben in the partnership and complicity for each other. Vayna found her way in love for her brothers when her biggest internal problems were resolved.

But Five... well, Five was alone in the abyss of the apocalypse.

He did not have a chance to mature his feelings, deal with his psychological and transform the various traumas into something productive and healthy. Then, in the midst of loneliness, devastation and chaos, Five just threw his feelings under the rug until, like his childhood brothers, they stopped harassing him.

As they never had the opportunity to mature, those sensations remained on a primitive level. And his complications to bond with his emotions became even more broken when Five had to kill for the Commission.

Facing death and being the author of such devastation was not a mild endeavor. The smell of death was still in the air if Five stopped to concentrate on breathing, and the murder scenes were still fresh in his mind when he slept. But, just as Five did with any feeling, he just pushed them under the rug once again.

He didn't want to deal with them. They brought, for Five, pains, fears, weaknesses and a constant reminder that, perhaps, he... had failed in many things. And Five hated seeing himself as a failure.

And that was when he came home. And even when the waters have calmed down, when the winter breeze gently touched his face, when he can rest, dealing with feelings was something he still repudiated.

But that's when Five met you, and his whole world was turned upside down. When you first looked into his eyes, fierce, warm heat swept through Five's body, from the top of his head to his toes. The heat immediately gave way to a cold sweat.

Five thought it was just a second of madness, in which his system had given a blue screen for something else, not for you. But as soon as you smiled at him, there was a quick feeling of being stabbed near the diaphragm or in the belly. His composure didn't waver an inch, but he felt like he couldn't breathe.

The situation took on unimaginable proportions. You are going the Hargreeves mansion a lot times , since, what has been said, you were friends with the brothers, and Five lived lost in an agitated sea of ​​exasperating feelings whenever he was near you.

You were brilliant as the sun, smiling as happiness, beautiful as masterpieces and stunning as the evening. You were the personification of…Perfection, was the Five thought at the time. And it almost broke his heart, because he could never have you for himself.

Five couldn't because, as much as he refused to admit it, wouldn't know how. He couldn't because the whirlwind of emotions was a fierce scream that caused a stir in his mind. Five looked at you and saw a masterpiece - sublime and human art at the same time - and he didn't know how to name those emotions. And now, unexpectedly trapped by the intensity, Five was unable to reason properly when he was close to you.

All he could see was an excessively beautiful girl who was standing in front of him as something he wanted very much. And if you understood the state Five was in whenever you talked to him, you would have stopped at the first sentence. No, if you really understood, you would end up running as fast as you could. But you could not understand what Five did not understand.

So he preferred the loneliness of the apocalypse to those emotions that made him feel hot and cold at the same time, which seemed like his stomach was filling with birds, all beating their wings and trying to escape, and then his hands started to shake.

Five didn't know what it was all about, a mixture of emotions; attraction, passion, an overwhelming desire to touch you. But even if he knew how to name it all, he wouldn't know how to act. Five was a genius, he could solve the biggest equations about space and time with his eyes closed, but as a lover, however, he put his feet in his hands.

Five never thought of the most tender emotions without coldness and objectivity, they were great to justify the actions of human beings. But you have revoked absolutely everything.

Over time, it started to hurt physically in Five not to touch you, not to succumb to the most overwhelming wills. And then, one night he took refuge in a bottle of vodka, you walked in the door and it was the end for Five. He got up from the bar, came to you in determined and firm steps, and, sending everything to hell, held your face in his hands and kissed you as if he wanted to do this for a lifetime. Maybe more.

You were the opposite of Five. It was as if you were the heat and he was the ice, day and night. You burned like summer heat and Five burned like winter cold. You were everything Five was not: extroverted, agitated, knew how to deal with emotions very well, you were passionate, caring, loving, you loved physical contact. So when you returned the kiss, Five felt himself burning with your warm touch.

You wrapped your fingers around the black strands on the back of his neck, letting him put your bodies together and the kiss started to heat up. And then you said:

“You're beautiful.”

And that's where Five fell in love with you. He fell in love because when you took a breath and looked into his eyes when you said that, he felt like you could see the depths of his soul, all the secrets, all the sins, all the fears. You knew him, deeply.

Five was no longer able to stay away from you after this event. He always chose your side at a table, he was very less acid in conversation whit you were. And when you two played chess, and he let you win on purpose just to see your happy smile and your eyes shining, he knew was in trouble.

While Five tried to deal with so many new emotions and so many traumas, you were the opposite. You have been in love with him for so long, even when you saw his painting on top of the fireplace, you felt something different. So when you two kissed, came closer, you let your feelings out.

You were a loving person by nature, you loved hugging people, physical contact. You were an incorrigible romantic and, to be honest, you loved being like that. You loved feeling too much.

So with Five it was no different. You liked holding hands, hugs, more tender kisses and also quick hello kisses or bye. You loved touching physically, either way. But being like that taught you that many people didn't taste the same as you. And in the case of the Hargreeves, so broken and lost, dealing with feelings was not easy, especially to express it physically.

But with Five it was… more difficult.

He was very reserved, controlled, closed. You felt perfectly when he went rigid whenever you touched him: any affection on the arm, kiss on the cheek when you had to go to college, hugs.

You started to think that maybe he didn't like you that much or didn't want something serious, but Five was always looking for you. Whether showing up at your apartment, in your room, or going to be near you at the mansion or kissing you. So you ended up realizing that he just didn't handle feelings well.

It was very cold that night, you were in your room with the books and college notebooks on the bed, trying to solve some calculus equations, otherwise you would end up repeating in that subject. Your head was already pounding and you were getting frustrated, it was definitely not for you and your desire was to hit your head on the book and give up.

“What a nightmare.” You mumbled.

“What a nightmare?”

The voice at your side made you scream out in fright, turning to the left and seeing Five standing on the edge of your bed. The distilled moonlight came in through your open window and bathed the man in front of him with a builder in his black hair and alabaster skin, you held your breath, Five was always so beautiful that he should be considered a crime.

His hands were in the pockets of his dark pants, followed by the shirt and blazer from the Academy uniform. Five looked at you with a small condescending smile in the corner of your mouth, and you felt your heart pounding.

“Ah, it's just a college subject.” You sighed, looking at the notebooks in front of you “It's a nightmare.”

Then Five leaned forward, looking closely at your notes.

“You know where you went wrong, don't you?”

You jaw dropped, and you turned to the notebooks with your calculations. That was the only exercise that you thought was correct.

You felt frustration rising from your feet to your head, snaking through your body. You snorted, running your hand through your hair, it had been hours since you tried to understand that misfortune.

“I will never graduate, that's it. I accept the defeat of the God of mathematics.” You grunted, leaving the pencil on top of the books, giving up.

Five laughed softly, sitting beside your bed, still far enough away not to touch you.

“Give me the pencil.” He pointed to the object and you handed it over.

You frowned when Five pulled your notes to him, balanced the pencil in your other hand and redo your calculations at the end of the sheet.

You should have paid attention to what Five was doing, at each step, but the truth was that you got lost looking at him. The winter breeze shook his black strands as if they were a cloth from the night sky, his emerald green eyes were focused, and a slight crease on his forehead indicated that he was concentrating.

Your heart raced, the world seemed to stop breathing and the air took on a caustic and magical intonation. You would show all your shadows if Five showed his, you would do anything to show how sublime he was.

Then Five looked up at you, and the hemisphere seemed to make sense that second. So you leaned over and kissed him. You kissed because there was no cell in you that didn't want to kiss him. Because Five was a young god and you were just a mortal surrendered to his charms.

But you felt his muscles go rigid, the spontaneous physical contact catching him off guard.

Five burned in contradictions. It burned in the hot fire of passion and burned in the icy heat of feelings. Your touch was potent and had an overwhelming effect on Five.

He wondered what would happen if he had sex with you at that moment. Would he burn in your heat or would he be consumed by troubled emotions? Would he feel every part of your body pulse or would he lose himself in the confusion of his own mind?

Five gently parted his lips, still close enough for his breath to hit your lips.

“I feel your tension. Everything is fine.” You commented quietly.

Five just breathed, his eyes confirming to you what his words didn't say.

“I'm sorry for everything you've been through.” You were sincere, and cautiously put your hand under his. “But you have to understand that it’s normal and good to feel emotions. It's okay not to understand them. Feelings are not like math.”

Five felt your touch become more present, and you gently approach. He should have said something, but his body started to contradict his mind and he got lost in a blue shambles. He desperately wanted you. Wanted to fuck you until feel you completely and kiss you until taste love. But he also wanted to get away. He wanted to go away and push all those feelings and emotions under the rug.

But when you sat closer to him, and your hands cupped his face, Five realized he couldn't leave.

“How would you react if I did that..”

Then he noticed your mischievous smile, and before he could say anything, you held him more firmly, and filled any part of his face with kisses that you could reach.

You laughed between Five's kisses and protests. But you only stopped after the twentieth kiss. Five was marked with your lipstick, his eyes closed for you, his face in a warning expression.

“Y/N!” He grunted, wiping his face “Are you crazy?”

But his cheeks were red and you could feel his temperature high from where you were.

You laughed louder, settling on the bed.

“.You say you hate it but your red face is telling me otherwise.” You pointed at his cheeks, waved your index finger between them, signaling.

Five frowned even more, trying to wipe the lipstick marks off his face. But slowly, a little smile was struggling to come to his face.

“You are smiling!”

“You are so childish!” he rolled his eyes, but his voice was soft.

“You love Me!” Then you threw yourself at him again, kissing his face where the marks had been cleaned.

Five grunted, but ended up just resting his hands on your waist, feeling ... relaxing.

When you stopped laughing and looked at him, Five held his gaze. Gently, his right hand went to your face, removing a lock of your hair from your eyes.

“I think you're right.”

His voice was low, like a summer breeze, and yours eyes lit up when you understood the meaning of what he was talking about. But Five didn't give you time to answer, he leaned over and captured your lips in a passionate kiss.

You love him too.

#five fanfiction #five hargreeves #five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #five x reader #five x y/n #five x you #the umbrella academy #number five #five hargreeves imagine #number 5 imagine #number 5 x you #number 5 x reader #number five fanfic #number five x you #number five x y/n #number five x reader #Tua fanfic #tua five #tua imagine #klaus hargreeves #luther hargreeves

[kanonsarchivedblog]

Redemption

Author's Note: What if Mayuri Kurotsuchi died during the Thousand Year Blood War? Who would take over the role of Captain of the Twelfth Division? This is an answer to that in the form a redemption for Urahara Kisuke and the Captaincy that had been wrongly stolen from him.

Word Count: 4,767

Characters: Urahara Kisuke, Hirako Shinji, Kyouraku Shunsui, Shihouin Yoruichi, Otoribashi Roujuurou, Kurotsuchi Mayuri, Akon, Kurotsuchi Nemu

Ship(s): Hirako Shinji/Urahara Kisuke

Setting: Post-Thousand Year Blood War

Warnings: Major Character Death

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You can’t have peace without a war, that’s how the saying goes. It spoke true; the Seireitei, while in shambles, was calm. Peaceful. The sound of hammering in the distance, of laughter and voices calling out to one another. Rebuilding, slowly but surely- with the aid of Shinigami and civilians alike. And the occasional Arrancar. The dead were still being retrieved from the various fields on which battles took place upon. Last time the toll had been released, they were well into the hundreds. A devastating blow to them all- on both sides.

It was difficult; so many young Shinigami had been killed, but so had many young Quincy. Too many, truthfully. Some of their own Captains had been casualties of the war: Head Captain Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto had been one of the first to be slaughtered before their very eyes. Aside from him, the entire first division had been killed- all one hundred and six members, in the very beginning of the war. Following this had been Fourth Division Captain, Retsu Unohana- all for the sake of getting Zaraki Kenpachi to learn the true name of his sword and release his bankai, something that had nearly killed him. Their beloved Thirteenth Division Captain, Jushiro Ukitake had been killed somehow. Very few knew the truth of the matter-

That he had become the new Soul King. That, since birth, he’d been doomed to take over when the time came. A ticking time bomb, of sorts. But to the rest of Soul Society, he’d been another casualty of war.

Many others had nearly died; Captain of the Third Division, Ōtoribashi Rōjūrō, Captain of the Ninth Division, Muguruma Kensei, and both the Captain and Lieutenant of the Tenth Division, Tōshirō Hitsugaya and Rangiku Matsumoto, had all become members of the living dead due to the the Sternritter Giselle Gewelle’s ability. Captain of the Sixth Division, Byakuya Kuchiki, had nearly been slaughtered by the Sternritter Äs Nödt. For all intents and purposes, the Lieutenant of the Third Division was dead, and yet he still walked: Izuru Kira, who lost not just an arm, but a lung and portions of other organs after having a hole shot through his torso. Their new Captain Commander, Kyōraku Shunsui, had lost his left eye and part of his left ear, as well as having a hole shot through his sternum, nearly killing him.

Many others had been injured just as grievously. But that was what war did. It took and it took and it took until there wasn’t anything left to take. War was greedy.

One other had been taken from their ranks. Mayuri Kurotsuchi, the Captain of the Twelfth Division, had been killed during the battle. Details were still coming in, but from what was known, he’d sacrificed himself in the final moments to save his greatest creation, Nemu Kurotsuchi, his artificially created daughter. It seems that even the coldest and most detached of people could, in the end, redeem themselves and save those who they held closest to their hearts. It was certainly interesting to hear.

After all, when Urahara Kisuke had been Captain of the Twelfth, Mayuri had been a right bastard to deal with. He could still remember that day he pulled him out of the Maggot’s Nest, and the following years. How they had worked well together, even if the bickering was nearly constant, as well outright insubordination.

Many would grieve in silence for those that had been lost. The Fourth Division was busy; Isane Kotetsu was now the defacto Captain. She was young, but strong, resilient. She would survive.

Somewhere within the Division sat Rose and Kensei, sharing a room. Izuru Kira had his own room- something that was necessary, given the extent of his injuries. Kuchiki Byakuya was being treated at the Kuchiki Mansion; Kyōraku Shunsui, at the Kyōraku Mansion. Somewhere below them, Aizen sat, chained back up.

Kisuke sat in the bed, studying the way dust danced within the sun’s rays that spilled through his window. He wasn’t injured, not really; Benihime had made sure that her master would be pieced back together completely. All that was left of her work were the thin, surgical stitches that stretched down his face, across his knuckles, over his joints. They didn’t hurt. At least, he didn’t think they did. If there was pain, he was numb to it.

He supposed he owed his thanks to Grimmjow for saving him. He’d thank him later. Right now, the Pantera was hunting for a certain Shark that sat within one of the many, many cells beneath Soul Society. He was accompanied by a Ram and a Wolf.

He could thank Mayuri for saving the Wolf. Coyote Starrk had been a savior. A sharp shooter and a hidden weapon in Hueco Mundo.

There was also Kurosaki Ichigo. That kid deserved all of their thanks, and more. Without him, they’d all be dead. He couldn’t help but wonder where he was, right now. Back home in Karakura Town? Or here, lingering with those he’d fought beside?

Slate hues closed, listening to the hammering and calling. To the sound of laughter and weeping. Of birdsong and creeping silence. He was tired. More so than he’d ever been in his life.

But now was not the time to rest, not with the figure lingering outside of his door. Five minutes, Shinji had been standing there, reaching for the door and dropping his hand, only to reach again. A sigh escaped Kisuke as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Come in, already!” He called, amusement shining in his words.

The door opened, and the blonde made his appearance at last. “Didn’t wanna disturb yer beauty rest, your highness,” he teased, lips quirking up in a crooked smile.

Kisuke could remember the first time he’d seen that smile. “I think I’ve had enough beauty rest to last a lifetime,” as if to prove a point, he stretched his arms up over his head, listening as various bones popped and creaked, as if singing a song of rest. “You aren’t here to give me the latest gossip, are you, Hirako-san?”

A shake of the head. “I wish I were,” Shinji sighed, closing the door behind himself as if that would give them any privacy. It wouldn’t, but it was certainly the thought that counted. “We were called in for an emergency meeting. Y’know how… Bad everything is right now.”

“You’re down three captains, and the new Captain Commander is on mandatory bed rest.” Kisuke answered with a shake of the head. “You’re fucked.”

“And now in the fun way.” Arms crossing over his chest, Shinji grimaced. He was still in pain, too, it seemed.

Not surprising; he’d taken quite the beating as well, from what he’d heard. “I have a question to ask you.”

No, the Soul Society will not get a discount on any products they purchase at the Urahara Shoten.” A joke, though it seemed to fall flat. “... What is it?”

“You know Kurotsuchi-taichou was killed.”

“Yes.”

“They’re without a Captain now.”

Slate hues widened before narrowing, understanding quickly settling in. This was the one thing he had never been prepared for. “Nemu could act as defacto Captain.”

“She can’t. She’s a child again.”

“Of course she is.” Damn Mayrui. “Akon?”

“Doesn’t have a Bankai. Or a Shikai. At least, not one that's on record.”

“Of course he doesn’t. Of course Mayuri would keep all of his underlings under a careful watch and not allow them to progress. Of course he would. He never did think about anyone but himself.” A bitter laugh slipped free, one full of anger and mourning. A scarred hand reached up to rub at pale blonde hair. “What are you asking, Shinji?”

“You know what I’m asking, Kisuke.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

A pause. Shinji sucked on his teeth, lips pressing taunt. “The Captain Commander wants to know if you’ll step in and take over the position of Captain of the Twelfth Division once more.”

A bark of laughter escaped Kisuke as he tossed his head back, baring his throat and chest. He knew this was coming. But to hear it spoken aloud? It made everything suddenly so real. “Central Forty-Six is going to disagree.”

“It’ll be overridden. We’re down three captains and Soul King knows how many Shinigami.” Shinji’s lip curled into a scowl as he shook his head. “We’re fucked.”

“We’re fucked.” Kisuke agreed softly, gaze slipping from Shinji to study the floorboards. “Whose idea was it?”

“It was agreed on immediately that you were the only one who could take over the Twelfth and not accidentally kill everyone.” The humor in Shinji’s tone brought a smile to both of their faces.

“You’re not wrong there.” A pause. “... I have some conditions, then.”

Shinji waved his hands. “Save it for the official meeting. Shun’s calling it in three days time. We’re all to attend, no matter what it takes to get there.” He pushed away from the wall and turned. “I’d love t’stay and all, but I gotta make sure my Division isn’t all dead.”

“You make a good Captain, Shinji.” Kisuke murmured, watching as his back tensed, as his head raised. “You always have.”

“... Get some rest, you ogre.”

The door shut, and he was alone with his thoughts once more.

━━━━━━━

Three Days Later

━━━━━━━

The meeting did not take place within the Captain Commander’s hall. The First Division was still being cleaned of bodies and blood. Instead, it took place within the halls of the Kyōraku Mansion. The grounds were lovely, sprawling, teeming with deer and birds and streams. It was easy to see the wealth and prestige that came with the name.

But it was nothing compared to the Shihōin estate that Kisuke had grown up on.

Speaking of, Yoruichi had joined him. He’d requested she be allowed to attend, and lo and behold, his request had been approved. The past three days, he’d been talking with her and Tessai, deciding on their plan of action.

Now, it would come to fruition.

“I know this isn’t the First Division, but it will have to make do for the time being.” Shunsui spoke, breaking the idle conversation that had been occurring and drawing all attention to him. He wore the Captain Commander’s coat, but beneath was a simple violet yukata- loose fitting to accommodate the bandages that wound around his torso. His head was still bandaged, as well.

No one looked to be in good health. Across from him sat Rose and Kensei, both of who looked uncomfortable. Rose was bandaged around his middle, as well. Kensei’s color was still returning to normal. Behind them stood, or in Kira’s case, sat. Kira didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He didn’t seem to be paying attention. Hisagi looked ready to pass out at any given moment.

No one else was any better, aside from perhaps Isane Kotetsu. Akon stood behind the empty chair where Mayuri should

have been sitting. Rukia Kuchiki stood behind the empty chair that should have held Ukitake.

“This meeting, while formal, is occurring off the books. We are in a grievous state, and while peace may be here, there is always the chance that it could break at any moment. That is why we are here.” He cleared his throat, brows furrowing. “We are rebuilding, and we have a shaky alliance with both the Quincy and the Arrancar- for now. I do not believe that we are under an immediate threat. However, there are certain items that must be addressed.

“The first of which is the passing of four of our Captains. There will be funerals held for each of them within the coming weeks. They will be open to the public. They will be grand, as is deserving of each.” The finality in Shunsui’s voice left no room for argument. “Captains Yamomoto, Unohana, Kurotsuchi, and Ukitake will be remembered for the rest of time for laying down their lives to save Soul Society, as well as the… Hundreds of others who were lost in battle.”

Hundreds. The word is heavy within the room. Everyone had lost someone in some form, whether it be family, friend, or lover.

“Secondly, it is time to right the errors of our past. This is the reason this meeting is occurring off the books. I plan to contest the banning of Urahara Kisuke and Shihōin Yoruichi personally before Central Forty-Six.” Murmurs drifted through the room. It was one thing to bring up the idea, but another to say that it will be happening. “Which is why they were both invited to attend this meeting.”

Gazes turned, landing on the pair. “Ohayo,” Kisuke hummed, leaning his weight upon Benihime, who was in her sealed form. “I have questions about that.”

“Of course you do,” Sui-Feng muttered, though she remained silent otherwise.

He pointedly ignored the angry little bee. “I was made aware that you all agreed that I should take over my former position that had been ripped from me one hundred and… What was it, twelve? Thirteen, now? Years ago. A title that I had rightly earned before I was condemned for a crime that I did not commit, which we all are aware of now, yes?” A quickly, cursory glance around the room. “I know a few of you here were too young to remember what happened. But let me refresh your memory, shall I? Aizen was working on a way to create Hollows out of Shinigami and chose three of your captains and one of the lieutenants here, now, to test that on, as well as Hiyori Sarugaki, my former Lieutenant, Hachigen Ushoda, formerly of the Fourth Division, and Love Aikawa, former Captain of the Seventh Division.” The words cut like a hot knife through ice, stinging and causing a few to look down or away.

“But some of you were not too young. Some of you remember when it happened, and you did nothing to intervene. So for the last one hundred and thirteen years, I have been living in the World of the Living, aiding the Vizards. Miss Shihōin had been exiled from her own family, even if they did not want to do so. They had no choice. So!” Kisuke clapped his hands together, watching as Isane jumped. Oops. “My condition is that not only we be pardoned of this crime that we did not commit, but that Miss Yoruichi Shihōin also be allowed back within Soul Society. My shop will remain within the World of the Living in Karakura Town. Tessai Tsukabishi, the former Captain of the Kido Corps, who was also wrongly convicted, will also be pardoned. He will remain and run the shop, looking over it and the two Modified Souls whom I created and love as if they were my own children, Ururu and Jinta.

“Those are the conditions upon which I will accept the Captaincy of the Twelfth Division once more. If they are not met, you’ll just have to find someone else who is capable enough to run the Division and understand how Mayuri Kurotsuchi’s mind worked. No offense to Akon or anyone with the Twelfth currently, but I don’t think any of them could actually handle that. After all,” his voice quiets, head dipping, a shadow falling over his eyes. “I was the one who brought Mayuri out of the Maggot’s Nest. Should any of you

forget, I was also the Commander of the Detention Corps, as well as a member of the Onmitsukidō.” Chin raising, slate gaze swept across the room, taking in the silence that had fallen. “I’m not asking for a compensation fund. I’m not asking for a new Division. I’m not asking for a golden parade through the Rukongai. I want an apology. And I want for Central Forty-Six to admit their mistake.”

Silence met him. It was as if no one had expected for Urahara Kisuke to speak out, to give demands. As if he, too, hadn’t been wronged by the events of the past. As if he, too, did not deserve an apology. As if he, too, were not angry and bitter over the mistakes of the past.

“Lest you all forget that without me, you would not have had the Twelfth as it is today. There would be no S.R.D.I.. Mayuri would have died in his cell. And you all would be dead, now, because Kurosaki Ichigo wouldn’t have been born without Isshin Kurosaki, someone who I helped personally. And you would be down four Captains and one lieutenant.” Jaw set, he met Shunsui’s gaze with his own. “These are the requirements. And I will not settle for any less, Captain Commander.”

Shunsui shifted in his seat, a peculiar little smile curling at the corners of his lips. One that read ‘I anticipated this’, or perhaps ‘All is going according to plan’. “Of course, Urahara-san. It will be done.”

“Will it?” Kisuke countered, head titling, voice low. “Just what do you have on the Central Forty-Six that would turn their vote so quickly, Shunsui-san?”

A chill crept into the air as the Captains and Lieutenants sat straighter, stood straighter, cast their gazes down. No one dared speak, no one dared to break the silence that had gripped their throats and held them captive.

“That,” Shunsui began, rising to his feet slowly. “Is for me to know, and for you to never find out. That is all that needed to be said. This meeting is dismissed.” His face was pale; it was beyond time for him to retire. Another session of healing, no doubt.

Kisuke made his way out, Yoruichi at his side. “That was ballsy,” she murmured, gaze trained ahead. “But good.”

“I figured a history lesson was overdue.” Kisuke replied with a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Go, I’m sure no one will mind if you-”

She was already gone.

“-visit your family.” Sighing, he began the slow walk back towards the Gotei Thirteen, gaze downcast. He could hear murmurings from behind him- surprise, shock, anxiety. A presence settled in at his side, shoulder gently bumping against his arm.

“Think it’ll happen?” Shinji asked after a good few minutes of walking in silence.

“He managed to convince them to let Aizen out.” He hummed, head rising to study the horizon. “I don’t know what he has up his sleeves, but… I believe there is a chance I’ll be back to torment you, Hirako-taicho.”

The grin Shinji sent him was brighter than the sun. He couldn’t help but smile, as well.

━━━━━━━

One month later.

━━━━━━━

“I stand before you today to contest a punishment that was given over a century ago,” Shunsui began, gazing up at the blank blocks before him. Behind them sat the members of the Central Forty-Six. “I am aware that I was here merely two months prior. A lot can happen in two months.”

“Like losing hundreds of Shinigami,” one voice spoke up.

“That is the casualty of war, something that you all seem to forget exists outside of your protected lives.” Silence met Shunsui. “We lost four captains. And while there are many who could step up the plate, one of those is impossible to replace.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“That Urahara Kisuke be allowed back into the Soul Society and be allowed to take his mantle of Captain up once again.” Shunsui fell quiet as yells met him. Anger, alarm, it all spilled out.

“URAHARA KISUKE? DESERTER.”

“LIAR, A DANGER TO SOUL SOCIETY.”

“HE’S BEEN IN THE WORLD OF THE LIVING FOR TOO LONG.”

He raised his hands, listening as the voices died down. “I understand your anger. However, merely a few years ago, the Vizards were pardoned. Why should Kisuke not be pardoned, as well as Yoruichi Shihōin and Tessai

Tsukabishi.”

“THEY’RE TRAITORS TO THE SOUL SOCIETY-”

“THEY ABANDONED US YEARS AGO-”

“THEY SHOULD BE KILLED-”

Shunsui raised his hands once more, his brow furrowed. “Maa, maa- please, allow me to speak.” Agitated silence met him as he cleared his throat. “I’m not Yamomoto. I haven’t been here since the beginning. I was just a child when this place was really coming together. But because of that, I have been able to witness the way everything has changed and grown. How we’ve become stronger, how more and more Shinigami join our ranks each year. I was a Captain by the time Urahara Kisuke joined our ranks, stepping out from the shadow of the Onmitsukidō. I was able to watch as he built the Twelfth up from the bottom, and watched as he created the Shinigami Research and Development Institute. Without him, we wouldn’t have the Gigais that allow us to investigate further into the World of the Living, the Tenshintai. What Mayuri had to work with wouldn’t have existed without Kisuke. We wouldn’t have even had a captain to fill his place originally without Kisuke; he was the one who brought Mayuri out of the Maggot’s Nest.

“At the end of the day, you have to sit back and consider more than what those of the past did. At the time, there was no true solid proof that Urahara Kisuke, Yoruichi Shihōin and Tessai Tsukabishi were behind the hollowfication project that was, in actuality, spearheaded by Aizen. Their only crime had been being at the scene, trying to help their friends. When you consider this, along with how they have continued to aid us despite being stranded in the World of the Living for so long… Don’t we owe them this?” Murmurs began to echo through the tall chamber. Forty-six voices all talking, debating. Shunsui stood, hands folded politely before him as he waited.

He was right, and he knew it. After all, it had been his idea in the first place. Without Kisuke’s aid, they wouldn’t have ever had Kurosaki Ichigo to help them. Aizen would never have been stopped. Yhawch would still be alive, and they would all be dead or acting as prisoners. There wasn’t any real debate to be had other than stubborn old men wanting to keep history as it is.

“So, I ask once more: I wish for Urahara Kisuke to be allowed back into the Soul Society and be allowed to take his mantle of Captain of the Twelfth Division and Captain of the S.R.D.I. up once again as well as pardoning Urahara Kisuke, Yoruichi Shihōin and Tessai Tsukabishi of their wrongly accused crimes.”

Silence settled across the chamber. A pleased smile curled Shunsui’s lips as he relaxed.

━━━━━━━

Two weeks later.

━━━━━━━

The First Division was peaceful, calm, filled with idle chatter as the Captains and their Lieutenants gathered within the hall of the Captain Commander. There was no surprise written upon their features; they knew what this meeting was about. Even so, they stood, chatting amongst one another, until Shunsui made his way into the hall to settle in at the head of the hall. He used a heavy, cherry wood cane to aid him; it would not be a permanent fixture. Each day he grew stronger, healing from his injuries.

“Well, then,” he murmured, rolling his shoulders before raising the voice. “Would the new Captain of the Twelfth Division enter?”

The great doors opened, and standing within the entryway was none other than Urahara Kisuke, green and white striped hat nowhere to be seen. He no longer resembled the young, awkward Captain he had been one hundred and thirteen years ago. Now, he stood tall, still, gaze trained forward. He made his way in slowly, geta clad feet making soft ‘clacks’ with every step. Behind him, surprisingly, walked a black feline, trotting to keep up. He turned to the left, and stepped into the place where he’d once stood, where Mayuri had once stood.

“Very well. Now, since we are all here, our first manner of business…”

The meeting did not last long; many were still in frail condition, such as the Third Division. The walk to the Twelfth was quiet, calm. Yoruichi had slipped away, returning to her family for the first time in far too

long. She wouldn’t be taking up the mantle of Head of the Shihōin family; that title had passed to her younger brother. Instead, she’d become an aid to him, and split her time between the Soul Society and the World of the Living. Tessai didn’t want to return; he had no desire to come back. He’d handle the shop and keep an eye on Karakura, along with Jinta and Ururu.

Kisuke was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of a throat clearing. Head snapping up, slate gaze hues widening at the sight of his new lieutenant. “The last time I saw you, you were extremely little and didn’t have a nicotine addiction!” Kisuke greeted with a grin as Akon let out a bark of laughter.

“It’s good to see you again, too, Captain,” Akon replied, shaking his head as he fell into step beside Kisuke. “A lot’s changed.”

“I’d be more alarmed if nothing had changed. It has been over a century, after all!” His head tilts back, studying the sky. “It feels strange to be here again.”

“It does.” The sound of a little voice calling had both men pausing, glancing behind them, only to watch as a little black haired girl came bouncing over, nearly stumbling over her sandals. Nemu. Akon knelt down, arms open, allowing the girl to climb up into his arms. “Nemu, meet Urahara Kisuke. He’s taking over as Captain.”

“I remember him. Where’s your hat?” She asked, big dark eyes gazing up at Kisuke.

“Decided that it wouldn’t be appropriate to wear at a meeting,” he winked, and with a wave of his hand, it was as if the hat appeared out of thin air. Nemu’s eyes widened in surprise, mouth dropping open into a little ‘o’. “But I never wander too far without it.” Gaze turning, he took in the sight of the Division, how much it had changed, how large it had become. “Well…”

“Wherever you want to begin, I’ll guide you to it.”

A grimace. “Notes? Or did he burn them all again?”

“Surprisingly, he didn’t.” A shrug as Akon began to walk once more, carrying Nemu as if she were his own. Members of the Twelfth stopped where they stood and bowed low, murmurs of welcome echoing through the air. “I don’t think he had the foresight to do that.”

“Good,” Kisuke nodded, clapping his hands together. “Then let's get to work.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

━━━━━━━

That Night

━━━━━━━

The night air was cool here compared to the warm autumn air of Karakura Town. Geta clopped along the top of the wall idly with no true direction. That is, until the sound of a snicker drew the attention of the shoe’s owner. Head tilting, Kisuke glanced behind himself to find Hirako Shinji standing behind him.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Haunted by the past.” Kisuke replied, settling down on the wall. Was he in Shinji’s Division? He hadn’t realized he’d walked that far. “You?”

“Insomnia’s a bitch.” Shinji settled down on the wall, kicking his heels against the sturdy structure idly. “... It feels good to have you back.”

“Does it?” He mused, stepping closer before settling down, shoulder bumping Shinji’s before leaning against the other. “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Fuck off,” Shinji teased, leaning his weight back against Kisuke’s shoulder. Together they sat, silence falling across them like a light dew in the early morning hours. Without speaking, Shinji reached over, taking hold of Kisuke’s hand. Calloused fingers drifted over stitched scars. “She did a number on you.”

“Benihime is a benevolent woman. I respect that,” Kisuke replied softly, watching Shinji’s fingers. “What about you? How’s your head?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Touche.”

A chuckle slipped free from both men. Kisuke sighed, leaning over to rest his head atop Shinji’s own. “This is what you missed?”

“This and more.”

“It doesn’t feel right without Hiyori yelling at us. Or Love laughing. Or Hachi worrying…” Brows furrowing, he sighed. “But they like it in the World of the Living.”

curled Shinji’s lips as he pulled Kisuke’s hand up to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to his knuckles. “Some of it will be, Captain.”

#m's scribbles #bleach fanfiction #kisuke urahara #shinji hirako #shinji/kisuke #yoruichi shihouin #shunsui kyoraku #akon #rip mayuri but kisuke's different

[butteraway]

when time runs out | i

⋆ summary: A young girl has fallen deeply ill with an unknown disease in her, so with all her free time spent in an empty hospital room, she spends it online playing video games. That's until she meets her cousins friends, one spiking her interest with his extremely vulgare language.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

warnings: nothing much really, mentions of blood

word count: 1.3k

author’s note: Hey guys!! I just wanna let you know I made a few changes here and there in this chapter, nothing too big. Ah but seriously, I’m tired, but I’m having a lot of fun rewriting these huehuehue

No one saw it coming.

Who would have thought this could happen?

Of all the people who it could’ve been, why her?

L/N Y/N wasn't your average girl. Being related to a clutz like Kaminari Denki was no easy task. Despite them only being cousins, they had a relationship almost as tough as iron. No one would believe that the two were related, both being on different sides of the spectrum.

Quite popular at school, no one really cared much for her quirk, surprisingly, since she never had one to begin with. What made her so cool though, was her bright personality. Though she was quirkless, she had a big heart and was a strong girl. Y/N was ambitious for someone her age and had excellent grades that could rival a high school student's knowledge. In store for a very promising future, for a thirteen year old, she basically had it all. 

Well. 

Almost had it all.

It was until that unfaithful day, everything came crumbling and crashing down around her. 

Family had only assumed that her light coughing that would come out every now and then was caused by an itchy throat. But when the light coughs turned to violent gasps for air, they were more than concerned. Especially when Y/N began coughing up blood. They took her to every doctor in town only to have the same answer thrown at them. 

"I'm sorry Mrs. L/N, but we can't find any causes for her condition."

"Mr. L/N, test results show that nothing is wrong with your daughter’s health."

Of course, despite all the long trips and visits to hospitals and well known doctors, Denki and Y/N's relationship never once wavered. Having every opportunity when she was forced to stay indoors, she would spend her time playing video games with Denki. 

Of course, when she did have the chance to go outside, she'd most likely be playing with Denki or picking flowers. As they both sat on the swing set in a park near Y/N's home, they cracked jokes trying to make the other laugh. 

"Y'know what's a real good joke?"

"What? Your grades?"

"Pshhh, noooo. Me becoming a hero!" 

Y/N smiled as she let out a loud laugh, sending her to the dirt on her knees as she tried to regain her breath. Her laughing soon turned to her clutching her chest, ragged breaths escaping from her mouth.

"H-hey Y/N, it wasn't that funny."

The harsh breaths turned into coughing as her face turned paler at the second. Soon she was gasping for air to enter her lungs, clawing at her throat, hoping for all the pain to stop. Denki was long on the floor, kneeling with a horror stricken face and shaky hands hovering over Y/N’s body.

"Y-Y/N, what's happening?!"

Of course Y/N never answered, Denki wanted to kick himself for even asking such a dumb question at the moment. He quickly scooped her up from the ground only to struggle with keeping her in his arms. His arms were far too weak to be holding all her body weight, but Denki only prayed he'd make it back home. He ran as fast as he could, yelling for his aunt and uncle to help him. By the time they came out, Y/N’s mother shrieked in terror as she took the poor girl from Denki's arms. Y/N was only gasping for what little air entered her body, blood slowly dripping from the corner of her mouth. Quickly getting inside their car, her father drove at an alarming rate to the hospital. The cries of his aunt only scared Denki even more when Y/N had stopped her struggling. Doctors whisked her away as fast as possible, stabilizing her and drawing out the blood from her lungs. The married couple could only pace in anticipation while they waited for a doctor. Denki, on the other hand, stared blankly at the white wall in front of him. 

Was she going to die? Was it his fault that she was in such a devastating state? Seeing the color quickly drain from her face was the only thing Denki could really think about. It was his fault. Those thoughts plagued his mind, even after his parents raced into the waiting room, hugging his aunt. His mother bent in front of him, staring directly into his sunken eyes. Tears formed and fell down as he looked down to his hands.

"I'm s-sorry, it's m-my fault she's like t-this."

His mother embraced him, reassuring him that none of this was blamed on him. A couple hours passed and a doctor had arrived to inform the family of devastating news. 

"Though your daughter is in critical condition, we have stabilized her enough to where she will be able to survive on what medication we have given her. Even with what tests had shown us, we aren't receiving any type of diseases coming from her. This could mean that she possibly has a newly formed disease in her. There isn't any information on how it could have formed in her, but we could only guess she had formed some germ of a sort and it grew from there. And with the condition she's in now and the lack of information of what we know about this, we won't be able to determine when she will get better, or even if she will get better. So as of now, it is highly recommended that she will have to stay in the hospital for her recovery and to prevent any more events like the one that happened today."

And despite the devastating news happening inside the bleak hospital, the outside world seemed to only flourish with life.

Y/N's parents were devastated and Denki could only stare at the doctor with sadness. As weeks passed, Y/N only got worse, it was a miracle that she was still alive. While doing research, doctors and some scientists had found out that the bacteria in her room worsened her body. They were confused on how this disease worked, but they couldn't complain. They moved the weak, thin girl to a secluded part of the hospital. Spotless, almost dust free, and clean her room was, it barely looked like a normal room to be put in. (Y/N) had little consciousness during the whole situation, not being able to lift her own pinkie, even if she tried. Months passed, and Y/N's body began to strengthen itself back slowly. Though, the only thing that could possibly kill her was having other people around her. So family members would have to look through a window and talk through a microphone in order to communicate with her. 

Y/N honestly felt like a caged bird.

Denki would visit (Y/N) regularly, talking to her as she smiled and laughed. Every now and then, a doctor with a protective suit on would enter her room and quickly shut the door to check up on her. (Y/N) was silent during those times, looking at the doctor, examining the suit with an unreadable look on her face. Two years she had spent in the confined room, and during that time she had gotten her own computer, console, and tv as her form of entertainment. Playing online with strangers and getting to know them brought a smile to the girl's face. She knew she wouldn't be able to go outside anymore, not with how she was now.

Doctors have found out that overtime, her body had been slowly eating away at the medication, but it wasn't too severe at the time.

"Y/N's body has been rejecting the medication we have been giving to her. Unfortunately, we cannot do anything to prevent this and we have estimated she will have a year or so until her body doesn't take any of the medicine. We will need to ask permission to add higher doses of medication to her medicine. We will try our best to find a solution to this, but we can only apologize."

And this was how Y/N was in her position now. Despite the short time allowed for her, she didn't know how many things will happen in just one year. And who she will meet at that fact.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou #bakugou x reader #mha #bnha #mha angst #bnha angst #bnha fluff #fanfic

[ibijau]

You’re a marked man, brother, part 3 / also on AO3

Lan Xichen and his companions make their way through the Magpie King's domain, guided by their new ghost friend

warning for some mild violence and animal death (insects)

As they first advanced into the realm of the Magpie King, everyone was quiet, fearing an attack. Sangcan in particular was highly nervous, jumping and trembling at every noise he heard. A few times he made them get off the apparently empty road and walk into the surrounding woods for a little while before returning to the path. When asked, he would just explain in a pitiful voice that there were traps there.

At first, Sangcan didn't really speak much if he could help it, awed and terrified by these powerful people. He just walked near Lan Xichen, having apparently decided he was the one in charge. Or perhaps it was that since Lan Xichen had promised to try to free him, he thought it best to stay close. 

Remembering that promise as well, Lan Xichen tried to make polite conversation. Asking about Sangcan's days as a living person seemed a little indelicate, especially since his life had been dark enough he'd turned to the Magpie King to hide some parts of it. So instead, Lan Xichen asked about Sangcan's current existence, and tried to get more details about his master's domain. 

On that subject, Sangcan admitted his knowledge was a little spotty. 

"I've not worked in the palace, see?" he explained. "Nobody does, really, it's just him. The rest of us, we patrol around or take care of the little ones." Sangcan shivered. "I like mine well enough, but there's some I wouldn't want to be in charge of, eh?"

"Little ones?" Lan Xichen asked. 

Sangcan nodded and glanced around before discreetly pointing first at the canopy above them, then at the ground under them. 

"They're everywhere," he explained, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That's how he makes his business, right? My little ones aren't so bad, but some others are really… wait, stop !"

Lan Xichen immediately obeyed and stopped walking, but it was too late. 

While they were chatting, Wei Wuxian had come near them, curious to learn more about his fellow Devastation and perhaps wanting to steal some ideas for his own domain. When Sangcan suddenly ordered them to stop, Wei Wuxian was caught by surprise and accidentally stumbled forward, taking two more steps. Sangcan cried out, before pressing both hands against his mouth to silence himself.

At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Wei Wuxian turned to look at Sangcan, tilting his head curiously. Just as he was about to ask what the matter was, he suddenly cried in pain and brutally slapped his own arm. He rose his hand to the level of his face to inspect it, and grimaced. Again he seemed about to ask Sangcan about that, but before he could speak he had to slap away something else, on his shoulder this time, then his hip, his arm again, while something dark started covering his body. The darkness only receded when Lan Wangji threw a few talismans at his husband, causing a mass of little black dots to fall to the ground.

“Mosquitoes?” Wei Wuxian asked, stomping on them.

“Some are escaping, don’t let them!” Sangcan cried. “They’ll report to the king!”

Indeed, now that they knew what to look for, there was a whole swarm of mosquitoes on the path. A huge number of them lunged at Sangcan, as if guessing that he was a traitor and might lead these intruders to the Magpie King if he wasn’t stopped. Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji threw more talismans at them, though ultimately it was Wei Wuxian who took them down. After the initial surprise, he bit his thumb to draw blood and did something which made all the bugs drop to the floor, even those that were trying to leave and against which Jin Guangyao was using his fan.

They all stared at Wei Wuxian, shocked by the ease with which he’d done this. Sangcan was perhaps the most impressed of them all, having been so afraid he’d be denounced to his master.

“So I guess that’s how the Magpie King learns so many secrets?” Wei Wuxian guessed, stomping again on the piles of dead bugs. “I’d assumed he used birds, with his nickname and all.”

“It started with magpies,” Sangcan confirmed. “And that’s what my little ones are. But bugs get into all sorts of places, right? So the King branched out into all sorts of vermines as his power grew.”

“But he kept the old title anyway,” Wei Wuxian mocked. “I guess the Mosquito King doesn’t sound as good, and he’s a little vain, isn’t he?” Before Sangcan could reply, Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Wangji, his expression quickly going from haughty to pitiful as he showed his bloody thumb to his husband. “Lan Zhan, I’m hurt! Look how hurt I am! And they bit me too!”

Much to his brother’s embarrassment, Lan Wangji let out a small noise of concern and started fussing over Wei Wuxian as earnestly as if he weren’t a very powerful and likely dangerous ghost king capable of surviving nearly anything. Unwilling to look any longer, Lan Xichen went to check on his own husband, in a more calm and composed manner.

“I think I’m getting the hang of those,” Jin Guangyao said, inspecting the fan in his hand. “But I wish I’d gotten one with fire power, it might have been more useful than wind after all.” He glanced toward Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, still lost in the world, and grimaced. “That Yiling Patriarch is something, isn’t he? If he decides to side with the Magpie King…”

“He won’t,” Lan Xichen said firmly. “Not unless he decides Nie Mingjue has done some evil to deserve the Magpie King’s ire, and of course he hasn’t, so there’s nothing to fear.”

Jin Guangyao looked rather unconvinced. In truth, Lan Xichen wasn’t too sure either what Wei Wuxian would do, but it was a risk he had to take. Nie Mingjue had done no wrong, and Wei Wuxian seemed like a man of his word, if nothing else.

Having made sure his husband was fine, Lan Xichen decided to check on the last member of their party. Poor Sangcan was a rather weak ghost by the look of things, and those mosquitoes had attacked him quite viciously. His already plain face was now covered in huge bite marks, and he seemed quite miserable as he watched Lan Wangji rub a soothing balm on Wei Wuxian’s skin.

“I have some as well,” Lan Xichen offered, taking a pot out of his sleeve. “Please help yourself. Are you much hurt?”

Sangcan gratefully took the balm, and started applying it on himself until his whole face was shiny with it.

“I’m quite fine, my lord. I don’t deal much with the bugs usually, but sometimes they escape their handlers and bother everyone, so I’ve been bitten before. The mosquitoes are fine anyway. It’s the flies you’ve got to look for, there’s some very vicious ones. The ones here are carnivores, you know!”

“We won’t let anything happen to you,” Lan Xichen promised. “Between the four of us, I think we can handle some flies.”

Sangcan shrugged, and handed him back his pot of balm. With this taken care of they resumed walking, though Sangcan warned them they would soon have to completely leave the road, since it didn’t actually lead anywhere. Past a certain point it just went in circle, and anyone who didn’t know about it would be trapped on that portion until they died. Sangcan, again, walked next to Lan Xichen, but was far quieter than before. Lan Xichen thought it was because he didn’t want to miss the sign that they ought to leave the road and remained quiet as well, but suddenly Sangcan grabbed his sleeve between two fingers and pulled lightly to get his attention, a very serious look on his face.

“My lord, if that’s not too bold… you’re very nice and kind of not bad looking,” Sangcan said, giving Lan Xichen an appraising look. “And I’ve been thinking. Well, my mother always used to say I was the prettiest man she’d ever seen. And you know, looking at those two…” he gestured at Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, walking too close and chatting in hushed voices. “I’m thinking if I get a powerful lover, then it doesn’t matter if I can break that contract or not, because I’ll have someone to protect me, right?”

“I’m already married,” Lan Xichen replied.

“I won’t tell your husband if you don’t either!” Sangcan insisted with a wink.

“His husband is right here,” Jin Guangyao remarked, looking very calm in that way which Lan Xichen knew to mean he was quite aggravated.

Sangcan startled at the news, his eyes jumping between the two of them.

“You two sure don’t look married,” he commented. “But in that case, I guess I don’t mind having you both? Or if you’ve been married a while and think of going your separate ways…”

He winked again, and Lan Xichen had to suppress a laugh. It was hardly the first time someone tried to hit on either of them, though this was definitely the worst attempt he’d ever witnessed… and Sangcan’s face, still bumpy with bite marks and shiny from the balm, really didn’t help.

“We’re not ever going to separate,” he announced, “and neither are we interested in spicing things up, before you try that. A-Yao and I are fated.”

To prove it, he cast a small spell which revealed the thin, bright red thread running from his hand to Jin Guangyao's. It was a useful trick to deal with unwanted flirting, one he’d learned shortly after ascending. At the time, he had hoped the thread might lead him to A-Sang’s spirit. Instead, he’d discovered that the person fated to share his life was actually Jin Guangyao, who Nie Mingjue had just brought to the Middle Court. 

To his mild shame, he’d originally been disappointed by that discovery, though of course he’d gotten over that with a little time, and now would not have changed what he had for anything in the world. Jin Guangyao and him weren't as obnoxious or open about their feelings as Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, but they had a good, steady companionship.

“Oh, that’s a fun trick!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, jumping closer to look at the thread. “Can you check other people too?”

Lan Xichen hesitated, but nodded and cast the spell on Wei Wuxian. To his consternation, this made it appear that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were, in fact, linked by a thread of their own. If Lan Xichen had had any hopes that his brother might return to his senses, this killed them. Nothing could come between a pair of soulmates.

Wei Wuxian grinned and threw himself at Lan Wangji’s neck who smiled at him, the pair of them looking happy beyond words. Lan Xichen sighed. He’d have to reconcile himself with this, especially if it really made Lan Wangji so happy.

“Can you do me too?” Sangcan asked in a high voice as he presented his hand to Lan Xichen. “I've got to know… "

There was something almost desperate to his expression, so Lan Xichen promptly complied. They all gasped at the result.

“Because he’s dead?” Lan Wangji asked, turning a little pale at the sight.

“But I’m dead too and it’s not like this,” Wei Wuxian remarked, glancing at the thread that linked them. 

Lan Xichen said nothing, fascinated and horrified at once by the torn off thread hanging from Sangcan’s hand, its extremity frayed and ugly. In the centuries during which he’d used that little spell, Lan Xichen had never once seen a thread like that one. Either there was a link, or there wasn’t.

Sangcan looked pitifully at the thread, lifting his hand to better look at the torn end, but out of all of them he was the least surprised one.

“Is this something the Magpie King did to you?” Lan Xichen asked. “Or is this the secret you sold him? Did you do something to your soulmate?”

Sangcan opened his mouth, looking utterly scandalised at the suggestion, but no sound came out. He tried again a few times, only to end up looking like a miserable fish. 

"Fine, it wasn't you," Wei Wuxian guessed, and immediately Sangcan calmed down. "But something happened. Someone did this to you, and your curse is linked to that."

This time, Sangcan did not even try to speak. He just looked at Wei Wuxian, his eyes shining as if he might start crying. Feeling sorry for him, Lan Xichen lifted the spell on all of them so at least Sangcan wouldn't have to see this proof of what he had lost. He wanted to offer some words of comfort to the ghost, while Wei Wuxian looked ready to interrogate him. 

Neither of them had the chance to say anything.

Just as Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to ask more questions, a loud humming sound started coming from above them, and Sangcan cried out in fear before hiding behind Lan Xichen. With the mosquitoes still in mind, they all braced themselves for another attack. As the noise grew closer though, Lan Xichen wondered what sort of insect might make a buzzing sound so loud he could nearly feel the vibrations reverberating inside his body.

“Zewu-Jun, behind you!” Wei Wuxian cried out.

Lan Xichen twirled around, Shuoyue in hand, and sliced in half a creature flying toward him at great speed. Before he could get a good look at it, another had launched itself at Sangcan, landing heavily on his shoulder and biting down on his neck. Without losing a moment, Lan Xichen dispatched that creature as well. He shivered in disgust when he realised the things attacking them with time were huge flies, nearly as large as cats.

That certainly explained why Sangcan had seemed so terrified when he’d explained the flies in Xinglu Ridge were carnivores.

Still, no matter the size, no matter the diet, those fifty or so flies that attacked them just couldn’t measure up to two martial gods and a ghost king. In fact, they were weak enough that even Jin Guangyao managed to take down a few of them without trouble. Aside from Sangcan, no one at all was hurt.

But of course it was concerning that the weakest member of their group was the one who suffered the most once again. Lan Xichen felt again that Sangcan had to have been targeted, and he decided it would not happen again. He had promised the ghost that he would be protected, and he intended to keep his word.

For now though, Sangcan’s wound had to be looked at. Lan Xichen was the closest one to him, but the pot of balm he’d brought had been almost entirely depleted earlier, so Lan Wangji came to offer his own.

“It hurts so bad!” Sangcan wailed while Lan Xichen applied some balm on the ugly bite. “Ow! My lord, please be more gentle! Ah, it hurts so bad, it’s awful! Ow, Ow!”

Lan Xichen, already as gentle as he could be, half smiled at those complaints and continued working, trying to make his movements lighter still. Lan Wangji looked at the proceedings, with a bored expression. It surprised Lan Xichen at first that his brother wasn’t with that husband of his, but a glance to the side informed him that Wei Wuxian was currently studying the giant flies' insides, something that would definitely upset Lan Wangji’s sensibilities.

“There is a mark,” Lan Wangji suddenly said, coming closer.

Lan Xichen didn’t understand at first, until his brother pointed at Sangcan’s throat. It was very faint, but there was a thin, clean white line going all around the ghost’s neck. Without thinking Lan Xichen brushed his thumb against that mark. Sangcan shivered and let out a low moan, one that sounded far more sincere than all of his earlier whining.

“You were beheaded?” Lan Wangji asked.

Sangcan, so vocal a moment ago, fell silent and looked down at his feet. In this case, the absence of an answer was an answer of its own. Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji exchanged a glance.

“Were you executed?” Lan Xichen asked.

Although he didn’t manage to speak, Sangcan was able to shake his head.

“Murdered then?” Lan Xichen insisted.

Sangcan didn’t react in any way, and Lan Xichen again looked at his brother. The mark was very clean, meaning there had been only one blow, from a very sharp weapon. Being both martial gods, they knew beheading were rarely so clean, especially among mortals. It took a very strong blade to cut through bone and muscles that way. 

Formal executions were rarely performed in a single blow, unless the executioner was particularly skilled. In the course of war, beheading just wasn’t a very efficient move when there were quicker ways to kill a person, so Lan Xichen hadn’t even bothered asking about that possibility.

The last possibility then was murder, and even more than the other two, it would justify a soul turning into a ghost. Sangcan was, by the look of it, a bit of a fool and a coward, but even he might have been enraged after being murdered.

Wei Wuxian, still poking at the corpse of a giant fly nearby, spoke up. 

"Maybe he sold the secret of his murder so he could be avenged," he suggested. "Is that what you wanted? Revenge?" 

Sangcan appeared conflicted. He didn't say anything, which hinted Wei Wuxian wasn't wrong, but he also pinched his lips and crossed his arms, as if the conclusion that had been reached didn't please him. 

"Let's drop this matter," Sangcan grumbled at last, finding his voice again. "My lords, I think it's time to leave the road. It's more dangerous from this point on. If you get lost… well, it's bad. Some people say the Magpie King turned this place in a maze so twisted even he could get trapped!" 

"Is that so?" Wei Wuxian sneered, abandoning his study of the giant fly. "Sounds like he's not so smart as people say then." 

"If he were, would he need to hire others to take care of his business?" Sangcan retorted. "I'm just saying, some people have a great reputation, but if you dig a little then you find it's all shit under the surface. I mean, it's like that among ghosts for sure. And among gods?" 

He asked that question to Jin Guangyao who appeared startled. 

"You're one of those paperwork gods, right?" Sangcan insisted. "I've seen your temples once or twice. And paperwork gods, well, they're just like the Magpie King but on the other side of things, right? So I bet you know plenty of secrets too, and you'd be the right person to know if all heavenly reputations are deserved!"

Lan Xichen looked at his husband in concern, only to find Jin Guangyao smiling his most empty smile. 

Aside from his normal duties of answering his followers' prayers, Jin Guangyao had risen to a certain fame in the heavenly court as a spymaster of sorts. He was the one in charge of keeping track of gossip, checking if there was any truth to them, and making sure the Jade Emperor knew what he needed to know. As far as jobs went it wasn't a very respectable one, and Jin Guangyao wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up in that position in the first place. In fact he'd asked a few times to be relieved of his duties, especially since Nie Mingjue disapproved of such things, but the emperor had kept him where he was. After all, his efficiency couldn't be denied. 

Still the comparison to the Magpie King had to hit a little too close to home, even if Sangcan couldn't have known that. 

"There will always be people who aren't what they seem," Jin Guangyao said at last, his voice hitting that specific tone he only used when upset. "But in the heavenly court, such things are rare. Secrets never last very long, and anyone who tries to cheat their way up will be caught and put in their place."

Wei Wuxian snickered upon hearing this, but Jin Guangyao paid him no mind. They were all getting used to him finding amusement in things that weren't funny in the least. As for Sangcan, he nodded eagerly. 

"You're right my lord, you've got to be right! Justice must prevail, and secrets must be uncovered!" 

Just like this, the sad mood that had come from discussing his manner of death was lifted, and Sangcan returned to normal. He insisted again on the need to leave the road behind, and took them into the forest where they all followed closely, heeding his warnings about getting lost. 

"He's really quite the character, that guide of ours," Jin Guangyao remarked to his husband, careful to keep his voice low. 

"I think he likes you. You might have gained another follower, A-Yao." 

"I prefer my followers smarter than that. Though enthusiasm has its merits as well, I suppose."

"He seems a decent enough person," Lan Xichen protested. "He has good taste in men, surely a point in his favour." 

Jin Guangyao wrinkled his nose. "If you must betray me, please at least do it with someone prettier."

A little ahead of them, a branch creaked, the sound resonating in the quiet of the night. Sangcan, who had stepped on it, nearly lost his balance out of surprise. He turned around and glared at the others, especially at Lan Xichen.

"My lords, please don't talk too much," Sangcan asked in a stern tone. "It is not safe here. Even if they don't attack, the King's little friends hear everything."

Lan Xichen flushed, wondering if Sangcan had heard the details of their banter. He didn't look upset, but his steps were less light than before. In fact, up until then, Sangcan hadn't made any sound while walking, and though he was still less noisy than the rest of them, that there was noise at all showed some temper on his part. Lan Xichen worried his husband and him might have accidentally antagonised their guide just when they needed him the most. 

After a while though, Sangcan appeared to regain control of himself. His steps turned light and silent once more, making it a little hard to follow him in the darkness of the forest. It hadn’t been a problem on the road, but now Lan Xichen was truly concerned about losing sight of the ghost. To avoid that, he abandoned Jin Guangyao and caught up to Sangcan, silently walking by his side. No matter how well trained he was in martial arts, Lan Xichen couldn’t make himself entirely silent the way Sangcan seemed capable of, so even without seeing anything the other three would still be able to follow them. Sangcan didn't appear to mind his proximity, but didn't particularly acknowledge him either.

They walked for many hours, until the sky above them started turning lighter with the first hints of a dawn soon to come. Once or twice, Sangcan stopped in his tracks, motioning for them to be silent, and they heard loud buzzing noises passing by. More giant insects by the sound of it. Even though they weren’t attacked again, Sangcan seemed more and more worried as time passed, as if fearing the confrontation with his master now that they were getting closer. Lan Xichen wanted to comfort him again, and to remind him that they wouldn’t let any harm come to him if they could help it, but since Sangcan had ordered silence, he obeyed. He could not take the risk of ruining their rescue of Nie Mingjue.

At last, the sun rose, colouring the forest around them. Although it must have been a beautiful place, especially bathed this way in golden light, Lan Xichen only felt growing anxiety at this proof that too much time had passed without them seeing any trace of Nie Mingjue. If he had been captured, or worse…

Just as he thought this, Lan Xichen tensed and glanced at his brother, only to find Lan Wangji also looking at him. Without a word, they both stepped closer to their husband, Lan Xichen dragging Sangcan as well behind him before unsheathing his sword. Lan Wangji did the same, waiting for something to come. 

At first it was nothing but a presence, the vague sensation of something dark and powerful coming their way. Then, somewhere above the canopy, a faint fluttering of wings. Wei Wuxian appeared more intrigued than anything, but Jin Gyangyao nervously took out his fan and prepared to defend himself if need be.

The flapping sound came closer. Catching a glimpse of dark wings, Jin Guangyao moved to attack and send a powerful gust of wind against whatever was above them. Before he could though, Sangcan cried out loudly, giving the things a warning, and grabbed both of Jin Guangyao’s wrist with great strength. Jin Guangyao, startled, made a wrong movement and his fan was pushed against the edge of Lan Xichen’s sword, splitting it in two.

“What have you done?” Jin Guangyao hissed. “That was a present from da-ge, he’ll be furious!”

“Don’t you dare hurt them!” Sangcan snarled in response, rushing forward to meet a pair of birds, offering them his arms to land on.

“Aren’t they going to report to the Magpie King?” Jin Guangyao asked. Sangcan didn’t grace him with an answer. All his attention was on that pair of magpies who had hopped on his shoulders to play with his hair, while he scratched their necks.

“Hello, hello, I missed you too,” Sangcan cooed to the birds, his voice soft and warm. “Are you fine? Do you have enough to eat? Good, I’m glad. Do you bring news?”

The pair of birds started cackling excitedly at him, appearing to speak over one another. A few times they let out more strident sounds, while Sangcan nodded seriously to all of it.

“Good boys, good boys, let me see if I have something for you,” the ghost said when they were done, digging into his sleeve until he found a small pouch. From there he took a handful of various bugs, some of which seemed alive. The pair of birds eagerly ate from his hand, while Sangcan smiled tenderly at them.

Lan Xichen stared.

Something about this felt familiar. It was something he hadn’t thought of in many years, because he’d been too busy, because he hadn’t wanted to think about it, but his friend A-Sang used to love birds. He’d feed wild ones until they became used to him, and had an entire aviary even though his family didn’t approve. He often handfed them, no matter the diet, just because he wanted to take care of his little friends.

He always looked so happy with them, enough so that Lan Xichen would joke about being jealous. He could nearly remember A-Sang’s delighted face, could almost recall his smile that shone like the sun, the same way Sangcan’s did as he fed those magpies, and for a second Lan Xichen wondered…

But it was impossible. A-Sang had been young when he’d died, not quite twenty, and he’d been a very handsome man, even if Lan Xichen could hardly remember his exact features after so long. There was no way that Sangcan, plain and middle aged, could be the same person. A more powerful ghost might have managed to change shape, but Sangcan was a very weak one, barely strong enough to have a physical shape at all.

The only reason Lan Xichen could find any resemblance between the two was because Sangcan had been on his mind since his visit to the Burial Mounds. It annoyed him mildly, especially since Jin Guangyao was right there.

Wanting to distract himself from unnecessary nostalgia, Lan Xichen walked closer to Sangcan and his birds.

“Those are beautiful,” he said. “Are you their handler then?”

Sangcan jumped slightly at being approached, to which the birds complained. He threw Lan Xichen a suspicious side look before nodding slowly.

“They're my little ones,” he confirmed. “I haven’t seen them since being sent to guard the entrance, and they were missing me. So they escaped, and brought me news as a gift. That martial god, the one who broke in yesterday, your rude friend… He’s made it to the Unclean Realm. That’s the Magpie King’s palace,” Sangcan added as an explanation.

“Your boss sucks at names,” Wei Wuxian said, joining them. “Who’d want to live in a place like that?”

Sangcan shrugged slightly, careful not to jolt his little feathery friends around.

“I don’t know. I really don’t know! I’m not close to him, am I? I’ve heard some people say it’s just the old name of a place where he used to live, but I don’t know. Even we don’t know much about him, and we work for him. Maybe he just thought it was funny. Hey, do you know why it’s called that?” Sangcan asked one of the birds, which cackled in answer. Whatever it said, Sangcan didn't find it worth translating.

Lan Xichen had to close his eyes for a second. He felt a little faint because that name was…

Just as A-Sang had loved birds, he’d had a taste for history as well. He liked to read about it, curious as a cat on topics he enjoyed, and loved sharing what he learned with those few people close to him. And so Lan Xichen could just remember A-Sang explaining one day that once upon a time, the place he lived in used to be called the Unclean Realm, though the name had fallen in disuse over time. It had so pleased him to have discovered this useless little bit of trivia, and so Lan Xichen too had been happy, as he so often was in his company.

But A-Sang couldn’t be the Magpie King. The idea was even more ridiculous than being Sangcan. A-Sang had been sweet and innocent, a little mischievous certainly but never cruel the way the Magpie King could be, and certainly not resentful enough to turn into a ghost king. It would have taken more than a murder, however randomly violent, to turn such a lovely young man into a creature like the Magpie King, so Lan Xichen refused to even consider it. He just had A-Sang on his mind too much, and it was getting ridiculous.

Wanting to distract himself, yet also still plagued by memories of a boy long dead, Lan Xichen thoughtlessly tried to pet the birds, remembering how A-Sang always encouraged him to do so with his own pets.

The tip of Lan Xichen's fingers barely brushed against those feathers, yet it was enough to make him flinch away. The dark presence Lan Xichen had felt earlier had truly come from those birds, and it turned out they were so steeped in resentful energy it could harm even a god. From where they stood Lan Wangji and Jin Guangyao couldn't see it happen, but Wei Wuxian noticed, as did Sangcan who chuckled uncomfortably while scratching under the bird's chin. 

"Did that lord scare you, my friend?" he asked the bird, getting a grumpy sounding high sound in return. Sangcan turned to Lan Xichen with an apologetic smile. "My lord, please don't be mad at them! But of course, those aren't ordinary birds. They are the Magpie King's oldest allies, you know. Even before he became a ghost king, these two were with him, so you'll understand they are picky with who can touch them."

As if agreeing, the two magpies cackled in unison and threw Lan Xichen a disdainful glare. 

"Well, it's time for you to leave anyway," Sangcan told the birds. "We don't want your absence to be noticed, eh? I'll see you later maybe, if this doesn’t kill me. Go on! Shoo!" he ordered the unimpressed birds. "Ah, I'm always saying you're such good boys, and now you're making me lie!"

Since he sounded so miserable, the magpies pecked a last time at his hair and took flight. They all watched them go, all feeling different emotions about that encounter.

“Should we be letting them go this easily?” Jin Guangyao asked. “Aren’t you worried they might reveal our presence to their king?”

“Oh, no, they like me too much to betray me,” Sangcan proudly replied. “I always sneak them treats, so they’re good boys to me.”

“Boys… so they’re not a bonded pair?” Jin Guangyao asked, still staring in the direction where the birds had disappeared.

“Birds can have the same tastes as humans, my lord,” Sangcan informed him. “There’s some males that won’t ever touch a female. Aren’t all of you lords like that as well, all married to one anothers and the like? But anyway… you’re right actually, they’re not a bonded pair. They’re brothers, as it happens, which is even neater than just mates, isn’t it?”

Jin Guangyao looked unimpressed by that reveal, while the Lan brothers both nodded in agreement. As for Wei Wuxian, some complicated emotions flashed on his face, as if the topic of siblings were an unpleasant one for him.

“Can’t imagine being stuck with a relative of mine for centuries and having to work with him,” Wei Wuxian muttered, before grinning at his husband. “No offence, Lan Zhan. At least, your brother seems easy to get along with. More than I could have said of…” He stopped with a sigh, and turned again to Sangcan. “And do you have relatives? Hm? A brother of your own, perhaps?”

Sangcan didn’t reply, his lips pinched tight. He stared at Wei Wuxian with surprising intensity, as if trying to figure out something about the ghost king. Whether he found what he was looking for or not, Sangcan suddenly started walking again.

“Let’s go, my lords,” he ordered. “Your friend might need help if he’s reached the Unclean Realm. It’s not a good place, not in the least, so let’s not lose any more time, hm? Not that it’s very far by now...”

Because his steps were making noise again, Lan Xichen guessed that either the question about his family or the encounter with those magpies had gotten Sangcan upset again. At some other time he might have asked, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that ultimately, it was nothing to be concerned about. He couldn’t have explained it. Lan Xichen just knew that Sangcan had no malicious intentions, that he just wanted to do what he’d promised, get his curse lifted, and then just go on with his non-life in peace. It made little sense, but Lan Xichen had been alive long enough that he felt he’d gotten at least somewhat good at guessing if people were dangerous or not.

Sangcan was no threat to himself, just as Wei Wuxian, however odd and possibly dangerous to others, just didn’t strike him as a person who would ever purposefully try to harm Lan Wangji.

So Lan Xichen left Sangcan to his emotions, and tried to calm his own unquiet heart. If Nie Mingjue had already arrived to that Unclean Realm, if he had already confronted the Magpie King… there was a very real chance that things would go badly. In fact, it was almost certain at that point that they wouldn’t be able to avoid a fight.

Lan Xichen couldn’t refrain a sigh. It was exactly what he didn’t want to see happen. Still, he hoped that the Magpie King, like Wei Wuxian, wasn’t all that his reputation made him to be, that there would be a way to negotiate with him.

While Lan Xichen mused on every option that might be available to them, the Unclean Realm appeared before them quite suddenly. 

One moment they were walking in the dense forest covering Xinglu Ridge, the next they were in a vast clearing in the middle of which stood an ancient looking home, which had the air of an antique temple reconverted into a habitation. Lan Xichen gasped as he recognised it, while Jin Guangyao let out a weak cry of fear and grabbed his husband’s hand so tight it Lan Xichen thought he might break a bone.

“Is something wrong?” Wei Wuxian asked.

Lan Xichen silently nodded, staring at that building he’d never thought he’d see again. Next to him, Jin Guangyao was trying to pull him away from the Unclean Realm, growing more obviously worried with each passing moment. Not without reason, of course. Last time Jin Guangyao had been in there, he’d become the sole survivor of a terrible slaughter, an event so traumatic he refused to talk about it to that day. Because this place was…

“This is Nie Mingjue’s house when he was mortal,” Lan Xichen whispered. “And it was destroyed centuries ago.”

#xisang #wangxian #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #marked man au

[tenmillionwhumperflies]

Cloudwalker Series Part 23

Alright, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of angst and a whoooollllleee lotta whump. It’s Avizon’s backstory time, peeps!

Warnings: Abusive woman, beatings, dislocations, blood, hand whump, guilt for hurting someone/ comparing to an abusive/evil character. 

Master-list Here

Approx WC: 2200

Taglist: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

When Avizon went downstairs he found Orrien teaching Ihuka how to peel potatoes. He couldn’t help but faintly smile, seeing Ihuka screwing up his face as he concentrated. “Before you say it, I couldn’t sleep so I gave up and started making dinner. Ihuka wanted to help,” Orrien supplied. “He’s doing a good job. We’ve been learning some words and he’s taken quite a shine to Mouse.”

Avizon looked at the metal dragon on Avizon’s ear, which was currently guarding a pea. Avizon smiled, but it wasn’t as forced as he expected it to be. “Horse called Fox and a dragon called Mouse. You’re a creative one, that’s for sure. So, what have we learned then, Ihuka?” “Tay-toe!” Ihuka beamed, showing him the potato he’d finished peeling. “Potato, yes, clever bird,” Avizon chuckled.

“Ummm… knife, pot, bowl,” he pointed to each item. “Fire… hot. d.dangerous?” “Yes, fires are hot and dangerous.” Orrien grinned and pointed to a pan. “And what’s in there?” “Dinner!” he beamed. Orrien and Avizon chuckled. “You’re making quite the chef out of young Ihuka.” Orrien chuckled and collected a bowl of stew for Ihuka. “And I found a way to get him to eat his v-e-g.” “Drowned in gravy and stock?” Avizon guessed. Orrien winked.

It was true, Ihuka would have to start to eat vegetables since he wasn’t getting the greens now he wasn’t in the wild. Avizon wanted to be able to keep him healthy and happy.

Orrien gave him the bowl. “Off with you now, go eat outside.”

“Eat… out...side...” he pointed to the window. “Yes, outside, clever bird.” Ihuka beamed and left. “He’s gone to sit on the step, bless his heart. He’s a good lad, really. It’s nice being able to teach him words.”

Avizon nodded. “I just hope I can undo the damage I’ve done...”

Orrien looked up at him and sighed. “I think you can, with time. He’s bouncing back, but I think he also knows you didn’t mean it. He can see your regret.” “I hope so… I also noticed something… A few days after Ihuka bit me, I began to change. Seeing Blue’s bite, get infected like that… I can’t help but wonder if Ihuka biting me… if it… changed me, helped tilt the scales.”

“Perhaps so.” “And to think that’s what I broke him for...” Avizon mumbled. “All my life I swore I’d never be anything like Halve, but I fear that is what I have become-” Orrien’s mood immediately darkened. “Do not say that name in this home. And you are nothing like that man, or his bitch of a daughter.” Avizon flinched at his sudden change. “I’m sorry. But I almost killed Ihuka, how am I that much better?” “Because you feel guilt. You feel regret. That is why.” Orrien gestured for him to sit and reluctantly, Avizon did so. Orrien sat opposite him.

Avizon sighed. “Is that enough to separate me from that monster?” “Yes. It is. Now please, you need to dismiss those thoughts. You are better than him. Ro loved you, you don’t get to compare yourself to that beast. Where is this coming from, Avizon?”

Avizon found the wooden table beneath him to be the better thing to look at. “I’ve had too much time to think about all the wrong I have done… Seeing how my birds react to me… I… Seeing Blue and Dyan, how they need each other… It has brought up memories. All I can see are the similarities between me and… him.” He looked down at his hand, at the small scar on the top of his hand that the princess had left behind from one of her attacks.

Avizon sighed. “I’m having a difficult day, I suppose.”

“What you went through was by no means easy. You pushed your body to its limit and then so much further. You were lost, yes, but you are also trying to find yourself again, to be better.” Orrien carefully put a hand on his hand. “Is there anything I can do?”

Avizon shook his head. “I think I’ll go for a ride. You should know, our guest, Tashka, is still in the barn, I believe. He has promised to not attack this place again.”

“Good… How is Blue anyway? Did he wake?” “He cracked open his eyes a little, but I left him with Dyan since Dyan was having a hard time too. He practically asked me to punish him and muzzle him but I refused… He thought I was going to take his other horn when he accidentally snarled at me.” Orrien frowned. “Poor bird… With Blue, we never got around to working past his fear of taking off his collar. But Dyan wasn’t threatened by its removal. Perhaps you could get him a weighed necklace, something he can feel, to reassure him on his more vulnerable days, when he feels like he is doing wrong? It is hard for them to adapt at times.”

Avizon nodded slowly. “I will speak to him when he’s calm and see what we can do. He looked about ready to fall asleep when I left him.” Orrien excused himself from the table. “I’d like to pop my head around the door and make sure everything is well. I was meaning to check on Blue anyway. What he went through…  I shouldn’t be long.” Orrien gestured to the pot. “You should eat.” Avizon nodded but he didn’t hear the words he said. He was lost in thought, staring at his scarred hand. He shuddered with the memories, but Orrien had already left. He didn’t need to see this, he didn’t like to have people see his struggling.

And so his mind wandered, and Avizon couldn’t reel it back in. All he could think about was his time at that cursed castle, the pain he’d endured, to all the events that had led him into darkness, and despair…

Several Years ago...

Avizon groaned as he made his way up the many stairs to get to the top of the tower to see Orrien and have his wounds checked over from the day before. Orrien had healed him well, but he needed to keep a close eye on it. Avizon had been unconscious after one of the princesses 'gifts' had left him too close to death. 

It had been a bad stab wound sent in a fit of rage because Avizon hadn't knelt fast enough with his still healing leg injury from several days prior. Nothing he could do was ever enough for that woman or her father. Every failure brought pain which brought more failure. It was a cycle he couldn't escape from but he was running out of blood to give.

He'd only just gotten to the top, panting for breath, when he came face to face with Princess Eriona. He bit back a whimper and bowed. "Your Highness." "Downstairs, now," she hissed. "You didn't make an appearance yesterday."

Because he was unconscious, but that wasn't an answer he could provide. "Yes, your Highness… my sincerest apologies."

With every day that passed the desire to kill that bitch grew, but he was too terrified to ever act upon such thoughts.

Despite struggling all the way up the stairs, he now had to go back down. He politely invited Eriona to go first, but she slapped the back of his head and shoved him towards the stairs. He struggled to keep his balance as he limped down faster than he wanted to. He blinked away tears and bit back a grimace as the spiking pain increased rapidly.

"Hurry up!"

Despite his pain, he did so, his limp growing worse. He was in so much pain but he just couldn't stop. It wasn’t an option, she was already clearly so mad.

"You had the audacity to get my father involved, getting me into trouble for lowering his 'security'. Like you could do anything! You're worthless, pathetic! And one day once father is dead you'll be mine to hurt as I wish!"

She kicked him in the back of the head before he could string together some sort of reply, sending him down half a dozen stairs before he could catch himself. His stomach flipped when he felt something give in his shoulder. He cried out in pain, holding onto it with a strangled sob. He could only guess it had dislocated. He struggled to get up again with three shaky limbs. He choked back a sob. He was sure he'd opened his stab wound too. He clamped his eyes shut.

"Please, mistress," he whimpered, daring to use the other name she liked him to use when they were alone. "I..."

"Get up!" she spat, grabbing him by the hair and yanking up.

Avizon struggled to his feet and had no choice but to keep walking. His body burned with the pain he was in. He cried out as he hobbled, keeping a hand against the wall for support.

"Cry all you want, coward, you will be punished."

Finally, he made it to the bottom of the stairs, snivelling, whimpering, and shaking. He just couldn't take this anymore. He just couldn't live the rest of his life like this. He yearned for the day he could be free from this, from the pain. Ro always told him he didn’t deserve this, but then why did he always suffer so?

Avizon gulped as she forced him on into a storage cupboard. He knew what to expect, and he could only try to defend himself from the beating he received from her. He tried to protect his shoulder and hold on as best he could as he could until her frustration died down. That was all he was to her, a punching bag, a means of gaining satisfaction from hurting others. He was nothing in her eyes. The king wouldn’t correct her either, he just made sure she didn’t kill him. He curled up in the corner and gradually fell down to the ground with each devastating blow to his already broken body.

He screamed when she got him to the ground and started to kick him in the ribs. He wheezed and curled up until finally, finally, she stopped, panting for breath. She reached up into her hair and Avizon braced in advance, turning his head away. There was a sudden pain in his hand and he cried out. Then there was a yanking sensation, and blood flowed freely. Stabbed with her hairpin. He tried to focus on breathing, to get gulps of air past his frozen lungs and broken ribs. He tried not to stare at his hand.

“Do not ignore me next time I call for you,” she glowered. He lay on the floor, battered, broken, and in so much pain he just simply could not move even if he wanted to. His eyes were dull and unseeing. He barely managed to choke out, “Yes, m.mistress...”

She left him alone, to lay on the floor in agony, out of sight of anyone in the castle. He closed his eyes and waited for unconsciousness, for someone to find him. He didn’t care which anymore. This was the life he had almost always lived, and there would be no escape from it…

He didn’t remember falling unconscious, but he woke to the feeling of warmth on his cheek, a hand, and not just anyone. “Open your eyes, my love, please open your eyes… Oh, by the realms… W.what the fuck has she done to you this time?...”

Avizon opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, only a feeble sob. He forced his eyes open a crack, just enough to see his beautiful green eyes. “R.Ro...”

Ro hushed him gently and kissed his forehead. "I've got you. My father's on his way- stay awake, sweetheart, please stay awake."

Avizon didn't even try to sit up. He couldn't if he wanted to. He was battling with his heavy eyelids, the whispered promise of painlessness. Ro sat down beside him and pulled him into his lap with care. Avizon whimpered as his shoulder moved but he tried to stay quiet for Ro. He wanted the comfort. The pain was so heavy he couldn't breathe.

"Ro?" Orrien called. "In here. I.it's bad," Ro answered.

Avizon saw the tears in his eyes and reached up with a bloody hand to wipe his tears away but thought better of it. His hand was so covered that it would have marked his face. He didn't want to do that to him.

"'m okay," he mumbled instead, even if he felt like anything but.

The first thing Orrien did when he saw him was swear. “She’s getting out of control,” he hissed, kneeling down to assess the injuries. Avizon whimpered and tried to push his hand away from his now clearly bleeding wound. “N.no, master, p.please...”

Orrien gently put his hand on Avizon’s forehead, assessing his temperature. “I’m going to have to inform the king again-”

“No!” Avizon yelped, trying to sit up, but that drew a scream from him. Ro eased him back down as he panted heavily and sweat dripped from his body. “N.no...” “She punished you for it? Dash it all!” Orrien spat, but he quickly dismissed his anger. “Alright… let’s just get you upstairs so I can patch this up. Don’t worry, lad, I’ve got you… sleep.”

#Cloudwalker series #whump #tw:abusive environment #tw:blood #Avizon #Orrien #Ihuka #royal whumper #Avizon didn't have a very nice time with the royals #and that's only going to get worse tbh

[zrtranscripts]

Home Front, Mission 17: Drone On

Take to the Skies

~

[mechanical work sounds in the background]

JANINE DE LUCA: Ah, is it that time already? No, Mr. Yao, I can do it. I have equipment here. No, you do not need to come down and help. Please continue calibrating the comms. Attention, listeners, Janine De Luca here. I've just been informed by Mr. Yao that it is time for today's workout session. Please take a moment to gather two or more tin cans, two bags, and if possible, a chair for exercises you'll be doing later on. Ensure the bags have strong handles. Once you're ready, commence warming up, perhaps by jogging on the spot.

Unfortunately, I'm rather busy attending to a task in Abel's workshop at present. Under the workshop, to be precise. I'm in a crawl space, stripping out old copper wiring for use elsewhere. Still, I have a portable mic, so we can conduct our workout as planned. In fact, being in a confined space has brought to mind exercises for those locked down with limited room, such as Runner Thirty-One, who is unfortunately trapped within a cottage pantry.

So on to today's first exercise: seated leg raises. For this, you'll need one sturdy chair and just enough space to stretch your legs. I believe Thirty-One has that much room in his pantry, along with several thousand legumes. If you don't have room, continue jogging. Otherwise, sit upright in your chair with your back straight and your hands on the chair on either side of you. Plant your left foot on the floor, then straighten your right leg so it extends in front of you with your hip flexed and your knee straight. Hold the leg there for a few seconds, then lower it.

We will raise and lower your right leg thusly for 30 seconds, then your left for 30 more. And start. That's it, keep going. 15 seconds down. You're doing well, everyone. Please ignore my working in the background. Very good. 30 seconds, listeners. Switch to your left leg. That's it, 15 seconds left, listeners. We are both nearly done. The wiring down here is from defunct pre-apocalypse electrics. There is little left to salvage. And exercise complete, as is my collection operation.

I shall trigger a music break while I emerge from the crawl space. You could continue exercising or relax, listeners. I admit I've let Mr. Yao pick out today's songs, so I imagine something cheerful should be about to play.

~

JANINE DE LUCA: Welcome back, everyone. I'm afraid I am far from done with the day's labors, so you will have to bear with me while I conduct essential work. Abel's machine shop has been rather cluttered for the last few months. Just before the superhorde, we recovered a crashed military drone from nearby countryside, an extremely advanced attack model. Mr. Yao claims it resembles a predatory bird, though I know few birds of car size. At first I was worried the drone was damaged beyond repair, but I have had ample incentive to work on it of late. Now while I rewire some circuits on the drone's underside, you've a round of torso twists to do.

Use the tin cans and bags you obtained earlier. Place one tin in each bag. Feel free to use more tins for a greater challenge. This ought to be a fine use for all those cans of condensed milk in your pantry, Runner Thirty-One. Of course, you wouldn't have been trapped by the horde if you hadn't disobeyed orders to go back for those cans. Now sit holding the weights very close to your chest. Twist from the waist to your left hand side, then twist back to the center, and then twist to the opposite side. Keep alternating twists like this for one minute. And begin.

Very good, 15 seconds complete. For camaraderie purposes, you may wish to know I am removing fused components from the drone. They are of a similar heft to your weights. That's it, 30 seconds elapsed. Patience is the key, listeners, in exercise and engineering. No matter how many panels need to be pried loose, one must persist. 15 seconds left, nearly done. And exercise complete.

It has been weeks of work, listeners, but I am close to restoring this drone, I know it. Air support in this day and age... it could bring us a major victory against the superhorde. Dr. Myers is concerned that I've been going without sleep for the project. For more than a few days, in honesty, but completion is so near. I need only... [components zap] Ah, damn! I need only bypass the power systems. The main battery still holds charge, but its connections are ruined. This wiring is delicate. I must concentrate. More music will follow. Rest or continue pushing yourselves and when I return, with any luck, some progress will have been made.

~

JANINE DE LUCA: Hello, listeners. You have just missed Mr. Yao, who has been down here on the pretext of delivering unsolicited cocoa. The truth is, weathering the superhorde, trying to plan a counterattack... the pressure has been intense. Bouts of flu and dysentery have other settlements low on medical supplies, beseeching us for aid. Tinkering in here is the closest thing to relaxation I've been able to manage. Hopefully you have found our exercises similarly restorative.

Today's next task: incline press-ups. If you're confined near stairs, find them. Adopt a press-up position with your hands shoulder-width apart on the second or third step of your stairs and your back straight. Bend your arms to lower your body until your chest is close to the floor, hold there for a count of two, then return to your starting position.

For those of you without stairs, like Thirty-One or Runners Nineteen and Twenty-Two who are trapped in the ale house toilet after a failed romantic escape, try wall press-ups. Stand before a wall with your legs together and your arms straight out with your palms on the wall at shoulder height, shoulder-width apart. Keep your back straight and bend your elbows to bring your nose close to the wall. Hold for two seconds, then return to your starting position.

There will be one minute of press-ups. Begin. 15 seconds down. I believe I am close to finishing the rewiring. 30 seconds down. The drone appears to be coming online. Excellent. 45 seconds down. I imagine wall press-ups are especially useful for Runner Thirteen, who is sheltering in an old police box, to Mr. Yao’s perplexing amusement.

And stop. The drone is ready for launch. With so little fuel, there is no opportunity to test it, but I have a plan in mind. The people need a victory against the horde. To be candid, I feel I need one, too. There will be a music break while I conduct the launch. Recoup or continue doing press-ups. When you hear from me again, we shall find out one way or another whether my efforts here have been in vain.

~

SAM YAO: Uh, hello? Hello, listeners, are you there? It's Sam in the comms shack. Janine told me to take over the broadcast while she launches her drone. Apparently, she's rigged up a remote to steer it, so she's got to focus on that. [paper rustles]Anyway, she's given me a list of exercises for you. Next one is... oh, planking. Janine says it's, uh, an excellent test of patience, inspired by Runner Twelve, who's stuck in the back of an overturned campervan. She's been planking to pass the time.

So lie down on your front, supporting your weight on your forearms and tiptoes. Keep your back straight and lock your core. You're going to hold that pose for 60 seconds. And go. Oh! Got an update from Janine. The drone just launched, and ah, I see it on the cams, rising from the workshop like a big scary robot eagle. 15 seconds down. That's it, plank like Runner Twelve. Halfway done. Huh, that's weird, the drone's just drifting over the horde. I mean, shouldn't it be, I don't know, shooting missiles or something? 45 seconds down. Keep your body locked. Imagine you're that drone soaring through the air like a plank. And done. Good job, everyone!

Yeah, there's still no bombs or missiles from our drone. It's uh, oh, it's losing altitude, drifting east toward Naxdale Settlement. Yeah, they've always been a bit twitchy over there. They keep claiming some mysterious beast is looting their stores. I mean, everyone knows it's just rats. Anyway, I'd better check in with Janine, make sure everything's okay. You guys know the drill, keep exercising or relax in the break and I'll be right back.

~

SAM YAO: Hey, folks! Me again. Couldn't get ahold of Janine. She must be busy steering the drone. Well, I guess we should just get on with our exercises. Uh, the next one is inch worming. According to Janine, it's Runner Thirty-One's favorite, even if he only has enough space to halfway do it in his pantry. Janine says it's the kind of bracing challenge that patience sometimes earns. Right.

So stand up straight, feet hip-width apart, then slowly bend forward, putting your hands on the floor in front of your feet as near as you can get them to your toes. Walk your hands forward, keeping your abs engaged, until your back is completely straight, then reverse it. Walk your arms back to your feet and stand up straight again. And well, just keep doing that over and over again for one minute. Ready? And go.

Hmm. Uh, you've done 15 seconds. Oh, that drone is getting really low. It's banking. Oh my God, it's going down!. Uh... uh, sorry, listeners. Um, yeah, you're halfway done. I'm just a bit distracted here. The drone’s careered right into the middle of Naxdale Settlement. Uh, I'm checking nearby cams. This can't be good. Uh, yeah, 15 seconds left, guys. Looks like the locals in Naxdale are surrounding our crashed drone. They look really agitated. Uh, good job, everyone. That's one minute.

Listen, I'm gonna raise Janine, find out what's happening. You just... hang in there. Janine's been slaving over that thing for weeks. If it's some kind of dud, she'll be devastated. Oh God, I hope Naxdale don't think we're attacking them. Okay, this could be bad, but don't panic. I'm just... just going to put on some relaxing music for you to cool down to while we get this straightened out. Oh boy.

~

JANINE DE LUCA: Hello, listeners. I apologize for alarming you and Mr. Yao. All is well, I simply chose to focus on implementing my plan before explaining it. Lost time is lost health in this case. The drone was never meant to fight the horde, you see. We lack the ammunition for that. No, the drone is packed with medical supplies. I gutted its weapons systems to make room. I have piloted the drone to our nearby neighbors.

And to those listening from Naxdale, you are entitled to 1/8th of its contents. The drone's landing gear is permanently jammed, hence today's crash. You will use spare parts aboard to repair any landing damage and I will pilot it to the next nearest settlement, where this process will repeat. The drone has enough fuel to deliver to every settlement for miles. You will all get the supplies you need. And if anyone tries to take more than their share, well, the drone has a self-destruct.

We could not beat the horde with one damaged drone, listeners, but sometimes the key to victory is redefining your success conditions. No settlement near Abel will run out of key supplies. That is worth a little lost sleep, I fancy. Alas, we are out of time for today's exercise session. Naxdale, I will be in touch to help prepare the drone.

And everyone else, please do watch the skies. I promise when you need Abel Township, we will be there. That goes doubly for Runner Thirty-One and all the other runners out there in tight spaces. One day soon, we will be coming to rescue you, no matter what it takes, I swear. This is Janine De Luca, signing off for now.

~

#zombies run #zr home front #zrhf 17 #drone on #zr transcript

[waywardfacegarden]

burning embers

Modern Au: Zuko centric + The Gaang + Zukka + Friendship/Family feels + Angst and Fluff.

Summary: Zuko learns the meaning of love.

Read on Ao3 here.

.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say.

But Zuko wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what falling in love with someone is, he doesn’t know what it feels like. Love is a concept so alien to him; he can’t even grasp the root of it. He just knows a broken home, the remaining ashes of a devastating, blazing fire that was supposed to be his father’s love.

He doesn’t know what love is. And yet, he understands: the underlying and heart-wrenching agony that comes with loving. The sorrow that comes with it; it is just there, intrinsically linked. It’s something that the small kid—full of unknown love and golden warmth, but also deep, bitter pain—comprehends at the tender age of 11.

It’s just common knowledge for him, the same way he knows the sky is blue and the sun hides at night.

Family. Love. Father.

Those words don’t have meaning, Zuko thinks, lying on his bed one night, still hearing the disappointment in his father’s voice echoing in his ears in the quiet darkness of his room. They’re there, of course. And he knows them. He can say them. But they feel far away, slipping through the space between his fingers, becoming dust that blows away with the chilly wind of an autumn midnight, escaping him before he can place what was there in the first place.

They don’t hold weight. They don’t mean anything. They’re shallow; they just exist, like a couple of letters strewn together, like when you say your name so many times in a row it doesn’t even feel right anymore; but, he supposes only a few people are blessed with their significance, with tasting them in their mouth with something not akin to hate or bitterness or emptiness.

Loneliness. Despair. Dishonor.

Those have meaning. Those have weight, despite being such empty words.

(But they very much taste like something akin to hate, too—and that’s the thing.

Maybe Zuko just doesn’t know anything aside from [self-]hate.)

.

.

Family, love, father. They are concepts that come alive to him the same way a phoenix is born.

They rise, awakening from the ashes that the fire within themselves has burned to death; so beautiful, so mystical, so mesmeric and so incredibly fragile and precious and wondrous, like a mythological creature coming back to life after having known its own death.

He learns the words and their meaning the same way his brain starts learning new things and concepts by reading a book; but he doesn’t learn with his mind—even though a part of him knows that this is where knowledge is stored—Zuko learns with his heart (he has always learned things best with his heart; after all, Zuko wears it on his sleeve; he’s emotional, visceral, volatile—his feelings are way too intense, too much that they burn his chest open; he’s always aflame), with his eyes, with his hands. He learns it in every little gesture that’s given to him, in every little crack (that keeps filling and filling and filling) of the time that goes on, in every little drop of ink that is spilled on the parchment where his life is being written.

He learns the words in the way he begins learning his uncle's tea recipes, in the satisfaction and pride he feels when his uncle congratulates him for a job well-done on a warm, quiet Saturday afternoon as he finishes helping cleaning and serving the tables around the teashop, in the way his favorite cup sits next to his uncle's on the kitchen counter in the mornings, full of Zuko’s favorite bubble tea; he learns them in the ugly, endearing, oversized sweater hanging at the back of his closet, the one his uncle gave him in his last birthday; he learns about love in the gentle smiles of weekends, in the singing of the birds outside his room’s window, in the blanket that rests around his shoulders when he is sitting on the comfy couch on a calm Thursday night, dozing off while trying to study for an English test, in the way the nightmares that used to haunt him are tormenting him less and less every time; he learns the meaning of father in his uncle's ridiculous pajamas, full of tiny drawings of cherry blossoms and tea leaves, in his uncle’s obsession with Pai Sho, and in the wise phrases he keeps throwing at Zuko even when he cannot fully understand them.

He learns, little by little, step by step, like a slow fire burning inside his guts.

And it's a weird, strange thing. Zuko learned that fire hurts you, the same way he learned that love does, but somehow, after years of building his new life, it doesn't feel that way anymore.

His uncle is patient with him. Patient as someone who would teach someone else origami or as someone who’s slowly writing a book. He teaches him, sees him fall, stumble and trip over his feet (both, metaphorically and literally speaking) and he’s there when Zuko gets up again.

It’s a nice feeling. Knowing that someone is going to be there, even if you fall. Even when you fail.

His uncle teaches him, the same way he creates a new tea receipt for the menu; carefully, gently, ever so softly. He takes Zuko, the broken child who looks at him through his pain and hatred, and makes him open his eyes. He points out, over and over and over again, that failing is not a bad thing, that love exists and that it doesn't have to hurt, and that if it does, you can heal from it; he teaches him that Zuko is full of it, full of love, he says that he’s always been.

Somehow, it feels a bit like healing. Of course, Zuko is still broken. Probably, a part of him always will be; but, somehow, he doesn't think that being a bit broken is so wrong now.

.

.

Friendship was a foreign concept to him, too. Or maybe not, but Zuko never wanted to get involved with it.

Too much trouble.

(Or maybe fear—fear of what it carries, what it holds in its nature; fear of failing, of not being enough, of being left out, of getting too attached.)

But just as Zuko was wrong about so many things in his life, this is not the exception.

He comes to learn that, too.

It’s a different process than with his uncle. Maybe because it’s slower, or maybe because it’s, rather, faster. Maybe because he wasn’t aware he was learning at all.

Zuko doesn’t know exactly when it starts. Can’t pinpoint the exact moment he started getting involved. Not that he cares much about that at this point, but he would like to know.

They kind of adopt him in their group (or, er, gang, as they call it), without Zuko noticing. But to be fair, Zuko doesn’t notice a lot of things.

Toph is a friend of his Uncle, and she lives near the teashop, so she’s around more time than she’s not; she’s loud and kinda rude, and always calls Zuko a dork or a nerd or an idiot, but Zuko realizes he likes when she’s there. Aang comes along sometimes, with his scarily bright smile. There’s also Katara and her big brother, Sokka.

He likes all of them, to his extreme surprise. They’re all good people. Aang is way too kind, Katara may be scary but she’s pretty cool, and Sokka is just a combination of a very, weirdly endearing, smart dumbass, which is, uh, new.

He honestly doesn’t know how it happened, or when it happened, but suddenly he’s tucked under a soft fuzzy blanket in winter, sandwiched in the middle of the three-spot sofa, with Aang almost laying over his lap. He’s almost sitting on Sokka’s right leg, pressing him against the arm sofa, his side overlapping with Sokka’s. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He’s sitting there, cross-legged, with his right arm fully extended on the back of the sofa, almost like he’s hugging Zuko’s shoulders; he’s practically leaning on Zuko.

His arm and his side are really warm, though. Not as much as Zuko generally is, but it’s… kind of nice.

“Katara, Titanic is a classic, dude. What the hell.”

Zuko takes a sip from his hot chocolate, blowing off the clouds of steam gathering over the cup—the warmth of it is pretty welcomed in his throat, to be honest, while Katara rolls her eyes at her brother.

“I’m not watching that for the fifth time in a month and seeing you and Aang both cry for an hour later after the already three long hours of the movie.”

Sokka looks pretty indignant about Katara’s attitude towards his (probably) favorite movie, which is pretty amusing.

“You’re just a monster,” Sokka says, dramatically, “that’s why you don’t cry.”

Katara rolls her eyes again.

“I don’t know,” Toph says, from the couch closer to the TV, sprawled all comfortably over it. “It’s actually a really funny movie,” she points out, and then draws out her voice. “‘Jack, draw me like one of your French girls’.”

Aang laughs pretty loud, and Zuko smiles at the bad impersonation despite himself.

“Well, My Heart Will Go On is my anthem.” Sokka says, puffing out his chest.

Zuko actually snorts into his cup and Sokka shoots him a look. He remembers the time Aang and Sokka recreated that iconic scene, with Toph singing at the top of her lungs in a ridiculously obnoxious voice. He actually laughed at that.

Sokka seems to read his mind, because after a few moments of staring at Zuko’s face, his entire expression lights up. He grins, eyes sparkling, and starts singing really loud and purposely out of tune. Aang starts laughing and Toph doesn’t waste time on joining Sokka in singing. Even Katara smiles.

A few minutes later of terrible singing, they’re all laughing. Toph is cackling so hard she’s on the floor, and Sokka keeps leaning over him, laughing in his ear. He believes it should be annoying, but instead of that, it’s actually infectious and Zuko laughs a bit harder.

After they calm down, Toph is clutching at her sides and Sokka is wiping tears out of his eyes.

Aang smiles, then, softly and content, and raises a hand in the air, like asking for permission to talk.

“I have an idea.” He says, and turns around to look at him. “Why don’t we just let Zuko decide? He hasn’t chosen anything yet for our Friday movie nights.” 

All eyes turn to look at him at that. He stops his movements, mouth hanging open, hot cup halfway to his lips.

“Uh,” he frowns. “Thank you, but, um. Why would I choose? It’s your thing.”

Everyone stares at him like he has two heads, which, okay fair but why.

“What?”

Aang gives him a soft smile, all kind eyes and gentle features, like he’s about to talk to a baby, but before he can say anything, Sokka is putting an arm around his shoulders and leaning all his weight on him, as if they weren’t already close enough.

“This is your thing as much as it is ours, dude.” He says, grinning, “You’re one of us.” He vaunts, proudly, and ruffles Zuko’s hair.

Katara nods, at the same time Toph goes:

“Yup, you’re already in, loser.”

Aang chuckles. “Yes, you’re our friend, Zuko.”

Zuko blinks, stunned.

That’s… 

There’s… 

That’s… the F-word.

Friend.

Friend.

Huh? What? How? When did that happen? Huh? Did he miss something in the past few months?

Sokka, completely oblivious to his emotional turmoil, insistently points to the TV while squeezing him. "So, buddy? Don't you think we should watch Titanic to cry and share a couple of very male tears?"

"You only want to watch it because you have a crush on both Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio." Katara accuses.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes, you do! You even still keep that poster of them behind your…"

"Katara!!!!"

.

.

Friend.

It’s a nice word.

It tastes like hot chocolate in his mouth on a cold night, it sounds like Sokka’s laugh and Toph’s jokes, and it looks like Aang’s kind eyes and Katara’s nice smile.

It feels like something. It holds meaning. It’s not an empty word. At all.

Sokka’s hand ruffling his hair or over his shoulders, Toph’s nicknames for him, Aang’s offer of help in times he feels like Zuko needs it, Katara’s help with homework and advice on his recipes doesn’t let him forget that. ‘Friend’ is never going to be an empty word.

Friend tastes like hope, like warm food and bear-hugs.

Friend is such a nice word.

.

.

The thing with Zuko being generally—and strangely—warm all the time is that summer is a complete nightmare for him.

He's sitting directly in front of the fan at full power, barefoot in just jeans and a light T-shirt, and yet he still feels like he's going to explode. The weather forecast in the morning heralded a heat wave in midsummer, and it's exactly the worst thing in the world that could happen to Zuko's already overheated body. Toph groans beside him, lying with her arms and legs spread like a starfish on the cold ground. It is no comfort to her, however, and Zuko can understand that well.

Katara is looking at something on her phone, fanning herself with a magazine, and Aang remains practically unaffected, just as energetic as ever as he eats the remaining watermelon slices from the bowl they recently filled.

Zuko is wondering if he should go, or if he should fall asleep on the freezing ground that doesn't seem to be freezing at all, when Sokka walks into the living room in his baseball uniform. He has just returned from his morning summer practice; sweat is running down the side of his face, and his shirt is partly sticking to his body from the moisture. He smiles at everyone in greeting before gulping down all that's left of the water on the bottle of his hand. Zuko stares at his Adam's apple bob while he's drinking, and then his eyes trail the trickle of water that slides down his jaw over his desperation to drink all the water so fast. The drop goes down, down, down, dripping over his collarbone and sinking into his neck until it eventually gets lost somewhere inside his shirt. Sokka throws the bottle over the trash can and uses his shirt collar to wipe the water and some of his sweat off his face. Zuko's eyes unconsciously move downward; he can see a line of skin on Sokka's abdomen and stomach.

He swallows. Uh. His mouth is suddenly very dry. He's probably dehydrated. Is he dehydrated? He's starting to feel a little dizzy.

"So? Beloved friends, beloved little sister? Did you miss me? Obviously, you did."

Katara rolls her eyes, but still asks, "How was practice, dumbass?"

"It was cool! I hit twelve curve-balls in a row and sixteen of that weird fastball Suki pitches. Oh! And I'm finally getting the thing about that forkball. Also... woah, Zuko, are you okay?!"

Zuko blinks from where he was staring at Sokka's hair. It's kind of wet. Is that sweat? Shouldn't that be gross? Why is Zuko staring? Does he find it gross? He doesn't think so, but he also can't quite explain why...

"Woah, bud," Sokka says, kneeling in front of him and getting dangerously close to his face. "You're so red, are you having heatstroke or something? Do you feel dizzy?" He leans on his knees and presses a hand to his forehead, pulling up the bangs hanging over it. It feels nice, actually. Sokka's soft hand on his boiling skin feels like fresh water. He kind of wants to lean into it.

He probably does, because Sokka frowns. "Maybe you have a fever..." His mouth presses into a thin line. "Don't you want to take a shower to cool off? I can lend you some clothes, we're about the same height, they'll fit."

Zuko blinks. Huh?

"Here, let me help you." Sokka says, helping him up.

Around an hour later, Zuko feels a lot better, laying with his back on the floor in Sokka's baggy shorts and blue T-shirt with a cartoonish drawing of The Pink Panther. Zuko smiles involuntarily when he looks at it. It smells a bit like Sokka, or at least the detergent he uses. That makes his stomach do weird flips. He's not feeling that hot anymore, but maybe he is getting sick...

"Hey," Sokka tells him, looking at him from above, standing just behind Zuko's head. His toes are barely avoiding touching Zuko's sprawled hair on the floor.

"Hey," Zuko answers back, looking up at Sokka's soft face. His hair is down and still wet from the shower, and a few drops fall on the bridge of Zuko's nose when Sokka hovers over him. Zuko's face scrunches up, more out of involuntary reaction than out of bother, but Sokka chuckles.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. He uses the towel around his neck to messily dry his hair. "You look a lot better, now."

"Yes," Zuko muses, still a bit mesmerized by Sokka's wet hair. And Sokka's face. "Thanks."

Sokka grins brightly at him. "Sure."

He looks like he's about to say something else, but before he can say anything, Toph groans just a few feet away, sitting now on the couch. "Stop flirting and get a room already; it’s gross. We're here, too."

"What? We weren’t—"

Katara agrees, quietly.

"Hey! I was just worried!" Sokka excuses himself. "Weren't you all? His face was as red as a tomato."

Katara looks up from her magazine and gives him a pointed look, with one elegantly arched brow. Apparently, she doesn't even need to say anything else, because it's enough to make Sokka blush.

Oh.

He's cute, Zuko thinks. And then, oh, I think Sokka is cute. And then Sokka stomps over the kitchen muttering unintelligible things, still a faint blush over his cheeks.

Zuko smiles to himself watching his childish behavior. He is, though. He is cute.

.

.

.

It's raining heavily outside, drops pouring loudly against the asphalt of the sidewalk.

Zuko side-glances at Sokka. Maybe it's because after the course of a year, Zuko has learned to recognize many of Sokka's little gestures, or maybe it's the fact that the boy has been so much into his own mind lately, but Zuko recognizes that way he scrunches up his nose, that wrinkle between his eyebrows, that way his eyes twitch.

“Are you okay?” 

He’s asking mostly just to be polite, to be honest; he already knows he’s not. He knows something’s up.

Sokka turns to look at him, and then stares at the rain hitting the glass window of the lonely teashop.

“I’m…” He says, and looks at his hand. Then he presses his mouth into a thin line.

“You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Zuko says, awkwardly, because as much as he cares, he’s still a mess when it comes to social cues. He’s never going to stop being a mess. And terrible at comforting people.

Sokka sees right through him, though, like he always does, and smiles softly at him. His whole face mellows. It kind of makes Zuko’s heart flutter in his chest, like a butterfly flapping its wings.

“I’m…” Sokka tries again, looking at Zuko’s face. At his eyes, at his scar, at his neck. He feels weirdly exposed, but at the same time… He doesn’t. It’s just Sokka. Which means it’s okay. “Scared, I guess.”

Zuko blinks and tilts his head to the side. He’s not sure if he should ask, but…

“Of?”

Sokka gives him a wry smile.

“Of failing? Of disappointing my dad? Of not being enough? I don’t know, I can’t quite pick a single one.”

Sokka’s voice is not quite bitter, but it feels like that, in the air around them. Zuko knows the feeling pretty well.

“You are enough.” Zuko affirms, without a single trace of hesitation in his voice. Because Sokka is enough, in every single aspect, and he shouldn’t feel like any less than that. Zuko’s also aware of what he’s worrying about, and for Zuko, it’s just absurd—Sokka is one the very few people that shouldn’t worry about passing the entrance exam of college at all, he’s crazy smart. He should know that. But, to be fair, Zuko can’t judge him nor scold him for self-doubt when it used to be all that he was, along with his self-hate. So he says it out loud, looking into Sokka’s wide, surprised eyes. “You’re also really smart, Sokka, I’m sure you’re going to ace the entrance exam. You shouldn’t worry.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, but he also adopts that playful-kinda-flirty side of him. It’s painful because Zuko can see the sadness underlying in his voice and body language so clearly. Can see the lack of confidence in every single motion.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I am,” he agrees, “but it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I really believe so. You’re the smartest person I know. You’re very capable of doing whatever you want, so have faith in yourself just like I have faith in you.”

Once he says it, and Sokka blinks once, twice, thrice at him, Zuko feels painfully aware (and painfully embarrassed) of what he just said.

Oh Lord, what did he actually…

“Ah,” Sokka says, and makes a face that Zuko can’t name. “You’re blushing.”

Zuko covers his cheeks with both hands. Sokka is probably right, they’re so warm, but still.

“I’m not.” Still.

Sokka laughs, and raises both eyebrows. “You sure?” He asks, staring pointedly at his face, which only makes him blush harder.

Stupid Sokka.

He must know the effect he’s having on him, because he laughs again, lightheartedly. Well, at least he’s not upset anymore…

“I’m not,” he uselessly and pathetically insists, even when it’s tragically obvious he is. But he has some pride, okay.

Sokka grins, but it’s all devilish. It makes Zuko’s hair stand on end. A chill runs down his spine.

“It’s just hot.”

Sokka smirks. “Sure, you’re always hot.”

“Shut up,” Zuko complains and groans, facing away from him so that he can’t see his blatant embarrassment. Sokka’s natural flirty personality wasn’t that much of a problem back then, but it’s only gotten worse, and Zuko just can’t handle it sometimes. It feels like way too much.

“Ah, but you blush when you’re embarrassed. That’s cute.” Sokka points out, a wide grin on his face. “Imagine being both cute and hot, what a crime.” 

He sighs theatrically, and Zuko is very tempted to answer, “shut up, look who’s talking,” but he knows he will just get more embarrassed after saying that. He needs to calm down. So he just grumbles while Sokka laughs.

Then, when Sokka has already calmed down and Zuko can feel his face like normal again, they look quietly at the rain, steadily keeping its pace.

“Zuko,” Sokka says, after some time, and Zuko quirks an eyebrow in reply. 

Sokka smiles. “Thank you. For believing me. It means a lot.”

Zuko smiles back. “Of course.”

.

.

Zuko notices it one night. (Though, looking back, it’s weird he didn’t notice it before.)

Well, more like, Aang notices and points it out, and then Zuko realizes that what he said is pathetically true, lying in bed at night because he still mulls things over sometimes before going to sleep.

“You know,” Aang had casually said, holding a can of orange juice, sitting next to Zuko on the bleachers at one of Sokka’s practice games. “You stare at Sokka a lot.”

Zuko frowned. “It’s his game, after all. We’re here to watch him,” he had retorted, like it was obvious.

“Well, yes, but I don’t mean only now. You stare at him all the time.”

Zuko didn’t feel like he liked where this conversation was going. Something about his expression must had given him away, or maybe Aang was just too good at reading him now, because he said:

“Wait.” He actually had sounded surprised. “You mean you’re not aware you have a crush on him?”

Zuko’s eyes went wide. “What? I don’t have a crush on him.”

Aang quirked up an eyebrow. Sure, he didn’t need to say.

“I don’t,” he had pressed on.

Aang hadn’t looked any more convinced of what he had said. If anything, he looked more convinced on what he himself had said. Aang had looked at him for a very long period of 1 minute before lightly chuckling and nudging him in the arm with his elbow, smiling brightly at him.

It was weird, but Zuko has gotten better at reading them, maybe just as much as Aang has with him. Maybe that’s why he knows what Aang means with all of that. Admit it when you’re ready.

It’s not like he was trying to deny or hide it. It’s not like he was trying to lie. He just didn’t think Aang was actually right.

But he is. Zuko can’t stop looking at Sokka, all the time. Thinking about him. About the way he smiles, with his hair up, with his hair down, with that denim jacket that fits him in all the right angles, with his baseball cap, ecstatic after he scored a run in the 8th inning. 

Sokka, practicing on the field. Grinning widely and openly and hugging him tightly when he aced the entrance exam. Leaning in to taste Zuko’s ice-cream into his own mouth. Ruffling his own messy hair. Wearing those silly cartoon t-shirts. Serenading Zuko with Electric Love and the most ridiculous voice ever on his birthday as a joke. Messy eating. Scrunching up his nose while drinking green tea. Reciting 80% of the Star Wars dialogues by heart. Being obsessed with boomerangs and swords (though not as much as Zuko is with that last one). Biting into the end of his pencil when he’s focused on writing an English essay.

Ahhhhh.

Oh, holy honor.

He has a crush. A crush. Feelings.

When did that happen? Why did that happen? He doesn’t know. Was it because of his warm eyes? His pretty smile? His pretty lips? Was it because he opened up to Zuko, let himself be vulnerable around him, bled his heart out so Zuko could piece it back together? Was it because he’s funny? Charming? Cool? Smart? Astonishingly cute? Was it because he made Zuko feel made out of thin air, sometimes, so raw and exposed but yet so safe, so comfortable in his own skin? ...That is, the others don’t necessarily make him feel unsafe, or uncomfortable. He just feels like he can be all open and vulnerable with Sokka better. Maybe because he opened up to him first, about something so personal like his mom (and Zuko knew about losing a mom, too).

Well, whatever the reason, it doesn’t exactly matter, does it? He’s already in deep.

Zuko rolls over his stomach and sighs, groaning loud into his pillow. Why, why, why, why. It’s not like he even has a chance, so why did he have to…

Ugh.

Feelings are stupid. His heart is stupid.

And the way he falls asleep thinking about Sokka’s laugh is even stupider.

.

.

The thing is, because Zuko notices all the little details in Sokka’s gestures and behavior, he also notices the way he acts differently towards… Certain people.

“Me and Yue?” Sokka laughs, and Zuko blinks. He didn’t even mean to ask it out loud. Now, he would just hear the confirmation of what he already knew from Sokka’s lips. How is that any better? Good job, Zuko. 

“Nah, man, Suki would kill me if she sees me wooing her girlfriend. Or at least kick me pretty damn hard.” Huh? Zuko blinks again. Huh? So they’re… Sokka and Yue… They’re not… 

“And believe me, she’s super strong. She kicked me once and I’ve always regretted eating that last cupcake on the fridge.” Sokka makes a face and shudders, like the mere flashback is enough to make him fear. But then he smiles, in that soft way of his that makes Zuko’s knees go really weak. “And I’m pretty sure Yue is immensely happy with her, too.”

Zuko doesn’t know what to say, so he just oh-so-eloquently utters:

“Ah.”

Sokka seems amused.

“Didn’t you know they were a thing? The PDA is so strong when they’re together, you have to have seen it.”

Well, that was… Zuko just thought they were touchy with each other? Sokka is pretty much touchy with him all the time, but that doesn’t mean they’re a thing.

Well.

“That’s rough, buddy.”

Sokka blinks. “Why?”

Zuko frowns. He tilts his head in confusion. “Because you are… Romantically attracted to her? It must be rough.”

Sokka blinks once, twice, three times. Stares. Then, he throws his head back and cackles, clutching his stomach.

“Dude, what the hell.” He wheezes. “Just say the word crush like normal people.” 

“Hmm.”

Then, when he calms down, Sokka eyes Zuko.

“Wait, what?” He says, serious all of a sudden. Or at least, surprised. “Do you really think that?” At Zuko’s lack of response, Sokka looks at him, then at his hands, then at the TV, where the video game they were playing is still on pause. Then, back at Zuko’s face. “No, I don’t have a crush on her. Or on Suki, for that matter.”

Zuko frowns. Sokka must know he doesn’t believe him, because he continues.

“I mean, I did.” He admits. “Back when I met her, when I was, like, 14. But I’m over it, now—Not that she’s not great; she’s awesome and I love her, just… Not in that way. It was just a silly teen-crush, anyway. And Suki is my best friend. We had a thing for a few months like two years ago, but we hit it off so much better as friends. She’s my bi icon, though. And bestest friend.”

“Oh.”

“Besides,” Sokka adds, and eyes him pointedly, “I’m interested in someone else right now.”

Zuko stares. Blinks.

What.

So he does have someone he’s interested in anyway. God, Zuko really doesn’t stand a chance. Why even bothering trying? And it’s not like he knows how to try something, anyway…

From the other corner of the room, Aang shoots him a very cryptic look. Zuko can’t describe what he’s thinking, but he guesses he’s taking pity on him. After all, he knows.

Ah. He really doesn’t like having feelings.

.

.

His mind is a cruel thing. It’s what keeps him up at night, what reminds him of all his insecurities, what makes him feel undeserving of love, what keeps throwing image after image into his head of his broken childhood on bad days. It’s what, as much as his heart, knows about his deepest desires, his longing, his yearning and thinks it’s amusing to play with Zuko for a bit.

“Zuko,” Sokka says, with a fragile smile on his face, his voice going ridiculously soft, his eyes warming up, and Zuko’s heart pounds on his chest like big waves crashing on the shore of a lonely beach. “Zuko, I love you.”

It’s kind of—very—criminal the way Sokka makes him feel. The way he makes Zuko’s heart seem like it’s going to burst out of his chest with how fast it beats after hearing just those three words, the way he makes Zuko’s entire soul ache and want, the way he makes him feel so grounded, so him, yet so tiny and delicate, like he’s made out of thin sheets of ice.

Is this how love feels?

Is this how it should feel like?

He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what falling in love is. He just knows a broken home, the destructive, neon-like, toxic obsession with power his dad had, instead of any tender form of anything else that can be called love that his dad should have had for his mom, but never did.

Falling in love is made to hurt. Falling in love is destined to make you feel sad, and alone, and unsafe.

Falling in love is a cruel thing. It’s not cut out for weak people, and Zuko is weak. He’s destined to break. He has always been made out of fragile, easy-to-destroy things.

That’s why his mind plays with him all the time.

He wakes up in his bed, opens his eyes to the dark quiet of his room, feels the way his heart beats so hard that he can almost feel it on his throat. And he feels lost. And sad.

He doesn’t even scream. He just lies there, feeling the world becoming smaller, feeling himself becoming smaller.

Lord, he’s royally fucked. Screwed. He knows. He’s destined to break.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say.

.

.

He’s sitting with Toph leaning back on his right side, on the fluffy couch in Katara and Sokka’s living room, cutting up squares out of colorful paper.

They are both terrible in the kitchen. Something coming from being rich kids, Sokka playfully teased earlier. And he guesses it’s true. Either way, they are terrible—Zuko even burned his own kitchen once while making scrambled eggs (and that was. Not a very good day). Sure, he has tried to help Uncle Iroh a couple of times, and he knows a bit of the basics, but besides preparing tea, he’s lost. He can’t cook to save his life. So when Zuko almost lights a fire to bake cookies and mixes up the recipe for the second time, Katara kicks them out and bans them from the kitchen for the next 4 hours. Toph protests just to be annoying—she doesn’t like cooking at all, she has told him, but she loves annoying Katara, it’s her favorite idle activity. Zuko would be offended, but it’s the smartest choice if they want to finish baking Aang’s birthday cake without setting the kitchen on fire, so it’s fine.

Besides, this way he can steal a few glances at Sokka, as he hangs up the decorations he and Toph are making. The muscles under his shirt flex when he raises his arms above his head, his messy hair down from its ponytail, falling over his face when he moves a bit to the left, a line of the smooth skin of his back making its way to Zuko's curious, avid eyes.

Zuko swallows.

Toph sighs heavily and throws her head back. “So, are you planning to make a move any time this century or are you a loser?”

Zuko eyes her, coming out of his stupor, confused. “What?”

Toph smirks. “Right, you’re always a loser, my bad.”

Zuko blinks. Not because of Toph calling him a loser, but because, for a second, he really doesn’t get what she means.

Then, when he does, he buries his face into his hands and groans.

“Even you know?”

Toph laughs. "Yes, idiot, it's stupidly obvious.” She pats his arm. “I can see it and I'm blind, you know." 

Zuko groans again. He’s in physical pain right now. "How?"

She shrugs. "I don’t know. Maybe the way you say his name. Or talk about him."

Zuko feels a bit of panic. 

What? Is he that obvious? How does he say Sokka’s name?

"His name?"

"Yeah,” Toph confirms, nodding exaggeratedly, “stupidly sappy. It's gross."

"Oh my god."

She laughs again, loudly, because his suffering is apparently amusing. "You also talk about him a lot," she chuckles, "and sigh every time you see him. At least that’s what I assume, given that he’s in the room and you keep sighing like a 12-year-old girl in love. Pinning all the way.”

Zuko wants to die. He seriously wants to die. Maybe he should just tell Sokka he likes him, so when he rejects him, Zuko can just die a quick, albeit painful, death.

Toph nudges at his arm, with her typical abnormal strength for someone her age, but she doesn’t mean any harm. “So?” She asks, again. “Are you planning to make a move or not?"

Zuko sighs, "I can't do anything, he likes someone else."

Toph kind of stops where she’s fumbling with a couple of paper sheets. She then turns around and makes this face, where she’s scrunching up her nose and frowning like she just smelled something sour, or like when she’s deeply confused. "Did he say that?"

"Yes."

"Did Sokka seriously tell you that?"

Zuko’s confused at Toph’s relentless insistence. "...Yes?"

Toph’s face goes back to normal, but there’s something about the way she continues to hum that makes it seem like she still thinks Zuko is an alien, or something.

"You must have misunderstood him—which wouldn’t be a surprise, to be honest." She says the last part in a whisper, but he still hears her. That’s probably what she wanted anyway, but it’s not like he gets it. What does that mean? Zuko gets Sokka. That’s one of the few things he’s really proud of. Did he just think that he got Sokka while, all this time, he actually didn’t?

No. He understands Sokka. Sokka himself has told him that.

"No, I didn't. And I don't have a chance if he likes someone else, so I might as well not even try."

Toph looks mad. "You're super pessimistic, dumbass."

"Hmm."

She sighs, looking deeply tired and frustrated, like Zuko has completely worn her out. Then, she raises her fist and punches him. Hard.

Ouch.

Zuko yelps, and rubs at his sore arm. “What was that for?” he grumbles.

She frowns. “To punch some sense into you, big oblivious idiot!" Toph hums a low, guttural sound in the back of her throat, like she’s a feral dog trying to threaten a pedestrian. “Just try, at least. Everyone is kind of getting tired of your pinning, too."

"Ah." Everyone?

"Full offence."

"Ah."

“Even Katara. The only reason she hasn’t intervened yet is because she says it’s not her business to push you, but I don’t think her reasoning is gonna last long.”

Katara too!? Oh, no.

Zuko seriously wants to die.

.

.

Eventually, things go on. 

Zuko’s “crush” doesn’t go away. If anything, it just grows and grows and grows until it becomes almost unbearable. But he still can’t say anything.

“Zuko.”

“Hmm?”

“You know,” Sokka says, looking at him with feign innocence, sitting with his hands upwards behind him in Zuko’s room, “that looks heavy, want me to hold it for you?”

Zuko frowns. He looks up from his work to give Sokka a confused look. “What is, my pen?”

Sokka gives him that little, playful smile—the one that is so incredibly hot for some reason Zuko can’t understand. His eyes gleam, even more than they do all the time.

“Nope,” he says, and his smile grows an inch, “your hand.”

Zuko blinks. Sokka flirting with him is nothing new, that’s why he manages to hold back his blush a bit and remain calm, even when he’s a bit dying inside.

He is just trapped between telling him, “god, I wish you were flirting with me for real,” and, “please stop doing it, it’s not good for my heart,” and, “If only you knew how much I really want to hold your hand”, but neither of those options are actually. Something viable.

“Are you flirting with me?” He asks instead, knowing the answer already.

Sokka would laugh, brush it off, and say something like, “ah, but you didn’t blush this time,” and let it go.

He doesn’t, though.

What he does, instead, is shrug and look at Zuko’s textbook, like he’s completely uninterested in the conversation.

Huh.

But then he speaks up again.

“Have been for the past year and a half or so, but thanks for noticing.” He answers.

Zuko blinks. He’s tempted to answer, “yeah, I know, which is a cruel, cruel thing to do, by the way, given how my heart just wants to escape out of my chest and go with you every time you do it,” or something equally playful to play it down like they always tend to do, but… for some reason, this time it feels… Real.

Maybe he should just laugh.

He doesn’t, though, and, “What?” is what comes out of his mouth.

Sokka looks up. “I said that I’ve been doing it for a year and a half or so, thank you for finally noticing.”

Zuko doesn’t understand. He’s not following the conversation at all. “Wait.”

“Ahh,” Sokka sighs, “honestly, if you didn’t notice by the end of the month, I would have felt deeply embarrassed. I was starting to think I lost my charm and I didn’t know how to flirt.”

“Well, that was a terrible pick-up line,” Zuko can’t help but retort, and like he wasn’t mildly-insulted, Sokka grins at him.

“But it worked for you, didn’t it?” He teases, leaning on Zuko’s personal space, “it made you feel something.”

Zuko frowns. “How would you know?”

Sokka stares. “Your face.”

“My face?”

“I can see it. In your face.”

Zuko covers his mouth, frowning. He can feel his own heart race.

Sokka is still way too close.

“You can…?”

“Yup.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Zuko says, blinking. “That means—are you—are you flirting with me? For real?”

Sokka quirks both eyebrows. “Yes...?”

“But you—you…”

“Zuko, I don’t know where you got the idea, but I don’t flirt with anyone aside from you—at least, I haven’t done it in a long time. So yes, I am actually flirting with you.”

Zuko feels like he just got hit in the head. “Why?”

Sokka blinks. “Because I want to?”

“But why do you want to?”

Sokka shoots him a look. “Zuko,” he says, slowly, “I like you. I thought that was obvious already.”

Zuko blinks. “You have… romantic feelings for me?”

Sokka laughs, amused. “Yeah, Zuko, I have ‘romantic feelings’ for you.”

Zuko blinks again. He’s blinking too much. “So all this time… it was real… when you said… and that time you also said… and… oh.”

Sokka smiles, softly, and ruffles Zuko’s hair. It makes him blush. His heart might also not even work at this point, if it wasn’t for the fact that he can clearly hear it thundering in his ears.

Why is Sokka so calm? Zuko’s about to pass out.

“Katara is right, I’m dumb.”

Sokka grins. “Toph thinks so, too.”

“Toph thinks everyone is dumb.”

“Fair,” Sokka answers; he’s still grinning so wide. God, Sokka is so pretty. “Though I think she only calls us dumb, not that she means it.”

“Mmm.”

He’s so unfairly distracting, too. Zuko can’t stop looking at him.

“Wait,” He says, suddenly realizing something, “so you knew that I—that I—had feelings for you, too?”

Sokka looks at his lips when he talks, and Zuko has to concentrate hard to not straight up pass out from shock and his heart racing so fast it might give him an attack. Has he done that before? He would have noticed, right? Sure, Zuko looks at Sokka’s lips a lot instead than at his eyes, but he would have noticed if Sokka did it, too.

… Right?

He’s starting to feel dizzy. Is he dreaming? Is any of this real at all?

“Noticed it a while ago, yeah. That’s why I’m not freaking out that you noticed my flirting 100 years later.”

For a moment, Zuko is able to set aside  his internal emotional turmoil and state of panic, if only to complain.

“Hey!” He frowns. “Wait—”

“You have said that a lot.”

“Wait,” Zuko repeats, just to be annoying, “if you… liked me, and knew that I liked you back, why didn’t you… make a move?”

“Like asking you out? I tried to, but you’re too oblivious.”

“Huh?” Zuko utters. What does that even mean? He’s not—well, he is, maybe, just a bit, but. “Well, if you knew that, you could have been more straightforward, you know!”

Sokka smiles, then shrugs.

“I guess we’re both dumb.”

Zuko feels his lips curling up, not able to contain all his happiness anymore, his brain catching up with the last 20 minutes of his life.

Holy shit, Sokka likes him. Sokka likes him. Him. Zuko. As in, romantically speaking.

Oh.

Oh.

“I like you, Zuko.” Sokka says, as if Zuko’s brain didn’t shut down already. He reaches out and slides his hand on the table Zuko was previously working, the tip of his fingers touching Zuko’s. “So can I finally, please hold your hand?”

Zuko might pass out for real, but before that, he finally, finally, finally takes Sokka’s hand into his own.

It feels even better than in his dreams.

He feels like burning up, like all of his body is setting itself on fire.

Sokka’s hand is warm, so warm, and soft, so soft, and makes Zuko’s heart flutter like delicate flower’s petals in the wind.

Sokka’s thumb brushes over his knuckles; Sokka’s lips turn into a bright smile, like he’s been wanting to do that since forever.

It feels like home.

.

.

When they tell their friends they’re dating, Yue is the first one to say something.

“You mean you weren’t dating before?”

“Shocking, right,” Katara deadpans, but then she smiles, genuine. “I’m happy for both of you.” 

(Although remembering that minutes later doesn’t make her any less scary, when she decides to corner him out of the bathroom and put a steady hand on his shoulder, feign-sweet smile on her face, and say with a weirdly off-calm voice that, if he ever dared to hurt Sokka on purpose, she was going to break all the 206 bones on his body.)

Toph grins brightly and kicks him enthusiastically on the side with a loud “Well-done, loser!” while Aang jumps on Zuko’s back and clings to him like a koala.

“That’s awesome, guys! Be happy!”

Zuko smiles.

“Finally, I won’t have to hear Sokka’s pinning all the time,” Suki quips, like she’s tired and utterly uninterested, but even the happiness is evident in her voice.

Sokka still complains. “Hey! I had to hear you be head-over-heels for Yue for months, too.”

“It wasn’t months for you, though.” Suki deadpans, but then her face goes all soft, “I’m kidding, So, I’m really happy for you two.”

Sokka smiles, and she gets up from where she’s cuddling Yue on the sofa to hug Sokka tightly, grinning wide, and then look at Zuko (stumbling with a happily laughing Aang on his back and Toph annoyingly ruffling his hair like a proud little sister) and whispers something in Sokka’s ear.

Zuko is glad that he’s still looking at Sokka from the corner of his eye, because he catches him blushing after that.

He’s cute.

Suki laughs. Sokka frowns, still blushing, and when he catches Zuko watching, he blushes harder.

He’s really cute.

Zuko smiles softly, and Sokka blinks, once, twice, before smiling back.

The cutest.

.

.

“Zuko.”

Zuko hums, but doesn’t look up from his work.

“Zukoooo, darling, love of my life.”

Zuko is used to it by now. To Sokka calling him pet-names like those. Of hearing Sokka say he’s cute, or hot, or smart, or witty, or pretty. It still makes his heart flutter, though. Just as Sokka’s laugh does. It still makes him blush sometimes.

(It’s funny because Sokka is the same way—or mostly the same. Zuko said he looked really hot after a baseball game once and Sokka almost died on the spot. He blushed like mad, but after he calmed down, he couldn’t stop bragging about Zuko calling him ‘hot’.

“Look at you, flirting shamelessly with me! You’re all grown up!” and, “I shouldn’t be near Zuko if I’m wearing my baseball uniform, he’ll get a boner,” and a lot of more phrases.)

“Hm?”

“You are—” Sokka sing-songs, and crosses his arms over Zuko’s textbook. He puts his chin over his forearms and looks up at Zuko’s face, grinning, and Zuko would probably be a bit annoyed that he’s not letting him finish his essay if it weren’t for the fact that he’s Sokka. His, ahem, boyfriend. 

“I am…?”

“You are,” he repeats, and his smile grows bigger. Zuko thinks about kissing him; Zuko thinks about kissing him all the time. But, to be fair, he used to dream about that, just as much as he used to dream about them holding hands. And just as if he read Zuko’s mind, Sokka reaches out and holds his right hand; gently, like all of Sokka’s touches. It feels so nice, Zuko never wants to let go. “You are pulchritudinous.”

Eh?

Zuko tries to smile, but Sokka looks at him like he’s looking at a cute baby and throws his head back, still close and still holding his hand.

“You’re adorable.”

“What…?” Zuko is sure he looks as puzzled as he feels; he once caught his reflection in the mirror while playing Scrabble with Sokka and therefore knows how he must look. For some reason, Sokka finds it extremely cute. “What does that mean?”

Sokka laughs again.

Zuko narrows his eyes into slits. Or, maybe Sokka’s just making fun of him. (Not in a bad way, of course, Zuko knows. Sokka never means any harm, but he sure as hell loves teasing Zuko all the time.)

“Are you insulting me?”

Sokka wipes tears from his eyes and looks at Zuko with such a sweet face that it kinda makes Zuko stumble, even when he’s sitting.

His heart flutters alive, his face grows warm. He wants to kiss Sokka.

Sokka does, though, pulling gently at his hand and softly pressing his lips into Zuko’s wrist. He grins up at him.

“You’re adorable.”

(Later, when he’s waiting for a toast on Uncle Iroh’s kitchen, still barefoot, decked out in his pajamas and half-asleep, he finally finds what he thinks is the correct word using the search function of his phone—after 20 lame attempts of trying and failing at remembering—and pronouncing correctly—the right word.

He clicks on the dictionary tab, reads over the meaning, stumbles over, slips and falls flat on his ass.

He almost sets his kitchen on fire for the second time.)

.

.

Zuko is bad at flirting. He knows. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t try, hard, and sometimes, sometimes, he succeeds (conscious and unconsciously).

Or maybe Sokka is just too easy to fluster (even when Sokka says it’s the other way around; even when that’s actually, probably, just a bit, true.)

Either way, Zuko basks happily in seeing Sokka get all flustered. It makes him even cuter than he already is.

(Whipped, Toph would draw out, mockingly sing-song.

And, well, maybe he is.)

.

.

Kissing Sokka is like setting himself on fire. Like burning up alive, but not in the bad sense. Not in the way he was burned as a little kid.

Kissing Sokka is like sitting near a campfire when you’re feeling cold; like standing on the edge of a cliff, feeling your chest contract; like tucking yourself in a warm blanket, with fuzzy socks and drinking your favorite drink, while hearing your favorite song. It’s like waking up on a good day, like basking in the sun at twilight, like taking a warm shower after a long day.

He feels too much, way too overwhelmed, even with just a brush of lips.

Kissing Sokka is a blessed thing.

There’s something that comes alive in his chest at the same time their lips touch. It blossoms under his ribcage, spreads over his chest, warms up all the way up to his throat. Beating, growing, marveling in every fiber of his being. Maybe that’s what love is—maybe that’s what Zuko has been searching for all this time; this connection, this overwhelming feeling, this deep, raw, unfiltered emotion, coming off him through waves of desperation for more.

He can’t be sure. But even if it wasn’t something he has looked out for, the discovery of it still feels like a sacred thing.

It’s like watching cherry blossoms falling on the street for the first time, like falling asleep on the comfortable side of your bed after a tiring day, it’s coming back home—or to what home should feel like.

It’s something delicate, at first. Zuko doesn’t have any experience, so he just lets himself feel as Sokka presses his lips softly into his own, carding his long fingers into Zuko’s hair.

Zuko feels an electric chill run down his spine, where Sokka’s fingertips—from the hand that’s not on his hair—make a slow path down. He can feel them burning, even through his clothes, even when Sokka’s hand is not that warm.

But it feels like that.

Zuko breathes shakily, moves his lips experimentally, feeling Sokka’s smile against his mouth.

He wants to do something, so he leans in, feeling Sokka’s eyelashes tickling his cheekbones, feeling Sokka’s thumb under his jaw, angling his head in a better position, feeling himself become aflame. He wants to touch Sokka. He really wants to touch Sokka.

So he does.

He uses one hand to gently touch Sokka’s wrist—the one Sokka’s using to keep Zuko’s head up—and, carefully, tentatively, he wraps his fingers around it, caresses the skin like he wants to print a topographic map of it into his mind.

Sokka makes a low, appreciative sound, and Zuko feels so happy it should be embarrassing.

Sokka has his hair down, and Zuko wants to touch it so much because he loves Sokka’s hair. Sokka’s hair is so pretty—Sokka is so pretty—so he goes for it. He brushes his fingers on Sokka’s shoulder, touches the strands of brown hair that lie there, moves his fingers to the nape of his neck. Zuko does this slowly, he wants to feel everything and he’s not going to rush, not after how long he’s wanted this.

He cradles his head with his hand, touches and touches and touches. He pulls at his hair, lightly, and his hand goes down just a bit; the skin of Sokka’s neck under his fingertips is warm, and so soft. He can feel the gentle echo of his heartbeat thundering in the tender curve of his jaw.

Just then, Sokka’s thumb brushes on his bare clavicle, and Zuko hisses, feeling like he’s on fire. Feeling like he’s become burning embers.

It’s just—too much, and at the same time, not enough—he wants more.

He has always been sensitive, but it’s different now. It’s like all his senses are turned on—he’s hyper-aware of everything around him—of Sokka’s hands, of Sokka’s steady, fast heartbeat under his open palm, of Sokka’s smell, of Sokka’s warm mouth, of Sokka’s soft skin, of the way Sokka keeps mumbling his name, softly against his lips or when he breaks apart to breath. He touches Sokka’s face, Sokka’s arms, Sokka’s neck; breathes his name into his own mouth, makes sure Sokka knows how much he wants this, how much he’s dreamed of this: of kissing him, of him kissing him back.

It feels too good to be even real—just as Sokka always makes him feel, even when they’re not kissing.

He might as well die there.

It wouldn’t be a bad way to go, though.

Linked, bare soul to bare soul, with the prettiest, smartest, kindest boy he’s ever met.

.

.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say. But as he sees Sokka laughing in front of him because of some ridiculous joke Toph made, holding Zuko’s hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world, he can’t help but think that falling in love is anything but painful.

Sokka turns around, catches him staring and grins, playfully wiggling his eyebrows.

Zuko smiles, thinking just how much he loves Sokka, how much he loves his life, how much he loves his uncle, how much he loves his friends, how much he loves being alive, being there, curled up with Sokka on his couch, watching a stupid rom-com movie on Sokka’s cell-phone screen, sharing earphones with his boyfriend. Being there, in the house that he shares with his uncle—his real dad—in the house that he has come to call home. Being there, feeling safe in Sokka’s arms, with Toph hearing music on the TV, while Aang and Katara and Suki and Yue sleep, sprawled there and there all over his living-room.

“I love you,” Zuko tells Sokka, like he just revealed the biggest secret of the universe.

Love.

He feels the word on his tongue, and it tastes sweet. It tastes like the color of Sokka’s eyes, like the tone of Sokka’s laugh, like all of Sokka’s smiles—the gentle one, the soft one, the playful and flirty one, the wide one—all of them. Love tastes like Sokka holding his hand while they go for a walk, like Sokka’s voice when he talks about what he likes, like Sokka’s proud eyes after scoring a run, after Zuko shows him his grades. It tastes like a lot of things he can’t name, like the way Sokka says his name, like the way Sokka makes him feel, like that little mole under Sokka’s jaw, like the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles with the setting sun of the beach, like the way his fingertips feel against Zuko’s neck. Like the way he looks at Zuko like he’s not broken, like he’s the best thing that ever existed, like his scar is beautiful and all of Zuko’s failures don’t matter to him because he’s him, and that is enough. Like Zuko is more than enough, and how he loves that he’s more than enough to Zuko, too.  

“I love you,” Zuko says again, in a low voice, and it feels real. It has meaning. It’s not an empty word at all.

For some reason, he feels like tearing up a bit.

Sokka’s face mellows, softens; he brushes his thumb under Zuko’s left eye, just at the edge of his scar, and his eyes become impossibly warm. Zuko wants to kiss all of his face; he wants to taste all of Sokka’s softness on his own lips.

There, in the quiet of Zuko’s living-room, Sokka smiles, and Zuko thinks he’s the most bewitching, stunning, ineffably beautiful being.

It feels like something ethereal. Sokka smiles and Zuko feels blessed to exist.

“I love you, too,” Sokka answers, like he’s sharing one of the secrets of the universe, too, like he’s never told anyone anything more true, and ever so gentle.

Zuko smiles and kisses him.

Falling in love is a blessed thing.

#zukka #zukka fic #atla #avatar the last airbender #my writing #... this is my contribution to the atla/zukka fandom #please let me know what do you think in the comments/tags/ao3!!!!!!!! #have a lovely day and thanks for reading :')

[jangofctts]

Between Everything and Nothing (Cassian Andor x Reader)

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 3.2K

Summary: It's hard to keep your chin up when it seems like everything is falling apart. You're plagued by constant nightmares, but you have Cassian and Cassian has you. It's enough.

Warnings: Smut (duh), language, mad dirty talk, oral sex female receiving, bunch of Cassian love over here

You'd been crying again. Or plagued by nightmares. Maybe both.

Dark swatches lingered like bruises beneath your red rimmed eyes that vacantly stared at your plate. Your fork trailed through the rations absentmindedly, your mouth pressed into an unusual frown. Cassian used to despise your playful quips and teasing chuckles, the man much more used to silence and his own thoughts than someone like you.

Now, though, as the metal tongs of your cutlery scraped against the plate for the hundredth time, he abruptly realized how much he hated your silence. It wasn't right—unnatural and off-putting.

He said your name, the first attempt at catching your attention flying right over your head. The second time your eyes, such curious and bright eyes, fluttered and shot up to meet his. The roguish grin that followed after tugged at something deep inside his chest.

"Hey—sorry," you hummed. "What was that?"

Cassian shook his head. "You need to eat."

"This stuff?" You laughed, scooping up the mush and letting it drip off your fork. It tasted as bad as it looked. "I'd rather get shipped off permanently to droid maintenance."

"That can be arranged," he quipped. "I would finally get some peace and quiet."

"Ha. Ha." You said, rolling you eyes. "You couldn't last a day without missing me, Captain Andor."

He hates that you're right.

"Just eat."

With a grumble you shovel a mouthful in and stick your tongue out.

                                                           -=-

He catches you this time.

His own nightmares had clawed their way to the surface and ripped away precious sleep. He'd wandered to the hangar, feet carrying him towards his U-Wing in hopes he'd be able to find something to tinker with. Though it was a long shot. You were the best damn mechanic he'd ever encountered and Cassian would bet money that his ship could fly better than any fighter ship in the Alliance thanks to you.

He only hears something when he's halfway up the loading ramp, choked sobs and the occasional sniff of someone in the cockpit of his ship. He draws his blaster and rounds the corner. Shoot first and ask questions later.

Cassian freezes once he recognizes those stupid slipper things you'd won off some poor bastard in Sabaac and the ratty old tank top you refused to throw away.

You were curled into his seat, knees drawn up so closely to your chest that it hides your face as your shoulders shake from the force of your tears.

His instincts screamed at him to run. Leave before she notices.  Leave and pretend she's ok.

Yet, at the same time, a deep ache settles within his chest to see you like this. He wants to reach out. Wants to slip his fingers through your hair and cradle you to his chest and pretend for just a moment that nothing but you two existed.

He must've made some sort of sound because before he gets to decide to flee or face you, you look up.

"Cassian?" You sniff, your voice hoarse and wobbly as you wipe at your tears. "What-what are you doing here?"

He takes a step closer. "This is my ship."

"Oh. Yeah." You choke out with a broken half smile. "I guess it is."

You unfurl yourself from the seat, using your forearm to frantically scrub at the stray beads and try to hurry past him with a whispered goodnight. He's fast enough to catch your arm.

His slender fingers are warm against your bare skin, his calloused thumb skittering over smooth flesh and hard muscle. The urge to trail his entire palm up and down the expanse of your arm is torturous and he wonders if you've always been this soft.

You're looking up at him now, the emergency lights casting your features in a haunting red glow. Cassian can still see your eyes in the near darkness, something dark and vulnerable eating away at the edges. He parts his mouth to say something, ask what's wrong, but he can't seem to get the words out. He falters and drops your arm.

"Cassian," you say, much softer than he's ever heard it from you. It makes his heart flutter like a caged bird.  "I—"

"You can stay." He cuts you off, something snarling in his stomach at the thought of you leaving. "I don't mind."

Your brows crease and you study the floor and when you look up again, your face is fixed with another goofy grin. It doesn't quite reach your eyes and if Cassian didn't know you as well as he did, it would have him fooled.

"Thanks," you sniff, backtracking towards the ramp so suddenly it jars him. "Didn't mean to cry all over your chair. Pretty gross, huh?"

He follows and murmurs your name as you step onto the duracrete. This time as Cassian moves to grab your arm again you evade him. He's scrambling for words to keep you here, but nothing springs to mind and you escape.

"Night, Cass." You say, offering him a half hearted salute. "See ya tomorrow."

You disappear behind an X-Wing and Cassian regrets not following.

                                                            -=-

The third time is after after the Alliance had been hit hard. Hard enough that you lose more than a handful of friends. You don't grieve openly. You can't.

You were a beacon of light and warmth for many and letting them see the fissures in your resolve would surely cause spirits to plummet even further. Cassian doesn't know wether to feel lucky that he knows that half of yourself you hide away or devastated that even someone with a soul brighter than any star could be worn down to the very bones of their existence.

He wants to laugh when someone knocks on his door. It was the first time in months he'd been able to sleep with little difficulty and now he's being called upon in the middle of the night.

He throws open the door, ready to snarl at the poor soul who stood on the other side. Cassian's irritation melts away when he sees you. You look as tired as he feels, your hair a bit of a mess from a sleepless night, and yet, you're still so beautiful.

Your teeth clamp down on your bottom lip and he can't help but trace your mouth.

"Did I wake you up?" You ask, fiddling with your sleeve. You're nervous for once and Cassian worries.

"No." He lies.

A long pause ensues as you struggle for words that normally flow like a river from your lips. You start to say something and it fizzles out then comes out backwards or jumbled or too quiet for Cassian to understand. "You know—I should, uh, I should go. Yeah, I'm gonna leave. Sorry about—about bothering you."

You're quick to turn on your heel, but he's quicker and snatches your hand. He doesn't tell you how perfectly your fingers fit into his, but you must know. Right?

"Stay," he whispers, the word sounding much too loud compared to the hauntingly silent hallway. He takes your silence for fear or embarrassment, but he realizes it is surprise and a moment later he's stepping aside to let you in.    

Cassian retreats back to his bed, sheets still warm and sits down. Your eyes are scanning the room, studying the sparse walls and the unfolded pile of laundry abandoned on his only chair. You've been to his quarters before, usually only to get him to go with you to the cantina or keep you company while you work on his ship.

It's different now. Tension thick enough to cut with a lightsaber.

"I'm assuming you're not here to tell me you got caught cheating in Sabaac again, yes?" He tries to joke. It does the trick and you visibly relax with a chuckle.

You wander over to where he pats the space beside him and you crash onto the mattress, bumping your shoulder into his. His heart skips a beat when you don't lean away. "Nah. And if it weren't for me cheating, your sorry ass would still be in that stupid jail."

Ah, that's right.

Cassian snorts. "I had it handled."

"Yeah, I'm sure you did," you retort.

With a sigh, you lean back until you're spread out over his blankets, your legs hanging off the edge. Cassian lies down too and stares at the uneven texture of the ceiling. You say nothing for the better half of ten minutes, and Cassian wonders if you'd fallen asleep. He turns and you've got that vacant stare where you're lost in your head. It gives him an excuse to study the soft planes of your face, your plush lips slightly pursed in thought as your brows furrow. A stray hair covers your forehead and he wants to brush it away.

His heart pounds at his ribcage and with a brief moment of courage, he does so. You blink and look at him, a fragile smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

He finds the words that escaped him in his ship all those nights ago and he asks you why you're here. Are you alright?

Your grin falters and you look away. Your fingers graze against his knuckles and they twitch into your touch but makes no move to fully encompass your hand.

Your words come out slow and soft and his chest tightens. "You—You are the only thing that makes sense to me, Cassian."

He understands and his fingers curl around yours to show that he does. Your breath stutters and you give him a squeeze.

Stray tears trail down your cheek and Cassian props himself onto an elbow. You avoid his gaze. "Look at me."

You listen and with baited breath he cups your face and gently swipes at a tear with his thumb. You mouth his name and he's leaning into you until he's pressing his lips to yours. You melt underneath his kiss, your hand curling into his hair, the other one still tangled with his. Your touch is intoxicating and Cassian deepens the kiss, tongue trailing across your bottom lip. Your mouth opens and his tongue slides along yours.

You part and he rests his forehead on yours as your fingers caress his stubbled cheek. He suppresses a shiver and leans into your touch. "I've wanted to do that for ages."

"Yeah, me too."

He kisses you again, but it's more than that. You're the undertow of a raging sea, sweeping him into your depths and holding him captive until he can't breath. Yet, you're the only thing he can inhale. He could drown in your scent, in your kisses, in your love, and he doesn't care if it kills him. You make a sound low in your throat as he licks deep into your mouth and he doesn't care if your teeth click together because he's desperate and aching for you.

You bite his bottom lip and tug, paired with your hand giving the soft tufts of hair on the back of his neck a gentle yank and he's so fucking gone. He's already half-hard against your hip, he knows you can feel it because you're flashing him a coy smirk and trailing your fingers down the planes of his chest, over his naval and then you're unbuckling his belt. Your fingers hover over his waistband, drawing teasing circles above where he needs you and his patience snaps. He captures your hand and grinds against you and you finally relent

He sucks in a breath like you've punched him in the jaw as your fingers wriggle underneath the fabric and wrap around his cock, thick and hot. You give him a few gentle strokes and then your thumb sweeps over the tip, collecting the bead of moisture there. You lightly scrape your nail across the frenulum and it nearly sends him over the edge and he rips himself away from you. It's embarrassing how fast you bring him towards release and he shouldn't care with you, but he wants this to last.

You sit up as your face contorts and he doesn't mean to hurt your feelings. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, never," he breaths, leaning forward to kiss away your frown. "I liked that a little too much."

You mouth forms a silent 'oh' and you take this little break to pull off your shirt and your pants that end up crumpled on the floor. You're naked and you look like a damn fantasy curled over his bed. His bed. Maker how many times has he imagined this exact moment?

Cassian rips his own clothes off and he's tugging your thighs around his narrow waist so he can mold himself onto you. He plants his lips over the pulse on your throat and he digs his teeth into your flesh, marking the delicate skin there. You whine, huff out his name, and he releases the bruised skin. He presses a kiss against it, likes the way it stands out, and he continues to tongue and nibble over the column of your throat that you readily expose for him until there's a trail of marks left behind.

Soft, fragile sounds are pouring out of your mouth and he wishes he could save them for an eternity. He mouths over your collarbone and trails on hand up to your breast and he pulls back to admire your heaving chest. A tiny smile is etched across your lips and his heart swells so much that his chest aches. "You're beautiful."

He doesn't think he's ever seen you blush. "Shut up."

"You are," he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss over your sternum. "You're--fuck--so distracting. Nearly--nearly crashed the ship that one time. Remember?"

You dig your fingers into his back, leaving half-moon shapes behind as he brushes his thumb over your peaked nipple, as you whine out a response. With his tongue he swirls teasing circles around the other nipple and when he sucks it between his lips and bites down carefully, you moan and arch into him. He rolls the other one firmly between his forefinger and thumb, your eyes snapping shut.

"I can hardly stand it when you smile at me," he growls, engulfing the entirety of you breast in his warm palm. He gives the flesh a squeeze. "Shit--I love you."

He barely realizes he's told you and it's not as terrifying as he thought it would be. There is some uncertainty but when you open your eyes and flash him a smile so bright and big he thinks his heart might finally explode, all his doubts are blown away. You drag Cassian back to your lips by the jaw and he feels your bottom lip catch against his as you tell him you love him too.

"Will you...will you let me taste you?" He groans, breaking away to bury his nose into your hair. "Please? I've been--been imagining what you--shit-- taste like. I bet--bet you taste good."

"Cassian," you whine, bucking your hips. His cock is throbbing against your hip, harder than reinforced steel but all he can think about is getting his mouth on the dripping wetness between your legs. "Yes. Yes."

He sweeps down your torso, drunk on your skin and suckles another hickey over the protrusion of your hip bone. Cassian hooks your legs over his shoulders and nuzzles his stubble along the velvety skin feeling oh so lucky when you giggle and slip your hands into his hair. Your laugh tapers off into a desperate sigh as he uses just the tip of his forefinger to slip through your slit, the digit coming away shiny with your arousal. He parts your legs wider and finally swipes his tongue over your clit, moaning as he finally gets to taste you.

His mouth his searing hot and his tongue feels like silk as he swipes it over your lips, suckles at your labia and licks back up to your clit. He traces patterns across it, the tip of tongue catching so deliciously and then he dips back down again. You shudder as his thumbs slide up to gently part your cunt and his tongue leaves a burning trail until he reaches your opening. He has to throw an arm over your hips to keep you from squirming so much, and Maker, you feel Cassian smile before he licks as far into you as he can.

You're burning, broken pleas and drawn out moans of his name pouring out of you. And then, any kind of rational thinking is completely thrown out the fucking window as two of his slender fingers sink into your cunt. They curl inside you, brush against something electrifying, and you can't be bothered to be embarrassed about the keening moan that's much too loud for this time of night. It feels too good. You bite your lip and clench a handful of his hair, the vibration of his groan adding on to the pleasure of him sucking at your clit while his fingers slowly begin to drag in and out of you.

He pulls away for a moment, his hot breath fanning over your cunt and you want to cry out in frustration. Your core clenches around his digits at the loss of his tongue and you try to pull him back to you. "Please."

With his free hand, he rubs your thigh and kisses the inside of your knee. "Can I make you cum like this? Let...let you--shit--let you finish over my tongue? You'll look so pretty for me."

You don't know how it's possible to be even more turned on than you are, but it happens and you can feel yourself dripping on to his fingers and leaking over the sheets. His fingers are curling and twisting into something that's got your thighs shaking and fuck. A few more passes of his tongue over your swollen clit and another well placed thrust of his fingers--you're fucking gone.  

You arch your back as everything below your waist is set on fire. The tension in your stomach--wound tighter than a fucking spool of wire--snaps and blinding light flashes across your vision. Your core clamps down on his calloused digits and you cum into his mouth, a flood of wetness staining his mouth that continues to lick you through it. He's moaning and hooking his hands under your ass to pull you closer as you twitch and shake--your brain lost somewhere between chaos and unsurmountable pleasure.

Things feel as if they're in slow-motion as you slowly come back down to reality. Cassian pulls away from your core, wipes at his mouth that's covered with your slick, and slips his body next to your flushed and panting one. He draws shapes and swirls into the space right below your breast and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. He's whispering about how good you were for him, how soft and warm, and wet around his fingers you were and when you're finally able to process and organize your scattered thoughts, he's dragging you into an open mouthed kiss.

You can taste yourself on him and he grinds his cock against the swell of your hip, leaking precum that dribbles onto your skin. He bites at your shoulder, another bolt of arousal shooting through your belly.

"Let me make you feel good."

#rogue one #star wars #cassian andor #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor x you #this pure filth y'all #reader insert #diego luna #fanfic #smut

[whereflowersbloom]

Sweet sin.

She sensed his presence in her vicinity before he actually approaches her, the way she always has ever since she locked her eyes on him. Raven detected a shift in the air and then he is at her back, her skin immediately feels him breathing on her long neck. Her shoulders sag in relief but she does not dare turn around, in case it will shatter everything.

There is something different about him. But then again, she supposed there is something different about them now as well. "Raven” her breath hitches as he pronounces her name like a prayer, quietly and her eyes fill inexplicably. There are suddenly a thousand things to tell him, as there always is when they spend time apart. And it had been an unconscionably long time for her liking.

He abruptly grabbed her tiny hand to pull her closer to him and she exhaled. "Brother in law.”

The soft exhale through his nose indicates his arrogant smile. They stand there completely still, as if making sure the other is truly there before Jason shifts his weight from one foot to the other and bends his head to speak to directly to her small ear. “Could you get away tonight?" Jason whispered eagerly, breath hot against her throat. She so many questions but realized it is not the time, and they have to be careful, there’s no handmaidens or servants around fortunately, but one must be wary at all times, so she swallowed hard and nodded instead.

There is a window in the room, facing the setting sun. It bathes the room in golden light, seemingly setting her dark hair on shining like night sky. The light makes her skin look luminescent, soft and playful and perfect. And he wished they were alone, to let his hands and lips roam freely the smooth skin he has kissed innumerable times, yet he couldn’t get enough. He can’t help it as his left hand settle on her waist discreetly, pulling her closer. His thumb grazes the underside of her breast, because he is wicked and can’t think to stop himself. She silently removes his hand from the side of her breast, and his eyes spot the exquisite gold band in her ring finger, reminding him at the eyes of the world she was not his. He knitted his brows instinctively, in frustration, wild anger.

Wide dark blue eyes, almost violet, those enigmatic orbs he adores lock with his, and he can tell the exact moment when comprehension settles in, when she understands just how much he hates being forced to share her with his own brother. He suddenly feels he’s too greedy, burdening her with this knowledge. But he wants her like no other, and she was belonged to him in ways his brother would never have her.

“Come to my room when your husband is asleep, little bird.” He waited for her to nod again, subtly glancing at the corners in case there’s a spy or unwanted witness and then he is gone in an instant. They couldn’t let anyone suspect. She held in the gasp that almost escapes her mouth when he is no longer pressed against her back, pushes down the urge to whirl around and run after him and profess her longing for him all those weeks he was gone. Raven Wayne stands tall, looks down the corridor for her husband. Richard was too concentrated reading a book when he half consciously catches her eye, smiling at her immediately. Sweet and distant Richard never said a word about her close relationship with his younger brother. Jason.

~~~

Jason couldn’t stay anymore, having her so close in proximity, yet so very far away, left Jason filled with something like despair. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear to watch her anymore. He ached to touch her, publicly claim her as his. It had been so long, and yet the memory of her under his fingers occupied his every thought.

Contrary to popular belief, Jason Wayne was not accustomed to sharing the bed of beautiful women. Not the whole night at least.

Being a loyal customer to the finest brothels in Rome, he had learned that money only granted you a certain amount of time and services and cuddling your beloved of the night in the aftermath of lovemaking wasn't one of them. Not when she was married to your older brother. There had been other women, of course, before her, the world wasn't divided between noble ladies and whores, after all. But Jason had never spent the entire night through the morning with one of his conquests. There had been kisses, primitive passion, and many goodbyes. He was a warrior of the nation. But there was no other like her. His little Raven. She was different in a very unique way.

He wasn’t granted the privilege to spend lazy mornings with his secret lover, explore her body until he was terribly exhausted and make her scream his name until there was no doubt she was only his. That wasted honorable and admirable Richard’s right. It makes his skin burn with anger, blood rising to the surface. His hand itches towards his sword, closer every second, to cut anyone who was close enough neck and he decided training with Timothy outside for most of the day, would relieve some pressure, to avoid the house and the people within it. Specifically his brother and wife together.

~~~

Later that night after welcoming his brother in law back. Raven slides carefully out from under the white sheets, not glancing at the husband she is leaving in his bed alone. Their bed, she reminder herself. No, she thinks sternly, its his. There is a moment when she paused, almost turns to look at Richard with guilt and regret. Sweet and kindhearted Richard, who smiled cheerfully whenever she walked into a room and kissed her tenderly as if she was made of glass. In that moment, she considers what her life has become, what she has become, and wonders what is going to come next. If only she had married Jason, but her betrothal had been decided before he came back from France, before they had time to suggest a different suitor. Her eyes flutter closed, begging one day God forgives her for her adulterous sins. She leaves in the silence of the moonlight. In minutes, she’s at the massive wooden door of his bedroom. Their bedroom she said in her mind.

“I do not think I was followed.” she admitted nervous even after numerous nocturnal encounters. She finds herself unease somehow, unable to determine why exactly. Her lover seemed different, more serious, as if he had matured while he was away from her. Raven remembers the young boy he was once dressed in red tackling her to the ground playfully, childhood playmates, eyes still full of hope and naivety. The promise of a future they could choose a partner, no worries or concerns for political marriages or brutal and devastating wars. She had a spouse now. His brother.

There is a moment of silence before he sighed “Its not the first. I trust you were careful enough, as always.” He made a gesture inviting her to sit beside him with his open arms. She obliges, her mind imagining the things they would do in that bed, noting how his gaze never leaves her, drinking her up as she is drinking him. They say nothing for minutes. Leaning in, Raven kissed his cheek affectionately and his hand tightened on her hip possesively.

She saw the shudder in his throat as he swallowed. He tilted his head down, towards hers, until their foreheads leaned together and she could feel his nose to the side of hers, his breath on her mouth. That was not new, either, but nevertheless something in her belly fluttered after being weeks apart. “Did you miss me sweetheart?” He rasped, and the crack in his voice stirs her stomach and she clings to his neck like it’s the only thing she can hold onto, before he leaves for a battle or under his father’s command.

Raven gave a solemn nod and set her hands on his broad shoulder. She dutifully closed her eyes, when he kissed her slowly but with ardor at the same time, and she kissed back giving into the pleasure of his mouth, feeling his lips give way just a little under the pressure. Excitement burned through her veins once more, to be in her beloved’s arms once again. She tried to mimic the slow press of his lips, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Her heart was pounding. Then his thumb ran down her throat, almost to her collarbone, and Raven gasped against his mouth. “As always, my love.”

“You’re playing with Fire, sister in law.” He muttered smirking at her mischievously. He felt fever mad with endless want for her. His skin must be as warm as hers. Raven burning him up, both of them burning each other up.

“Then burn me with your touch, Jason.” She whispered with heat and desire, pressing a hand to his solid chest. “I never wanted his heart, I wanted yours.” Forgive me Richard for I am falling into sin again with your brother. But I cannot say wholeheartedly I regret it, nonetheless.

@ravenfan1242 @niahti I blame youuuuuu 🙈😂😂😂

Sneak peek 👀👀👀👀 🙈🙈🙈

#jayrae #raex #jason todd #raven roth #red hood #robrae #teen titans #batman universe #dc universe #dc fandom #sneek peak #writing #italy au #dick grayson #batsiblings #nightwing