best BEAST!!

I love all your writing. You have a gorgeous way with words and a very well-thought-out approach to AUs. That being said, my favourite of your works has to be the "WWX is raised by another Sect." If you wanted to write something about WWX being raised by Baoshen Sanren, I would be all over it. ♡

Plus a similar prompt from @sabeanybabe! 

I know you explore the bloodline of Sanren a lot, but I would like to see more fics where everyone gets super freaked about wwx bc of this. Maybe in this world he grows up on the immortal mountain, and leaves briefly (I like fics where he can go back to the mountain bc hes family, esp. bc he might not have the Jiangs). I'd love to see the reactions of when comes to the classes w/o invitation bc his grandma, the immortal, sent him. wwx disrupts CR in a different and new way

Posted to Ao3: wander the edges of light

“Stand up straight,” Lan Qiren hissed at a fidgeting disciple. Lan Wangji did not turn around, busy watching the path with Lan Xichen at his side and half the sect gathered somewhat restlessly behind them. 

Not even the famous Lan composure could withstand a meeting with the legendary Baoshan Sanren, it seemed.

His could, he thought with some disdain. And xiongzhang was as poised as ever. But curiosity was contagious, and their disciples were on edge from the sudden dissipation of their wards and the ensuing announcement that Baoshan Sanren would be visiting to assist them with repairs. 

Without warning, Lan Yi had fallen into a frozen sleep in the Cold Pond Cave that few knew existed. Her strength had been the only thing keeping a certain dangerous item hidden, and their defensive wards had faltered without her for some unknown reason. 

The Cloud Recesses was left vulnerable with war looming on the horizon-- without their wards, they were open to attack, and they had few options that would let them repair the wards and still be prepared to fight. 

Instead of risking the sect further, Lan Qiren had sent a messenger to the foot of Baoshan Sanren’s mountain. A stroke of luck had one of her disciples notice the courier and agree to carry it to their master. The response was swift and brief: Baoshan Sanren would come to the Cloud Recesses for her former friend, and to protect their sect until Lan Yi was well again.

If she woke again. Lan Wangji had his doubts; he’d seen his ancestor’s place of rest, a stasis of some sort that kept her suspended in unconsciousness. 

A sudden warm wind ruffled the trees and sent a shower of leaves raining down on the path, concealing the bend just outside of the gates where the sect disciples waited. They spun in a loose whirlwind made up of a myriad of reds and oranges and yellows that marked the change of season.

The breeze died down, releasing the leaves with a sigh so they spread into a carpet of color along the wide dirt trail. And in their place a soft golden light glowed as though the sun itself had risen in the curve of the path, ascending solely to deliver the woman who stepped out of the light. 

Two tall, slender shadows flanked her, gliding serenely out of the light as though it were perfectly normal for nature to bend itself to their master. Lan Wangji focused on Baoshan Sanren but studied her companions-- disciples, perhaps?-- out of the corner of his eye. 

The man on the left wore white robes and a lovely, glittering sword on his back. He was very handsome, Lan Wangji thought uncomfortably, and turned his attention instead to the other disciple, who wore all black with little flares of red at his waist, his hair. 

A dizi was shoved haphazardly in his belt and his sword gripped loosely in one hand. Lan Wangji let his gaze travel from the disciple’s waist to his shoulder and finally his face, and felt his stomach drop to his feet. 

This disciple-- this boy-- was as beautiful as the other, only this one was grinning widely at him as their respective master and sect leader exchanged greetings. 

“--two of my disciples,” Baoshan Sanren was saying, and Lan Wangji tore his eyes away from the boy and tuned back into the conversation before he missed something important. “Xiao Xingchen and Wei Wuxian.” 

Wei Wuxian bounced in place on his toes, seemingly unable to hold still. He peered curiously around and Lan Zhan had to resist the urge to tell him not to touch when he leaned in to inspect the temporary wards they’d erected. 

“Shifu,” Wei Wuxian said after a moment. Baoshan Sanren paused her interrogation about Lan Yi’s unexpected collapse and turned to him, eyebrows raised in question. He gestured to their perfectly functional wards and made a face. His master only nodded once in response, like they’d exchanged a dozen words instead of one. 

Lan Wangji wanted to wipe the look off his face. His brother eyed him from the corner of his eye, probably the only one who noticed him bristling in reaction. It was enough to remind Lan Wangji to settle, to keep his composure even when this stupid, pretty boy whipped a small knife from his boot and started carving on their sect’s stone gate like a disrespectful heathen. 

His uncle remained silent, though he also scowled minutely at the faint scratching noises. 

“Wei Wuxian is especially talented with wards,” Xiao Xingchen said smoothly, stepping forward to draw their attention away from his sect brother. “He is adding to yours so that when we add our own power, it will ensure the Cloud Recesses is wholly protected until we can revive your ancestor.” 

“Lan Yi must have tied herself to the external wards somehow,” Baoshan Sanren said, peering over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder as he worked. She sighed. “She never did know when to quit.”

Lan Qiren frowned. “Why would she do such a thing? It took all of her power to contain the…” he paused, and turned to shoo his disciples up the hill. He waited until the last one was out of sight to continue. “The Iron.”

“My guess? It was either an accident, or something made her try to expand her protection past the cave. Speaking of which…” 

“We will take you,” Lan Xichen said with a smile, holding out his arm as if to help her up the steep hill. 

“Such a polite young man,” Baoshan Sanren said, patting him on the arm. ”A-Xian, pay attention, you could learn a thing or two from these Twin Jades.” 

“Hey!” 

Baoshan Sanren ignored him. “Zewu-Jun, is it? You are far too young and handsome to be stuck with an old woman.” She sent a sideways look at Xiao Xingchen, a wicked grin of amusement passing across her face almost too fast to track. “But perhaps my disciple would appreciate a tour?”

Xiao Xingchen, Lan Wangji noticed, flushed pink to the roots of his hair and said nothing until a bemused Lan Xichen turned to him instead. He hurriedly schooled his expression and gave a regal nod of agreement, allowing Lan Xichen to lead him into the Cloud Recesses. 

Wei Wuxian snickered under his breath, right up until his master added, “Lan Wangji, would you mind assisting my remaining disciple? He is somewhat of a trouble magnet.” 

“Shifu!” Wei Wuxian said indignantly. 

Lan Wangji very much minded, but he doubted there was a cultivator alive who could say no to Baoshan Sanren. “Of course, daozhang.” He saluted, careful not to let his resentment show. He didn’t want to be stuck with a troublemaking guest disciple with sparkling gray eyes and a teasing grin, but perhaps it was better that someone kept an eye on him. 

“Good boy.” Lan Wangji blinked, surprised at the warmth her praise brought. “Now, Lan Qiren, why don’t you take me to my old friend? It’s time we had another talk about her reckless behavior.” 

Lan Wangji frowned after them. 

“Don’t take her seriously,” Wei Wuxian said without looking up, the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he worked diligently on the wards. “She and Lan Yi were like… together all those years back. Or almost together; none of us can get a straight answer out of her, no matter how much we hound her about it.” 

Now Lan Wangji frowned down at him. “You should not annoy your Master.” 

“Why not?” Wei Wuxian chirped. “It’s fun.” 

“Fun,” Lan Wangji repeated, appalled. 

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “Sometimes she just threatens to toss us off the top of the mountain, but occasionally we can badger her into sharing a story or two.” 

Lan Wangji had no idea what to say to that. He settled for vaguely disapproving silence to cover up his complete bafflement. Baoshan Sanren was nothing like he’d expected, her disciples even less so. 

“There,” Wei Wuxian said, satisfied, and stood gracefully. Lan Wangji felt the sudden hum of increased spiritual energy from whatever changes he’d made. 

“Did you add your own power to the wards?” 

“Hm? Oh, no. Not yet. Shifu wants to determine whether we should focus our own power on defending the cave; otherwise we might be too spread thin, in case something were to happen.” Wei Wuxian twirled around to face him, head cocked with curious eyes. “Do you think something will happen?”

Lan Wangji paused. He knew, obviously, that Baoshan Sanren and her disciples were secluded on their mountain. They were removed from mortal, earthly affairs, so of course they didn’t know of Wen Ruohan’s bloodstained rise to power. 

And yet it still took him by surprise that they weren’t aware of the monster in the west, the armies he was amassing or the awful tension of waiting for the storm to break. But they had nothing to fear. Nothing to lose. Wen Ruohan couldn’t touch them, couldn’t break them the way he could the other great sects. 

“Yes,” Lan Wangji admitted. He’d been included in enough discussions with his brother and uncle to know that war was only a matter of time. 

“I guess it’s a good thing we came, then!” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully. “Hey, do you have any of that Emperor’s Smile here? We passed it on the way up the mountain; I’m thirsty after all that work!” 

Lan Wangji frowned deeply at him and pointed to the wall of Lan Sect rules. Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide at the sight of it. “Alcohol is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses.” 

“Aiya, what’s not forbidden in the Cloud Recesses?” He asked, hands on his hips as he leaned back to find the top of the wall, so playfully theatrical about it he nearly toppled over backwards. 

“Silence,” Lan Wangji said stiffly. “Thinking before you speak.” He gave Wei Wuxian a pointed look, and despaired when it only made him throw back his head and laugh. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll behave.” Lan Wangji doubted that very much. “Let’s go find the others before all these rules make me break out in hives.” Wei Wuxian shuddered dramatically and eyed the wall of rules like they were contagious. 

Lan Wangji could think of several that would improve Wei Wuxian’s personality. Most of them were the ones about silence and not touching things that did not belong to you. Such as other people.

He turned on his heel and started up the path with Wei Wuxian on his heels. Lan Wangji’s gaze caught on Do not lust after others, and he looked away quickly, pretending he couldn't feel the burning heat in his ears.

NOT HAPPY TOGETHER - PROLOGUE

—

PAIRINGS: ex!Kuroo Tetsurou x gn!Reader, platonic!Akaashi Keiji x gn!Reader, ex!Sekimukai Kouji x gn!Reader, pining!Akaashi x Bokuto Koutarou, pining!Sekimukai Kouji x Izumi Yukitaka, Kozume Kenma x Hinata Shouyou

WORD COUNT: 7,065

WARNINGS: dumb choices, drinking, sex mention, kissing your best friend lmao, unhealthy coping mechanisms, pining, so much pining its a pine forest, lovesick fools, angst, really really self indulgent like look at the ships lmao

A/N: so this thing became an entire au that has evicted the actual paying tenants in my head to squat rent free lmao just a bunch of maybe chronological events beginning with The Breakup and leading up to Getting Back Together

i totally lost steam at the end rip but i need this out of my drafts since scrolling 34 years to find my smau drafts is killer

tags: @samanthaa-leanne @finnydraws @peteunderoos @lowermoons @deestielluv @angyboibakugo @carmomo18 @kuroirl​

Part One

The day started with melancholy. The weather seemed to disagree, not a cloud in the sky as the morning sun filtered into your room through poorly drawn curtains, the warm rays scattering along your faces. 

It was your last day together before you moved to the other side of the country for college for the next four years. Hokkaido had offered you exactly what you wanted to pursue, you just had to sacrifice your life in Tokyo to take it. Kuroo had been overwhelmingly supportive when you received your acceptance letter, rambling on and on about how Kenma would make sure he had a decent computer setup so you could video call every day, how the physical distance wouldn't matter in the long run.

You didn't tell him how much it meant to you that he would go to all those lengths to be with you. You didn't tell him how you couldn't ask that of him, how unfair it would be of you to tether him to you like that. You knew he deserved better than that, better than text messages and video calls. He deserved to be with someone that could be physically by his side, and that someone just wasn't you anymore.

You woke up somber, despite the warm, comforting arms wrapped around you like a cage. You allowed yourself several minutes to relish in his warmth, to commit to memory how perfect it felt to be by his side, since you knew you would never have this again.

Usually, you were both slow to wake, indulging in early morning cuddles and kisses, but today you couldn't bring yourself to bask in the little world of happiness the two of you had cultivated over the three years of your relationship. You were going to tear it all apart, but you knew it was for the better. There was no happiness in a relationship that would be held together by loneliness and longing, of staring at phones and wondering when the next text would come, when the next call would come. It would be torture and no matter how much you loved him, you couldn't bring yourself to demand that of him.

So, you didn't roll over and kiss him awake like you usually would. You don't stare at his sleeping face for minutes on end, marvelling at how peaceful he looks in slumber. You already knew every facet of his face, every emotion he was capable of expressing, so you don't need to commit anything to memory. 

You pull yourself from his grip, despite him trying to tighten his hold on you as he came to consciousness. Even in sleep, if you tried to wiggle away, he would pull you closer instinctually. He looked up at you bleary eyed, a little confused, but happy to see you nonetheless, a sleepy smile gracing his features. The pure adoration he held for you sent your heart plummeting.

You gave him a tight smile back before leaving the comfort of the bed, the beginning of a bigger departure. You left him to doze off as you mulled around the bedroom, picking out some clothes and heading to the bathroom without a second glance. If you had looked at him again, you would have noticed him watching you with furrowed brows. 

He knew you were worried about moving to Hokkaido, he was feeling down about, too. Today was your last day together in person, but he meant every word when he said he would be on top of calling you. Part of him knew your behaviour wasn't off because of the move, he knew you were keeping something from him, but he wasn't about to pry. He knew, deep down, that something was wrong, but he ignored that niggle of anxiety, just like he ignored the space that had suddenly grown between you.

--

It continued in the little actions throughout the day. You could barely look him in the eyes, could barely respond to his numerous assurances that he would call you, that it wouldn't be different, not really. You tried to wear a polite smile and nod, but it felt worn, like a terrible disguise and you knew he could see through it. It caused him to lay it on thicker, that by being overconfident and overbearing in his determination to make things work, it would smother the uncomfortable atmosphere that you had created.

"It's going to be fine," he repeats for the hundredth time, rubbing your shoulders soothingly. "I know you're nervous about the move. Hell, I would be, too!" 

You hum, an acknowledgement that he's spoken but nothing more to contribute to the conversation. You're sitting in the living room, your bags packed and ready to go. You get the notification that your ride is here, that will take you to the airport and send you to the faraway island.

"You can call me when you're settled," he continues. "Or when you land. Whenever you want, kitten. I'll always answer." 

It's almost sad, how desperate he is to convince you it will be okay. You have no doubt in your mind that he would hold true to his word, that things might even work out in the end, but you also know that would demand crippling loneliness. It would demand that each of you be on each other's beck and call, that when that phone rings or a text comes through, you're expecting to answer or reply. It demands that you're both hanging on the edge of your seat, waiting desperately for that phone call, that text message.

"Kitten?"

You hum again, looking up at him in inquiry. It's a mistake, he's looking down at you with all the love in the world. It wavers your determination, makes you falter in your resolve. You want to reciprocate that love so much, with every fibre of your being, and you do, you really do, which is why the next words out of your mouth are, "let's break up." 

The next few moments go by in a blur. You barely register what he's saying, if he's saying anything at all, or what you're saying in return, if anything at all. You know deep down, this needs to be done, neither of you can live happily hanging onto that next text message, that next phone call. He deserves better than that, and so do you.

You gather up your bags in a daze as Kuroo is speaking fervently, questions and compromises falling on your deaf ears. You give him half hearted responses, barely formed excuses that you both know are bullshit. You don't look at him the entire time, knowing if you gave in and looked at the pain you had inflicted, you would cave and take it all back.

You leave without another word. Kuroo is torn between chasing after you and demanding a proper reason, but he knows it would be to no avail. He lets you go, knowing he has no chance to get anything out of you today. He tries to convince himself it's because you're leaving, that your nerves are wound up, that you're stressed and anxious about the move and about the new school, that you aren't thinking properly. That in a few days, you'll realise how silly you're being and you'll take it back.

He lets you go because he's confident he can change your mind. 

--

He's calling you the next day. 

It startles you out of your light slumber. You'd been going non-stop ever since you left, arranging your new room, organising your college schedule, finding the closest shops and most effective public transport, being thrown way out of your depth at the sudden independence that this new life demanded of you. Thankfully, you had a week to get used to it before college started handing your ass back to you on a silver platter.

You scramble to see the caller ID and your blood runs cold when you see. Everything in you is telling you to answer, to apologise for your actions and to take it all back, to even beg his forgiveness, but you just stare at the phone as the call goes to voicemail. You breathe a sigh of relief, though it's short lived when you get the text that you have a new voicemail. 

And then he's calling again. 

It goes like this for a solid fifteen minutes. Call after call, your heart desperately wanting to answer him, but your mind knowing you shouldn't. You've repeated it to yourself a thousand times already, that it's better off this way, that you both wouldn't be happy.

You're starting to hate yourself for being so stubborn.

--

The next day you're introduced to your roommate. Which, to your surprise, is someone you recognise. You hadn't expected to know anyone here, and if you're being honest with yourself, you don't really know Akaashi Keiji all that well. To you, he was just the friend of your boyfriend's best friend, who went to a completely different school. 

Well, ex-boyfriend. 

Akaashi seems to be surprised to see you as well. He introduced himself politely, finishing with, "you're... Kuroo's parter, right?" 

It stabs you in a way you didn't think possible. You can feel your heart skip a beat before it picks up in double time, loud in your ears as Akaashi regards you with polite interest. You clear your throat, avoiding his gaze as you say, "ah, n-not anymore." 

You find that Akaashi isn't a very expressive person. If he's shocked at the revelation, he doesn't show it. "Oh, my apologies." He doesn't pry any further, his voice devoid of any genuine feelings towards the matter. You don't know if you should be annoyed or relieved that he doesn't ask you about it. 

It's then that your phone, from the very traitorous place on the kitchen counter, starts to go off. Akaashi glances at it before you're able to clamber over the sofa to the offending device, Kuroo's face and ID lighting up the screen in an entirely offensive display to your pride. 

You hastily hit the reject button rather than letting it ring out, which earns you a raised eyebrow from your roommate. You can see the gears working in his brain as he pieces together the facts, though you're not given a chance to recover as your phone is going off again.

Apologies spill out of your mouth as you escape the communal area, shutting yourself in your room and away from Akaashi's judgement. You clutch at your phone like a lifeline, the feelings of remorse and desperation taking you over as Kuroo tries to call you over and over, the tears falling relentlessly for as long as he tries.

He gives up after ten minutes this time, though he leaves a voicemail for every unanswered call. 

-- 

It's later that evening that you finally emerge from your room. Kuroo didn't try to call again, but he's been texting you non-stop all day. You've been reading them, how could you not, your heart breaking all over as you read the begging. It would almost be pathetic, how desperate he is for your attention, if you didn't reciprocate. You ask yourself for the hundredth time if this is the right course of action. 

Akaashi, to your surprise, has made dinner for the both of you. He's still in the middle of serving the meal, his eyes flickering up as you enter the room. 

"Are you okay?"

The question throws you off guard. You sputter, "I— what?" like a moron, feeling entirely off balance. You'd expected a lot of things to come from Akaashi, mostly negative, but not concern for your wellbeing. 

"I asked if you are okay," he repeats, setting two bowls of food onto the low table by the couch. The apartment made use of the minimal space, meaning it was an open living layout with no dining area. 

You gaped at him like a fish, unsure of what to say. He's patient with you, taking a seat and waiting for you to catch up to the present moment. You eventually do, wordlessly taking the floor across from him, staring at the meal like it held all the answers to the universe. 

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he continues. "I don't mean to be presumptuous, but I find myself in a similar sort of situation." 

You glance up at him like a rabbit staring down the jaws of a fox. He's regarding you with a carefully neutral expression, his hands busy with his bowl and chopsticks. You open your mouth to speak, but it's dry, and your voice comes out a lot raspier than usual. "What do you mean?" 

"A long distance relationship," he says simply. "Bokuto suggested it, but I talked him out of it. We came to the agreement that we could try again once I graduate college, since he's going professional." He arches a delicate brow when he looks back up at you as he says, "I assume you had a similar conversation with Kuroo?"

You feel the knot in your belly tighten. You swallow thickly, willing yourself not to cry. "Not really," you admit, voice laced with emotion. "We didn't... discuss anything."

He studies you in a relaxed way as he eats, prompting you to start on your own meal. You thank him quietly for the meal despite not feeling hungry at all. You eat it all the same.

--

Akaashi is remarkably understanding about your decision. The only thing he doesn't agree with is you shouldering the decision, but he knows Kuroo well enough to know that there would have been no convincing him otherwise. 

Kuroo continues to try to call you daily. Usually, its towards the evening, when you and Akaashi are either eating or watching TV to wind down for the day. You ignore it every time, Akaashi growing increasingly more worried about you as the weeks go by. 

The two of you talk about your not-boyfriends a lot. The difference being that Akaashi maintains a friendly relationship with Bokuto, the two texting on the daily and video calling every other day. You had been present for one of the video calls, milling around in the kitchen behind Akaashi. Bokuto had greeted you politely enough, but you could tell he was angry with you. You didn't blame him, he was Kuroo's best friend after all, and you were surprised to find him tolerating you at all. Akaashi must have explained things to him, because the next time you accidentally crashed their video call, Bokuto had been much more pleased to see you.

Kuroo's unanswered messages to you deviate from their begging to be more casual, recounting his day in a one sided conversation. Somehow, it makes it all the harder to continue reading them, but you don't have the heart to block his number and you feel like you at least owe it to him to keep reading them. You don't touch the voicemails, knowing that if you heard his voice, your resolve would crumble.

It comes to a head one day, six months later, when you're lying in bed, unable to sleep, when he's texting you again. The frequency has died down considerably, the daily texts and calls turning into weekly ones. You watch with tears in your eyes as he recounts his day yet again, how much college is kicking his ass and how much of a recluse Kenma is when given the choice. He mentions how he's been spending time with Bokuto, suggests that the four of you should all have a video call and how is Akaashi going by the way?

He calls you after he's finished, and you nearly answer. Your finger hovers over the green spot, and you're ready to give up, this clearly isn't working, but for the first time he doesn't call until it rings out to voicemail. It leaves you feeling hollow. You had finally come to terms that you weren't going to hold out, that you were going to answer him and beg for his forgiveness.

He sends you one more text that sends you over the edge. You only read the first line of the preview, "I'll always love you, kitten," before you're opening up your messages with Kenma, begging him to talk to Kuroo and ask him to stop contacting you. You couldn't do this anymore.

And just like that, Kuroo goes silent. You feel your heart shatter at the realisation that you finally got what you wanted, that Kuroo would finally stop contacting you. You aren't sure when Akaashi made his way into your room, but you're bawling into his shoulder as he holds you close, rubbing soothing circles into your back as your heart is finally able to fully break.

-- 

Things get better. You're able to focus more on your college work and your friendship with Akaashi becomes more than a pair of lovesick fools. It becomes genuine, and strangely domestic. Akaashi's a lot better at cooking than you are, so in turn you handle the cleaning. Usually, you'll watch him cook and narrate the process like you're on a cooking show, and you'll rate the dish and give a critical analysis that's full of bullshit words and terms you don't fully understand. Sometimes, you'll even get into the kitchen and have Akaashi instruct you on what to do. He almost always takes over.

You both prefer to study in the communal area, quietly enjoying each other's company, and you regularly watch TV together. You don't necessarily talk a lot during these times, but you both relish the companionship and how comfortable it feels to be around each other.

You take each other out on platonic dates on the regular, too. Usually just to the coffee shop on campus when you're both run down from a lecture, swapping who pays for whom every time. Sometimes, it's a little more elaborate, a casual night out at the local izakaya. 

Friendship with Akaashi comes as easy as breathing and he quickly becomes your closest friend. You confide in him as much as he confides in you, though the topic of conversation deviates from your mutual pining to more substantial things. You find that your original assumption of Akaashi not being very expressive was entirely false. He's just extremely guarded, but he feels at ease around you, almost as much as he feels around Bokuto, so you get to see his rare smiles and listen to his laughter.

There's a day where you're both exhausted from the week, feeling especially touch-starved, when you cross the line. Akaashi is the one to suggest it, his reasoning very sound. You're both craving physical contact, you're both helplessly in love with someone you can't be with right now, so why not give it a try? 

"You can pretend I'm him," he says in a low voice as he moves into your space. It sounds so unhealthy, but he would be doing the same with you, so it would be okay, right?

You find out very quickly that your relationship with Akaashi could never be anything but platonic. When he kisses you, and you kiss him back, you both recoil with an almost repulsed expression mirroring back to each other. You're the first to laugh, the small giggle escaping your lips with Akaashi hovering over you on the couch. He sits back and laughs along with you as you trade compliments for your kissing style, but come to an agreement that it felt wrong.

You never speak of it again.

After that, you're somehow even more comfortable with each other. You start calling each other by first name. You often gravitate to his side, whether it be huddled down on the couch, completely invading his personal space, or be it out in public, where he carelessly throws his arm around you.

The two of you could never see each other as anything but platonic friends, but you're still able to satisfy the cravings of the skin, in the form of casual touches and friendly embraces. It becomes the norm for you two to be touching somehow, whether it be hand holding or just standing shoulder to shoulder. It's therapeutic.

Some of your classmates ask if you're dating. You laugh at the questions, there's no way you could date Akaashi. You assure them that you're just best friends. It doesn't seem to convince anyone, but you don't really care. They don't understand and you don't want to make them. It's between you and Akaashi, and probably Bokuto, too.

--

You're at a party, entirely too drunk, when you're being pulled into a bathroom and you're being ravaged by someone you don't know. He's probably a classmate, someone you see every other day, but right now you can't find a name. You find that you don't care, and you lose yourself to his ministrations as he peels back your clothing and presses wet, drunken kisses to your skin.

It's when you muse his black hair into something far too familiar, moaning out a name you thought you'd never say again, that has you scrambling from the sink in a panic. You barely give the man another look before you run, out of the bathroom and out of the building, onto the cold, dark street. You fumble for your phone with ragged breaths, dialing Akaashi.

You're panicking and you're damn near in tears on the phone to him. It takes him no time at all to come to you, you were somewhere on campus, and he's wrapping you up in his scarf and jacket, holding you close as you come down from your hysterics. 

You walk home in silence, your hand firmly clasped in his. He sits you down on the sofa, wrapping you up even more like a burrito, setting a glass of water in front of you as he prepares tea for you both. You're dazed, or you're just still really drunk, because suddenly Akaashi is next to you and pressing the warm mug into your hands. 

"What happened?" 

You shrug helplessly. "I don't know. One minute it was fine, I was about to get the dicking of my life—" You stop yourself, your brain catching up with your words. "No, I wasn't. I was in a fucking bathroom of all places. No, that would have been a shit fuck," you murmur this to yourself, voicing your thoughts. You startle slightly when Akaashi places a hand on your shoulder, bringing you back to the present. "Oh. Um. For a second, all I could think of was Kuroo, so I panicked." 

Akaashi sighed, rubbing your arm comfortingly. "I'm glad you're okay. Next time, let me come with you."

You wiggle your eyebrows stupidly. "Why, you wanna get down and dirty with me?" The question barely makes it out before you're laughing. The idea of sleeping with Akaashi has become laughable. You suddenly grow somber as the thought crosses your mind and you look up to him with the biggest eyes you can manage. "Hey, can I sleep with you tonight?"

He snorts, an affectionate smile dancing on his lips. "You are so horny when you're drunk."

"Not like that!" you exclaim, a little too loud, a little too excited. "Just... you know. Sharing a bed. No funny business." 

He can barely hold back his own laughter, giggling softly at you. "No funny business," he agrees with a giggle, patting the top of your head. "Alright, give me a minute to make my bed." 

-- 

Akaashi is on a video call with Bokuto when he has to excuse himself for the bathroom, leaving Bokuto to spot you in the background and excitedly hollering your name, calling you over.

"We haven't spoken in forever!!" he whines as you take Akaashi's place on the sofa. 

You laugh as you say, "I'm pretty sure we spoke last week, man."

He playfully pouts, but excited all the same. "Yeah, but last week you hadn't kissed Akaashi yet!" You freeze and Bokuto bursts out into mirthful laughter. "Or slept with him!" he adds for good measure, and you feel like your entire existence should just cease to be.

"Well, uh, you see, about that," you try to explain, but you're stumbling over your words and Bokuto is having the time of his life on the other line.

"I'm just teasing," he assures in between bouts of laughter. "He told me all about it, but I've been dying to know your side of the story. C'mon, tell me, is he not the best kisser you've ever kissed?"

You pray for some divine being to smite you on the spot, to spare you the embarrassment of the conversation, but your prayers are not answered and you're forced to go along with Bokuto's asinine line of questioning. "Well, uh, no offense to you or him, but no? Like, objectively he's a great kisser, but like..." you trail off helplessly. "I've kissed better," you end up saying fruitlessly.

Bokuto's eyes shine with glee. "You mean, my best bro, Kuroo? Oh, hey, that rhymes!" 

You chuckle at him, ignoring the little pricks to your heart. "Yeah. He's spoiled me for life, I think," you say, truthfully. Neither that drunken mishap nor Akaashi could compare to how it felt when you kissed Kuroo. But, you very purposefully do not follow that train of thought, and you're blessed with the return of Akaashi. 

He gives you a quirk of the eyebrow as he takes a seat next to you, very much in your personal space, going so far as to rest his head in your lap as he looks up to the screen with pure adoration. "Are you behaving yourself, Bokuto?" 

"Always!" he barks back cheerfully. "Just sharing stories of what it's like to kiss you!" 

Akaashi buries his head in your lap and you feel like a furnace, no doubt your face is as red as the shirt you're wearing. Despite it all, you pat Akaashi's head comfortingly, and Bokuto actually squeals, an impossibly high pitch from the man, as he coos at how adorable you two are. 

"Is your partner as cool as I am with you being this affectionate with Akaashi?" Bokuto blurts. You miss the narrowing of Akaashi's eyes.

"We aren't together, Bokuto," Akaashi murmurs. Bokuto waves him off with a grin.

"I, uh, I'm not seeing anyone," you announce, forcing a laugh. You nudge at Akaashi ever so slightly, smoothly sliding out from under him. "It was nice to talk to you again, Bo, but I've got some shit I need to do. You kids keep it PG13 in the living room, okay?"

You don't see the stern look Akaashi gives Bokuto, nor do you hear the reprimanding when you close yourself in your room. You aren't privy to the conversation that follows, nor Kuroo meekly poking his head into frame. 

"This isn't healthy," Akaashi scolds. "It's been over a year, Kuroo."

"Then tell me with absolute certainty that I don't have a chance," he counters. "Tell me that it's a lost cause." 

Akaashi opens his mouth to say just that, but knows it would be a lie. He frowns as he says, "it still isn't healthy." 

--

College starts back up with little fanfare. You and Akaashi sign on to stay as roommates for the duration of your courses, which was a no brainer. You couldn't imagine not living with Akaashi, and for the time being, you'll let yourself live in the fantasy. You know you'll eventually have to let him go, when you both graduate and he returns to Bokuto, and you're fine with that. You don't know what you're going to do, but you figure that isn't something to worry about for another few years.

Bokuto comes to visit, though it's barely for a weekend. You try to give the two men their privacy, you know that despite not dating that they would want their alone time, but Bokuto is very insistent that you all hang out together.

Once, you would have said you were better friends with Bokuto over Akaashi. How could you not have been, you were dating his best friend and you all got along. Kuroo would often drag you along to their joint volleyball training camps, and he would often want to catch Bokuto outside of school hours. Bokuto was funny, easy to get along with, and charming in his own way. Akaashi would often accompany Bokuto on those outings, but the two of you just never hit it off.

Funny how things work themselves out.

Akaashi's having a shower when you drop next to Bokuto, throwing your legs over his lap and leveling him with a serious look. "I'm going to ask you something and you're not going to read into it or tell anyone about it," you say as you get comofrtable.

He raises an eyebrow impossibly high. "I can promise none of that," he answers truthfully. "I can't keep things from Akaashi."

You muse for a moment. "Okay, Keiji doesn't count." He suppresses a squeal of delight at you using Akaashi's given name. Something about your friendship with Akaashi really tickles Bokuto's inner fangirl. He schools his face into something more serious when you cock your head to the side. "Right. Um. How is... Kuroo?"

His eyebrows shoot even higher, eyes sparkling with intrigue. You're quick to deny any special interest (lie), you fell out of love with him long ago (lie), you're completely over him (lie). You're probably being too insistent on these facts (lies), but if you repeat them enough, they'll eventually become true, right? (Wrong).

"I haven't even said anything yet," Bokuto laughs, silencing you. "He's doing fine. I think he's seeing someone, but he's so tight lipped about it," he says with a frown while the news causes your heart to skip a beat. "He's still living with Kenma. Oh! Kenma and Hinata started dating, did you hear?" he trails off excitedly, and you find it difficult to pay attention.

Was Kuroo really dating someone? You had no right to feel as upset as you did, it is what you wanted to happen, after all. The whole idea was so you could both find happiness in someone a lot closer. Really, you should be happy that he managed to find it, but instead you feel bitter that you haven't been able to. You've been too busy denying your feelings, denying that you're still hung up on him nearly eighteen months later, but even if you decided to accept them, to take it all back, it seems it's too late for that now. You wouldn't deserve it anyway, not after how you callously threw him aside.

Akaashi joins you a little while later, and he knows something's upset you. He slips in easily between you and Bokuto, returning your legs to lay atop both of their laps, and he rests his hands on your thigh in comfort. He doesn't ask what's wrong, but he manages to steer Bokuto's topic completely away from all your old friends, to what the three of you should do tomorrow before Bokuto has to leave.

--

You start dating.

It's a lot harder than you ever thought. You never really dated in the first place, since it was in your first year at Nekoma High that you met Kuroo and very quickly fell into an easy relationship with him for the following three years. You didn't know how to date, and you were too embarrassed to ask Akaashi for advice. Part of you told you that he would be just as clueless.

Most don't go anywhere after the first date. It's surprisingly time consuming and you'd rather spend your free time with Akaashi. Some see a second date, but things just don't feel right and you don't pursue a third date.

You're walking through campus, on a haphazard video call with Hinata. He's not even in the country, he's in Brazil now, learning how to play beach volleyball. You'd always been friendly with the Karasuno middle blocker, but you'd made an effort to keep in contact since you found out he and Kenma were dating. Next to Akaashi, Kenma was your best friend, which meant Hinata was now your best friend, too.

"Sounds like you're having a wild time there," you remark to his latest misadventure. "Keeping it interesting so Kenma will keep sponsoring you?" you add as a tease, giggling with delight when Hinata gets all flustered and embarrassed.

As Hinata tries to save face, you notice a young man looking at you sheepishly, like a child that's lost their parent. He couldn't be older than you, maybe he's younger than you. "Ah, I'll call you back, Sho," you interrupt, quickly ending the call and giving the stranger a kind smile. "Can I help you?"

He looks about as awkward as you feel as he takes the two extra steps to approach you. "This is probably really weird, but were you just on the phone to Hinata Shouyou?"

That's how you met Sekimukai Kouji, who just so happened to be Hinata's old friend from elementary school. Your world in Hokkaido didn't seem nearly as detached as it once used to, and you struck up an easy friendship with Kouji.

It didn't take long for the two of you to start dating. It felt freeing, for a little while. You felt happy, or at least you had tricked yourself into feeling happy. As the months ticked by, guilt began to gnaw at you. Were you actually happy or were you just using Kouji as a stand in for Kuroo? Should you even get to feel happy after how you broke Kuroo's heart?

It came to a head one day, several months after that fateful encounter, when you were getting hot and heavy with Kouji. You'd invited him over, it wasn't the first time he'd been over, with the intention to study until your brains were mush. Studious as you were, study took a backseat after an hour, when the numbers and letters started to swirl around your head and make even less sense than usual, when Kouji's hands found your thighs and your attention was very much no longer on the nonsense alphanumerics.

His hands gripping at your sides, pressing hot kisses into your neck, your hands in his hair, tugging fervently, when you both moaned different names. Neither name belonged to the present company.

You might have been more upset with yourself for allowing it to happen again, if Kouji hadn't done the exact same to you. You both break away with mortified expressions, apologies ready to spill from your lips, when you both register that you both fucked up. A tense second passes before your chuckle breaks the silence, and the tension with it, and you're both laughing at how ridiculous you both are.

Kouji opens up and explains how he's in love with his best friend from elementary school, has been for countless years now, how he's never had the courage to admit anything, too terrified to lose their friendship, and how he hoped you would have been able to distract him, for lack of a better word.

It's almost funny, if it weren't so damn sad. You were both using each other as a stand in. You recall Akaashi offering the exact same scenario to you almost two years ago and how ridiculous it had seemed at the time.

You explain yourself in turn, and you're both laughing with tears at how pathetic you both are. You encourage Kouji to shoot his shot, that having been friends with Izumi for so long means a confession couldn't possibly ruin anything. Kouji suggests you at least try and talk to Kuroo again, though he understands that your side is a lot more convoluted than his.

You break up that day, but you maintain a solid friendship with him, to the point that you still call each other by first name. You're the first person he calls after he confesses to Izumi, telling you with tears in his voice that he lasted a whole week being single. You congratulate him, just as teary eyed, so overwhelming happy for him, and insist on meeting his new boyfriend.

It's a bittersweet moment when you do finally meet Izumi, several weeks later. You're genuinely happy that it worked out, that Kouji is the happiest you've ever seen him in the short time that you've known him, but you can't help but feel a little bitter regarding your own feelings, on top of feeling like you don't deserve to feel badly about it, since it's all your doing.

You still spend time with Kouji, though the majority of your spare time is dedicated to Akaashi. When you're out on campus, Kouji will join you in a video call to Hinata. He doesn't visit you in your apartment anymore, which is just as well, since you've decided that your home is for you and Akaashi only (and Bokuto on his rare visits).

--

Your last year of college goes by uneventfully. In the final week leading up to your graduation, and your eventual eviction from the college housing with Akaashi, you're reminded that you need to find new housing in Tokyo. Hokkaido was only ever temporary, you loved the lifestyle of Tokyo, you loved the people in Tokyo.

Akaashi already has you covered. He doesn't take no for an answer when he tells you of the apartment he's secured, that the two of you aren't parting ways just yet, that Bokuto is still abroad and besides, you're just as important to him as Bokuto is. It makes your heart feel as light as a feather, makes you even more excited to graduate.

The new apartment is a lot more spacious than what you've been living in for the past four years. You decorate it together, going to the store together to find more space fillers, more indoor plants, to make the space something that's entirely you and Akaashi. Despite how perfect the place ends up becoming, how truly at home you feel in your new home, uncertainty gnaws at you. This isn't really your place, not really, not when Bokuto returns.

"Hey, Keiji," you lean over the island bench as Akaashi prepares a simple recipe for dinner. Bokuto is visiting this coming weekend, and you need to air your concerns before then. "What happens to me when Bokuto moves in?"

Akaashi regards you with a slight frown, as if he doesn't understand why you're asking, as if the answer is obvious. "Nothing," he says with a tone of obviousness that matches his expression. "This is your home, too."

You hum in thought, feeling your heart soar. "Yeah, but... won't it be weird for you? Having me around when you start getting serious with Bo?"

He stops what he's doing so he can give you his undivided attention. "My getting serious with Bokuto doesn't mean you have to leave. We've been living together for so long now, I think it would be weirder if we weren't." He places his hands over yours, giving them a gentle squeeze. "If you do want to move out when that happens, it'll be on your terms. I'm not going to force you out, and neither is Bokuto."

You blink back tears that you didn't know were welling up. You clear your throat and pull your hands back, feeling way too loved. You aren't sure what to say to such brutal honesty, even though you're used to his brand of honesty by now. Despite not replying, he seems satisfied enough with your reaction to continue with dinner, glancing at you occasionally with a soft smile. You can't help but reciprocate.

--

Bokuto moves in six months later, when he's finally released from volleyball hell. You find it isn't as uncomfortable as you first feared, and you continue to live with the happy couple for a following six months before you decide to move out. It pains you to do so, to leave your best friend of five years, but you aren't really leaving, not when you're moving a few blocks away. Akaashi insists that you visit frequently, which you do, and for the most part it's like you never even left.

But, now you have somewhere to go when Bokuto wants to have his friends over. More to the point, when Bokuto wants to have Kuroo over.

Bokuto never said anything about it, never asked if you would be okay with having Kuroo visit for the day, never even suggested it. He would only ever invite Kuroo over if he knew you weren't going to be home, and he would always make sure Kuroo was gone by the time you were due to return. He probably would have kept that up for years, but when you caught wind of what he was doing via Akaashi, you felt terrible. The apartment had become just as much Bokuto's home as it was yours, but you were making Bokuto have to treat his best friend like some kind of sinful secret.

Living alone wasn't bad. It took some time getting used to, and you very quickly had to learn how to cook on your own. You often phoned Akaashi during meal times, asking him how to do this or that, and sometimes he would just come over to help you. It was a good excuse for the both of you, as he missed you as much as you missed him.

--

As the fifth year ticked over and Bokuto's birthday inched ever closer, you came to terms with the inevitability that you would have to face Kuroo again. It was probably childish of you to hope you could avoid him for the rest of your life, to continue avoiding the truth of your feelings. It was amazing you'd managed to avoid him for over a year since moving back to Tokyo, especially during those six months where you lived with Bokuto. You told Akaashi that you were ready, that you weren't going to miss Bokuto's birthday for something so silly.

"I don't think it's silly," Akaashi disagrees. "Bokuto will understand."

"We're adults," you say with a shrug. "I can’t avoid him forever. I might even be able to apologise.”

Through the Senses

Chapter 3. Smell.

The third instalment of TTS is here! To read the previous chapters you can go HERE or to AO3 or FF.net.

This one’s from Katniss’s POV.

Hope you enjoy ❤️

  The electric fence, covered in early morning dew, loomed on the horizon. 

 Keeping to the narrow alleys of the Seam, Katniss reached the empty Meadow. The smell of freshly cut grass tickled her nose. 

She quickened her step. The place would be crawling with Peacekeepers soon -- and not the usual lazy kind. 

 The officers patrolling the streets today had been sent directly from the Capitol to oversee the reaping. They wore spotless uniforms and walked in a straight line. 

 Young and arrogant, they always kept their eyes peeled for any irregularities. The thought of catching some poor sucker trying to break the law drew them in, but the prospect of showing up the local authorities --and gaining some glory-- was what truly drove them on their quest.

 Luckily for Katniss --who spent her days breaking the law— their loud, coordinated footsteps, paired with the stench of bleach they left behind, were hard to ignore.

 Stealthily, she walked over to the loose spot in the fence and, hiding behind a clump of brushes, flattened out on her belly and slid underneath.

 After retrieving her bow and sheath of arrows, she moved deeper into the woods. There, hidden by the thick line of trees encircling District 12, she breathed easy again. 

 Wrapped in the scent of pine needles and wet dirt she knew so well, Katniss made her way to the rock ledge where Gale was waiting for her. 

 Breakfast was good that morning. Fresh bakery bread; goat’s cheese packed in fragrant basil leaves; sweet blackberries, tart and juicy, that tasted like summer dreams. 

 The sun was high in the sky when the hunting partners walked back to the district. Their satchels were full; their hearts heavy. A good haul didn’t matter as much when the reaping was just a few hours away. 

 Eager to get rid of their goods, Katniss and Gale stopped by the Hob first. 

 The sweet smell of ripe strawberries followed the hunters. Stubborn and thick, it hung in the air as they traded their fish for bread and salt. 

 After visiting Sae, Katniss wrapped her arms over her hunting bag and stepped out into the bright day. Keeping her eyes to the ground, she hoped the visiting Peacekeepers wouldn’t notice the unmistakable fragrance trailing behind on her way to the mayor’s house.  

 By the time she got home, a warm bath awaited her. 

 After scrubbing off the dirt and sweat from the woods, Katniss washed her hair. Clean and refreshed, she rested her neck on the lip of the tub, stretched out her legs, and closed her eyes. 

 As the water cooled down around her, she took a deep, long breath. 

 The anise shrub Mrs. Everdeen had planted on the windowsill was in full bloom. The soft, cotton-like blossoms released their heady scent into the muggy air, sending memories of hearty winter stews and rainy afternoons back into Katniss’s mind. 

 Soon she’d have to dry off and get ready to go to the square, but for a few blissful seconds, her world was at peace. 

 Prim hadn’t taken any tesserae. Their pantry was full. 

 Somewhere deep, in that place in her soul where she tried not to dwell, Katniss hoped her father would approve.

XXXXX

The cave was still dark when Katniss opened her eyes. 

 Pushing her hood away from her face, she stretched out her neck and greedily filled her lungs with cold, early morning air.

 Outside, a fierce storm raged on, pelting the rocks of the cave, and filling the small space with the rhythmic patter of droplets hitting wet earth. 

 The scent of damp tree bark and green moss that filtered through the rocks reminded her of her woods, but the strong arms holding her tethered her to reality. These weren’t the woods surrounding District 12. Her life in the Seam was miles away. 

 Trying not to disturb her district partner, Katniss gingerly flipped over on her side. It was a tight fit inside the sleeping bag, but she didn’t mind. Having Peeta there, keeping guard right next to her, beat being alone, any time. 

 “You OK?” he asked, lifting his arm to accommodate her movements. 

 “Mm-hmm. Just needed to change position,” Katniss mumbled, drowsily resting her head on his shoulder and her hand over his chest.

 Peeta’s arms wrapped around her. 

 He smelled of sweat, dirt, ointment, and… rust? 

 Probably the dried blood on his bandages, Katniss thought.  

 It wasn’t the most enticing aroma —some might have even found it nauseating— but, to her, it was better than the most expensive Capitol perfume. 

 She was so relieved to have him there, alive and kicking and resting in her arms instead of dead by the river bed, that she rubbed her nose against his t-shirt and smiled.

 “Hey, that tickles,” Peeta chuckled.

 “Sorry,” she said around a yawn.

 Lifting his free hand, Peeta began brushing the loose strands of hair on her forehead, gently stroking them back into her messy braid. “Not a problem.” His voice was a soothing caress when he asked, “D’you want me to tell you a story to help you sleep?”

 A story? 

 The world outside was falling apart. 

 The star-crossed lovers of District 12 were still trapped in an arena with a crazed career hot on their trail, but as she lay there —comforted by the steady warmth of Peeta’s body beside her— none of that seemed to matter much. 

 Maybe a bedtime story is just what I need. “Tell me about those cakes you make,” Katniss asked, “the pretty ones.” 

 Still stroking her hair, Peeta told her about the bits of chalk he collected when he was little, and of the funny animals he liked to draw on the sidewalk. “Then, when I was eight,” he whispered as her breathing evened out, “my father asked me to make those same caricatures on a birthday cake. I’ve been in charge of frosting ever since.”

 Peeta’s soft words blended with the gentle melody of water dancing around them, and before long, Katniss drifted off. 

XXXXX

Wrapped in her mother’s old shawl, Katniss rocked back and forth. Back and forth.

A few feet away, a fire danced in the hearth. 

The smoke of burning hickory and eucalyptus leaves floated through the house, infusing the empty rooms with its soothing aroma.

Dull, Katniss stared at the flames and rocked. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Morning broke.  

Sae bustled about in the kitchen, humming softly to herself until the smell of scrambled eggs and toast filled the room. 

“Come on, girl, breakfast’s ready,” Sae called out.

Too tired to do anything but comply, Katniss dragged her feet over to the table, sat down, and slowly cleaned her plate. 

Days went by.

The rocking chair by the fireplace swayed back and forth. Back and forth.

Sae cooked and scrubbed the house clean. Traces of lemon peel and soap lingered in the air late into the night.

Lost in a world of pain and shadows, Katniss buried her nose in her mother’s shawl and, numbing her senses with the smell of mothballs and lavender that still clung to the soft fabric, rocked in her chair. 

Back and forth. Back and forth.

“Spring is in the air today,” Sae said one morning. “You ought to get out. Go hunting.”

The idea seemed absurd, but a few hours later, Katniss left her chair and walked down to the study.  

Wrapped in the musky smell of her father’s hunting jacket, she fell asleep on the couch.

The next morning, Peeta came back. 

Shaken, Katniss shut the door behind her and ran up the stairs and into her room. 

The scent was very faint, but it still laced the air. 

A white rose —shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse— stood among the dried flowers in a vase.

Grabbing the vase, Katniss stumbled back to the kitchen and threw its contents into the embers. 

The flowers flared up. A burst of blue flame enveloped the rose and devoured it. 

Fire beats roses again, she thought, smashing the vase on the hardwood floor.

Back in her bathroom, Katniss peeled off her clothes and stepped into the shower. 

Chamomile scented bubbles danced around her, washing away the weeks of dirt and neglect.

Later, as she untangled her hair, rubbing pomegranate infused oil to the damaged strands, she began to wonder about the world outside her door. 

Haymitch was probably at home —drinking himself into oblivion.

Peeta was back. 

Where was everyone else?

XXXXX

Restored after a good night’s sleep, Katniss stretched her arms and legs until they reached the edges of the bed. With a contented sigh, she relaxed onto the mattress and turned to the empty space next to her. 

The sheets were rumpled but cold. Peeta had woken up early. 

Frowning, Katniss flipped over, buried her nose in his pillow, and took a deep breath.

Nutmeg, vanilla, orange peel, and something else —deep and enticing that she identified as exclusively Peeta’s— tickled her nose and soothed her worries.

Smiling again, she pushed the covers away and got up. 

After brushing her teeth and getting ready for the day, Katniss threw the windows open.  

The smell of sweet lemons and ripe cherries greeted her, making her heart jump in joy. The trees in her orchard were in full bloom. Summer had begun. 

Humming a happy tune, Katniss walked down the stairs. 

As she neared the kitchen, her nose picked up hints of cinnamon, melted butter, and bacon sizzling in the skillet. 

Her stomach grumbled in anticipation. Sunday Brunches with Peeta were something she looked forward to all week. 

“Morning!” she said, slipping into the kitchen.

Peeta turned away from the stove. His eyes lit up at the sight of her. “Morning! Did you have a good night?”

“Yup.” Katniss walked over to the counter and reached the teapot. It was already full. “How about you? You woke up early.”

Peeta turned his attention back to the skillet with the bacon. “I woke up at seven. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I figured I could start my day.”

With a soft hum, Katniss poured herself a cup of tea. “Want some?” 

“Yeah, I’m almost done here.” 

While Peeta cracked two eggs onto a waiting pan, Katniss poured two teacups and carried them back to the table where she sat down. 

Resting her elbows on the countertop, she watched him work. 

He looked good. He had recovered some of the weight he’d lost during the war, and the yard work he did every day had given his pale skin a healthy golden glow.

“Got any plans for today?” she asked as the earthy smell of the freshly brewed tea hung around her.

 Peeta began to plate the bacon and eggs. “Not really, but it’s a nice day out. We should do something.”

 “How would you like to go for a swim?” 

Peeta turned around; eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? Where?” 

“I know a place.” Katniss reached out and took the plate he was offering. French toast with cinnamon, maple syrup, fried eggs, roasted apples, bacon. The smell alone was enough to make her mouth water. 

Peeta sat down. “Is it far from here?”

“It’s a bit of a walk -- we’ll need to take some food for later -- but I think it’s worth it.” Dipping a bit of bread in the egg, she added, “You should bring your watercolors.”

Looking up from his food, Peeta smiled at her. A soft, warm smile that spoke of the trust between them, the joy he found in the small moments they shared. 

Blushing, Katniss nodded to his plate. “Eat up, your food’s getting cold.” 

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, stealing shy glances over their food while Katniss made a mental list of everything she wanted to show him on the way to her father’s lake. 

Episode 29: The One where WWX is the Grandmaster of Self-Loathing and It Kills Me

~THEIR SONG~ IS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND ALREADY

WHICH MEANS WE’RE STARTING THE EPISODE WITH QUALITY WANGXIANTICS

Actually the whole episode has High Quality wangxiantics and then it guts you with depressing feelings ahahaha 

bc apparently we’re not allowed to have nice things without Suffering™

So they’re sharing a meal at some meal-selling place in Yiling (idk guys, is it a winehouse? a teahouse?? An inn??? DOESN’T MATTER)

Lwj and wwx are sitting on either side of the table looking somber

I guess they’re feeling awkward maybe??

Idk why, it’s weird

A-Yuan starts frolicking around lwj and wwx gets all antsy about it

He’s all hey, stop bothering lan zhan, come here!

And A-Yuan is all like, NO, I DON’T WANNA and clambers oNTO LWJ’S LAP

IT’S TOO ADORABLE

Wwx starts to scold him but lwj is like NO NO, THIS IS FINE

Wwx teases a-yuan

He’s all, oh, i see how it is, you’ll just chuck me to the side for anyone who’s willing to buy you stuff, huh?

Like i said before, a-yuan is a smart cookie

Then a-yuan takes a seat and goes to town on a bowl of soup.

I understand, a-yuan, i love soup too.

And then he calls wwx to get his attention SO HE CAN SPOON-FEED HIM A BIT OF HIS SOUP AND IT’S TOO CUTE 

Wwx is like, oh, so you DO still love me!

Lwj watches this go down and then informs A-Yuan very somberly of the lan fam rule “no talking during meals”

That’s RIGHT

LWJ JUST DAD’D THE HECK OUT OF HIM

A-yuan continues to chow down on his food but definitely stops talking

Wwx is offended and aghast that a-yuan obeys lwj so easily and he complains to lwj that he has to repeat himself SEVERAL TIMES before a-yuan listens to him

Lwj: silence during meals. You too.

Wwx just smiles at the ridiculous rule and continues talking

Wwx: you haven’t changed one bit. 

Wwx: you know, i know my way around this town, i can be your tour guide!!

Lwj pointedly does not take him up on his offer AND I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY, IT’S NOT LIKE HE DOESN’T WANT TO SPEND EVERY WAKING MOMENT WITH WWX ANYWAY

Wwx: lan zhan, you’re a terrible liar. You aren’t in town for me, are you?

And still lwj doesn’t respond??? 

IT’S BECAUSE OF THAT STUPID LAN FAM RULE, ISN’T IT??

TALK TO YOU SOULMATE, DAMN IT

WHO CARES IF YOU’RE HAVING A MEAL WHILE YOU’RE AT IT

Wwx: you know, i was gonna invite you over to my place but if you’re just gonna nag at me about my demonic cultivation and how i should meditate or whatever, then forget about it

Wwx: i can control myself! I don’t need anyone to save me.

Lwj: wei ying

Wwx: lan zhan, i finally bump into someone i know who doesn’t try to avoid me...it’s been a boring couple of months, why don’t you tell me about any big events happening?

Lwj: what do you mean by big events?

Wwx: idk, like if there’s any new clans or if any clans expanded or made new alliances...just chit chat! Anything is fine.

Lwj: a marriage

Wwx: a marriage? Which clans? 

he sounds so excited to get some juicy gossip here

It’s not gonna last long

Lwj: the jin clan and jiang clan

Wwx: do you mean my sister---Lady Jiang and Jin Zixuan?

Oh god it HURTS

He corrected himself when he called jyl his sister

BECAUSE HE’S NOT PART OF THEIR CLAN ANYMORE

And then he plasters on a smile TO HIDE HOW HURT HE IS THAT THIS IS ALL HAPPENING WITHOUT HIM and asks when the wedding will be

WHICH TURNS OUT TO BE TWO WEEKS AWAY

And his face iS ALL SAD AND HE’S STILL TRYING TO MUSTER UP SMILES 

He’s all, such a big event and jc didn’t even try to tell me about it!

Wwx: even if he told me about it, what could i do then? I defected officially and have no ties to them. What could i do if he had told me?

Wwx: *chugs wine*

Alcohol, wwx, we’ve talked about the alcohol thing. Please stop drinking.

LWJ CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT HIM RIGHT NOW BC HIS SOULMATE IS HURTING AND THERE’S NOTHING HE CAN DO TO MAKE IT BETTER

Wwx: lan zhan, what do you think about this marriage? Oh, right, you don’t care about this sort of thing.

Wwx: i know everyone says that my sister doesn’t deserve jzx, but in MY eyes, that peacock doesn’t deserve her! 

He slams down his wine jar and his voice gets all upset 

And little a-yuan reaches out and grabs wwx’s wrist TO COMFORT HIM, PRECIOUS DARLING BABY

Wwx: She deserves the best man in the world!! JC and i promised her a grand wedding that would be remembered forever!! No other wedding would compare!!

Wwx: and it doesn’t even matter because i won’t be able to go anyway.

AND HE HAS THE SADDEST SMILE ON HIS FACE 

Obviously he takes another swig of wine here because alcohol makes everything better in wwx’s book, which is a lie but since when does anyone listen to me

Lwj: wei ying

And lwj was about to say something else but they get interrupted by wwx’s home alarm talisman informing him that’s something going down in the burial mounds

So wwx grabs a-yuan and dashes out the door

Lwj is quick enough on his feet to remember to pay for the meal and grab a-yuan’s toys (very important, very important, it’s why a-yuan likes him right now) and then follows wwx

Wwx: lan zhan, why are you following us??

Lwj: wei ying, where’s your Magic Ghostbusting Sword?

Wwx: uhhhh...i forgot it at home?

Lol, lwj doesn’t even bother to respond to that. He just grabs a-yuan and runs with wwx all the way back to the burial mounds

OH NO, THERE’S RESENTFUL ENERGY EVERYWHERE BEATING PEOPLE UP AND MAKING A MESS OF THINGS

Holy crap, wwx does this really impressive Dramatic Twirl and magically slams the resentful energy away

HE’S SUCH A BADASS

IT’S ALL IN THE ~TWIRL~ BABY

Lwj hands a-yuan off to granny while wwx gets the low-down

Turns out Wen Ning sort of woke up but is not, like, all there or smth idk

It’s sad seeing wen ning all violent and mean like this when he’s such a gentle soul :(

ON THE PLUS SIDE, we get to see wwx and lwj work together to save him!!

Surprisingly, the flying here is not super cringey, it’s only mildly awful

LWJ HAS GOT HIS GUQIN OUT AND PROCEEDS TO GUQIN THE HECK OUT OF WEN NING

Also, i love how it kind of looks like he “powers up” his guqin attack by making that circular motion over the strings? The accompanying music from that motion really makes it seem like it’s charging up. I like it.

While lwj is guqin’ing wen ning to stay in one place, wwx goes ninja-fast and slaps like, ALL the talismans on wen ning and activates them simultaneously

And between the two of them, they manage to save wen ning from being a mindless zombie forever!! I mean, he’s still a zombie but he’s got his mind back! EVERYONE’S REALLY HAPPY, INCLUDING ME.

Wwx to wen ning: how are you feeling?

Wn: i feel like crying

LOL ME TOO WN THAT’S USUALLY HOW I FEEL LIKE WHEN PEOPLE ASK ME THAT

Wn: ...but i can’t

Oh.

I take back my lol

Not being able to cry when you want to is actually super depressing.

Lwj: you did it *is impressed*

Wwx: of course! I’m a man of my word. Hey, since you’re already here, why don’t you visit for a bit?

Cut to wwx and lwj walking into the cave that wwx calls home

Lwj: ...it’s called the demon-subdue palace?

Wwx: YEP! I named it myself!!

Wwx: now, i know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking it’s a terrible name, BUT THAT’S WHERE YOU’RE WRONG

Wwx: see, i know everyone thinks i’m, like, evil or whatever and this is the place i sleep most often. 

Wwx: a cave with a demonic man lying down in it all the time? Of course it should be called demon-subdue palace lololol

Me: *facepalm* stop….stop naming things, wwx.

Wwx: let me show you around!

I would like to point out that they walk past the ONE BED in the cave to start the tour

This ONE BED in this SPECIFIC CAVE has featured in many a wonderful fic! And should continue to feature in many more wonderful fics

Wwx: this here is my Blood Pool! It’s where i heal up and buff my stats, just like you have your Cold Spring! Except mine has water that smells like blood and comes out of that creepy giant stone face thing

Lwj looks rightfully concerned

And also, i am offended on his behalf that wwx would compare this creepy ass pool to the cold spring. How very dare.

Oh man, they’re about to have a Serious Conversation

BUT IT’S BETTER THAN THEIR LAST SERIOUS CONVERSATION

Because this time they actually talk things out

(see, lwj can learn from his mistakes!)

Lwj: wei ying...can you really control it?

Wwx: control what? Wen ning? Of course I can! Look at him, he’s all better!

Lwj: what if he loses himself again?

Wwx: i’m a pro at handling his rampages now. As long as i have Plot Device 2, nothing will happen to him!

Lwj: but what if something happens to you or Plot Device 2?

Wwx: it won’t

Lwj: how can you be sure?

Wwx: it won’t and it can’t!

Lwj: you want to keep it this way from now on?

Wwx: what’s wrong with that? Don’t underestimate this land! It’s bigger than YOUR land and the food here tastes better too!

Lwj: wei ying, you know what i mean

Wwx: lan zhan, i’m trying to avoid the topic and you keep talking about it!!

Then their Serious Conversation gets derailed bc wwx starts coughing. Which might not seem like a big deal but it is

Lwj: your injuries…

And here lwj grabs at wwx’s wrist but wwx yanks it back real fast

Bc the wrist is where they check for spiritual energy or smth and we all know wwx doesn’t have that anymore, since he GAVE UP HIS GOLDEN CORE

Wwx: no need. Why use spiritual energy for such a small wound. I can just sit here and let it heal on its own

LOL, WE’RE GETTING A FUN BIT HERE TO MAKE UP FOR ALL THAT SERIOUS STUFF BEFORE

Wen Qing walks in and is all, what, my badass doctor skills aren’t good enough for you? I could totally heal you

Wwx: what are you doing here interrupting my date with lwj. Are you done crying already?

Wq: i’ll make you cry

Wwx: pffft, yeah right

Wq: *goes and hits wwx in the back*

Wwx: *coughs up blood*

Yeahhh, i wouldn’t want to go toe-to-toe with wen qing unless she asked me to and then i would happily do whatever she wanted

Wwx: you’re so cruel! *swoons like some maiden*

Lwj: wei ying! *catches him all gallantly*

WWX YOU LITTLE FAKER, YOU JUST WANTED LWJ TO HOLD YOU

And we know this bc wen qing pulls out her Very Scary Medical Needles and wwx wisely RUNS AWAY even tho he was all “passed out” two seconds before

And after that fun bit, the show makes me sad about tea somehow. I don’t even like tea.

Wwx is all, wen ning, why are you serving our guest water?? How embarrassing, go get the tea!

And wen ning is all, but there’s no tea??

Then wwx is like, well we gotta get tea for next time we have guests

There’s a hella awkward pause

Wwx: that’s right, we won’t have any more guests…

THIS STUPID SHOW IS GIVING ME FEELINGS ABOUT TEA

MY ONE TEA OBSESSED FRIEND HAS BEEN TRYING TO MAKE ME FEEL STUFF FOR TEA FOR YEARS WITH NO SUCCESS

AND THIS, LIKE, TWO MINUTE SCENE MADE ME SAD ABOUT TEA

Anyway.

We cut to the next scene which has wwx walking lwj out of the burial mounds and we’re getting another Serious Conversation

Wwx: lan zhan, you asked me if i intended to keep things the way they are now. Tbh, i also would like to know what else i could do besides this.

Wwx: give up my crafty tricks and turn over Plot Device 2? What happens to the Wens? Do i turn them in? I can’t do that.

Wwx: i believe if you were me, you wouldn’t be able to do that either

WHY IS HE SUCH A GOOD PERSON. WWX IS BETTER THAN ALL THE OTHER CULTIVATORS PUT TOGETHER

Wwx: can anyone give me any better options? One where i can protect those i want to protect without using demonic cultivation?

He says this so passionately. HE JUST WANTS TO PROTECT PEOPLE. HE’S WILLING TO DO OTHER THINGS IF IT MEANS HE CAN STILL PROTECT PEOPLE BUT HE CAN’T!!! AND I AM DISTRESSED.

Lwj doesn’t say anything in response.

He knows wwx is right and there’s nothing he can do to make things better for him

Wwx: lan zhan, thank you for your company today. And thank you for telling me about my sister’s wedding

HE SAYS THIS WITHOUT LOOKING AT LWJ AND HE LOOKS LIKE EVERY WORD HIS HURTING HIM BECAUSE THEY’RE ALL WORDS HE’S USING TO SAY GOODBYE AND HE DOESN’T WANT TO SAY GOODBYE TO LWJ.

And before i can start crying, A-Yuan appears to make me feel better!!!

He’s latched onto lwj’s leg again (bc i mean, honestly, who wouldn’t??)

And he’s asking lwj to stay for dinner!!

Wwx: a-yuan come here. Lan zhan has his own food at home. He won’t be eating with us here.

A-yuan: but i heard a secret! I heard there was going to be lots of tasty food today!

Wwx scolds a-yuan for half a second before turning to look at lwj WITH THE MOST HOPEFUL EXPRESSION ON HIS FACE

HE WANTS LAN ZHAN TO STAY FOREVER FOR DINNER TOO

But for some unfathomable reason lwj looks at a-yuan and says that he is leaving.

WHY

YOU WANT TO STAY THERE TOO

WHY MUST YOU TWO MAKE THINGS SO DIFFICULT FOR ME YOURSELVES

Wwx gives this stiff, sharp nod like, yeah, of course of course, i knew that, this doesn’t kill me inside AT ALL

Lwj walks off and wwx + a-yuan make their way towards the burial mounds

A-yuan: will the rich man ever visit us again?

Wwx: what rich man?

A-yuan: the one from just now!

Wwx yoinks the toy butterfly from a-yuan’s hand here

Wwx: you really like him that much, don’t you?

And he holds the toy out of reach and teases him

A-yuan: give it back! He bought that for me

Wwx: no! I won’t give it back until you say i’m your favorite

And this entire adorable scene is being watched by lwj who is just a ways away 

I’d say he’s lurking like a creeper, but Hanguang-jun is too honorable and handsome to be called a creeper by anyone ever. 

BUT he is lurking. 

He looks all solemn

A-yuan tells wwx what he wants to hear and gets his toy back.

Unfortunately wwx’s distraction tactic didn’t work

A-yuan: so will the rich man come back or not?

Wwx: probably not

A-yuan: Why??

Wwx: there’s no reason why. In this world, everyone has their own paths to walk.

A-yuan: oooh

Lol, he nods like yeah, i totally understand what you’re telling me bc i’m a big kid who can know things. HOW CUTE!

AND HERE WE GET THAT QUOTE. THAT IMPORTANT ONE. THE ONE THAT IS LATER USED AS A PUBLIC LOVE CONFESSION.

Wwx: who needs the crowded, broad avenue? I’ll stick to my single-log bridge until it’s dark.

Lwj is still here, watching. And he hears wwx say this.

Lwj doesn’t turn to walk away for real until wwx and a-yuan are out of sight

HE WANTED TO SEE THEM FOR AS LONG AS HE COULD

I’M TOTALLY NOT TORN UP ABOUT THIS

I’M CHILL AND COLLECTED FOR REAL

Then we cut to wwx arriving back at the demon-subdue palace where there’s a surprise dinner party!! 

AND A-YUAN GETS SO ADORABLY EXCITED OVER THE ABUNDANCE OF FOOD, I LOVE IT SO MUCH i get excited about food too, a-yuan!!

This whole thing here is very sweet and this is when we really see wwx accept the wens as his family rather than as his moral obligation

As the @theuntamednarrator said, they gave him homemade liquor! That’s the one guaranteed way to our sunshine boy’s heart!!

It’s all super sweet, like i said, until wwx gets himself plastered. Then it takes a turn towards the Hella Depressing. 

I really want to skip over it because it really is HELLA DEPRESSING AND STILL MAKES ME LEGIT CRY ACTUAL TEARS EVERY TIME I WATCH IT 

but i can’t because it’s got some wangxiantics and this is a wangxiantics guide

So everyone at the dinner party drinks until they pass out, basically. 

Except for wen qing, who is completely sober, and wwx who is an alcoholic with an inhumanly high tolerance apparently

He’s all flushed and red-eyed tho

Wwx: wen qing, the first time i saw Lan Zhan was when i snuck Emperor’s Smile into the Cloud Recesses

He laughs here, remembering; it’s all cute here for a bit.

Wwx: it’s too bad you didn’t see his face, his stony face...but the emperor’s smile is really good. I wonder if i’ll ever get a chance to drink it again

And his entire demeanor changes here. He started out more or less cheerfully reminiscing about his first meeting with lwj but in that last bit his whole posture droops and he gets the saddest look on his face

Wen qing notices this, but is kind enough to pretend not to by focusing on wiping down that table.

Wwx: i’m a good for nothing

OH GOD

Wwx: i promised my sister i would help her hold the most splendid wedding in the world

FUCK, HERE COME MY TEARS

And wen qing fucking freezes here eVEN SHE KNOWS THIS IS GONNA HURT

Wwx: but now, i can’t even attend the wedding

Wwx: i’m completely useless, i am completely useless

SHIT, GOD DAMN IT, I DON’T FUCKING WANT TO CRY WHERE ARE THE GOD DAMN TISSUES 

Wwx: i am completely useless

HAVE MERCY, HAVE MERCY ON MY POOR HEART, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

So while i’m fucking sobbing out every ounce of moisture in my body, we cut to the cloud recesses and we see lwj kneeling in front of a set of closed doors

(we’re not going to dwell too long on that because i’m already in fucking shambles from two seconds ago and i can’t handle any more Family-Related Sadness right now)

He’s on his knees, with his arms outstretched holding two long, heavy bamboo sticks

There are disciples scurrying around and avoiding the scene, like oh shit, better not get in the middle of that

Lwj’s head is ever so slightly bowed, still as a statue, and completely blankfaced

And we get ~their song~ BUT WITH VOCALS THIS TIME

THE FIRST TIME WE HEAR THE VOCALS WITHIN THE SHOW

YOU KNOW

THE VOCALS THAT ARE SUNG BY THE ACTORS PLAYING OUR BELOVED LWJ AND WWX???

YEAH

THOSE VOCALS

BECAUSE I WASN’T FEELING ENOUGH INTENSE EMOTION YET

The scene starts off in the daylight and we see him enduring this punishment 

HOURS go by bc it’s dark and there’s a good inch of snow accumulated around him by the time some random lan cultivator dismisses him

Lwj gets up GRACEFULLY (bc that is his default mode, i guess?? HOW??) and there’s a literal patch on the ground completely devoid of snow bc that’s how long and still he kneeled there for, holy shit.

And he walks away calmly

There’s no more wangxiantics in this episode

But show-runners decided they didn’t want to COMPLETELY DESTROY OUR SOULS just yet so they give us an anticlimactic but kind of cute ending to the episode 

We get to see that there are “yiling patriarch disciples” who are actually frauds in terrible cosplay trying to sell mediocre talismans at high prices

and wwx is all “who the heck are these guys, wait, i don’t actually care”

We get to see that the wens are slowly starting to prosper in their little corner of the burial mounds

Also, somebody built a shrine and left food offerings at the entrance to the burial mounds?? Which, hey, wwx doesn’t say no to free food and neither do i because what kind of crazy person turns down free food??

And, i mean, that’s basically it?? Like i said super anticlimactic

SO WHO ELSE HERE IS SITTING IN A PUDDLE OF TEARS NOW? ANYBODY?? ANYBODY???? PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME CRYING BY MYSELF, THAT WOULD BE PATHETIC, I CAN’T HELP IT IF I HAVE A HEART FULL OF FEELINGS

Return to Masterpost

a bow for the bad decisions: chapter 18

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(on ao3)

With my blood—                              —my soul as compensation,                                 Kill them all for me. Kill them all! Wei Wuxian, take revenge for me. Blood fills his nose, that familiar perfume. Cold presses into the edges of his bones, stone grating against his elbows and skull. Dragging his eyes open, he gets a hazy glimpse of a dirty floor and scorched blood. Oh, he thinks muzzily, so it worked. Only — destroying the Seal was supposed to kill him. He’d known that from the start, from the very moment he handed over a fistful of his own soul to bring it to life. If he’s alive, then— “Stop playing dead!” 

A heavy foot slams into his chest, rolling him hard onto his back. He scrunches his eyes at the nausea that swells up in his throat as that grating, shrieking voice continues on. What a lot of courage, he thinks, kicking the Yiling laozu. Getting a hand underneath him, he pushes himself up to his knees before a hand is in his collar, yanking him up. The kid has to be in his late teens, though his juvenile sneer suggests someone younger.

“Whose land do you think you’re living on? Whose rice are you eating?” the kid spits. “Everything you own should be mine anyway!” Leaning as far back as he can manage, Wei Wuxian tries not to grimace at the spittle hitting his face. Given how utterly exhausted this body is, it’s not difficult to simply go slack. His head’s still spinning, cottony pressure throbbing at the backs of his eyes. “How dare you tell Father and Mother? Did you really think anybody would listen to a lunatic like you?” What the hell, Mo Xuanyu? Wei Wuxian thinks as the rest of the meager possessions in the shed are trashed and he’s thrown back to the ground. The brat and his minions storm out of the shed and leave him alone in a circle of dried blood. Scowling at the closed door a moment longer, he exhales in a rush and rubs at the ridge of his brow with the heel of his palm. He pushes the hair back out of his face and eyes the array painted on the floor. It’s with a sinking feeling that he recognizes the pattern. He remembers this, in the way he remembers anything from that year when he tries to focus on it — hazy, half-there, a muddle of ideas with great black blanks in between. Picking up a tattered pile of papers, he winces at the too-familiar scrawl and groans. “Since when am I a ‘sinister ghost,’” he complains to the empty shed. “I just have a bad reputation.” A jolt of pain cuts through his arm and he flinches before reaching over to pull back his sleeve. Four ragged cuts bleed sluggishly, deeper than a physical wound. He scowls down at them, before groaning and flopping onto his back on the floor. “Mo Xuanyu, you brat,” he says into the dusty quiet, “you got the wrong person.” He’s not a vengeful spirit. He’s not even sure how much of a spirit he is — he remembers resentment, remembers the Seal burning through his chest, clawed hands ripping through his chest. Sitting up, he shuts down that line of thought. So he probably did die, after all. That’s. Well. He gets up to find water and something to hold back his hair. If he remembers right, the xianshe should have summoned him into Mo Xuanyu’s own body, but it’s his hands that reach for the bucket he finds in one corner alongside a workbench that makes his Demon Subdue Cave look as orderly as the Gusu Lan library. It’s his face that looks back, gaunt and pale as a ghost. Grimacing, he plunges his hands in and breaks up the reflection. He finds a set of dark robes, shorter than he’s used to wearing but not coated in old blood and dirt at least. Stripping down briskly, he pauses to eye the ruin of his chest and stomach in mild dismay. Deep lacerations cross back and forth over his skin, blood smeared across their edges both from being used as the ink pot for the array and from the rub of the robes against them. His old scars are there, under the blood. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not to see the marks of his history peeking pink beneath all that red. His hand falls to touch a thin white line low on his belly, and he frowns at it as he pokes at his memory. He doesn’t remember this one. When he’s dressed and his hair tugged back in a high tail, he turns to examine the room he’s in. Even ignoring the cursed array in the center of the floor, it’s not exactly impressive. Filth has accumulated in all the corners, and the shabby bed he finds more closely resembles a rat’s nest. His day doesn’t exactly improve after that. It’s one thing to get dragged back to life, he thinks, and it’s another thing to get dragged back to life and then immediately blamed for murder. Again. He scrambles back from Madam Mo’s outstretched hand and swears at Mo Xuanyu for pulling him into this. The little Lans are competent, at least, and aside from the one threatening to punch him when he snagged a lure flag, they’re better company than the Mo family. He doesn’t really want them to get murdered by the cursed arm lunging for their necks. With a glance to check that everyone’s attention is on the sword formation the juniors are using to try to keep the arm at bay, he steps up next to Tong and Old Man Mo. “Still sleeping?” he murmurs into their ears before clicking his fingers, drawing up a burst of resentment. “Time to work.” Well, he thinks as he watches them go tearing after Madam Mo, at least I’m still good at this. He’d wondered, briefly. Resentment has been a steady pillar of his body for so long now, he doesn’t remember what it’s like to not be pieced together with it. Waking to find that his body hummed with quiet spiritual energy and only traces of that seething black had been nearly as disorienting as waking in a circle drawn in blood. After that, he’s too focused on the fight to pay much attention to anything else. Fresh as they are and angry as they are, the Mo family makes for strong fierce corpses — and they’re still torn and shredded by this arm. Even the Lans’ warded robes only temporarily hold it back. He’s reaching for the resentment around them, trying to coax something out of the shadows and the earth, when a familiar chord cuts through the night air. Even exhausted, the Lan juniors cheer. “Hanguang-jun! Hanguang-jun!” Wei Wuxian brightens, turning instinctively toward the sound of the guqin. Sure enough, Lan Zhan alights on the roof across the courtyard with his guqin out before him. Another chord rings out across the manor, flattening the fierce corpses and leaving the cursed arm groping across the dirt as if it can’t quite get purchase. Tucked against a pillar, he watches as Lan Zhan suppresses every tendril of resentment in the courtyard. He still looks just the way Wei Wuxian remembers him, though maybe a little older, a little sterner. “Still wearing mourning clothes,” he laughs to himself. Something eases in his chest at the sight of him, as if at least one plank of this unsteady world is solid beneath his feet. Lan Zhan’s alive and whole. As much as it hurt in the moment, at least that means his plans worked here. He slips away into the night and doesn’t let himself look back. He makes it to the feet of Dafan Mountain without any more reunions with his past and with some level of success in not thinking at all about his first life. He doesn’t really sleep during the few days, partially out of an irrational conviction that he’ll close his eyes and not open them again and partially out of a slightly more rational dread of his own nightmares. As much as he’s been avoiding trying to think about his last memories before he woke up in that shed, he’s not an idiot. The Seal was never going to let him go gently. Still, he’s relatively pleased with himself as he crosses the mountain, and he makes the mistake of thinking that this is easier than he’d expected. Of course, it’s at that moment that he stumbles across a gaggle of cultivators caught up in a spirit net. “Help! Help— oh. It’s you.” The dismay’s a little unwarranted, he thinks as he sets his hands on his hips and leans back to eye the nets. He doesn’t have any way of helping them down, but that doesn’t mean they have to look so disappointed before he’s even admitted as much. Before he can say anything, there’s the sound of running steps and he yanks Lil Apple’s reins till they’re tucked back in some bushes out of sight. Even with Mo Xuanyu’s hideous mask covering his face, he doesn’t want to risk being identified. The cultivators in the nets groan; one woman tilts her head back as if to beseech the heavens. “Rude,” Wei Wuxian murmurs to Lil Apple. The donkey, as usual, shows no sympathy. “You!” Peering through the leaves, Wei Wuxian spots two teens in cream and gold. The taller one reaches up to jab at the captured cultivators with his bow while the girl scowls at the whole scene. “Why is it always you idiots!” she yells. “You’ve broken ten of our spirit nets. Don’t you have any shame?” Ten? Wei Wuxian grimaces reflexively. The Jin really don’t ever change. “Young master, please let us down,” the cultivators chorus. The boy scoffs, bringing his bow down to cross his arms. There’s something familiar about him, though Wei Wuxian can’t quite place it. The girl shares features with him, similar enough to be a sister or at least a close cousin. His nose wrinkles at the thought of little Jin cousins terrorizing the countryside. “You can stay up there till we find the spirit-eating monster!” the girl huffs. “That way you won’t be in our way anymore.” Her brother flicks his ponytail over his shoulder and sets off away from them. “We’ll let you down once we catch it,” he says. “If we still remember.” What a brat. Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows raise a little, but he has no chance to think further before Lil Apple, that shrieking traitor, brays and tears off directly at the Jin cousins. “Ahh stop! Stop it, come back!” Wei Wuxian wails, to absolutely no avail. The two Jins have stopped short, twisting back to stare at him. He stumbles to a halt as Lil Apple finally jerks free of his hands and gallops into the woods. He’s going to kill that donkey. He doesn’t know how donkey tastes, but he’s eaten worse. “Oh, it’s you,” the boy says, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?” He’s slung his bow over his back and eyes Wei Wuxian with disdain, but beside him, the girl has bristled like a cat thrown in water, her hand going white-knuckled around her own bow. “Eh?” Wei Wuxian manages. “What, did you lose all your memories after you were kicked out? And what’s with that mask?” the boy scoffs. “Huh, so you did lose your mind after all.” Well that’s an interesting detail Wei Wuxian wasn’t expecting to find out. He eyes his robes curiously, probing at the thought. Jin Guangshan must have led the siege at the Burial Mounds, and if his bastard son brought Wei Wuxian back, well. He stifles a laugh. “What are you laughing at? Show some respect!” the girl snaps. “Disgusting lunatic.” “Hey,” he calls, “I’m your senior! Where are your manners? Who raised you?” The girl takes a step forward, lips pulled back in a snarl, but her companion pulls her back with a hand on her shoulder. Wei Wuxian has about one breath to feel accomplished with his scolding before there’s a gleaming sword pointed at him. Oh no, he thinks a little tiredly. Not again. “You!” the boy yells. “How dare you speak to my sister like that!” The boy’s quick, he’ll grant. He lunges, swinging out with a slash that would cut Wei Wuxian’s throat if he didn’t sway to the side. He lets him have his fun for a few moments, dodging and slipping out of the boy’s increasingly irritated reach. It’s a good lesson. The kid clearly could use a reminder not to draw his sword on strangers. “Not bad!” he chirps, bending back to dodge the blade and plucking a leaf as he goes. He could keep this going for a while, but he doesn’t actually want to stay here all night and he’s not sure how long it’ll be till the sister jumps in as well. With a little spark of resentment, the leaf splits into a paperman, and he tacks it to the boy’s back with a quick call for a nearby ghost. In seconds, the boy is facedown in the dirt and groaning beneath the invisible weight of gluttony. Humming, Wei Wuxian steps neatly back to him and leans down to pluck up the discarded sword. He weighs it in his hand a moment, trying to figure out why the gilt and jade look so familiar. “Don’t touch that!” the boy yells, a frantic note entering his voice. “Mo Xuanyu, how dare you! Let me up!” The girl races over, tugging on her brother’s shoulder as if that will do any good. She glares up at him, all venom. “What did you do? Undo your curse! Let him go!” she demands. Rolling his eyes, Wei Wuxian adjusts his grip and flings the sword out to cut through the spirit nets. It’s not as neat an arc as Bichen, he notes with mild dissatisfaction, but then it’s been years since he wielded a sword. “Mo Xuanyu! Just wait till my uncle hears about this!” the boy yells. Wei Wuxian snorts, turning back to them with his hands on his hips. “Your uncle? Why your uncle and not your dad?” he asks. “Who’s this uncle?” “I am.” Oh. His feet are rooted to the forest floor, lips parted in soft shock. Anger rolls off Jiang Cheng, a violet stormcloud with Zidian already sparking on his wrist. Wei Wuxian can’t help but stare. If this is Jiang Cheng’s nephew and niece, then — then— shijie. He takes half a step forward before freezing. Fuck you, Wei Wuxian! Go to hell! He takes a step back, crooking his finger behind his back to peel off the paperman. It’s nearly to the safety of his hand when it’s tugged away by spiritual energy and crumpled in Jiang Cheng’s hand. His sneer’s the same, which is less comforting when it’s directed at Wei Wuxian. “I’m going to break your legs!” the kid — shijie’s son — Jin Rulan — yells as he scrambles to his feet. “Break his legs?” Jiang Cheng asks, shooting Jin Rulan a scathing look. “Is that what I’ve taught you all these years?” Of course, it makes sense Jiang Cheng would help raise their nephew after Jin Zixuan died. It explains why the swords looks familiar, too. Wei Wuxian never got too close to Suihua, but he saw it often enough during the war. Gnawing guilt chews at the base of his stomach. “You should’ve brought Fairy, Jin Ling,” the girl — his niece? — says now. “She could bite him and drag him back to Jinlintai for xiao-shushu.” That’s incentive enough for Wei Wuxian to turn tail and bolt from this unexpected reunion. It’s one thing if Jiang Cheng hates him, but he’s not sticking around to find out if the dog does, too. “Stop! You can’t run!” He most definitely can and is going to. His body doesn’t feel quite right even after a few days, like it’s just a little off from what he remembers. He’s more than willing to blame that when Jin Ling lunges for him and he trips, wobbling for a split second as the blue glare off a blade flashes just over his face. He falls hard, twisting almost enough to catch himself on his hands and exactly enough to crack his chin into the ground. Wincing, he lifts his head enough to find white boots directly before him and the edge of familiar white robes. Fuck. He lays his head back down. “Lan-er-gongzi,” Jiang Cheng greets, voice all cold venom, “you truly live up to your reputation of appearing amidst chaos. You had time to come to such a remote mountain today?” Having given himself two breaths to press his forehead into the dirt and wish Mo Xuanyu had never thought to summon him, Wei Wuxian pushes himself up on his hands and knees and scoots backward in as ungainly and hasty a retreat as he can manage. Jiang Cheng doesn’t spare him a glance as he stalks up to Lan Zhan, stepping too close for propriety or Lan Zhan’s comfort. Wei Wuxian frowns but barely manages to keep from protesting. It’s not like Lan Zhan needs him to protect him after all. “Are you here to steal all the credit from us or to look for someone?” Jiang Cheng asks, strangely snide. “You’ve been all over the place these thirteen years. Aren’t you done yet?” “Jiang-zongzhu, what do you mean by that?” one of the little Lans from Mo Manor — Lan Jingyi, Wei Wuxian thinks — calls out. The kid earns a small mark in his favor in Wei Wuxian’s estimation, more than making up for almost decking him over the lure flag the other day. He can’t think of a single Lan disciple who would have spoken out of turn like that before. Good for him. “What do I mean?” Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Hanguang-jun, you know what I mean.” If Lan Zhan does, he doesn’t show any sign of it. He isn’t really showing any sign of hearing Jiang Cheng at all; from where he’s still stuck on the ground, Wei Wuxian can’t catch any emotion on Lan Zhan’s face. “Young Master Jin,” the nice Lan — Sizhui — says, “the night hunt is supposed to be a fair competition between cultivators. However, you have set up so many nets that others can hardly proceed for fear of being trapped. Doesn’t this violate the rules of the hunt?” “They got caught because of their own stupidity. It’s not my fault,” Jin Ling retorts. “Anyway, why bother talking about it? We can talk after I catch the—mmph!” The slant of Lan Zhan’s gaze and the sudden, distressed muteness are familiar enough Wei Wuxian isn’t sure whether to laugh or wince in sympathy. He’s a little surprised, now that he thinks about it, that Lan Zhan never tried using the silencing spell to stop Wei Wuxian from playing Chenqing. It would have made it easier to tote him off to Gusu, for sure. The thought makes his stomach sink, and he regrets it even as a Jiang disciple comes racing up to them. She’s a gangly young woman and sketches a haphazard bow in her haste. “Zongzhu, a blue sword just destroyed all the spirit nets Jin-gongzi set up!” she reports. “Lan Wangji!” Jiang Cheng snaps, teeth bared. Lan Zhan doesn’t bother meeting Jiang Cheng’s gaze, holding himself as still and implacable as marble. Wei Wuxian bites his lips to hold in his laughter. It’s not really funny to see them fighting, but — well, he’s dealt with Jiang Cheng’s temper for nearly twelve years. There’s nothing that gets under his skin faster than refusing to react. It’s easier to think about that than to think about what Jiang Cheng said, about thirteen years. He focuses on the familiar irritation that flashes over Jiang Cheng’s face as he gestures for the two kids and the Jiang disciple to go before him, leaving Wei Wuxian alone with Lan Zhan and his little juniors. “That Jiang-zongzhu!” Lan Jingyi bursts out. “Who does he think he is?” Lan Zhan glances at him, disapproving, and the kid recoils with a look of mortification. Right, what was that? Rule two-hundred-thirty-something: one must not talk behind others’ backs. “Young Master Mo, we meet again,” Lan Sizhui says, leaning down to offer his hand. “Are you alright?” “Ah yes, still here thanks to you it seems,” he jabbers, his voice rising in something he refuses to call panic. He was trying to get away from any reunions, not fall face first into them. Lan Zhan looks at him for a long moment but makes no move to step closer. He turns to the juniors. “Return to your positions,” he says evenly. “Try your best but do not take unnecessary risks.” “Yes, Hanguang-jun,” they all chorus, saluting properly. There’s a moment, after they turn to leave, where Lan Zhan stands still and Wei Wuxian almost thinks he’ll say something. Has he recognized him so quickly? Surely not. If it’s really been thirteen years, Wei Wuxian’s probably just a faded memory by now. Maybe that’s it — that the combination of demonic cultivation and Jiang Cheng and all of it reminded Lan Zhan of his old friend for a moment. When the Lan party has been swallowed by the trees, Wei Wuxian flees in the opposite direction. Forget whatever beast it is; it’s not worth it anymore. He’s going as far away from anywhere he knows and then he’ll figure out what Mo Xuanyu wanted him to do or he won’t and his soul will be destroyed and never able to reincarnate again. He might be panicking, a little. Then, he encounters the ghost in the cemetery and hears the rumors, and Wei Wuxian might be an idiot, but he hasn’t forgotten the last time he came to Dafan Mountain. It had been hard enough for Lan Zhan and him to seal the statue back then, and now there are actual children going up against it with no idea what they’re facing. Of course, it turns out that his niece and nephew didn’t get any of their mother’s good sense, and Lan Zhan’s baby juniors missed out on his preparedness. “You didn’t restock signals?” he demands. “How could you not restock such an important item?” He combs his hands back into his scalp and tries not to scream. If they were his shidis, they’d be running laps for a week. He’s about ready to scold Lan Zhan himself; as their shixiong, he ought to have taught them better. They’d seemed so competent at Mo Manor! Letting out an aggrieved groan, he snatches Lan Sizhui’s sword before the boy has time to do much more than yelp in surprise. He sends a brief apology to the memory of Chenqing as he hacks out an improvised dizi from the bamboo and tosses Sizhui back his sword before he starts to play. As he raises the flute to his lips, an arrow flashes through the evening sky, a white flare through the statue’s forehead. “Jin-guniang! Jin-gongzi! Be careful!” Lan Sizhui calls. Shijie, Wei Wuxian thinks as he closes his eyes, what in the world have your kids been learning? The noises the dizi makes can barely count as notes, and Lan Jingyi gripes about the sound, but Wei Wuxian ignores him. The music itself is only a vector, only conveying his intention. He pulls on every thread of willpower he has, flings out his call to anything powerful and resentful enough to take the statue down. The goddess is a seething blot of anger and hunger in his senses, and he presses around her, pushes his lure out further, farther. Come to me, the garbled song says. Wake up and rise. He can feel her bearing down on Jin Ling, can feel the bright pulse of energy as the kid unsheathes his father’s blade and aims up. Come to me. Every scrap of energy is pressed into the call, every thin thread he can dredge up. All at once, there’s an answer. “The Ghost General! It’s him! It’s the Ghost General!” Wei Wuxian’s eyes shoot open, dizi dipping down in shock. Wen Ning shoots up from the ground, catching the goddess in her brittle chin. Something’s not right, though. Heavy chains swing from his wrists and ankles; his eyes, when Wei Wuxian catches a glimpse, are black as ink. Horror twists through Wei Wuxian. He’d sent Wen Ning away to protect him, to prevent him from getting caught by the sects. Who did this to him? Who could? He doesn’t have time to wonder further. With the statue destroyed, the cultivators turn on Wen Ning himself. He’s flooded with resentment, the energy rippling off him in gales. Without his own control, he’ll turn on anyone who tries to attack. Steadying himself, Wei Wuxian draws in a breath and reaches for the first calming song he thinks of. As discordant as the melody is on this dizi, it still thrums with gentle suggestion. It’s me, he says through it. Wen Ning, it’s me. Calm down. Blurry memories flit through him with the notes: Lan Zhan’s voice low and gentle in the dark of a cave, a gentle hand on the side of his face, red lanterns glowing soft in the night. Taking careful steps backwards, he lures Wen Ning away from the cultivators already yelling for Jiang Cheng. If he can just get a little further— A hand wraps around his wrist. Startled, Wei Wuxian nearly drops the dizi as he starts to pull out of the grip, but he freezes. Lan Zhan’s hand is warm and broad, his amber eyes wide as he stares at Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian’s lips part, though he doesn’t know what he’s going to say. “Zongzhu, the Ghost General went that way!” Shit. Taking up the dizi, Wei Wuxian starts again even as Lan Zhan doesn’t release his grip. He presses more urgency into the melody, urges Wen Ning to flee and hide. At last, he flings himself away, and Wei Wuxian allows himself to draw in a much-needed breath. The hand around his wrist tightens, clenches almost painfully. “Ah!” Wei Wuxian yelps before twisting his hand to flip their grip. “Don’t chase him!” He holds Lan Zhan’s wrist too tightly, but Lan Zhan makes no move to break his grip. There’s something open and trembling in his expression, something almost like awe. Wei Wuxian can’t look away, suspended there with his hand on Lan Zhan and time a distant idea far removed from them. “Zongzhu, he’s the one who summoned the Ghost General,” the gangly Jiang disciple from earlier announces. Breaking his gaze from Lan Zhan, he turns to see Jiang Cheng only a few paces off. There’s something about his expression that’s a little off, a strain that Wei Wuxian doesn’t recognize. “So you’re back,” Jiang Cheng says, spits. “And you went running to him? Wei Wuxian!” Zidian flares to life, unspooling in his hand, and Wei Wuxian can’t help but flinch back. The fern-like scars furled across his back tingle with the memory of pain. Before he can move, Lan Zhan has stepped before him, his guqin summoned to hover under his hand. A single chord knocks Zidian aside mid-stroke, the clash of spiritual energy sharp enough to resonate through Wei Wuxian’s ribcage. Watching from the sidelines, he can’t help gaping a little. Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan really have progressed while he’s been gone. Zidian and Wangji were both powerful enough in his memory, but the way they flare and respond to their masters is like something out of a story. Something, nameless and heavy as a stone, sinks in Wei Wuxian’s chest and he forces it away. Good for them. He backs away carefully before he pivots and starts to flee in earnest. “You’re going to run away now?” He gets no further warning before Zidian is burning a caustic lash across his back and he’s flung into the dirt again. He cringes, gritting his teeth through the pain. It doesn’t hurt as much as he remembers from Madam Yu’s enthusiastic punishments, but it still burns worse than a hundred wasp stings. He scrambles to his feet, rubbing at his back. Mo Xuanyu was recognized by Jin Ling and his sister; maybe he can pretend long enough to deter Jiang Cheng. Anyway, his shidi really ought to have better manners. He’s a sect leader, for heavens’ sakes, and he’s not in his own territory. “Who do you think you are! Just because you’re a rich sect leader, does that mean you can go about whipping people as you like?” he scolds. “Take off your mask!” Jiang Cheng yells. Wei Wuxian is briefly tempted to stick out his tongue, and then, because he’s supposed to be crazy anyway, does it. “No! You’ll be shocked to death if I do,” he calls back. “Jiang-zongzhu, please stop,” Lan Jingyi protests, stepping forward. “Wei Wuxian’s body and soul were destroyed when he died. You killed him yourself, didn’t you?” Jiang Cheng breathes in sharply, eyes briefly widening with hurt, and Wei Wuxian frowns. He died when he destroyed the Seal. Jiang Cheng didn’t— Jiang Cheng, fear and anger snarling across his face— burning — Wei Wuxian, you promised. He stumbles, exhaustion finally catching up to him, and the memories flood in. He wakes slowly, to the solemn chords of the guqin. He can’t count the number of times Lan Zhan insisted on playing Clarity for him during the war; he recognizes it now even in its last notes. As it fades into quiet, a new song begins, one that tugs deep in Wei Wuxian’s chest. It sounds so much better when Lan Zhan plays it. Opening his eyes to the dark wood ceiling, he swallows and breathes through the tear slipping down into his hairline. “It’s really been thirteen years,” he says softly, letting himself take the weight of that understanding. “It feels like a dream.” Even with the river-rush of his memories running through him, there are still patches missing. He remembers dying, but the moments before it are scattered and disordered. He remembers parts of Qiongqi Pass, but so much of it is drenched in red it’s hard to discern the details. When he thinks of that year in the Burial Mounds, it’s hard to tell where reality ends and the nightmares begin. “You’re awake,” Lan Zhan says gently and resumes playing. Drawing himself up to sit with his back against the frame of the bed, he listens to Lan Zhan and tries not to think too much at all. The song curls into a gentle close, and Lan Zhan rests his hands over the strings to still them. He doesn’t look up, his gaze carefully fixed on some point a few strides before his guqin. “These thirteen years…” he starts. “If I say I don’t know where I was these thirteen years,” Wei Wuxian says, “will you believe me?” Lan Zhan swallows before dipping his head in a slight nod. “I believe you,” he says. He speaks quietly, but such surety runs through his voice that Wei Wuxian feels both as if the breath has been knocked from him and as if he might start crying. Ridiculous, he thinks and of course it’s in Lan Zhan’s voice. He pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs. “I don’t remember a lot, I think,” he admits quietly, resting his chin on his knees. “But I remember what I said to you.” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lan Zhan still, hands tensing over his guqin. A twinge of pain and guilt aches in Wei Wuxian’s chest. So much for giving Lan Zhan an out, an opportunity to go make his life away from Wei Wuxian. Now he’s back, crashing into the peace Lan Zhan has surely cultivated in the intervening years. Thirteen years is far longer than they ever knew each other; what delicate balance has he created in that time that Wei Wuxian is now wrecking? “That day we ran into you in Yiling, the last time I saw you,” he says. “I’m — I’m sorry, for what I said.” Lan Zhan is still painfully still in his periphery, as if carved from jade. When he speaks, it is as if he is picking his words carefully, delicately. “That day in Yiling,” he echoes. “The last time you saw me.” There’s almost a question in his voice, and Wei Wuxian turns to him a little, frowning. Lan Zhan still doesn’t look to him. “Yeah,” he says. He swallows, forces himself to go on. “I — I thought I was protecting you by pushing you away but I was…it was wrong of me. I’m sorry for the way I treated you.” Lan Zhan’s chin lowers a little, but there’s a tension in the corners of his mouth like frustration or maybe dismay. Wei Wuxian’s brow wrinkles. Was it too much? Maybe he’s being too forward, assuming that he mattered enough to Lan Zhan to hurt him. Even as he thinks it, he knows that probably isn’t true. It’s just…well, it has been thirteen years. Maybe Lan Zhan doesn’t care for an apology so late. “Mm,” Lan Zhan says to his guqin. “It is forgiven.” He rises, robes cascading down like the white froth of a waterfall, and steps around the table to come to the bed where Wei Wuxian’s still curled. Perching on the edge of it, he studies Wei Wuxian’s face for a long moment, as if he’s searching for something. “What, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian teases around the knot in his throat. “Did you miss my face that much?” “Yes,” Lan Zhan says quietly. “I missed all of you.” Blinking, Wei Wuxian can only manage a strangled, ‘oh.’ He can feel the back of his neck warming, startled by the sincerity, and he looks away as he clears his throat. He’s not actually sure where they are, except that the simple style of the house and the familiar cloud patterns suggest somewhere in Cloud Recesses. “Eh, Lan Zhan, where are we? I don’t recognize this place,” he says. “The jingshi in Cloud Recesses,” Lan Zhan answers, unperturbed by the change of topic. “My home.” The heat rising up the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck suddenly has less to do with Lan Zhan’s sincerity and more to do with the realization that he’s in Lan Zhan’s private home, in his own bed, and apparently Lan Zhan is utterly fine with this.    “Cloud Recesses? But what if Zewu-jun finds out?” he protests. “It doesn’t sound like people are lining up to welcoming me in.” “Brother already knows,” Lan Zhan says. “He greeted us when we arrived. He…understands.” Wei Wuxian glances sidelong at him but decides he isn’t ready to unpack the emotional depth contained in that one word. He skirts away from it, already feeling raw and bruised. “And Lan-laoxiansheng?” he prods. “Has he finally forgiven me for disrupting class?” It’s the least of his sins against the Lans, but at least that means he can poke at it a little without fresh blood. “Uncle is not sect leader,” Lan Zhan says. The corners of his lips twitch in the faintest hint of amusement. “I believe Lan Jingyi reported that a Young Master Mo aided in their mission and was brought here for healing and protection.” “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian gasps, scandalized and delighted, “you’ve learned how to be sneaky! I really have been a bad influence.” Breathing out a soft huff, Lan Zhan looks down at where his graceful hands rest in his lap. His gaze flicks up to Wei Wuxian, still soft in a way Wei Wuxian hasn’t seen it in — well, in years. Not since that last visit. “Wei Ying is good,” he says firmly. “You should rest. You were exhausted.” Wei Wuxian wrinkles his nose at that, but he can’t deny the soul-deep weariness weighing him down. Still, as Lan Zhan starts to rise, he reaches out on impulse and catches the edge of one white sleeve. “Hey, Lan Zhan,” he says with a little smile, hopeful, “sing for me?” For a moment, he thinks he has really overstepped. Lan Zhan stands still and straight by the bed, expressionless. Then, the line of his lips relaxes just-so, his gaze softening as he gives a single nod. “Mm,” he says, brushing a hand featherlight against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “If you’d like.” He goes back to the guqin instead of staying beside Wei Wuxian on the bed, which wasn’t quite the plan, but Wei Wuxian can’t find it in himself to complain as he nestles back into the bed and Lan Zhan begins. With Lan Zhan’s voice lilting in his ear and the soft thrum of the qin strings humming through his bones, he finds he’s not afraid to close his eyes.

The hotel room was dark— too dark to write— so Damian slid open an inch of blackout curtain. The slice of light fell perfectly across his lap and onto the dresser beside him. Across the room, Grayson shifted softly, but he remained asleep. 

Day three, Damian wrote. It is difficult to stay awake. 

The first night had been easy; he and Grayson followed their targets down south, out of the city and into new turf. They found the hideout immediately. They were Batman and Robin— of course they did. At the hideout, they learned that the shipment they expected wouldn’t arrive until three days later. 

Grayson decided to wait. He said that the ring was unpredictable; if they left, it might move, and then they would lose their chance. They would stay in town, gather information, and strike when the time was right. 

Damian didn’t like the plan, but he hadn’t said so. He wouldn’t show weakness. He could power through. He volunteered to take the first shift awake and spent the three hours cleaning his equipment while he listened for sounds from the bugs they planted.

Nothing happened. Grayson woke up, and Damian took the bed. He turned away from Grayson, so his open eyes wouldn’t be visible. He held still and breathed shallowly, evenly, like he was asleep. Grayson believed he was. 

Damian did not fall asleep. Three hours later, they switched again, and Damian spent his shift recording their case notes in the black book he had taken from the stack in the cave. His father didn’t need casebooks anymore. His father was dead. 

Another switch: Damian lay still and pretended to sleep. It was easy. One day without rest was nothing. 

The second day was harder. During the day, Damian and Grayson were up together, listening and planning. At night, Damian sketched in his casebook during his shifts awake. When he was meant to sleep, he fought to keep his eyes open. He had to stay awake. If he didn’t…

Day three: Damian was tired— tired enough for his vision to blur and his body to ache. His eyes itched. His hands shook. Grayson slept while he wrote.

I have read my father’s files. He was able to go days at a time without sleep and still fight crime as he always did. I will learn to cultivate that skill. Grayson will never know that I have not slept, and he will never see me sleep. There will be consequences if he does. 

Grayson believes that I am a child, with a child’s capabilities. He is wrong; however—

Damian cut off. There was a small sound from outside their door: soft movement in the hallway, the kind that could be an enemy approaching. Damian set his casebook, still open, on the dresser and crept towards the door. 

The same sound came from directly outside. Damian pulled a knife from his boot and yanked open the door. 

A startled mouse scuttled down the hallway. Everything else remained still. 

Lovely. Damian stepped outside for a quick security sweep, just in case, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Reassured, he retreated back to their room. He slipped through the cracked door, pulled it shut, and stood just inside, waiting for his eyes to readjust to the darkness after the lights of the hallway. When they did, he found Grayson out of bed, leaning against the dresser. 

“Just a rodent,” Damian reported. “Otherwise quiet.” 

“Good,” said Grayson, holding up Damian’s casebook. “Would you care to explain?”

Damian froze. “Explain what?”

“This says, and I quote, ‘I have not slept.’”

“I’m not tired.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t want to sleep.”

“Why?” 

Damian considered his options and decided on the truth— a understated version that might stop the questions. “Nightmares,” he shrugged. “I prefer to stay awake.”

“For three nights, when you’re on the job and need to stay alert?”

“It’s not a problem. I trained for this.” 

“Bull-shit,” Grayson repeated, drawing out the word. 

“I’m not a child.”

“So I read.” 

“I can handle myself.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

Damian looked down. They were. 

“You’re benched,” said Grayson. “Get some sleep.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Damian clenched his shaking hands into fists. “You need a second man.”

“I need a partner that can watch my back effectively, and right now that isn’t you. You’re sleep-deprived, and you’ll make mistakes. You’re a liability, not an asset.”

Damian crossed his arms. 

“C’mon, Damian,” said Grayson, crossing his arms too. “Tell me the truth. Why didn’t you sleep.” 

“I have nightmares.”

“And?” “And I didn’t want—” Damian cut off. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Is it because of Bruce? You want to follow his example?”

“No.”

“Because his example was shit. He never took care of himself, and I don’t want you thinking—”

“I didn’t want you to see me like that!” Damian bust out. 

Grayson stepped back in surprise. His frustration softened fractionally. Damian got the feeling he hadn’t expected to get anywhere. “Like what?”

“Afraid.” 

“Oh.” 

Damian stared at the floor so he didn’t have to look at Grayson’s face. “I’m not weak.”

“I never said you were.” 

“It’s what you think.”

“It’s not. Look, Damian… I’ve been there, okay? It’s hard to be vulnerable, especially when… especially because of who we are. There’s this pressure to be, I don’t know, invincible. It’s hard to be human when people… and you… expect yourself to be more.”

“I’m not a child,” Damian repeated.

“It’s not childish to be afraid. It’s smart. There’s a time and place for fear. The only childish thing you did today was try to hide it from me.” 

“I thought—” Damian cut off again. “Okay.”

“You’re still benched.”

“Fine.” 

“I’m going to go do some recon. Stay here and sleep.”

“You don’t have to go.”

Grayson shrugged. “You’ll be more comfortable. Do I have your word that you’ll stay here? No sneaking out?” Damian thought about it. “Fine.” 

“Okay.” Grayson pulled on his shoes, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door. “I’ll be back before sunrise.” 

Damian dreamed of drowning. He sank into the ocean. His lungs filled with water. He could taste the salt. His cape wrapped around him as he fell down into the darkness, slowly, painfully towards the seafloor. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. His vision darkened as he began to die— he could feel himself dying.

Outside the dream, a hand fell on his shoulder. 

Damian jerked awake, gasping for air, one hand grabbing for the knife underneath his pillow. He lunged back against the headboard and jabbed the knife in front of him. Grayson stepped backwards to avoid the blade. 

“Hey! It’s me. It’s just me.” 

Damian collapsed back into the comforter, half-sobbing as he fell. He felt Grayson’s hand again, this time in his hair. 

“It’s okay,” Grayson muttered. “It’s okay.” 

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

Anonymous said:

Dick & Damian, when Dick was batman please

Anonymous said:

What about a fic with Batman and Robin Dick and Damian where Damian still thinks he needs to prove himself but Dick cares more about his safety?

Anonymous said:

Prompt: in the early days of Dick & Dami’s run as B&R, they end up somewhere that requires them to sleep in the same room for a few nights. Damian outright refuses to sleep even thought he is exhausted past the point of functioning, because he is scared and ashamed to fall asleep and have Dick find out about his nightmares.

Anonymous said:

Prompt- Dick & Dami “hey, it’s me, it’s just me”

Betrothed

Shirayuki was twelve the first time she met her betrothed. Although, looking back on it, the whole scenario had gone horribly awry, and she was surprised that anything good could have come out of it at all.

The Mountain Lions had of course made a big ceremony about presenting her to him - she was, the first daughter born to a chief in five generations, and it seemed only natural that they would show her off. A daughter was a symbol of pride, one of growth and prosperity on the village. And they made sure to show it, showering Shirayuki with gifts and praise as she sat perched in the main hall of the village. She was dressed in the best clothing and furs available for chief’s daughter, and her hair had been pulled up into some contemporary style, pinned with beads and flowers and herbs from the garden she kept outside the village. She felt like a piece that was put on display - a trophy.

Shirayuki had known that she was betrothed for the last two years, but she had never really considered what her betrothed was like - it hadn’t seemed important and never crossed her mind before. He could be ugly and selfish, and she wouldn’t have a clue. The only thing she was certain of was that it was a match from another tribe to the north, one much like the Mountain Lions but with a past far more dangerous. The north was wild, and so they had to be too. This match was one made out of convenience - to protect the Mountain Lions, while offering open trade to the other tribe. It was good deed and a nice way to start relations between two villages - as everyone had said. To Shirayuki, it was a duty that she must fulfill and nothing more.

Although, perhaps it would be in better taste to be on time.

Shirayuki, bored and tired of looking like a fancy doll for the rich, sat there and waited for what seemed to be hours. Villagers popped in and out of the main hall, wishing her luck and blessing her for a happy union. And, all she could do, was smile politely and watch the shadows on the floor grow longer and longer, hoping that her betrothed would at least have the dignity to show his face before dinner. It was one thing to stand her up, but to stand up an entire village seemed

No such luck, it seemed. It was nearly nightfall when her father had told everyone to bar the gates to the village. If he was upset he only showed it in little huffs of annoyance and sulking around the empty rooms of the hall. Perhaps there was miscommunication when it came to introducing her new bridegroom. He would be here in the morning, they were all sure of it.

Shirayuki was not.

Annoyed, she slipped out of her house later in the night, her steps quiet on the dirt path outside. The first few stars were starting to peek through the dark golds and purples of the sky, and it made her feel almost wistful. She shook her head and pushed the rogue emotions into the back of her mind, resolving to sneak past a sleeping guard (which proved almost painfully easy). As the fields outside the village gave way into sparse forest, Shirayuki found herself taking a familiar path to her small garden in the woods.

Her heart felt heavy, like it was weighed down by thoughts she couldn’t quite place or feelings she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to feel. A husband. It was the kind of thing that girls her age seemed to ooh and ahh over, ut she wasn’t really sure what she wanted. She still felt young, and there was so much out there that she wanted to experience and explore. Boys were… nice, she supposed, but they didn’t seem quite so important the more she thought about it.

Shirayuki turned down a winding path to find the edge of her garden peeking out from behind a small bush, and she felt the weight in her chest lift just a little. Her garden had always been a special place for her. It was a sanctuary that was only for her, one that she shared with few others… and she was utterly put out when she caught a young man plucking a flower from a plant. His fingers were wrapped around the stem, ready to yank.

Her eyes narrowed and she surged forward to bat away his hand before he could do any real harm. “Hey!”

He snapped his hand back, pulling it to his chest more to keep it away from her and less to cradle it. Shocked, wide eyes looked down at from his impressive height.

Growling, Shirayuki puffed herself up, readying herself for a fight, and she heard the soft tinkling of the fine glass beads still buried in her hair. Oh. Oh right. What in the world was she thinking? She was still dressed in all the finery from this afternoon, practically becoming a target for someone like him to kidnap her. And he did not look friendly. In fact, this stranger looked down-right dangerous. Heat curled up her throat and she took a step back, her feet nearly silent on the grass. He didn’t look like someone she should trust, not with the scar on his cheek and his cat-like stare following her every movement.

Shirayuki put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes, hoping she looked more imposing than she felt. “You…. you didn’t ask if you could have one. Those took a lot of time to cultivate, and I don’t want just anyone coming here and destroying my hard work.”

He blinked as if in shock, and for a moment it looked like he was going to say something sharp and biting. A moment flickered between them - a sort of tense curiosity - before his expression melted into something softer, almost playful. The edges of his lips turned up into a ghost of a smile and he bowed deep. “I pray you can forgive me, Miss. I wasn’t aware there was a caretaker for the garden.”

Her heart jumped into her throat, beating like a little, frightened bird. “Well, there is.”

“I am sorry.” He inched forward, his half-step quiet even in the stillness of the night. Every movement of his body was fluid and spoke of an understated strength he was trying to hide. “I hope you can find it within you to allow me to pluck a flower?”

Something about the dark curl of his voice made Shirayuki wonder what kind of person he was. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen, only a few years older than herself, and yet he sounded like a man. The boys her age in her village were bumbling and awkward, still discovering their own emotions and learning that their privates could be used for more than just pissing on the side of a building. But this stranger was…

He was a stranger. And she needed to remember that.

Shirayuki held her ground and stared at him. “And what would you need a flower for?”

“To give to a love of mine.” One edge of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “I think I may marry her someday.”

Her thoughts flashed back to the beads and flowers in her hair, the furs and fabrics over her shoulders and something in her stomach turned over. He couldn’t possibly… no. No it wasn’t possible. If her betrothed hadn’t thought it important to see her during the day, she highly doubted he would show his face now, in the nighttime with no one else to see the ceremony.

He leaned back and waited patiently for her response, as if time wasn’t moving around them. Honestly, it was annoying how confident he was and how easily he maneuvered himself in and out of her space - like he controlled the situation. If she was a stronger woman, she could have put a stop to it, but she instead felt like she was falling into a trap she couldn’t escape.

“You can allow me a flower for love, can’t you? It would be cruel if you didn’t.” His eyes never left her face, and he reached out to stroke the white petals with his knuckle. The touch was gentle, and just watching it made her mind wander into caves and places she had never dared enter before. It was as if she was making a new journey she wasn’t prepared for.

Shirayuki suddenly felt like a fawn whose leg had been caught in wolf’s teeth, waiting for sweet darkness to overtake her. She stared at him, frozen in place. Her heart slammed against her ribs and she swallowed the fear that was coursing through her, bubbling up into her mouth. “I don’t think I could be cruel. You may… you may have one.” She managed to find her footing enough to pull back from the wolf’s mouth. “But only one! And it’s a gift I might not give again, so… so you better make good use of it.”

“Thank you, Miss.” His eyes closed just a little, knowing. “I know my love would be delighted to have such a precious gift.”

“Of course.”

She nodded, and Shirayuki felt herself take a shaking step back. Her hands trembled at her sides, just she hid them in the folds of her clothes, waiting until the stranger had plucked the flower with a delicate snap of the stem. Everything he did exuded confidence, and even her own plants seemed to bend to his will. She wasn’t sure if she should fight him or flee and hope she could save herself from his jaws.

“Thank you again. It’s very generous.” He gave her a polite nod and disappeared into the woods around them, becoming the shadows that loomed in the trees.

Shirayuki stood there, still trembling and feeling the echo of his words hang in the air around them. It was as if time had stopped and she was forced to relive the moment over and over in her head until it grew dark and cold, and she knew she had to return home. Something inside her snapped, like shattered pottery, and she fled. Her heart racing, Shirayuki tore back to the village, feeling a bead drop from her hair and land in the grass.

She would worry about it tomorrow. Tonight, she needed to get into the safety of her own home and hope the shadows didn’t follow her.

-

When Shirayuki woke the next morning, the house was in an uproar. The women who had primped her her yesterday were pulling her into the main hall again, chattering so fast she couldn’t understand them. Something about a message and a letter, and had she seen her betrothed? He had been here the night before, and he had left something with her father - a gift.

It wasn’t until her father, beaming and mumbling off how he was proud of the young man who visited him, presented her with a letter her betrothed had left on their doorstep that Shirayuki began to realize the depth of trouble she was in. She broke the seal on the parchment and opened the letter to see a simple message staring back at her.

It was lovely to meet you, Miss. I hope you’ll accept my humble gift and apology for delaying the ceremony you dressed so beautifully for. I will see you next season.

- Obi

Shirayuki looked into her father’s outstretched hand to see the bead from her hair and the white flower she had let the stranger take from her garden.

--

[seven years later]

I’ve sent you magical seeds, Miss. I’m told they’re special, that they only bloom in the warm sun and their colors are the same blue as the sky.

Shirayuki looked at the little flecks of dark brown in the palm of her hand, dotting her skin like pepper. Her heart swelled with an unnamable emotion, and her lips curled up into a soft smile for just a moment. Giggling made her look up from the letter and she could feel the eyes of one of the other herbalists watching her. Her face burned with embarrassment, and she shoved the letter and the handful of seeds into her apron pocket, hoping to avoid the curious whispers and sidelong stares following her. They could be just like clucking hens if she let them.

It had been over seven years since their chance encounter in the woods, and somehow Obi had yet to meet her again. He always told her next season, as if it was not quite a goodbye, but not quite a promise either. Her father traveled up to his village nearly twice a year, but never thought to bring her - no matter how much she begged. To him, the roads were too dangerous traveling north, but Shirayuki knew that meant that he didn’t want her to meet the same fate as her mother. A part of her understood his reasoning, but there was another greedy little part of her that wanted to see Obi again. His letters were so full of life and excitement, that she wasn’t sure how much longer she could wait. Next season kept growing and growing, until years stretched before them.

Obi had taken to writing her often at least several times a month, writing in a way that sounded more like he was talking with his best friend than a strange girl he met briefly once in the woods. He had been telling her all about his travels up north, to smaller villages and little towns. He told her all about his new horse that he was breaking in, and how he hoped to ride it to see her one day. Or about making up games with the village children and teaching even the young ones how to play. It was only recently that he’d taken to sending her seeds and pressed flowers tucked into the pages of his letters, like trinkets he was protecting just for her. And each letter the past year was growing fonder. Sometimes, when she was alone with her thoughts, Shirayuki liked to think he was finally going to end the space between them.

She waited until she was far enough away from the other women before she pulled the letter out of her pocket again, poring over the last few lines with a stitch in her chest.

It’s nearing the end of your nineteenth year, Miss. It is time I should stop sending letters and come see you permanently.

Her heart fluttered painfully, an ache that felt more like shock than anything else. She had always known that this was exactly what was going to happen, and yet there was excitement about it. Even though this strange man was going to be her husband and partner, she still wanted him, ardently. There was a strange sort of wonder that filled her with something bright and effervescent. She shoved the letter back into her pocket and uttered a half-hearted excuse towards the other herbalists before darting out of the garden. The spring sun was warm against her skin, hiding her blush behind the heat of its rays, and she wove the familiar path through the woods heading into her own garden. It was still a sanctuary for her, a place she went to if she wanted to be alone just to relive that chance meeting again.

Obi was standing there - of course - like the product of a spell she hadn’t yet cast.

And the years, it seemed, had been good to him. Broad shoulders filled out his travel-worn jacket, and his smile filled his face with a soft light she didn’t know was possible.

“I almost arrived before my letter?” His voice was cheeky and playful, a deep rumble against the silence between them. “What a shame. The postmaster is clearly slacking.”

Shirayuki could feel her heart skipping in her chest, fluttering against her ribs as she looked up into his face. Everything inside her filled to the brim, emotions she had buried and thoughts that skirted just outside of her memories seemed to come to the forefront of her thoughts. She wanted so badly it almost hurt. He looked somehow less dangerous than she remembered, or maybe her perception was slightly skewed after reading about the pair of kids he had nursed back to health last spring after a bad frost that killed their mother.

Her voice skipped in her throat as she watched him shuffle in front of her. “I… ah… I thought… I mean, you’re here much sooner than I anticipated.”

“Miss!” He placed a hand over his heart as if he were hurt, and took a step forward towards her. Even his movements were smoother, more mature. There was no boy hiding even in the corners of him, Obi was certainly all man.  “Did you not read my letter? I was certain that I told you that your nineteenth year was coming to an end.” There was a soft shadow that covered the gold of his eyes before he looked back into her face with a small, almost shy smile. “I thought… perhaps… it was time.” He paused and cleared his throat, trying to appear respectful. “If you’re ready. I don’t want to make you feel as though you have to do anything you aren’t ready for.”

Her eyes fluttered, confused. “Is that why you haven’t seen me? Because you think I’m not ready?”

“You were a child when I met you last, Miss.”

He wasn’t wrong. She had been younger then, not quite sure about the where she stood in a marriage that was made for her. And he had seemed so much older then, so much more worldly than herself, she must have seemed so much younger then. She must have looked like every part the child she was.

“And… judging by the letters we exchanged, I could tell you needed time.”

He moved another step closer, and Shirayuki could smell the scent of wind and rain and north on him. It felt as though she were standing in the moment seven years ago, but instead of waiting for his jaws to clamp down on him, she was waiting to soar. She was standing on the edge of a cliff, feeling a warm updraft brush against her cheek, ready to take her into the sky. Her hands dug into the folds of her skirt and she waited for him to finish.

“Even if this is a marriage designed by our villages, I think it’s best that we give each other both time we need.” He rubbed the back of his head and looked away, his ears turning pink. “We know what we are supposed to do, but what we want and need to do is always a little different. I wanted to make sure that you had whatever you needed, you got.Even if it was space from me.”

Shirayuki flushed and she clutched her hands tighter in her skirt, feeling the parchment of the letter crinkle with the movement. It was a reminder that even though he let her grow, he was always so close - always next to her. “You’re right… I valued the time apart.” She let go of a little laugh. “But I appreciate the stories you filled me with. I feel as though I’ve gotten to know a part of you you don’t share.”

He looked away, pretending to be interested in the trees. “You… ah… didn’t tell anyone about the kids? Did you?”

She just laughed, throwing her arms around him and pulling him tight against her. Her heart felt as jumpy as her own, nervous and frightened in the space they had created. Shirayuki lifted herself on tip-toe, kissing the bottom of his jaw before whispering, “I think maybe it’s time I came to see you permanently too.”

five places rhaenys never ended up?

i.) rhaenys of themyscira

It was easy to pretend that she had known nothing but her many mother-sisters, nothing but the sands and swords of her home.

But taking the easy way was to deny the truth, and she would not shame her family so.

Io had found her, small and bleeding, near Hestia’s temple, wrapped in a bedsheet and trying to be silent.

(The cat, though, had yowled loud enough to raise the dead. There was something peculiar about that cat, Io always said.)

Io, taller than anyone, even the Princess, and wider still across the shoulders, had picked the girl up as if she was made of glass and carried her to Epione.

The girl had lived, despite the blood she had lost and the wounds she had taken.

(Faruka claimed it showed strength, Menalippe that she was favored by the gods. Epione and Althea claimed it good healing work. The Queen merely sighed with a little smile she had frequently worn when the Princess was a child, and not... well, the Princess, and everyone had argued in a similar way.)

When she woke, she watched them all with eyes as round as shields, and told them what she remembered of the men with swords, and her mother’s screams.

She stayed with them, and her nights ended with fewer screams, after a while.

(It was an affliction they were familiar with, if not in a child so young.)

She took to trailing behind Magala, which was a bit strange, but the sorceress was patient. She also haunted Althea, all smoky curls and steady hands in the healer’s rooms. She stayed with Io, though, in a spare room over the forge, where she was quiet and mended things, save for the moments she sang.

(Io chased the musicians away, because if Althea did it, then there would be no peace.)

So the girl had grown, and none had minded when she hid when Steve Trevor arrived, and the contest came. She was still very young- eight, at most.

Ten years later, the barriers... didn’t come down, not properly, but someone (Athena, Menalippe claimed) made it permeable.

There were, the Princess said thoughtfully, other girls of a similar age, working to make the world a better place, and that Rhaenys might benefit from learning from them.

All the Amazons were surprised when their solemn little shadow looked at her, bit her lip, and said, “That might be a good idea.”

ii.) Nell of Dorne (By Way of Camelot)

Someone had pinched his ear. Someone smaller than him, with non-knightly hands. Calloused, though.

He managed to twist enough to see a mass of black curls and scars peeping from Nell’s sleeve. Morgana’s pet harper was even younger than him, if not by much, a Dornish girl who made melodies clever enough that even Arthur paid attention. In return she was ferociously loyal to Morgana. (Also Gwen.)

“What did I do now?” Merlin asked. She dragged him to a storeroom, not letting go of his ear.

“You drugged Morgana,” she accused, jamming a finger in his face. 

He blinked, trying to figure out what she knew. “The sleeping draught? Technically, that was Gaius.”

“Sleeping drought? Stranger wept, whatever you were doing is driving her mad,” the harper said. “I gave her lavender and poppy tea instead the last two nights, and it seems to have fixed it, but if you try it again, I will slice you neck to navel.”

Merlin gulped. Nell was nice enough, mostly. Right up until you... threatened her friends. Then she seemed to think she was a terrifying giant dragon.

And what did he go and do.

“I- I- It was supposed to keep her calm,” he said finally. “From dreaming.”

Nell huffed. “Oh, this is about that seven-damned ban. I would love to take her to... not Asshai, that would be horrible for her, but perhaps Braavos?”

He blinked. How did she?

“There was a magical fire in her room. When she was having nightmares,” she said, dryly. “Oddly, despite our friendship, I seem to lack that willful blindness everyone else seems to cultivate.”

“There may be people... closer,” he tried, wondering how much to hint. She scowled. 

“Oh, yes, the paranoid King prone to lashing out and refusing to admit he is wrong will gladly allow his niece to live with... Merlin, are you listening to yourself?” she asked. “That is thoughtless on par with the Silver Prince himself.”

“Who?” Merlin asked, tilting his head.

“It would be best to ask me again when the Dornish sour comes in,” she said, pinching her nose. “I know a few tricks that may help her, for now.” She gave a bitter grin before sweeping a finger across the scar marring her cheek. “I know something of bad dreams.”

Somehow, that translated to shooting a sorceress with a crossbow, nearly getting herself banished, and extracting a promise to help her if she needed it. Morgana did stop setting things on fire accidentally, though.

(Which was when the Lannister delegation arrived, and it turned out little Nell was actually Princess Rhaenys and had a price on her head. Also, that her brother had an army, though Nell had apparently not known that. He’d sent her to Gwaine, who agreed to keep her safe and probably needed to be kept on his toes. He didn’t get why Morgana kept laughing.)

iii.) Renee Rhodes

“Sorry, no, you fucked up, you don’t get our mini-Rhodey,” Tony said, and Auntie Pepper was nodding. Her dad looked furious and like it was a really, really good thing that he was mostly a responsible adult who was not in his suit right now. Spidey was at her shoulder, which was... well, he was younger than her, but he could also bench press a car.

Thor, weirdly, was even glaring at them. Though given Renee’s burn-proofing and the bit where he was GOD OF THUNDER, she was willing to give that a pass until she and Friday could talk it over privately later.

“Her father-” the man- who was apparently her bio uncle, and she could see it, actually, they had the same nose and hair and way of flattening their mouths when they got mad.

“Is right here,” Rhodey said. “I raised her, was there when Renee was sick, taught her to ride a bike and drive a car, had her educated, and did a lot more for her than a man who you said left her and her brother for some teenager.”

“I want to teach her to fly a suit,” Tony said, and that was why he was her favorite not-allowed-to-call-him-uncle. “Also, I taught her to shoot.”

“I remember yelling at you for that,” Dad agreed. “You also taught her basic coding, which is... better. Much better.”

“Could I learn to shoot?” Spidey asked.

“Tony had me sit though so many lessons before I held the gun,” she whispered. “So many.” Also, it had been... just post cave-escape. And Obie’s black-hat reveal, and apparently he’d gone a little overprotective vis-a-vis his goddaughter. 

“Is Tywin Lannister among the dead?” Thor asked, and Renee went still at the look on her bio-uncle’s face.

“Not yet,” her bio-uncle said.

“Then Princess Renee is in grave danger going there,” Thor said, simply. “Until Lannister and his puppets are dead.”

“Well,” Spidey said, “at least we aren’t taking over this planet?”

“No planets until she’s thirty,” Tony said.

“Co-parenting,” Renee hissed at Spidey, who choked.

Seriously, she occasionally wondered if her dad and Uncle Tony were more than soft-bros, but Auntie Pepper had staying power. Also, was awesome.

Adorable ruthless dorks in love and all that.

Also, the Rescue armor was much, much less in scope then a planet. Between that an Spidey, twenty-one for solo piloting should work.

iv. Sophia Potter

“Your friend is deeply annoying,” said a voice from behind a stack of books.

James laughed. “How did you find Sirius annoying now?”

“You know, that shouldn’t be the first thing that pops in your head,” his sister said, poking her head out from around the books. “You have more than one friend, you know. If your mind just... leaps to Sirius being the problem, then clearly you agree that there is one.”

“Sophia,” he said, “I think the Prewett twins set up bets on you and Sirius fighting.”

She sighed. “He’s planning on dragging me to Hogsmeade tomorrow.”

“You like arguing with Sirius,” James pointed out. “You say I’m too nice, Remus and Peter get too upset, and...”

“You give me sad looks if I argue with Lily,” Sophia agreed. “Sirius said that I’m working myself too hard, and I’ll end up locked in some tower if I keep it up.”

James couldn’t argue- Lily and Marlene had frogmarched her to lunch, Sirius had badgered her to dinner last night, and he was getting her to dinner now. Remus agreed to coax her to go upstairs, at least, later. There were dark circles under her eyes, and he wondered if she’d crack and ask for Dreamless Sleep soon, or if she’d writing in her carefully annotated and encoded notebook.

(Having a Seer for a near-twin was worrying, a lot. Especially when she wasn’t a normal seer, but had dreams like tea-leaves and tarot cards with occasional flashes of events.)

“He’s worried about you,” James admitted. “Soph, we all are.”

“I’m more worried about you,” she admitted, biting her lip. “Promise me...” she sighed. “Gah, I don’t even know exactly what to ask you to promise.”

“I’ll be careful?” he tried.

She shot him a deeply skeptical, deeply hurtful look. It would have been entirely undeserved... if she hadn’t been there when he attempted a Wronski Feint when he was nine. Or through the Animagus transformation. Or when he’d gotten in a duel with Mulciber and Avery and their friends. Or...

Okay, maybe a little deserved.

“There will come a choice,” she said, slightly dreamily. “And you’ll have to choose between blunt loyalty and sheer cleverness.”

“Can you see what I should choose?” he asked, a shiver down his spine. For a second, he thought he smelled the sea, mixing with the smoke from the fires.

“Just the choice,” she said, after a long moment. “There is always just the choice.”

v. rhaenys tully, lady of riverrun

Aegon did not understand, when she smiled as Father told her who she would wed.

The princess, no, not that one, the Dornish one, as if they meant to say the lesser one, though Rhaenys was Father’s favorite, though she was cleverer than Aegon with people, and better at sums to boot, and was much more practical than Daenerys. As if Father had not told her that he would have made her Princess of Dragonstone if he could, that she would have been an excellent queen, but the only way that would have worked would have been over the corpses of Aegon, Viserys, and Daenerys. And even then, she’d probably find herself tied to the Baratheons.

Rhaenys would not have wanted to be Queen- she liked the work, trying to find solutions, but she did not enjoy being around presses of people, preferring the quiet. Her cousins had teased her for it, once, but they stopped soon enough when they realized that she was still good at practical things.

(Occasionally those practical things were jokes.)

But for Aegon to die? No, never. That couldn’t happen.

She watched as her parents paraded young unmarried lords and ladies for her brother and herself. (Viserys was set to wed Shyra Hall, the cool, steady lady of Haystack Hall, who had rendered him completely undignified. It was quite entertaining. Daenerys was still uncertain, but she suspected if her aunt met a pretty young lord the King and Queen would listen. Baelor Brightsmile had a son about Rhaenys’ age, after all.)

Lord Brandon Stark’s son was nice enough, but closer to Dany’s age, and Aegon was clearly fascinated with his sister. Who seemed... sweet? Up until you realized how terribly capable she was of remembering things about people, and after a few years with Mother, the naivete would mellow into sincerity. 

(Also, the boy was clearly smitten with Lady Jeyne Westerling, who did need a good husband and wouldn’t find the North too much of a challenge.)

There had been others, including a rather... memorable one from the Tyrells, and Rhaenys had slipped off into the garden for a moment to try and calm herself. (Aegon had found a lady who was acceptable, and Rhaenys could perhaps live in Sunspear with Arianne and keep the accounts.)

“Hullo?” came a voice. “Is anyone here?”

She froze.

“I got turned around a bit,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “I just need to get back inside.”

Blue and red, with fish, she thought. Plus the resemblance to Lady Catelyn and her daughter, therefore, Lord Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun. 

“The roses have overgrown a bit from that angle,” she called. “It hides the door.”

“I could make a jape about roses and entrances,” Lord Edmure said, warmly, “but it seems a bit rude.” 

“As Lady Olenna was terribly rude about my mother’s health,” Rhaenys started, before biting off her words. She did like Lord Willas, and more to the point, Allyria deeply liked Lord Willas, and she would not make her friend’s life harder. 

“Ah, not terribly tactful, that woman,” Lord Edmure said, coming close enough. Could he see her? She wasn’t quite sure- the garden had been designed with Lady Shiera in mind, and tended to play tricks on the eye. “Made a similar comment about my father.”

“I am sorry to hear that, my lord,” Rhaenys said. “My brother and I begged tales of the Ninepenny Kings off your father and uncle when last they were in the city, and they were kind to two ill-behaved children.”

“Well, he had three,” Lord Edmure shrugged. “Maybe not Cat, but Lysa and I. Plus Petyr.” He rounded the corner, and his eyes widened. “And I was supposed to say the princess could never be ill-behaved, wasn’t I?”

She laughed while he went red as his tunic. “Oh, my lord, my mother would call you a wretched liar if you did.” She waved toward the garden entrance. “There is a hallway there, if you would like to make a discreet re-entry?”

“Discreet would be good,” he said, nodding a bit. “Shall I see you at the feast?”

“I will be delighted,” she said, surprised that she was being truthful in that answer.

Though she still had to brave the crowds, at least she knew there was another friendly face.