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quillpunk: screenshot of Luca (making a disgusted, scheming expression) from the webcomic The Villainess Flips the Script (luca1)
[personal profile] quillpunk
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Characters/Relationships: Ronon Dex/Rodney McKay
Category: M/M
Rating: Teen
Additional Tags: AU - Canon Divergence
Wordcount: 1635
Chapters: 1/1
Status: Complete
Published: 2023-10-22
Archived on: AO3, SQWA

Summary: "I would offer my help," Ronon says, voice gruff and head tilted. "If I thought it'd be accepted."

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate Atlantis and am making no money off this.

Author's Note: it's been too long since i last watched SGA. i should fix that :D also realized in the middle of writing this i'm not actually sure who's taller than who in SGA, but decided to just roll with it, lol

Fic )
quillpunk: screenshot of Rue (blushing and happy)from the webcomic The Villainess Flips the Script (rue1)
[personal profile] quillpunk

Multi-Chapter Fic

  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: 盗墓笔记重启 | The Lost Tomb Reboot (TV)
  • Relationship: Liu Sang/Wu Xie/Zhang Qiling,Wu Xie/Zhang Qiling, Wang Pangzi & Wu Xie & Zhang Qiling
  • Characters: Wang Pangzi, Wu Xie, Zhang Qiling, Liu Sang
  • Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Rumors, Threesome - M/M/M
  • Status: Ongoing
  • Chapters: 1/35
  • Wordcount: 2016
  • Published on AO3: 2022-03-21

Notes: this fic exists for one (1) reason

the idea of wu erbai spending years hearing rumors about his nephew and this Random Person™ being super in love is hilarious to me. even more hilarious; wu erbai hasn't been able to confirm it one way or another because liu sang always pretends to misunderstand, or like he's listening to vital information and thus "sorry, I missed what you said"'s him every time. and wu xie? wu xie won't talk to him about his love life!

so wu erbai goes years with these rumors, and then, finally, he sees wu xie and liu sang in the same room together! time to catch liu sang in his lies (bc he never really believed them, it's not like he doesn't know wu xie is smitten with xhang qiling, okay). and then. then.

wu xie. stares like an idiot. and just—is so fucking obviously in love with liu sang.

the second wu erbai is out that tent, he's texting wu xie's parents.

they can finally use their Wedding Plan™!

Disclaimer: I do not own 盗墓笔记重启 or any associated trademarks.


Table of Contents

C1 † [C2] † [C3] † [C4] † [C5] † [C6] † [C7] † [C8] † [C9] † [C10] † † [C11] † [C12] † [C13] † [C14] † [C15] † [C16] † [C17] † [C18] † [C19] † [C20] † [C21] † [C22] † [C23] † [C24] † [C25] †

Summary

Liu Sang is alone. He has no backup, no connections, no safety net. And in the tomb raiding business, that's never a good thing. So in order to buy himself a somewhat safe position, where he won't be seen as expendable, he begins a rumor that he's dating Wu Xie.

Wu Xie, after all, is the perfect person for the role; he's from a wealthy and influential family, is legendary in the business, and is close friends with Liu Sang's idol. More importantly, he's famously distanced himself from tomb raiding and likely won't ever hear of the rumor. This means that for years, while Liu Sang builds up his own connections and reputation, he has some measure of safety.

And then he shows up at a tomb raid, hired by Wu Erbai (already a risk in itself, but the man has never said anything about the rumor) to find that Wu Xie (and Liu Sang's idol) is there.

...Shit.

quillpunk: screenshot of Rue (blushing and happy)from the webcomic The Villainess Flips the Script (rue1)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M, Gen
  • Fandom: Naruto
  • Relationship: Mizuki & Uchiha Sasuke
  • Characters: Mizuki, Uchiha Sasuke
  • Additional Tags: Kidfic, Accidental Found Family, Manipulation, Destroying Military Dictatorships for Fun and Profit!, Worldbuilding, Politics, Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence, AU - Canon Divergence
  • Status: Ongoing
  • Chapters: 1/?
  • Total Wordcount: 1852
  • Published on AO3: 2022-08-18

Notes: hi. i tripped and fell back into the naruto fandom.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any associated trademarks.


Table of Contents

† [C1] † [C2] † [C3] † [C4] † [C5] † [C6] † [C7] † [C8] † [C9] † [C10] † † [C11] † [C12] † [C13] † [C14] † [C15] † [C16] † [C17] † [C18] † [C19] † [C20] † [C21] † [C22] † [C23] † [C24] † [C25] †

Summary

Mizuki has a mile-long grudge against Konoha—and is now within speaking distance with Uchiha Sasuke.

Things can only go downhill from here.

quillpunk: screenshot of langa from SK8, with a joyful expression (langa7)
[personal profile] quillpunk

Multi-Chapter Fic

  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M, Gen
  • Fandom: Love in the Air (TV 2022)
  • Relationship: Phayu/Rain
  • Characters: Phayu, Rain, Sky, Prapai
  • Additional Tags: Kidnapping, Alternate Universe - Dark, Crack,, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, it's a dark kidnapping au but it's defeated! by the power of love! and turns into silly fluff!, as fics do, Self-Indulgent, Work In Progress, Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, this is just silliness i have no explanation, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, how to fall in love in 2 days, a guide by 2 dumbasses extraordinaire, Oblivious
  • Status: Ongoing
  • Chapters: 6/25
  • Total Wordcount: 3929
  • First Published on AO3: 2022-12-01 — Last Updated: 2022-12-23

Notes: short and sweet chapters because this is purely a self-indulgent thing which means not being beholden to anyone, myself included. i'm just doing whatever.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any associated trademarks.


Table of Contents

† [C1] † [C2] † [C3] † [C4] † [C5] † [C6] † [C7] † [C8] † [C9] † [C10] † † [C11] † [C12] † [C13] † [C14] † [C15] † [C16] † [C17] † [C18] † [C19] † [C20] † [C21] † [C22] † [C23] † [C24] † [C25] †

Summary

Rain is kidnapped. Rain does not realize he's been kidnapped. Everything is fine.

Or: Phayu kidnaps the cute kid he meets in the rain, except things get needlessly complicated when he realizes that the thing he wants most of all is for Rain to be happy. And so he's forced to let him go, lest he break his spirits and destroys him. (...Rain still does not realize he was ever kidnapped. But he'd really like to know when their next date is!)

quillpunk: Yuri from Spy X Family is making a scared but determined expression (yuri1)
[personal profile] quillpunk

Multi-Cahpter Fic

  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M, Gen
  • Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
  • Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
  • Characters: Draco Malfoy, Tom Riddle | Voldemort
  • Additional Tags: Scheming, Emotional Manipulation, POV Draco Malfoy, Smart Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Sane Voldemort, Possessive Voldemort, Not So Evil Voldemort, Smitten Tom Riddle, Fluff and Humor, Falling In Love, Developing Relationship, Accidental Relationship, Work In Progress, Crack, Age Difference, Power Imbalance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence
  • Status: Ongoing
  • Chapters: 1/?
  • Total Wordcount: 3032
  • Published on AO3: 2023-03-20

Notes: this is a WIP. it is not finished and may never be finished. read at your own risk.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any associated trademarks.


Table of Contents

† [C1] † [C2] † [C3] † [C4] † [C5] †

Summary

Draco Malfoy is smart in the sense that he knows his limits and is really good at working within them, which is to say that he realizes the best chance to survive Voldemort's new war is to make himself indispensable. By convincing everybody that Lord Voldemort is in love with him, obviously.

In Draco's opinion, it's going swimmingly.

quillpunk: literally nothing. something went wrong and now it's literally nothing. (thingy)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Tight-rope (Manga)
  • Relationship: Oohara Ryuunosuke/Satoya Naoki
  • Characters: Oohara Ryuunosuke, Satoya Naoki
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, Fluff, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 1314
  • Published on AO3: 2023-05-24

Notes: For Small Fandom Fest 33, Prompt: Tight-Rope (manga/OVA), Ryuunosuke/Naoki, the members of the Oohara group/assorted yakuza having a quiet (or not) delighted, relieved party when Naoki agrees (demands) to stay with Ryuunosuke ('the next boss' impulse control swore an oath to stay forever! WOO!')

Disclaimer: I do not own Tight-rope or any associated trademarks.


Because Ryuunosuke is actually fairly predictable, he clings onto Naoki as they walk through the hallway, resting nearly his whole weight on Naoki's shoulders. Naoki, with the grace of somebody who's long since gotten used to things exactly like this, continues to walk on entirely uninterrupted. The crew of about fifty people discreetly following them step-by-step observe their every move, whispering between each other while Naoki ignores everything they say. This, too, he is fairly used to.

To put it kindly, they're not very subtle.

Naoki supposes that it makes sense; Ryuunosuke is a product of his upbringing, after all, and he must have gotten his utter lack of shame and inability to hide his feelings from somewhere. They're a lot alike, in that way—Ryuunosuke's feeling are just as loud as his dozens of 'brothers'.

As they turn a corner, there's a stampede behind them, followed by the sounds of multiple people falling on the floor and getting crushed beneath the weight of their compatriots. Naoki pinches the bridge of his nose for the briefest of seconds, his veneer of apathy momentarily breaking. Ryuunosuke tries to kiss his cheek, as they've stopped moving, and Naoki plants his hand on Ryuu's face and pushes him back. "Naoooo~" Ryuu whines in his ear, and when Naoki deigns to give him a spare moments attention, Ryuu lights up like a Christmas tree.

Naoki sighs again. "Not now," he says as somebody snaps a photo, the sound loud in the hallway, which is then followed by multiple people swearing and shushing each other. Naoki's eyebrow twitches and Ryuu blushes while giving the guys behind them a thumbs up.

They walk off again, and every single person they pass literally throws themselves out of their paths. Naoki has developed a pretty substantial eye-twitch by the time they reach a room that could be described as a common room. It's a hangout place, more than anything, and for once it's entirely devoid of people. Naoki glances at every nook and cranny but there really is nobody here and it's odd enough he murmurs, "Where is everybody, do you think?" to Ryuu.

Ryuu hums, hugging him tightly. They sit plastered together because Ryuu is still full of emotions and Naoki has learned which battles are worth fighting. "Naooo~" Ryuu lies down with his head on Naoki's lap, and Naoki brushes his fingers through the soft strands of hair. Ryuu's eyes shut, hie expression smoothing out into something resembling peace and against his wishes Naoki's heart skips a beat. It's really rather unfair, he thinks, how handsome Ryuu is. Even when he's blushing like a schoolgirl, when he's in the middle of a fight, when he's furious or when he's filled with so much joy he's bursting at the seams, he's always handsome. Unbearably so.

Sometimes, Naoki can hardly stand looking at him.

Somebody tries to sneak into the room while they're distracted, crawling along the floor until they get to a long line of cupboards along one of the walls. Naoki whistles, even though he objectively isn't any good it, to overpower the noises behind him so he can pretend that nothing is happening. His eyebrow twitches when something hits the floor, a clattering noise ringing out through the room and disturbing Ryuu's rest. Naoki closes Ryuu's eyes with his free hand, then pinches Ryuu's cheek just because he can. Ryuu pouts, but he's handsome even then so Naoki doesn't let go.

When the other noises in the room stop and the door has been shut again, Naoki exhales. He looks down at his... Ryuu. He looks down at his Ryuu and watches the eyelashes trembling, the long shadows they cast over Ryuu's cheeks, the gentle light washing over him from above. Gazes at the pink lips for a disconcertingly long moment, the movement of the eyelashes, eyes the hair falling over Ryuu's forehead.

"Nao?" Ryuu opens his eyes, gazing up at him, expression so open and trusting that Naoki aches. Down to his bones, reaching into his lungs, and he can't help but lean down and press a soft kiss to Ryuu's lips. He feels Ryuu's smile, a large hand land on his nape and pull him down further, tilting his head until the kiss is distinctly dirtier than Naoki had intended. In cold-blooded revenge, he thusly pinches Ryuu's side.

"Meanie!" Ryuu ends the kiss and pouts at him, bottom lip jutting out. It shouldn't be adorable, damn it.

Naoki says, "We should find your brothers before they do something stupid."

Ryuu rolls his eyes, pout diminishing when Naoki isn't paying him single-minded attention. "I guess," he drawls, eyebrows furrowing. But he tellingly doesn't move a muscle to get up, so Naoki rolls his eyes and pinches Ryuu's side again. This time, Ryuu does actually get up—amidst much grumbling.

"They're just throwing a party," Ryuu mutters as they head out, Naoki holding out his hand. Ryuu grins, then, grabbing it and squeezing it so tightly his bones scrape together. Naoki hides his grimace and continue to lead the way. He doesn't need to guess where the party is; there's a designated party room for all celebrations and, as expected, there's a guard on the look out who straightens when he spots them coming. He runs up to them. "Godaime!" he calls, trying to stand in their way to stall their progress.

Ryuu completely ignores him, pushing him out of the way. Naoki waves at him behind Ryuu's back, but the guy follows them all the way to the entrance. The preparations are almost done, Naoki notes. The banners are up, the alcohol is out, the cookies and cakes have been placed on a long table.

One of the guys hanging up the last banner—CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR MARRIAGE—spots them and falls off the ladder, pointing at them like they're ghosts. It is, in Naoki's humble opinion, a rather severe overreaction.

"Son," Ryuu's father pops out of nowhere, putting a hand on Ryuu's shoulder. "I'm proud of you," he says, voice grave.

"Thanks," Ryuu chirps and walks off, dragging Naoki along to the cakes. Naoki tries to bow to Ryuu's dad as he goes but it's a little difficult and admittedly he doesn't try very hard. He spots his uncle while Ryuu's feeding him red velvet cake, and his uncle gives him a teary thumbs up. Naoki stares at him with the most expressionless face he can muster but sadly his uncle actually knows him and so all he does is pull out a professional-grade camera and start snapping pictures. Naoki ignores it after a moment, attention caught by Ryuu's hand as he gets another piece of cake on the sparkling spoon.

There's movement around them and for a moment he's entirely too distracted by Ryuu to pay it any attention whatsoever, but on the third bite of cake he finally tears his gaze off Ryuu and looks at the crowd. He recognizes every single person; he's know most of them for years. There's always someone in the background when he's with Ryuu and it's only recently that they've distanced themselves more when they're in public.

"Congratulations!" someone calls, the voice lost in the cacophony of cheers around them, about four cameras recording their every move. Ryuu's father is standing by Naoki's uncle, talking quietly while Ryuu's mother hovers in the background, a glowing smile on her pretty face. Naoki even spots his mother trying to sneak into the room—and utterly failing as multiple people greet her and show off the pictures they've taken, proud smiles all around. Somebody sets off party poppers, and someone else turns on deafeningly loud music, disco ball mysteriously appearing on the ceiling.

In the end, Naoki supposes that he brought this upon himself—he is the one that drank the wine first.

And it's a bond stronger than marriage, after all.

quillpunk: screenshot of Luca (making a disgusted, scheming expression) from the webcomic The Villainess Flips the Script (luca1)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Naruto (Anime/Manga)
  • Relationship: Hatake Sakumo/Orochimaru, Orochimaru & Original Characters
  • Characters: Orochimaru, Sarutobi Hiruzen, Original Characters, ANBU Root
  • Additional Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Accidental Power Acquisition, Accidental Orochimary Redemption, Implied/Referenced Human Experimentation
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 3863
  • Published on AO3: 2017-11-27

Notes: One of the first things I posted on AO3 XD

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any associated trademarks.


It began kind of like this:

Takahashi Yu was five years old when his parents died. Soon after, he was left at Konoha's orphanage, just one of dozens of children whose parents had been lost to war. His parents had both been tokubetsu jounin, good enough at their chosen specialties to be sent to the frontline, but not good enough to survive. They were both from civilian families and Yu had no-one once they were gone. At five years old, it seemed like the end of the world.

Once he was six, he started at the shinobi academy together with almost all of the other orphans his age. He didn't excel and he didn't particularly stand out, being painfully average in almost everything. Everything but genjutsu, that is.

It seemed that he'd inherited his mother's talent with it.

He was nine when he graduated from the academy just slightly above average, never able to succeed enough to truly stand out.

He was never given a team.

By the time he was ten, Takahashi Yu had ceased to exist. Instead there was 104, a shinobi working for Root who had already started taking assassination missions.

(Except it didn't start like that.)

No, maybe it was more like this:

At eight years old, Shun was already a veteran of Root. It was where he grew up, everything he knew. He could make his way through the base blindfolded (had done so before actually) and knew every single rule that was to be followed like the back of his hand. Lately though, lately, he'd found himself starting to doubt them. He'd gotten a roommate.

Jun was two years younger then him, a girl and had just completed her training.

She was bright-eyed and had a sense of innocence about her that confused him. She listened to every word he said like he was her superior and followed behind his every step. She liked flowers because they reminded her of her mother—who was sick in the hospital and Shun found himself wondering what exactly a mother did—and she had two younger brothers who both idolized her as well as a father that was a retired jounin. She'd joined Root because Danzo-sama promised he would pay for her mother's treatment.

She died exactly three years, two months and five days after she became his roommate on her ninth mission when she protected her teammate instead of retreating.

Suddenly, their (his) room was terribly empty. Suddenly, he couldn't look at Danzo-sama when he gave his reports anymore. Suddenly, he found himself carefully observing the shinobi whose life she'd saved, for the first time in years feeling anger when it didn't seem to have mattered to them. Suddenly, he got a weird feeling in his chest whenever he saw the new recruits. Suddenly, things were different.

Shun met Orochimaru of the Sannin for the first time at age thirteen.

(No, no, this isn't it either. Rewind a bit more and perhaps... yes, something like this.)

Kira was a civilian before she was recruited for Root.

She grew up in the red lights district, her mother dead by the time she was four from disease and her father unknown. She had no siblings or close friends, no-one that would miss her should she suddenly go missing and was young enough that she could still be shaped into something useful, even if she was to old to be accepted at the academy for ninjas. All of this made her ideal and she was twelve when she moved into the base below the Hokage mountain.

She didn't leave it for eighteen months.

When she finally did, it was without a name, just a number, a katana in her hand and a mission that she could not fail.

She failed.

Failed, failed, failed.

(It was such an ugly word, how had she never realized that before?)

She returned to the base without the scroll she had been sent to retrieve, bloodied and sore and filled with a fear she had been taught not to acknowledge. There was a limp when she walked, a hitch in her breath that pointed towards broken ribs and somewhere along the way, she'd lost her katana.

She reported her failure to Danzo-sama, of course she did, and it was the first time she didn't resent him, when he told her that he still had a use for her.

Four days later, healed but for the bruises, she reported to her new superior in a smaller base and watched with a detached sort of curiosity as Orochimaru—of the Sannin and even she had heard of him and his legendary team—cut someone open on a metal table, pulled them apart and put them back together again.

She was fifteen when she once again became Kira.

(Hmm... better, but not good enough. How about this?)

Matsumoto Naoki was painfully shy, even at eleven.

He never looked anyone in the eyes, was never within touching distance and his looks were generic, brown hair, tanned skin and grey eyes. His genin team didn't know what to make of him and their teacher didn't have the time to solve anything personal as they were scouts. Both his parents were still alive and in good health.

Naoki was of no special interest to anyone, much less Shimura Danzo.

Then he returned three weeks late from a standard mission that had devolved into a good old-fashioned ambush by Iwa, dragging the dead body of his jounin sensei behind him.

Interrogation by T&I revealed that he had a passive Bloodline Limit, one that kept anything that effected the mind from working on him. The team of Iwa shinobi that had killed his team had used ninjutsu to make them fight amongst themselves and in the end, their sensei had killed himself to keep from hurting his students. It hadn't helped, Naoki's teammates were still dead and their bodies in possession of Iwa.

Within a month, his parents were dead and he had been relocated to Root's base. All knowledge of his Bloodline Limit had been erased and Naoki had been left with Orochimaru for the purpose of figuring out if his Kekkei Genkai could be transferred to fellow Konoha Shinobi.

(Closer, closer, closer. Now turn it this way.)

There was a lump in his throat every time he tried to swallow.

Hotaru—formerly Yuki, formerly Nai, formerly Mikoto—was five months into his infiltration mission of Yugakure when he was recalled. There hadn't been anything of interest to report, Yugakure was still in the process of turning into a tourist spot, still trying to leave the ninja stuff behind them to the disgust of its shinobi. The only logical reason for him to be recalled was a new mission or his disposal. He didn't think he'd outlived his usefulness, but then again, he couldn't follow the way Danzo-sama thought. At twenty years old, he knew that knowing to much of Root was dangerous business because it meant you became a liability and he'd worked hard to never interact with his comrades enough to know anything sensitive.

Still, there was the lingering thought that he'd done something wrong, heard something he wasn't supposed to and now he would be gotten rid of.

Nonetheless, he made his way to the facility marked on the map he'd been given, determined to follow whatever order he got.

Once there, he was let in by a Root member and shown to a large open room in which there were many many containers with people in a faintly glowing green liquid just floating inside, all of them different ages, but most of them younger then him. Not a sound escaped him as he memorized everything he saw, certain that this would be part of his mission. He didn't try to deny what he saw, didn't feel any need to free them, didn't start planning to spill this secret to the Hokage.

It was a mission and it didn't matter how immoral a normal shinobi of Konoha would call it.

Hotaru was a part of Root, had been for over a decade. He'd done his fair share of assassination missions though his specialty was infiltration and sabotage if the situation demanded it. He lost whatever shred of morality he still had when he killed his only friend in Root on Danzo-sama's order.

After several long minutes of waiting, the door he had entered through was opened once again, this time letting in a girl younger than him but with the hardness to her that everyone in Root, regardless of age, shared. She took in everything about him, from his long black hair to his nondescript kimono and blue eyes. Her gaze laid on his chest for just a second, clearly wondering on his gender, but like any Root shinobi, not considering it anything of importance. His last two missions had both been spent playing a girl and perhaps he'd gotten just a little too into character, as he hadn't left his nice (but still practical, the was important) clothes behind for his uniform like he should have.

The girl didn't waste any time.

"You have been relocated to Orochimaru-sama's command. Your new mission is to travel the Elemental Countries in search of young people with potential, no-one over the age of seventeen. Once found, you are to either kidnap them and bring them here forcefully, or convince them to come on their own violation. Preferably those with Bloodline Limits, but it is not a must. Make sure they have no-one too interested in them that could start asking questions. If they are a shinobi or not, as well as age, gender and nationality are of no importance. Do you understand?"

"Understood." Hotaru stated emotionlessly.

(Yes, yes, yes, just a little more.)

Itou Reiko was one week into her training as a member of Root when she was transferred from the Base to a facility at the outskirts of Konohagakure no Sato.

At twelve years old, she was a late graduate of the shinobi academy from a minor shinobi clan. Her clan, as small as they were, had survived the various wars on their specific style of Kenjutsu and she was no different. She was excellent at her clan techniques, having practiced them since she had learned how to walk, but average at everything else. Root was a chance to make her family proud.

Her last chance.

The facility she was transferred to was smaller than the base, but still far bigger then she would expect under a village. It was made up of winding hallways and large open rooms. The shinobi that showed her the way (Shun, the only ninja of Root that hadn't looked at her funny when she asked for their name) pointed out the different locations and made it clear that she was to practice with the shinobi in the base until she was at an acceptable level, at which point she'd be assigned to guard duty together with him.

She was to report directly to Orochimaru—and only Orochimaru—and keep everything she witnessed or heard strictly secret. Failure to do so would result in her being transferred out and relocated for additional training. And after the hell her first week had been, that wasn't something she looked forward to.

Finally, she was shown to the study in which Orochimaru-sama was.

Orochimaru wasn't like she'd pictured him. After all the stories her parents and peers had told her, she'd expected greasy hair, pale yellowing skin and creepy demonic eyes. What she saw was a woman or man wearing a grey yukata, with graceful black hair twisted into a bun at the back of the head, beautiful golden eyes and pretty pale skin. There was nothing monstrous about him and she wondered how her comrades could have gotten it so wrong.

(Now go back to the beginning and try again.)

Orochimaru was twenty-six, almost thirty, when he was finally entirely alone in his village. His team was gone, scattered to the wind and his sensei could barely bear to look at him anymore. The villagers, both shinobi and civilians alike, avoided him and hurried out of his way.

There was a hole in his chest where his heart should be.

Danzo pushed all of the right buttons.

Within a week, he was presented with a facility he controlled, with state of the art labs and the best equipment available. Test subjects followed within another.

Subordinates followed after.

Orochimaru was used to being feared and despised for his actions and lack of reactions. He was used to being looked on as something unknown, something dangerous. He was used to being discarded as human, underestimated because he looked beautiful rather than handsome. He was used to being pushed aside, left behind and forgotten. It was bewildering, the way these subordinates didn't.

They didn't give him any looks of contempt, of suspicion. There were no whispering words behind his back, no blunt words of dislike and distrust to his face. No withering looks or refusal to obey orders simply because he was the one giving them.

It was the first time in his life that anyone had ever respected him.

Even when the experiments failed, some in truly gruesome ways, they never turned away from him. They did their duty, handed him the tools he asked for, disposed of the bodies as he instructed, and never once did their facial expressions betray them. There was no disgust in their eyes as they looked at him work, no sympathy for the test subjects, no reactions at all. They did their jobs and they did them well.

Orochimaru was stunned by it.

He found himself remembering their names and what they looked like. He helped them train once in a while, when he had nothing else to do. Even Naoki, shy sweet Naoki, was treated with a gentleness he had never afforded his experiments before. It wasn't so much that he had changed, because he was just as cruel as he always had been on the battlefield, just as merciless, just as hard to understand by normal people. But the members of Root could never be classified as normal. They were just as broken, just as wrong, as he was. It made him connect with them in a way he never had with anyone before.

He was selfish and cruel and no-one in their right mind would ever accept him for who he was. Making connections (tentative ones) with like-minded people was something everyone strove to do, and something he had never been able to. He was possessive of what he considered his and that was what his subordinates were. His. His to mold, his to train, his to kill.

Orochimaru found himself gradually starting to relax as Hotaru dropped off both recruits and budding test subjects, he got used to the way Kira was always following him around, keeping careful note of everything he did. Yu, constantly hiding in shadows and darkness, only ever emerging when one of the subjects managed to get loose and killing them.

Life wasn't perfect—Sensei still couldn't look at him and his suspicion mounted every day—but it was as good as it was ever going to get. From time to time, a Root member was transferred in or out and Orochimaru sometimes visited the main base, because when this was all discovered (they lived in a shinobi village, of course it was going to be discovered) Orochimaru was going to bring as many people down with him as possibly he could.

It probably wasn't a good life or even a halfway-decent one, but it was all Orochimaru was ever going to get. He just didn't expect that Root members had a tendency to get... attached.

(Good, good, but that's not all. Try and see the bigger picture.)

Root was a collection of emotionally traumatized people who were conditioned to be loyal to Danzo over the village. The missions they ran both helped and ruined things for Konoha, every action they took bringing them closer to war. They were loyal, they were killers and they were shadows. The only purpose they had was Danzo-sama's orders.

But Danzo didn't practice what he preached.

They were to be emotionless soldiers that could only kill, but Danzo never once attempted to rid himself of his own emotions. They were to be perfect beings that prioritized the village and mission above all else, but Danzo disregarded the Hokage's words as that of a fool's and never listened. Moreover, Danzo didn't pay them much attention once they'd finished their training. He picked favorites and killed off those that he deemed threats, but otherwise he barely even looked at them.

He was arrogant and a warmonger and maybe he was a good shinobi, but he wasn't very good at loyalty. Much less loyalty to the army he had built and then proceeded to discard.

Root members were taught to stand in the shadows and observe, never to let anyone know they were there. Naturally, they knew the value of information. Orochimaru was an unknown variable, one that would be the superior of some and the target of others. It was only natural for them to learn everything about him.

In the process, they discovered something more.

It wasn't that they were suddenly less loyal to Danzo-sama or that they doubted their cause. It wasn't that they had thoughts of spilling secrets to the village proper. It was that Orochimaru was a good teacher and he was less than normal and made no excuses. He knew he was dangerous and didn't bother to pretend he wasn't like Danzo-sama. When a few of them gathered up the resolve to ask him questions, they got honest answer and when he helped them train, they always improved. In the end, he was everything Danzo-sama had wanted them to be, emotionless and willing to do whatever was necessary for Konoha.

So they observed him, watched him, noted down how he acted and studied his every move. They found flaws and perfections and things that didn't make any sense, like they way he was treated by the villagers—and shinobi—he protected. The shift wasn't instantaneous nor fast and it didn't really change things. It was just that Orochimaru was like them in a way Danzo-sama wasn't and that... changed things.

Root members were to stay in the shadows. They were conditioned to be loyal to Danzo before the village, but Danzo never returned the favor. But Orochimaru was loyal and a genius with a brilliant mind that had nothing against helping them train. Orochimaru listened to what they said and had nothing against it when they claimed names of their own.

In the end, something had to break.

(Ah, we're almost there.)

It began kind of like this:

Orochimaru was an outcast in his own village, one he had sworn to protect in an era fraught with wars and dangers. He was lured (not really) by Danzo to become a member of Root, where he would be allowed to do whatever experiments he wanted, as long as they were for the good of Konoha. His team had left him behind a long time ago and he had nothing left to hold onto. Root members were fragile in the most unexpected of ways and as the months and eventual years passed with Orochimaru in their midst, they shifted and changed and became something more.

It was Orochimaru they went to when they had problems, when they needed help and it was his ideals (as twisted as they were) that they adopted. And in the end, something had to break.

They were to sabotage a mission run by Hatake Sakumo, one of the best jounin's of Konoha and spread malicious rumors about him when he failed it. It would break him and as close to war as they were, that wasn't something Konoha could get away with unscathed. It was a problem they had never encountered before. Loyalty to Danzo was supposed to be before all, but they had learned loyalty to Konoha's best from Orochimaru. They settled it like they did all problems they had.

They asked Orochimaru.

Distracted as he was by the experiments he was running (he'd succeeded with transplanting the Mokuton on a boy Kira called Tenzo) Orochimaru wasn't listening to what they were saying. He heard Hatake and loyalty and problem and sabotage and in the end, all he mumbled about in response was, "Talk to the Hokage."

It was a course of action they never would have taken on their own.

In the end, something had to break.

(And so came the last page.)

In the middle of the briefing for Hatake Sakumo's next mission in the Hokage's office, the room was invaded by three ANBU members wearing masks the Hokage didn't recognize.

Instead of attacking, they took off their masks. What followed was an explanation of the mission given to them by Danzo-sama and Sarutobi found himself frozen in his seat as he was confronted by his old teammates actions. He'd suspected, but to think it was true... it pointed to a horrifying image. After the explanation was finished and Sarutobi had asked all the questions he immediately wanted to, he put out his pipe, leaned back on his chair and asked them, "Why tell me this now? I assume this is against Danzo's orders."

They looked at him as if they did not understand the question. The one in the middle, a girl that couldn't be older then fifteen, answered, "Because Orochimaru-sama told us to."

(Think of it as an epilogue.)

It ended kind of like this:

Orochimaru was summoned to the Hokage's office on his way home and when he arrived, it was to the presence of a grim faced Sarutobi Hiruzen and a Hatake Sakumo that somehow had something like relief and gratefulness in his eyes. After that, there were many meetings and interrogations and questions that he answered to the best of his ability while painting Danzo in the worst possible light he could, because he could be petty as well.

The fact that Sarutobi-sensei didn't stop him told him exactly how angry he was.

While Shimura Danzo was detained and later executed, Orochimaru was presented with a new office in the Hokage tower, bewildered and unable to understand what was happening. Root members were being questioned left and right and went from struggling to cooperating at an approving look from Orochimaru and Sarutobi just ended up more convinced that he'd failed his student and didn't know him at all.

Two weeks later, the door to Orochimaru's new office was blown wide open as a beaming Hatake bounced through the doorway, dragging behind him a tiny miniature with flyaway silver hair.

With another grin and a tug at a small resisting hand, Hatake Sakumo opened his mouth and demanded, with his eyes crinkled in delight, "Come to dinner with us. I need to thank you for preventing my mission to fail disastrously and Kakashi is a big fan of yours."

In the end, something had to break.

quillpunk: digital portrait sketch of an imaginary guy who might or might not (not) be me (Default)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Bleach (Anime/Manga)
  • Relationship: Urahara Kisuke/Kurosaki Ichigo
  • Characters: Urahara Kisuke, Kurosaki Ichigo
  • Additional Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Non-Linear Narrative, Dorks in Love, Accidental Relationship, Didn't Know They Were Dating
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 3574
  • Published on AO3: 2020-05-27

Notes: For UraIchi Week 2020 Day 5 — Accidental Dating

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any associated trademarks.


(The kiss was soft. Ichigo closed his eyes and felt the warmth on his lips. He breathed in through his nose and his hands gripped Kisuke's hair and hip. Slowly, the kiss turned even softer and chaster, until they were just standing still. Leaning back, Ichigo scowled at Kisuke, "You almost made me drop my cup."

"I caught it," Kisuke murmured back. Kisuke pressed his face into Ichigo's neck and breathed out. The gust of air made Ichigo shiver and he let out a quiet breath of laughter.

"Next time, give me a warning," Ichigo mumbled back.

"Oh, so there'll be a next time?" Kisuke pressed his lips to Ichigo's neck and bit down gently. Ichigo smiled, and didn't answer.

There was no need to.)

The sound of soft music filled the air. Ichigo blinked when he stepped through the door to the Shoten, a furrow to his brow as he looked around curiously. There was nobody in the front half of the store, and Ichigo softly moved through, surprised to find that he recognized the music. A song his mother had loved, one that she had played on repeat so many times that he could still hum along. When he reached the door to the rest of the house, he toed off his shoes and switched to the indoor ones he had left behind a while ago. He couldn't remember when, but it didn't matter.

Slowly he moved toward the source of the music. He stepped lightly on the floorboards, his finger trailing along the walls as nostalgia gripped him. He could almost see his mother dancing, twirling around in front of him, a happy smile on her face.

Blinking, he twisted around the corner, stepping into the light of the kitchen.

"Ichigo-kun!" Kisuke smiled up at him and rose from his seat by the table. "What do you think?" he asked, pointing to the... thing on the table.

Ururu smiled cautiously at Ichigo from the other side, a spoon in her hands half-way up to her mouth. Ichigo smiled back at her and stepped forward, settling himself down next to Kisuke by the table. "It looks poisonous."

"Wha—? How could you, after I put in all that effort to make it from scratch, just to celebrate your birthday?!" Kisuke dramatically swiped away fake tears from his cheeks and sniffled exaggeratedly.

Ichigo shrugged and gripped the cake-knife. He carefully took a piece of the cake, figuring that it couldn't possibly be any worse than Inoue's creations. They hadn't killed him yet, so he doubted this would. Besides, Kisuke wouldn't serve it to the kids if it weren't safe.

He put his plate with his piece of cake down in front of him on the table and picked up a spoon. Sniffing it, he took a bite and ate it, heedless of the funny faces Ururu was making at him.

It wasn't as bad as he had feared.

He hummed, "Good."

Then he ate another piece and ignored Kisuke wailing next to him about not letting him prepare enough. Ichigo let it go in one ear and out the other, grateful that he didn't have to spend his first birthday since losing his powers alone. It was bad enough on a normal day, his father exhaustingly focused on not mentioning anything having to do with shinigami and tiptoeing around him. Karin, running off to train at every chance and his friends all leaving him behind.

With the spoon in his mouth, he watched as Kisuke rose to his feet and barreled out of the kitchen. He looked, confused, at Ururu and she simply stared guilelessly back at him. Rising an eyebrow, Ichigo pulled out the spoon and drank a deep gulp of tea, grimacing at the sticky taste it left in his mouth.

"Did he make this?" Ichigo asked Ururu.

She shyly nodded.

Ichigo took another sip of tea, needing something to wash the dry cake down his throat with. "Where are the others? I didn't see them coming in," he remarked and looked around the kitchen again, as if they would magically appear.

"There's a Hollow," Ururu squeaked out and sank back in her seat, trying to make herself smaller.

Ichigo looked down at the table and carefully put the plate and spoon down. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, ignoring the voice at the back of his mind that insisted he was being left behind. Battling Hollows had nothing to do with him now, now that he had no powers to do so with. But he couldn't' shake the feeling if only someone tried, he could be useful. He had fought so many of them, so many powerful ones, surely that knowledge would be useful to somebody.

But nobody had ever asked.

He opened his eyes again and did his best to smile kindly at Ururu, even though he thought it probably went badly, and said, "I hope they're safe."

He could hear the sound of Kisuke's footsteps coming back toward the kitchen. Ichigo sat up straight and picked up the cake again, cutting a careful piece with his spoon and shoving it back into his mouth just as Kisuke rounded the corner into the kitchen. Kisuke stood still for a moment, his eyes drifting over the whole room, before he focused on Ichigo and skipped over, sitting down right next to him and holding out a gift-wrapped present.

"Here!" Kisuke waved it in front of Ichigo's face and Ichigo popped the spoon out of his mouth.

He grabbed the gift and murmured, "Thank you."

Then he put it down on the table and sipped his tea again.

Ichigo ignored the way that Kisuke almost immediately started to pout and sulk, his body slumping down next to Ichigo and leaning over to get a piece of cake for himself. He ignored the way that Ururu stared at them, as if there was some great puzzle she was trying to solve. He ignored the warmth and the touch that he had found himself getting increasingly used to since the disaster that was that last fight against Aizen.

Instead he finished eating his cake and not until after he had drunk the last of the tea did he finally pick up the present again. He turned it over in his hands, shaking it softly to see if he could hear any loose bits.

It was small, about the size of his palm, the square box hard in his grip. The bright neon pink wrapping paper and the golden bow sitting on the top of the box were both crooked and scratched, obviously not wrapped by a store employee. Ichigo turned it over again in his grip and pretended as if Kisuke wasn't staring at him in anticipation of his reaction. He gently took off the bow that had simply been glued to the paper and put it down on the table, careful not to damage it. Then he started unwrapping the box.

When he finally managed to untangle the four layers of paper the box was entangled in, Ichigo was left with a simple, classy black box about the hight of an inch. He pulled the lid off and stared down at the gift.

It was a necklace. A simple silver chain, with no additions of any kind.

Carefully, Ichigo pulled it out and held it up in the air in front of him. It wasn't very long, he doubted that it would hang very far. It was thin, the chain hardly weighing anything at all. Ichigo moved it over in his hands until his fingers touched upon the clasp, and then he pulled it open. He knew how these things worked, his sisters had never gone to their father with issues like this.

Pulling the chain around his neck, he clasped it back together behind his head.

"Thank you," he said and smiled at Kisuke.

("Did you know?" Kisuke asked one evening. Ichigo looked over at him, the stars and the moon shining down on them where they sat on the porch, their legs dangling over the edge.

"Know what?"

"That you would lose your powers."

Ichigo looked back up at the sky, the stars twinkling back at him. He took a deep breath, the scent of fresh air surrounding him, before he looked back at Kisuke. Kisuke, who's hat shadowed his face so that Ichigo couldn't see his eyes. Kisuke, who had a harsh grip on his fan in his lap. Kisuke, whose body was angled away from Ichigo.

"...It doesn't matter.")

His friends never talked to him anymore. They were too busy, they had Hollows to fight. They had people to protect. He understood, but it itched at him, that he was one of those people who depended on their protection. It hurt, that they could leave him behind so easily. His family never spoke about anything that had happened and after the third time his father ran away yelling "lalalala!" when he tried to broach the subject, Ichigo stopped talking about it too.

The only one who was still there, who hadn't walked away from him, was Kisuke and to a lesser extent, the other's at the Urahara Shoten. But it was Kisuke that Ichigo spent time with, when the absence of his powers and zanpakutou and even his Hollow was just too much.

It was Kisuke that Ichigo went to, when he couldn't sleep because of his nightmares.

When he felt like he couldn't breathe.

When he was unable to focus on anything.

It was Kisuke who was there for him, when Ichigo needed someone to lean on.

Therefore, when Kisuke wanted to go to the cinema and watch a shitty Hollywood movie that even from the trailer wasn't very good... Ichigo went with him. Kisuke paid for the tickets and Ichigo took care of the snacks, and then they entered the theater together. The lights were still on when they entered so they quickly found their seats and settled down in the middle of the room.

The lights dimmed not long after they sat down and Ichigo scooted around in his seat until he sat comfortably. He had a bucket of popcorn in his right hand and a coke in the other. By his left side sat Kisuke who was busy crunching on his own popcorn. As the lights dimmed even further again, the large screen (projector?) turned on and commercials started running. While they waited for the actual movie to start, Ichigo fished out his phone and made sure his sisters knew where he was in case they needed him.

They wouldn't, but it made him feel better.

His hand squeezed around the phone before he slowly relaxed it again and carefully turned it off. He put it back in his pocket and leaned back on his chair again.

"Problem?" Kisuke asked, only to immediately start sucking on his own straw.

Ichigo frowned. "No..."

Ichigo popped a popcorn into his mouth and bit down on it, hearing it crunch loudly. His eyes stayed on the front of the room as the logos of the movie's makers appeared on screen and he forced his mind to focus on it. It was fine. His sisters were growing up, this was a good thing. They would be able to protect themselves.

That was all he wanted. For them to be safe.

The movie started and the title flashed on screen. Ichigo resolved that he was being petty and he should feel happy for them. He wasn't going to think about it anymore.

"Oooh, I love this director," Kisuke mumbled around his straw, and when Ichigo glanced over, he saw his eyes were big with delight. His hat was on his lap instead of on his hat and Ichigo couldn't stop himself from taking another look. It was such a rare thing to see. It was almost a shock and Ichigo's eyes strayed over Kisuke's face, from his floppy hair to his straight nose to his lips down to his stubble.

Ichigo's eyes stayed there a moment too long before the loud sound of someone talking made him shift his attention to the screen again. The camera was focused on a crying dark-haired woman and Ichigo wondered what had happened to lead up to that point.

Belatedly, he answered Kisuke, "I've never seen anything by this director before."

"Mou, Ichigo-kun, that's just sad."

He could feel the warmth of Kisuke's body against his arm as Kisuke leaned closer to him and pressed their arms together. Ichigo pretended as if he didn't notice, as if he didn't know why Kisuke would do that — Kisuke played at being touchy-feely, but he never actually got close to anyone. Ichigo guessed that it must be an attempt to comfort him, just like going to the theater was.

But that didn't meant that Ichigo was going to deny the comfort and ease that Kisuke brought with him every time that they met. When he wasn't getting paid to participate in club's, Ichigo spent most of his time at the Shoten, content to just be in Kisuke's presence.

They rarely did anything more complicated than playing cards together — going to the cinema was an anomaly — but it was that simplicity that Ichigo craved so much.

After everything that had gone down with Aizen, everything that had happened both before and after, he needed to do normal things. More importantly, he needed to do normal things with a person that didn't flat out deny that those abnormal things had happened and was a reality. Kisuke left him alone when Ichigo came over, and they only talked about it when Ichigo brought it up, but they did talk about. And slowly, as more time passed and he got more used to Kisuke's presence, they had started to talk about it more. About Ulquiorra and Starrk and Grimmjow.

Kisuke listened. And Ichigo was self-aware to realize that he needed that.

Somebody who listened to him.

On the screen, someone ran desperately after a car. Ichigo was once again lost on how they reached this point, but he paid attention anyway. By his side, Kisuke let out a muffled laugh when the car chaser fell down. Ichigo's lips twitched into a small smile and he pressed his arm back slightly at Kisuke's.

("Have you ever wished upon a shooting star?" Kisuke asked out of the blue. They were playing a round of Go Fish in the early morning. Ichigo had woken up an hour ago from nightmares, unable to go back to sleep, and he had been joined shortly thereafter by Kisuke. He didn't know if this meant that Kisuke had woken up in order to keep him company of if Kisuke had already been awake, but regardless, he appreciated the company.

The sun had just risen over the horizon, they had seen it reach in through the kitchen window, and the silence of the new morning was calming. Ichigo pretended like he didn't notice the way that Kisuke periodically looked over him, as if to make sure he was okay and wasn't about to have a breakdown.

Ichigo had already had his breakdown.

"Yeah," he answered. "Why?"

"Nothing. Just wondered." Kisuke responded. Then he grinned cheekily at Ichigo and said, "Sixes?"

"...Here.")

It was a beautiful day for a picnic. The sun was shining, birds were chirping and the grass was green. Ururu and Jinta were both delighted to be out of the store, running around the park like it was going to disappear any minute now. Tessai sat stoically on the picnic blanket next to the basket half-full of food, reading a romance novel. Kisuke was in the middle of playing a game on his phone while Ichigo sat back with his back against a tree, resting with his eyes closed.

He could hear Tessai turn the pages of his book, the laughter of children, the sound of Kisuke swearing as his character died in the game yet again. Ichigo kept his eyes shut, the warmth of the sunlight unmistakeable on his skin. A leaf fell on his hand and he curled it around it, his fingers gently feeling along the edges of it. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the half-crushed red leaf in his palm. He frowned and let it go. It drifted gently with the wind, curling around in the air and settling on a root of the tree he was leaning against. Ichigo sighed and directed his gaze to Kisuke, watching his hands frantically moving over the phone.

"Almost, almost, almost, almost—" Kisuke kept repeating. "I've almost got—I'm dead."

Kisuke put the phone down on his lap and looked down on it, a pout on his lips he would probably deny till his death. Ichigo couldn't quite contain his amusement and he turned his face away so that Kisuke wouldn't see him laughing at him. Ichigo would never hear the end of it.

Ururu ran after Jinta with a broom after his football hit her in the head, and Jinta was running away screaming. The other people at the park either looked at them as if they were an eyesore for disturbing the peace, or indulgently because they were kids. Ichigo watched them run around the playground, across the sandbox and over a collection of rocks. He titled his head back so the sunlight drifted over his face, closing his eyes. The shadow of the tree moved over the ground as the sun rose higher.

Heeling the warmth of it on his skin, he listened to the sound of Kisuke moving. He felt Kisuke settle down next to him on his right side, leaning against the wide trunk of the tree next to him. Ichigo opened his eyes and saw Kisuke leaning back his head, his hat sitting over half his face, shadowing it.

After thinking it over for a scant few seconds, Ichigo scooted over the ground, until he was sitting right next to Kisuke. Their sides were touching and the contact of another person—moreover, a person that he liked—made something hot burn in his stomach. He shifted until he leaned his whole weight on Kisuke instead of the tree, and felt an answering arm weave over his shoulders and hug him tightly. Ichigo felt Kisuke breathing under him, an action that was simulated by the gigai. Nonetheless, it was comforting.

Kisuke was here with him.

Kisuke was alive.

It didn't shame him to admit that a lot of his nightmares consisted of things that hadn't happened. Fear superimposed on his memories, the sight of Kisuke or his sisters disintegrating like Ulquiorra had. Aizen managing what he had promised, Ichigo failing to save anyone at all. He knew it wasn't true, but in his dreams, it felt so real. And the loss of his zanpakuto, of his Hollow, didn't help. When he woke in the night from a nightmare, he always felt so alone.

But right now, Kisuke was right next to him. Right now, he wasn't alone.

Ichigo fell asleep like that.

By the time that he awoke, the sun was on its way down. Ichigo blinked up and rustled Kisuke as he slowly sat up. Kisuke removed his arms around him and helped Ichigo sit up. Cracking his neck, aching stretched his body, finding it stiff and uncomfortable. When he looked up at the sky, he saw that dark clouds had started to move. It was only a matter of time before a storm came.

Ichigo climbed to his feet and Kisuke rose as well. Together they started walking in the direction of the Shoten. "Where is everyone?" Ichigo asked when he saw no sign of their presence.

"They went back almost two hours ago," Kisuke answered.

Ichigo scowled. They exited the park and walked along the sidewalks towards the Shoten. With the clouds covering the sky, the sun was impossible to see. Nonetheless, it was warm out, the middle of summer. They stepped leisurely over the road to the other side of the street, turning a corner for a shortcut with less people.

Kisuke walked at a slow pace, and Ichigo slowed down to match it. Glancing over, he saw that Kisuke was staring at him, and he abruptly turned his head away. He scowled on reflex.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"You," Kisuke answered easily. He smiled a small, gentle smile at Ichigo and Ichgio quirked his lips slightly in response. This too, was a reflex at this point.

When they got back to the Shoten, Ururu was outside sweeping. Ichigo smiled at her when they passed, Kisuke leading the way inside. Stepping out of his shoes, he followed Kisuke inside. The familiar scent of the Shot an made him involuntarily relax, so used was he to it.

Kisuke waved him in further and like always, Ichigo followed.

(It was raining. Ichigo was sitting by the river, a flower held loosely in his hand. He tilted his head back and got a face full of water as a reward. By his side, Kisuke shifted and finally offered, "...You could leave the country. If you need to get away."

"No," Ichigo snapped. "I'm not leaving my sisters."

I'm not leaving you, went unsaid.

He felt Kisuke's hand curl around his own, the one not holding a flower. Ichigo squeezed it, the warmth a stark contrast to the cold of the rainwater.)

quillpunk: screenshot of langa from SK8, with a joyful expression (langa7)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
  • Relationship: Zuko/Kuei
  • Characters: Zuko, Kuei
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, AU - Arranged Marriage, Fluff, Character Study, AU - Canon Divergence
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 4000
  • Published on AO3: 2020-07-11

Notes: This was supposed to be PWP. That did not pan out :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender or any associated trademarks.


Staring up at Zuko’s face, twisted in pain and self-hatred, Kuei felt something in his chest go cold. He lowered the hands that were on the way toward Zuko and instead, he tried his best to smile. ”You don’t really believe that, do you?” he asked, but even as he did so, he knew the truth.

Zuko was a bad liar. And Kuei had spent far too much time studying him not to pick up on his tells.

Feeling the coldness spreading, he rose from his seat on the bed and took a step closer toward Zuko. Zuko didn’t flinch, but from the look on his face, Kuei thought that it might have been better if he had.

He knew. He knew that this wasn’t Zuko had wanted. That this wasn’t something that Zuko ever would have chosen for himself. He knew that he was not enough, that he wasn’t worthy, that he wasn’t what Zuko deserved. But this was the answer he and his court had been working on, ever since the Avatar broke the news of the war to Kuei and allowed no-one to forget about it. Zuko didn’t want to be here, but Kuei had hoped…

Well, he’d hoped for a lot things, once.

He stopped. Took a breath and tried to smile again. He held out a hand toward Zuko and said, ”I am honored to have married you.”

”Don’t lie,” Zuko snapped out. He took a step away from Kuei almost instantly, only to immediately step forward again. Kuei saw how Zuko squared his shoulders, straightened his back and pressed his jaw tightly shut. The young man stalked over to Kuei and stared him straight in the eyes.

Kuei swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth, keeping his eyes from straying to the best of his ability. Still, he couldn’t quite stop them from peeking at the scar on Zuko’s face.

He saw the moment when Zuko realized what he was looking at. Zuko’s face shuttered, and before Kuei could say anything—what, he didn’t know—Zuko had already shut him out. Kuei lowered his gaze to the floor, his hands clenching tightly by his sides, and the words were out before he could stop himself: ”We don’t have to do this.”

”Yes, we do,” Zuko sneered out, his scar stretching with the motion.

Kuei itched to touch it. He wanted to know what it felt like. But Zuko bristled every time that Kuei even looked at it, and Kuei was not so insensitive as to force touch on a place it was not wanted.

But in some cases, even he had no options.

”My father wants proof,” Zuko ruthlessly acknowledged what Kuei had been consciously not thinking about, ”that we’ve consummated our marriage.”

Kuei’s hand wandered up to his braid, his fingers intwining with the end of his hair. He gulped, his eyes flickering to the wall behind Zuko, a sense of unfairness having settled over him. It was petty, he decided. It was petty of him to feel like this. This was obviously not something that Zuko wanted in any way, yet Kuei found himself hurt to be so easily disregarded.

Pettiness. That was what it was. This desire in him, to be wanted.

He sat back down on the soft bed. The sheets were made of silk, the green a comforting color to Kuei, but undoubtedly just another reminder of what was happening for Zuko. The mattress was so soft that it should be illegal, moulding to his weight expertly. The many, many pillows were scattered all over the bed. The only thing that lit up the room were a smattering of candles on the bedside tables and torches on the walls. The shadows stretched far across their wedding chambers.

Zuko stared at Kuei, his face lined with determination, his gold eyes hard and unforgiving. It felt like they could see right through Kuei, every nook and cranny naked on display for the younger man. Kuei’s hand fiddled with the fabric over his lap, the edges of his sweeping sleeves and the robes he was wearing. He was the first one to break eye-contact, his gaze moving down to his feet resting bare on the carpet. He wiggled his toes a little.

The dull thud of clothes hitting the ground made him look up again. Zuko was in the middle of pulling off his outer layers. ”Wait—” Kuei’s throat closed up around the other words.

With the outer layers gone, he could see Zuko’s muscular form more clearly. As Kuei watched, entranced, Zuko picked up the clothes from the floor and folded them before putting them on the table along one of the walls. Then his pale hands moved to the top of his head and removed the headpiece attached to the topknot. Zuko pulled the topknot apart at the same time as he removed the headpiece.

Kuei licked his lips as the long hair fell over Zuko’s shoulders. But even while Kuei watched, unable to make his eyes look in any other direction, Zuko continued to disrobe. Until finally, he was standing there in only his underwear.

”Well,” Zuko said when he turned around and faced Kuei again, ”Aren’t you going to get undressed?”

Kuei stood up on his feet at once. Guiltily, he stared down at the floor while he mechanically pulled off his clothes, one layer at a time. When he was down to his underwear, he picked up the clothes he had been piling up on the bed and moved toward the table where Zuko had placed his. Once he had carefully placed them on the table, he took a deep breath and turned to look at Zuko.

Zuko, who was in the middle of climbing onto the bed.

Kuei felt his heart stutter to a stop in his chest for a terrifying moment before his ability to breathe returned to him. When it did, he forced himself to take shuddering breath and walked back over to the bed, stopping before it and swaying on his feet.

For all the lectures that he had been given on how male-on-male sex worked, nobody had actually told him how one began. Was he just supposed to climb onto the bed and what, attack Zuko?

Zuko had settled himself onto the middle of the bed, surrounded by a virtual army of pillows, his knees folded under him, and was sitting with his back straight while Kuei had his moment of severe doubt. Inching his feet toward the bed slowly, Kuei sat down on the edge as soon as he was close enough and moved his body so that he was crawling forward. The bed was easily three meters wide, a size that he had never before seen, but he was now grateful for. Kuei bit down on his lip and removed his glasses, putting them gently down on the bedside table.

”Ehm…” he sat down on his hunches and wrung his hands on his lap. The completely unimpressed look that Zuko gave him made Kuei hunch in on himself involuntarily. The silence was so all-encompassing that he found it impossible to say anything.

It was suffocating.

Finally, it was Zuko that made the first move.

Zuko’s warm hand settled on Kuei’s thigh, below the edge of his underwear. For a second, his mind was blank and all he could do was stare at that pale hand. It was scorching against his bare skin, and Kuei stared down at it. He didn’t take a breath until his lungs constructed so tightly in his chest that it was painful. Then, his eyes rose back up and he examined Zuko’s face.

Zuko was frowning. His eyes were staring down at his own hand, and his lips were dragged downward in an expression Kuei didn’t know how to decipher. But he knew one thing.

They were married.

The ceremony had been distinctly Earth Kingdom in nature, a blow he suspected had done more damage to Zuko than perhaps any other thing tonight, but it had been legally binding in both the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation. As of four hours ago, Kuei and Zuko were married.

And Fire Lord Ozai expected to see proof of their consummation in the morning. Something that he had gone out of his way to mention first in the aftermath of the wedding, when they were in the middle of celebrations. And as soon as he had, Zuko had stiffened by Kuei’s side, his hands clenching so hard that Kuei was surprised that he hadn’t pierced his skin.

It was petty of Kuei. That he made Zuko be the one to take the first step. That he forced Zuko, through his own inaction, to be the one to move toward him.

Taking a steadying breath, Kuei dropped one of his hands to rest on Zuko’s where it still laid, unmoving, on Kuei’s leg. He would not force Zuko to be the one taking the first step. He would not force Zuko to reach out to him.

Kuei leaned his upper body forward, and he kissed Zuko.

Chastely, it was a simple peck on the lips. Shortly, he moved his head back a handful of centimeters and stared breathlessly at Zuko’s face. He saw Zuko’s eyelids flutter, his mouth pulling taunt only to relax again. His heart thumped so loudly in his ears that Kuei thought he would go deaf, yet the sound of his own breaths were overwhelming.

He saw the muscles in Zuko’s neck flex, and he knew the instant when Zuko had made up his mind. Kuei curled his hand around Zuko’s, entwining their fingers together and squeezing his hand gently. His other hand he rose up to Zuko’s face, and waited until Zuko nodded before he touched.

Kuei’s hand drifted in the air along the edges of Zuko’s face, his fingers skimming the dark hair hanging loosely around it, and when he finally settled his hand on Zuko’s cheek, it felt like lightning was racing up his arm.

He swallowed a lump of air and scooted a little closer to Zuko. Under his hand, Zuko’s skin was warm, and so soft that Kuei had to take a moment to just acknowledge what he was doing. He was about to have sex with Zuko. Zuko, former Crown Prince of the Fire Nation and Kuei’s new husband. Kuei was about to consummate his marriage, about to be able to proudly claim that he was the husband of the most beautiful man in the world.

Trailing his thumb under Zuko’s eye, his hand cupping Zuko’s cheek, Kuei felt his heart squeeze in his chest. Without noticing it, he leaned even closer to Zuko, his breath ghosting over Zuko’s skin. He felt, in his heart, a heaviness that made it hard to breathe, a pressure on his chest that had him feeling like he was suffocating. He forced himself to drag in a ragged breath, his body shaking as the hand on Zuko’s cheek wandered higher, pulling Zuko’s hair behind his ear and drifting shortly across his neck. Kuei’s eyes followed the motion of his hand, powerless to stop himself from shifting forward.

Gently, he pressed his mouth against that smooth cheek. He felt Zuko shiver against him, and Kuei closed his eyes, staying like that for a breathtaking moment.

”Tell me if I hurt you,” he pleaded against the skin.

Zuko twitched. He moved his head back until their eyes met, gold facing green, and then Zuko nodded. He looked away first, his hand squeezing Kuei’s so hard that Kuei feared his blood wouldn’t be able to reach his fingers. Kuei’s other hand danced along the contours of Zuko’s head, his fingers sweeping through the fine hair.

”I’ll be gentle,” Kuei promised, like this was something that he had done before. Like he knew what gentle meant in this context.

Zuko nodded once, a hacking motion that made his hair sway, and Kuei could no longer stop himself. He moved forward, his hand moving to the back of Zuko’s head, and pressed their lips against each other.

The softness was what made his breath catch in his throat. The warmth was what made him sigh into it. He tilted his head to the side so that their noses didn’t clash, even as he pressed his mouth harder against Zuko’s. Kuei breathed in through his nose, a harsh breath that made his chest shudder, and his fingers clenched down on Zuko’s hair.

On his lap, Zuko’s hand hugged Kuei’s tightly.

For a minute, Kuei simply pressed their lips together. He got lost in the sensation, the warmth that was building in his chest, the butterflies bursting to life in his stomach. He pulled in another ragged, hacking breath, and squeezed Zuko’s hand in return.

Angling Zuko’s head for a more comfortable position, Kuei lifted the hand attached to Zuko’s, feeling Zuko startle against him. Kuei broke the kiss to nuzzle his nose against Zuko’s, mumbling, ”It’s okay,” under his breath. Zuko’s hand spasmed in his grip before he slowly let go, and Kuei settled the now free hand against Zuko’s hip.

He felt Zuko’s hand settle on his shoulder, and the warmth of it shot straight to his stomach. There was no way that he would be able to go back now, back to a life where he didn’t have this.

The hand on Zuko’s hip moved slowly across Zuko’s back, until Kuei had his hand squarely on Zuko’s back, pressed against his spine. He gently dragged the hand over the warm skin while he kissed Zuko harder, trying to distract him from what was about to happen. His fingers trailed along the spine, and Zuko shivered against him; Kuei could feel the goosebumps at the bottom of his back. His other hand massaged the back of Zuko’s head, and Kuei did his best to ease Zuko’s obvious tension. He had been told repeatedly that the more relaxed one was, the less painful it would be.

Releasing Zuko’s lips, Kuei moved his head back slightly, and faced with those half-lidded golden eyes, his lips quirked and he asked, ”Alright?”

Zuko nodded. Kuei was pleased to notice that it was not an as abrupt movement as earlier. Kuei’s smile grew and he leaned forward to press their lips together again, this time gathering his courage and deepening the kiss.

When his tongue swept over Zuko’s lip, he could swear that he stopped breathing. when Zuko let Kuei’s tongue into his mouth, Kuei wasn’t even sure he was alive anymore. But it was fine. If he died kissing Zuko, that was perfectly fine. His eyes slipped closed, and a low groan slipped from him. The embarrassment didn’t last long though, not when his tongue was met with Zuko’s.

Actually, Kuei pulled his tongue back. He broke the kiss and this time he was gratified to see that Zuko’s eyes were closed, his eyelashes casting shadows over his cheeks. Kuei hugged Zuko tighter, moved his legs so that they splayed out on both sides of Zuko.

Zuko’s face was distressingly open. It was not expressionless like it had been all through their ceremony, it was not that hard look like he had been wearing during the celebrations. Kuei licked his lips, and felt his face heat up when he encounter the saliva he was sure was not his. His chest heaved and he was startled to realize he felt winded.

”Is this okay?” he asked again. He had to know. He needed to be sure that this was not… that he was not a monster, that this was not a nightmare to Zuko. He needed to ensure that Zuko knew that Kuei would stop, if he asked. If Zuko truly didn’t want him. Suddenly, it was of the gravest matter, that Zuko know this. Kuei babbled out, ”I don’t care what Ozai said, I’m sure there are ways to fake this. We don’t need to do this.”

For a heart-stopping moment, Zuko didn’t say anything. He opened his eyes and he stared straight at Kuei, meeting his eyes and holding steady. Then he shook his head, once, a small movement that Kuei almost didn’t catch. ”No,” Zuko said, his voice so lacking in emotion Kuei wondered if he was even here. ”It will be seen as an insult, if we don’t do it. A lack of respect. That you don’t take the treaty seriously.”

”But—”

”No.” Zuko shook his head again. He frowned, and his hand on Kuei’s shoulder squeezed painfully tight.

Kuei lowered his gaze to Zuko’s knees. He felt his braid swinging with the motion before it laid still over it his back. He said, ”It doesn’t have to be you, though. I could do it.”

Zuko’s hand spasmed on his Kuei’s shoulder, and Kuei looked up again. Zuko had a look of focus, concentration, on his face. He was staring straight at Kuei, looking for something in his expression. Kuei didn’t know what, but he stayed still and let Zuko look. Eventually, Zuko hook his head and said, ”It’s fine.”

It was very obviously not.

Kuei frowned and he shifted his hand so that it was cupping Zuko’s smooth cheek again. His other hand let go of Zuko’s back to rise to Zuko’s other cheek, the one scarred so heavily that Kuei almost flinched when he first saw it. It was unbelievable to him, that Zuko would be allowed to be hurt like this, very clearly damaged by fire to such an extent that the scarring reached from his eye and down his cheek, back over his ear and along his neck. It looked painful. He wondered, again, if Zuko could see out of that eye.

”It’s not fine,” Kuei insisted. He knew that it wasn’t. Why they were dancing around the fact was suddenly lost to him. It was important, that Zuko knew that he had a choice. He could say no. ”You don’t want this,” Kuei said.

Zuko opened his mouth, about to say something, but Kuei was not interested in hearing more empty platitudes. ”Don’t lie to me,” Kuei said, his hands resting on Zuko’s face lightly. He eyed them, and continued, ”You don’t want this. But you feel like you have to. You think your father will break the treaty if you don’t. You think the treaty depends on this.”

Kuei leaned forward, and nuzzled his nose against his Zuko’s neck, breathing in that scent of firewood and smoke that always followed the younger man. ”It doesn’t,” Kuei whispered against the skin. ”The Earth Kingdom is not that weak. And your father is not that powerful.”

He felt it, when Zuko sagged against him. He felt Zuko’s hands curl around his back and squeeze tightly. He felt Zuko’s head press against his hair, Kuei’s hands slipping over Zuko’s shoulders with the motion. He felt Zuko’s chest shudder with the force of his breaths, saw the all the torches and candlelights’ flames spark in the same rhythm. He felt Zuko’s nails digging into his back and he could hear the sound of his pulse in his throat.

Again, Kuei whispered, ”We don’t have to do this.”

Zuko pulled in a ragged breath and shook his head, messing up Kuei’s hair in the process. ”But my father—”

”Is going to have a talk with me, first thing tomorrow,” Kuei interrupted.

Zuko’s hands relaxed and he leaned back. Obediently, Kuei let go of Zuko as well and moved a little, giving Zuko the space he desired. Zuko was frowning, more heavily than Kuei had ever seen him do before. His eyebrows were drawn together, his mouth bent downward and he was looking at the duvet like it was the most interesting thing in the room.

Kuei rearranged his legs so that he was sitting crosslegged. He waited for Zuko to say something, to make a decision. This was not something that he could choose for him. Still, his hands clenched in his lap and he licked his lips, vividly remembering what it was like, kissing Zuko.

Kuei was a petty man. Even now, he hoped that Zuko would choose—would let Kuei have sex with him, let him consummate their marriage.

He wanted it. He wanted Zuko.

But he would not do that to him.

He counted minutes passing before Zuko said something again. When he did, Kuei had almost fallen into a meditative trance, and he started.

”If…” Zuko licked his lips and squared his shoulders, his gold eyes staring straight at Kuei. ”If we do not… would it… really not affect the treaty?”

”No,” Kuei said and shook his head.

”Then… if I don’t…” Zuko scowled, his hands moving on his lap like he was looking for a weapon.

Kuei knew what he meant. He shook his head, ”If we don’t, it will not hurt anything. If you don’t want to, we simply won’t. We’re still married.” He ducked his head, but he couldn’t be dishonest about this. ”I would like to. But if you never want to, that’s okay. I would never force you.”

”Kissing you was… not horrible,” Zuko said and Kuei’s head snapped up.

A trembling smile spread on Kuei’s lips and he bent his head down, staring at his naked lap. He held out his hand toward Zuko, determinedly not looking up at him. After a heart-stopping moment, Zuko placed his hand in Kuei’s and Kuei—felt something in him relax. He gripped Zuko’s hand tightly, bending his head forward and pressing their hands against his forehead.

”Thank you,” Kuei mumbled. He took another steadying breath and continued, ”If I ever hurt you, tell me?”

”Yeah,” Zuko muttered.

Kuei brought their hands down and sat up straight again. He spent a minute just staring at the younger man sitting across from him. His pale skin, his well-developed muscles, his golden eyes… Kuei couldn’t believe that he had married this perfect man.

In the days leading up to the wedding, he had done all the research that he could on Fire Nation marriages, on Zuko as a person, on what would be expected of him. But the time from the signing of the treaty to the actually wedding had gone by surpassingly fast and he was sure that he hadn’t managed to learn all that he should have. Doubtlessly he didn’t know enough about the Fire Nation or its inner workings. And he didn’t know enough about Zuko to truly say that he loved him either, though he suspected that he was close.

He reluctantly let go of Zuko’s warm hand and crawled to the top of the bed. There, he had to throw about twenty pillows off the bed in order to find the top of the covers and start pulling them down.

”It’s been a long and trying day,” Kuei said. He tried to smile reassuringly at Zuko. ”Why don’t we go to sleep and deal with the rest of this in the morning?”

Zuko’s eyes were like flames in the candlelight; glittering gold and shining with an inner light. Kuei thought he had never seen a gem or jewel able to rival them in beauty.

Zuko shrugged. He moved up to the top of the bed and clambered beneath the covers in quick movements. Kuei looked at him, laying under the sheets and staring intently at the ceiling. When Kuei rolled under the covers as well, Zuko showed no reaction at all.

With his heart in his throat, Kuei placed his arm in the space between them and held his hand out. He waited patiently for Zuko to either reject or accept his offer.

Just when he was on the verge of falling asleep, he felt a hand curl around his own. Warm, with callouses that Kuei associated with swordsmanship, and Kuei selfishly hoped that he wouldn’t let go. He curled his fingers around Zuko’s hand, and felt hope blossom to life in his chest.

Kuei fell asleep with a smile.

quillpunk: screenshot of judith (making a exhaused, horrified expression) from the webcomic The Villainess Flips the Script (judith1)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
  • Relationship: Zuko/Kuei
  • Characters: Zuko, Kuei
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, AU - Vampires
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 1206
  • Published on AO3: 2020-10-18

Notes: For Monthly KuZu Mini-Prompts 2020 October: Vampires

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender or any associated trademarks.


Zuko walked through the hallway with his hands held out in front of him. He wouldn't be caught by surprise if a trap sprung. Just the fact that he had been forced to run into this ancient palace was a humiliation. The fact that his uncle had followed after him made something chafe in his chest. He didn't want to be the reason that his uncle was thrown out — exiled from the organization that he'd been born into.

The palace was old. It rose high above his head when he'd forced his way inside. Zuko had no idea whose palace this was, but from prior experience, it had to be the home of a vampire.

The scent of death and decay hung in the air.

His fists sparked flame as he used the light of his own fire to guide his path. The place was quiet — far too quiet. It made his shoulders tense and his eyes glance wearily around him. He knew that there was something there, something waiting in the darkness. Something that his training told him to kill.

He came upon a big pair of doors, after wandering the palace uninterrupted for nearly an hour. Big, gaudy, and covered in dust and grime, as neglected as the rest of this palace. The doors were heavy too; he had to put his entire weight on them in order to get them to budge. But eventually, they did. They creaked when they slowly opened, Zuko's fire casting shadows into the large room revealed.

The first he saw was scrolls. On the dusty floor, on high bookshelves — yellowing scrolls with fading ink on the edge of falling apart. Out of curiosity, he picked one up and uncurled it in his hands. He was no stranger to old scrolls, his family was proud of their legacy and had kept everything they possibly could. This one had to be even older than their most ancient ones though. It almost felt like it would fall apart in his hands. Zuko carefully put it back where he found it, his fire receding until they weren't at risk of making this whole archive (because it must be an archive) go up in flames.

He could hear something. Zuko's fire went out with naught but a thought. He crept between the high shelves and slowly approached the origin of the sound. The closer he got to it, the more he could make out what it was. It nearly sounded like... muttering? But that couldn't be right.

No, it could be. If it was a vampire.

Zuko's eyes narrowed. His vision in the damaged one wasn't the best, and in the darkness, he could hardly see out of it. A weakness. One that the heir of the best vampire-hunting organization in the world couldn't have, nevermind that it was his father that—

He took a deep breath. Held it in until the count of ten. Let it out.

There was a vampire somewhere. He needed to focus.

He turned the last corner. Vaguely, he could make out f humanoid figure in the dark. His eyes had started adjusting and he could just about make out their general shape. Humanoid, likely male, with a very bulky body. A mess of fabric covered them. Slowly, one of Zuko's hand shifted to the sheath of his swords.

The vampire looked up. They fumbled with their scroll. It fell to the floor with a clatter and Zuko automatically winced at the loud sound in the otherwise death silent location.

"Hello!" The vampire clambered up to their feet. They dusted off their robes at the same time as Zuko's fire lit up the space around them again. He had already been discovered, there was no reason to submit himself to bad vision. That would be a disadvantage in a fight that he might not afford. The vampire blinked rapidly at the sudden light, their bright green eyes glowing from the light.

Zuko was already in a ready to fight position when the vampire took a step closer to him. "Don't move," Zuko ordered.

The vampire stumbled to a stop. They licked their lips, fangs peeking out between them. In the light, Zuko could tell that they were male-presenting. The vampire's eyes looked over Zuko, the gaze examining every part of him. When he moved to take another step, his foot hit one of the scrolls on the floor around the vampire. Gasping, the vampire immediately bent down and started picking up the scrolls. When he stood back up again, he had over a dozen scrolls collected in his bosom.

"Did you come here for something?" the vampire asked as he started to slowly walk over to a nearby table. Why he had been reading on the floor when there was a table right next to him, Zuko didn't understand. Intermittently, scrolls would threaten to fall out of the vampire's grip and the vampire would frantically try to catch them.

Zuko looked at his fire. Then he looked at the sword he held in his other hand. Then he looked at the vampire's back as they gently put the scrolls down on the table.

"I am a vampire hunter," he said. The vampire whipped around and stared with wide eyes at Zuko. They lit up and the vampire smiled at him.

"I have lots of scrolls about vampire-hunting!" the vampire announced.

Zuko blinked again. He furrowed his eyebrows. "Aren't you a vampire?"

"Yes," the vampire nodded. "I am Kuei, former king of the Earth Kingdom! Nowadays I just maintain my archive though. It's been a while since I've added anything to it..." the vampire frowned and looked at Zuko with a pleading expression, "You wouldn't have any books with you?"

"I'm sure my uncle has some," Zuko said after a second of silence. Putting his sword away in the sheath again was stupid of him. Coming to this palace in the first place was stupid. Getting split up from his uncle because he got distracted by a mural was stupid of him. Yet, Zuko's hands moved before his mind caught up with them. Yet, he had entered this palace because it seemed like the better alternative to getting killed by his sister. Yet, he had wandered deeper and deeper into the palace instead of retracing his steps and tracking down his uncle.

Zuko was a fool.

"Hmm. I think the most recent vampire-hunting scrolls are over..." Zuko followed behind Kuei as the vampire lead the way through the gigantic archive. As he walked, he could hear his sister's voice chiding him in his head. He should be attacking the vampire. He should be doing what he had been raised to do. He shouldn't be following behind it, letting it lead him to potential traps.

But his sister had just tried to kill. His father had banished him until he could kill a mythical vampire that hadn't been seen in over a hundred years. His uncle had gone into exile with him. Zuko had had to enter this palace in order to escape troops from the organization he had been born into.

In comparison with everything else, maybe it wouldn't be that bad, if Kuei led him into a trap.

quillpunk: screenshot of Rue (blushing and happy)from the webcomic The Villainess Flips the Script (rue1)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
  • Relationship: Zuko/Kuei
  • Characters: Zuko, Kuei
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, Amnesia, Fluff
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 1150
  • Published on AO3: 2020-10-20

Notes: For Monthly KuZu Mini-Prompts 2020 September: Temporary Amnesia

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender or any associated trademarks.


Kuei stumbled to a stop. He had no idea where he was. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he surreptitiously glanced around; he was in the middle of a street full of people who looked haggard and tired. Most of them had scars too, and he even saw a few without the ideal number of limbs. Licking his lips, he moved to the side of the street so that he wasn't in the way.

He couldn't remember how he got here.

He could only remember the confusion and the sense that he needed to go somewhere; before that his memory was empty. He had no idea where he was, who he was (he had vague memories of a boy with an arrow painted on his skin calling him 'Kuei' but could he really trust that?) or what he was supposed to be doing here. Yet here he was. The people around him gave him odd looks and wary glances and when he looked down, he saw that there was a clear difference in the clothes he was wearing. The quality was much better, and the color was such a stark green that it stood out seamlessly.

His fingers started worrying the edges of his long, sweeping sleeves almost on reflex, and he moved out of the way of the people on the street. The sky was blue and the buildings around him were all various shades of brown. There wasn't a plant or tree as far as his eyes could see.

Kuei swayed a little on his feet; should he stay put and wait for somebody to find him? He was dressed so nicely, surely there must be someone out there looking for him. And it made sense, if he wanted to be found, he should stay in one location. But did he want to be found? Probably, there was no reason not to. Still, waiting by the side of the road didn't seem very productive. And he was taking up space, and interrupting the flow of the street goers, and surely there was the threat of being mugged, wasn't there? So he should go inside and wait.

Nodding to himself, Kuei looked around, craning his neck to see as far as he could. His eyes lit up when they landed on a nicely lit up place not far. The people exiting it looked pleased, so it couldn't be all that bad, even if the rest of the street was kind of iffy. No, it was rude of him to call it iffy, perhaps downtrodden was a better word? He grimaced. Was he a person that cared what things looked like?

He held his robes up as he walked over the street so as to not get mud on it, so, likely. Kuei hurried across the street and toward the entrance he had spotted. What little he could see through the windows seemed nice enough. And the glow from inside said that it would be warm; if he had to wait hours to be found he didn't want to freeze. The robes were thick, yes, but he didn't know how cold it would get during the night. And come to think of it, what season was it? He hoped summer; he didn't want to get trapped out in the snow.

Kuei let his robes go once he stepped inside the shop. He blinked at the light, his eyes shifting over the people sitting at the numerous wooden tables. There was a bar to the side behind which stood an old man with a long grey beard who was making tea. The atmosphere was lively; the sound of chatter and laughter filled the room.

A young man in an apron approached Kuei. "Pick a table," he said, frowning at Kuei. The motion made his scar drag, though it was still stiff and unmoving. The thought occurred to Kuei that there had to be a lot of nerve damage with such severe scarring. Where the knowledge had come from, he didn't know. The short, dark hair was ruffled and fell around his face, making Kuei's gaze focus on his eyes. They were the most startling shade of gold; the kind of gold that was brighter than the gold on Kuei's robes.

Kuei nodded and sat down at the closest empty one.

The young man followed him, his gold eyes glinting in the light. Clearly a server of some kind, he asked Kuei, "What do you want?"

"Oh," Kuei furrowed his eyebrows. He searched his memory but couldn't come up with anything that would help him in figuring out what was served here and what he might like. In the first place, what kind of ship was this? He cleared his throat and his fingers gripped his robe on his lap. "What would you recommend?"

The server shrugged. "Jasmine tea," he said and wrote it down on his notepad before Kuei could say anything.

Well, it would probably be fine.

Kuei couldn't help but stare at the server. The young man had to be the prettiest person that Kuei had ever seen. His gold eyes only shone brighter when he smiled, and his crooked half-smile made something squirm in Kuei's stomach. As the server relayed the order to the man behind the counter, Kuei brought his hand up to his face and tried to feel if he was blushing. It didn't give him any answers.

His fingers fiddled with the edge of his robe again as he sat still. When the server came back with the smoking tea, Kuei felt his stomach jump. It tingled as he watched the server put the teacup down on the table in front of him. Kuei licked his lips and said, "Uhm... your name— ah, what's your name?"

"Li," the dark-haired young man answered. His skin was pale, so pale compared to everyone else that Kuei wondered if he was ill. And the clothes were in so poor quality that Kuei could see the outline of his body; he was very clearly well-trained. He walked like he knew how to fight, too.

And he was warm.

Something about his presence made Kuei feel as if he was standing in sunlight.

Kuei picked up the tea. "Thank you," he said. He took a sip and found, to his pleasure, that he liked the taste just fine.

Li smiled at him, the movement quick. It disappeared quickly from his face, but Kuei had already been lost. There was just... he was so... Kuei couldn't...

The beauty was too much for him! His heart couldn't handle this! Somebody, find him soon! He had to figure out how people courted! Ah, but he had seen a dismal-looking flower stall on the way here. Surely, that was a safe bet? Nodding, Kuei downed the rest of his tea, dropped some of the coins on the table, and left to purchase some flowers.

quillpunk: screenshot of Judith (she's blushing to a flowering, rosy background) from the webcomic The Villainess Flips the Script (judith2)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
  • Relationship: Zuko/Kuei
  • Characters: Zuko, Kuei
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, AU - Arranged Marriage, Fluff, Dorks in Love, AU - Role Reversal
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 1059
  • Published on AO3: 2021-02-04

Notes: For Monthly KuZu Mini-Prompts 2021, January: Arranged Marriage & February: Dorks in Love

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender or any associated trademarks.


The sound of something falling brought him out of his reverie and Zuko blinked, startled. He turned around and asked his fiance, "What's wrong?"

"Ah, I just slipped," Kuei answered, worrying his bottom lip and looking forlornly down at the mess by his feet. In his defense, the glass floor they were walking on was absurdly slippery, and he was a little bewildered that such a part of Wan Shi Tong's infamous library had such flooring. It meant they had to walk at a weirdly slow pace, but Zuko could already see the end of the hallway coming up. Soon, they'd be back on common flooring.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to take his fiance on a journey to Wan Shi Tong's library; it hadn't been easy reaching it, after all. Going incognito had made it even harder, and the constant threat of escalating battles now that the Avatar had been found had only made it more dangerous. But looking at the enraptured expression on Kuei's face every time the teenager got to look at yet another new scroll ages-old, Zuko found there was no regret in him. Instead, he was filled with a strange feeling of pride—pride, that he had been the one to make Kuei have that expression. It made his chest go tight, and he had to look away before he did something foolish.

This wasn't what anyone had intended, he knew, when he had been engaged to the Earth King. They had used it as a way to get him out of the running for the throne, for no Fire Lord could be married to a non-firebender, much less a man. It had been a way to send him into exile without having to phrase it that. They had surely expected the teenage king to annoy him, for him to find it all a humiliation.

But Kuei was sweet.

That was the first thing about his new fiance that struck him—Kuei was incredibly sweet. He was young and naïve and yes, downright ignorant of the world. He'd been painfully shy at times, and yet shamelessly forward at others. And Zuko could still vividly remember how excited Kuei had been when he discovered that Zuko didn't mind spending hours in silence with him in the ridiculously huge library.

To his father, this was all a farce. But to Zuko, it was a gift.

They reached the end of the glass corridor and the doors before them opened automatically, without anyone having to touch them. He heard Kuei gasp, and had to force himself not to look over. It would be fine—he'd have a thousand more chances to see the wonder on Kuei's face.

Maybe it was strange, how quickly he'd gotten attached. But he'd been trapped on a ship for over a decade, banished in all but name. He'd sailed every corner of the Fire Nation, never settling down anywhere for fear of sparking his father's rage, and then when he was finally shipped off to a place and told it would be his home... well, Zuko wasn't a statue. It was inevitable, that the warmth Kuei so thoughtlessly provided would draw him in.

Wan Shi Tong's library was gigantic, too gigantic for mortal minds to really comprehend. It bent in on itself, and after only two hours in this place, Zuko was already lost. The fact that Wan Shi Tong had even let them in was already beyond his imagination, and letting them traverse it like this was beyond hope.

"Come, come," Kuei snagged his hand as he flew by, dragging Zuko along as he pointed at the shelf ahead of them. Zuko didn't know what he'd seen, but he curled his fingers around Kuei's hand and soaked up the sensation. He allowed himself to be led by a boy nigh eight years his junior and didn't protest as his arms were immediately loaded up with books once they arrived.

While Kuei continued to look through them, Zuko looked around, spotted a corner that looked nice enough, and carted the books off to it. He gently put them down, not wanting to know what Wan Shi Tong's reaction would be if they damaged the books—it wasn't a risk he was willing to take. Done with that, he wandered back to Kuei's side, tracing his eyes over the books in search of something interesting as he went.

He heard Kuei exclaim over something, and saw the teenager shoot off for the corner Zuko had already prepared. Zuko let him go, content in the knowledge that Kuei would call for him if he needed something.

Meanwhile, he found some things he himself was interested in.

It was hours later, the candlelight rapidly depleting, that Zuko looked up and found his young fiance nearly asleep by his side. Zuko blinked, exhaustion having started weighing him down as well, and he moved closer to his fiance, scooting over on the floor to his side. "Kuei," Zuko said, falling to silence as he tried to think of what to say. Kuei looked over at him, his eyes on the edge of closing, and hummed quietly in response.

"You need to sleep," was what Zuko ended up settling on.

Kuei blearily gazed at him, in the end only nodding. He yawned, not bothering to cover it up, and scooted close enough to Zuko to lean on him. Zuko's arm curled over his back and hugged him tightly, feeling the slight trembling Kuei was trying to suppress.

He hoped this journey had helped settle Kuei's heart. After Zuko told him what was really going on with the world, Kuei had retreated into himself a little bit. Not visibly—but when they were alone, he would sometimes fall silent, trapped in his own thoughts. So Zuko hoped this journey had soothed him, that getting to see for himself what life was like outside Ba Sing Se had settled something in him. It seemed like it, sometimes.

Zuko repositioned them on the floor, pulling out the sleeping gear as he went, and laid down on it with Kuei. Like always when they slept together, Kuei clung to Zuko; seeking the warmth his body always provided. Zuko treasured it—coveted it, almost.

It was warm under the blanket with another body laying next to him.

He fell asleep within minutes.

quillpunk: screenshot of adam's face in full costume from SK8 (adam)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: 天官赐福 - 墨香铜臭 | Tiān Guān Cì Fú - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
  • * Pairing:* Huā Chéng/Xiè Lián
  • Characters: Huā Chéng, Xiè Lián
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, Amnesia, Established Relationship, Fluff
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 1077
  • Published on AO3: 2021-03-16

Notes: Xie Lian and Hua Cheng might not know who they are, but they know they’re in love.

Disclaimer: I do not own 天官赐福 or any associated trademarks.


Hua Cheng wakes up and—something is missing. There is a gap, a hole, a chasm spread over his heart. His body is on fire, his soul colder than ice, his heart caught in a cascade of emotions too complicated for him to name. Something inside him cries. Something else laughs victoriously. There is a—jaggedness to his feelings when he tries to examine them.

He doesn’t know where he is.

This is the second thing he realizes. The first is that he doesn’t know who he is but that’s of lesser importance. He—needs to find something. There is something missing and he needs to find it, and in the wake of that unrelenting need… some lost memories really isn’t that big of a deal.

He climbs to his feet. He’s in a forest somewhere; he doesn’t recognize a thing around him. That’s fine. He’s looking for something; something that is everything to him.

Hua Cheng knows his name. This is a thought that occurs to him while he’s looking through comically overgrown trees for—what he’s searching for. He knows his name. It’s Hua Cheng. Why he knows his name and nothing else, he doesn’t care to think about.

The searching is important. He can’t stop until he finds—

Somebody.

Yes, it’s a somebody. Not a something, but a person. He needs to find them and until then, every question he has will just have to go unanswered.

It’s morning, the sun in the middle of rising, when his search reaches its end.

There are footsteps up ahead, a voice on the wind he doesn’t recognize—but his dead heart speeds up at the sound of it. His feet tramples on the uneven ground, his eyes growing wider as he gets closer. There; between the trees, around that bend, beyond that rock, near that river… is a god.

An actual god, Hua Cheng isn’t just being dramatic. He can feel it; this man is a god. He’s a god and Hua Cheng is a ghost, long since dead. He can feel this too.

”Is somebody there?” the actual god asks, sounding fretfully uncertain. This is not okay.

Hua Cheng bursts out from the woods onto the riverbank.

The actual god blinks at him, looking him over, and then he—smiles. Softly. His eyes brightening to an unfair degree. He stands up from the river and turns fully to Hua Cheng, taking a hesitant step closer. He’s clothed cheaply, a straw hat on his head, and he smiles, smiles, smiles.

Hua Cheng thinks he might have died again. But if so—it’s worth it.

A burst of warmth is worming its way out of his chest, pooling in his stomach; his throat; his arms and his legs and his lungs and more body parts than he thought he possessed. There is—something inside him that begs to be released.

”Hello,” he croaks out. His voice rasps, the vocal cords abruptly deciding to stop working.

The actual god takes another step toward him and says, ”Hi.”

Heart attacks feel like this, huh. He clenches a hand over his heart, feeling it beating erratically. That’s fine, he doesn’t need it to live. Let it beat out of his chest and display itself at the feet of this god; Hua Cheng will support its ambitions.

”Do I know you?” The actual god tilts his head and smiles beatifically at him.

Hua Cheng says, ”I don’t remember. But…” he lets the sentence hang in the air between them, uncertain of what to say. They must know each other—it wouldn’t feel as it his very soul was quivering otherwise. But he can’t think of a way to say that without sounding like a maniac.

”Ah, it’s just…” the god scratches his cheek and laughs. ”I’m fairly certain I’m in love with you.”

Hua Cheng has died. For like the fourteenth time. This is—not real; not unreal.

The god is still talking— ”…my heart is pounding when I look at you, and I feel the need to hug you and I want to tell you about the things I saw coming here. Did you know that there are very peculiar wolves living in this forest? And I wonder if might be interested in having a meal with me?”

”Yes,” Hua Cheng says. He’s not entirely certain what he’s saying yes to, but that doesn’t matter. Anything this god says, anything this god wants, anything—Hua Cheng will give.

”I’m Hua Cheng,” he tacks on while the god is floundering at his speedy response.

The god smiles softer (how is it possible?) and he says, ”My name is Xie Lian. I appear to have lost my memory, and have no idea where I am.”

He does not sound concerned about this.

”We match, then,” Hua Cheng says.

He crosses the final bit of distance between them and holds out his arm. He does not know why he does it, but when the god intertwines their arms, he thinks he understand.

This is an actual god. How did Hua Cheng fall in love with a god?

Surely, a person like this is too good for him.

With their arms connected, the warmth within him spirals out of control. He feels—like he’s going to combust. His eyes water, for some reason. There is a beat in his chest spelling out joy; endless, agonizing joy. The kind that takes him over and makes him smile and he grins and he leans forward and he says, ”Shall we solve this mystery together, my dear?”

And something in him breaks. It shatters into a thousand little pieces, the puzzle of his identity lost to the knowledge he acquires. Hua Cheng is love with this person. With Xie Lian.

He loves him.

Xie Lian’s answering smile is bright and shining and for a moment it blinds him; ”Of course,” he says, and he crosses the last bit of distance between them and presses a quick kiss to Hua Cheng’s cheek.

It’s warm and soft and gentle and a part of him sits up and takes notice—who cares about the malicious intentions surrounding them? Who cares about the bloodlust he can feel gathering around them? Who cares about the interrupted ritual spilling its discontent in the air? Who cares about the weapons and the anger and the pain?

Hua Cheng is in love with this man. He wonders how much it costs to hold a wedding.

quillpunk: screenshot of Aaravos (who is smirking in full evil mode) from The Dragon Prince cartoon (aaravos1)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender
  • Relationship: Zuko/Kuei
  • Characters: Zuko, Kuei
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, First Meetings, Pre-Slash, Pre-Relationship, AU - Fairy Tale
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 3008
  • Published on AO3: 2021-08-16

Notes: For KuZu Week 2021: Day 2 - Horror

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender or any associated trademarks.


There is a monster in a palace, and no one ever goes there.

Zuko hears about it for the first time when he's in the upper ring after his uncle's teashop has just been opened. The customers—dressed far more extravagantly than those in the lower rings—mill between the tables, gossiping loudly about whatever stupid things they can. There is no silence here; only the incessant talk of sharp tongues judging far more than they have a right to. They talk and they laugh and they point and they forget entirely about Zuko's existence, speaking as if he is not there. It makes his blood boil, makes his fists clench.

But it also lets him hear far more inside knowledge of Ba Sing Se than he has since they arrived in this accursed city. Like the story of the monster.

They say there is a monster in the palace, and no one ever goes there.

Zuko's blood is boiling, his expression thinning and his eyes darkening the more stupid things he hears. He doesn't believe them—why would there be a monster in the Earth King's palace? Such a thing would never be allowed to stand. If his father knew even he would do something about it because it undermines his authority. If he learned that the city the Fire Nation has repeatedly failed to conquer has a monster walking its palace halls, he would be enraged.

But they keep talking about it, whispering about it under breaths too loud. Over and over again, from a dozen different people, he hears the tale. The tale of how the monster was cursed for his arrogance, for his folly, for his ignorance. The monster is cursed, they say, and so can not leave the palace.

This means the only way for Zuko to find out the truth is for him to go there. Go to the palace and see for himself.

(It can't be true, but. But it doesn't hurt to check.)

Going in the middle of the night is the obvious choice. Sneaking away from his uncle is both harder and easier than anticipated; he goes when the older man is sleeping and is terrified with every snore he hears that he'll awaken and see what Zuko is doing. But he just wants to know. There is no monster in the palace, there can not possibly be. But nobody speaks of the Earth King, and he wonders.

Something is wrong with this city, he knows. Ba Sing Se is a sinkhole of miasma, a trap that locks you in and won't ever let you go. Zuko has seen shadows leaping over rooftops, had customers mysteriously vanish and no one ever speaks of it. There is something wrong, and he thinks... the palace might hold some answers.

So he breaks in.

It's actually not that hard? Zuko has broken into harder places, has barely gotten away with his life on some occasions. Compared to those times, the Earth King's palace is a cakewalk. And once he's in, he simply follows the hallways.

They're long, these hallways. Wide, too, with high ceilings and murals on the walls. Zuko is almost tempted to stop to get a good look but he doesn't want to be here another second longer than he has to. He's simply going to find this monster, and he knows the best place of the palace to check is the middle.

The middle, where the floors are covered by dust, where the drapes have been consumed by spiderwebs.

Zuko walks on eggshells, his body wound tighter the further he goes. His mouth dries, seeing the claw-marks on the floor, the walls, the windows. Licking his lips does nothing, his flame burning hot inside him. The marks are too high, too low, too wide and inconsistent in size. Like whatever made them was playing, almost. The spiderwebs are old and deep, poison dripping from them and acid eating into the floor below. The dust is suffocating; unending, squeezing its way into his nostrils and attemtping to strangle him.

He pinches his nose shut to hold off a sneeze. Shaking his head slilgthly, he sheathes his sword and climbs a pillar to get to higher ground.

There can't possibly be a monster in the palace, but an animal is not unreasonable. Although, why an animal would be allowed to run free in here to the extent they'd even cut off all normal accesses to this part of the palace... this, he can't know. So higher ground it is.

After much trawling through the spiderwebs and dust, thoroughly ruining his uniform, Zuko finally reaches an end to his journey.

There is light up ahead, just a weak, splintering thing flickering weakly in the wind. Zuko stops on the beam he's sitting on, gazing down to the door only partly cracked open and the light beyond it. He strains his hearing, but is only met by silence.

He hasn't seen a single person since he reached this part of the palace. Hasn't had to hide from Dai Li agents, hasn't had to avoid the gazes of the servants. There is only the nearly unnoticable sound of his own footsteps, the sound of his own breathing, joining him here. He is alone. But there is a light up ahead that he can see flicker and there is door not even fully shut, and there are animal tracks in the dust leading to it.

Tracks he doesn't recognize, but that are unedniably non-human. Something is in there. Something that can make light. And Zuko is a fool of the highest order, a fool who feels curiosity stir in his gut instead of trepidation.

There is something in there.

He drops to the floor, his feet striking it silently. For a second he waits, his brow furrowed as he listens for a reaction to his presence. There is none. And so he recalls all his training in walking without making a sound as he approaches the door, keeping his breathing light and steady. At the door, he gently curls his fingers around the door's edge and holds his breath. Nothing happens. He pushes at the door, frowning and lying his weight on it when it refuses to budge.

Finally, the door opens enough for him to slip through. He exhales softly and creeps through, his eyes immediately gluing themselves to the candlelight. It's a single candle on a table by the wall, a wick steadily burning down. It flickers from the gust of wind moving the door produces and he winces.

He eyes the rest of the room. It's a bedroom, he quickly realizes. The bed in the middle of the room is comically wide; green curtains covering it entirely. He can't see if there's someone inside, but the tracks lead right to it.

There is less dust on the floor in here, but the spiderwebs are in every corner still. Zuko walks up to the candle and studies it for a moment, but can't find anything strange with it. It's an ordinary candle, the common design that Ba Sing Se favors. The walls are covered by a layer of dust and grime so thick that he can't make out the pattern it, but he vaguely makes out the gold color buried beneath it. All the furniture is big and stately, the chairs uncommonly wide.

Zuko turns to the bed.

It's stupid. His uncle would never approve. His sister would laugh at him. His father would—not do anything good. But Zuko got this far and he wonders.

(There is a monster in the palace, they say, and no-one ever goes there.)

Zuko's fingers grip the curtains, and he shivers at how cold they are. His eyes narrow, his tongue licking his lips. He inhales sharply and—pulls the curtain back.

"Oh," he breathes, his hands falling to his sides. "How—" he mutters to himself, taking a step closer. His knees hit the bed's edge with a soft thud and he climbs on, crawling up until he's sitting on a threadbare pillow next to the monster's head.

Sitting still with his hands digging into the meat of his thighs, he stares at it. In silence, the seconds ticking on like a clock in his head. The monster breathes softly, splayed out widely on the bed with its large limbs thrown in every conceivable direction. The head alone must be twice the size of Zuko's, and the rest of the monster is likewise bigger than him.

It explains the bed's size, at least.

The dark fur is thick and covers every inch of it. The light in the bed is weak and the candle does no good where it is and this is a monster anyway. And Zuko wants to be able to see it properly but he fears walking away will reveal this all to be a dream. And this is a monster. No-one will believe it if it tries to rat him out.

A spark lights up right above his palm; a small light still casting a much better view than the candlelight. It doesn't flicker, because something small as this is something he could do in his sleep.

He holds the light up to the monster's face, leaning over it to get a better view. Like this, he can see the gigantic eyes and the eyelids with its thin fuzz of fur covering them. Can see the monster's chest move in time with its breaths. When he counts them he frowns—they're too slow. A normal human breathes twice as fast as that, even when they're just sleeping. With every widening, he scoots even closer, holding the light up above the monster to see better.

Despite everything, the monster looks humanoid. It has two limbs resembling arms—there's even an elbow joint. Two legs with flat feet and ten toes in total, the normal five fingers on each hand. The tusks in its mouth are a little unsettling, yes, but Zuko has seen a lot of things in his life. He's not going to flinch at just this.

For a couple of minutes more, all he does is study the monster. It twitches occasionally, turning over and switching positions but it's easy enough to get out of its way. He watches sedately as it moves, watches it burrow deeper under ratty covers in search of warmth. Its breaths are like tiny growls, the sound reverbating through its chest cavity. Zuko stares, his eyes wide and unable to switch directions.

It feels like a dream.

All of this. The spiderwebs, the dust, the clawmarks matching the sharp claws this monster has on its feet and hands. The dig into the sheets as he watches, tearing holes that are only a few among many. The candlelight that lured him here, the whispering of the public as they gossip of things they have too much knowledge of. The wind beating through the long, lonely corrdors, the shadows seeping in through the cracks in the paint. It is a dream, Zuko thinks. It doesn't match everything else he knows about the Earth Kingdom, about Ba Sing Se, and so it cannot be real. Something like this can not be real.

It puffs out a breath and Zuko follows. He sits back on his hunches and curl in on himself, the light easing into something weaker. Something that'll attract less attention if somebody were to happen to come by. And just for safety's sake, he pulls the curtains shut around the bed like they were when he arrived.

Like this, it's like they're in a bubble, a world of their own.

Zuko gulps, the sound loud in the silence.

He pulls his hand (and his fire) back from the monster. Instead, he crosses his legs and wonders what time it is. Wonders if uncle has discovered that Zuko's missing yet. Wonders if the guards have found the entrance he used. Wonders if the Dai Li has seen his tracks in the dust.

Wonders.

The monster turns over again, facing Zuko this time. Zuko only looks at it, his heart beating too fast for him to process anything.

There is a monster in the palace, they say. And no-one ever goes there.

The monster's eyes blink open. Zuko can't read its face, but it stares at him with constantly widening eyes. (The eyes, too, are at least twice as big as Zuko's.) "Who?" a hoarse voice croaks, the sound half-a-growl.

"Zuko," he answers, waiting for the monster to attack him. Zuko can beat it, he knows. He's faught the Avatar, he's not going to get beaten by some monster in Ba Sing Se of all places. That's not how he'll die.

The monster shoots up, looming over him. "You're Zuko? I'm Kuei!" Then the eyelids lower and it peeks at him with a disturbingly human gaze. "But what are you doing here? People aren't allowed here."

"I broke in," Zuko confesses.

The monster gasps and leans away from him, the clawed hands coming up between them like preparing for a fight. Zuko eyes the claws, his hand slowly inching toward his sword's sheathe. He's not going to die here, in Ba Sing Se. Not going to allow himself to die on foreign soil, still unwelcome at his home. No, Zuko is going home. Uncle might be content to waste away here, but Zuko isn't going to be forgotten in another country, abandoned by his own nation.

He's going home.

"They say there is a monster in the palace," Zuko says, glaring at the monster with narrowed eyes. The monster rears back, as if struck. Zuko contiunes, "Are you the monster they speak of?"

Kuei (the monster who sleeps alone in an abandoned wing, who walks through the halls with claws leaving tracks on the wall; the only proof of its existence) swallows audibly. "I do not know of what they speak," it points out, strangely reasonable for an inhuman monster.

"A monster is in the palace," Zuko repeats. He leans forward, glaring at the beast. "A monster that should not be here, that doesn't belong. A monster who no-one ever wants to see. Are you that monster?"

Kuei licks his lips, his long tongue catching on his tusks. "No," he breathes, lowering his gaze to the linnen. "That's not me."

Zuko nods. He pulls his sword out of its sheathe and holds it out. (He's not going to die here. Not going to be trapped in the fog Ba Sing Se is buried in, not going to be caught and lead to his uncle's (his only family now) death. He won't allow it.

There is a monster in the palace, they say.

And no-one ever goes there.)

"Let's find a beast," Zuko says and presses the sword into Kuei's hand.

Kuei's fingers slowly clsoe around it and he looks at Zuko with soft, soft eyes. Eyes that are watering, and it sniffles and turns away and brushes its hand over the eyes. "Why?" it asks, the voice gentle.

Zuko thinks of his father, thinks of the palace he was cast out of, thinks of the pain he's caused his uncle. Thinks of the damage he's brought to everyone he's ever loved, and the damage everyone who's ever loved him has caused him. Thinks of his father's hand burning him, and no-one stopping it. Thinks of the look in his uncle's eyes when Zuko asked, shortly after they set out to sea, why Iroh didn't help him earlier.

Before all this.

Thinks, and doesn't say.

"Some monsters don't leave tracks of clawmarks," he says instead. Zuko's hand swings by his face and he fingers his now short hair. He's gotten used to it, he supposes. (But that just makes it worse.) Zuko wets his lips and continues, ignoring Kuei's intense gaze on him, "Some monsters are too high to reach, and so you must drag them down to you in order to kill them."

Kuei closes its eyes. Zuko turns away, not wanting to upset it. He just gave it one of his swords, after all. And while he can fight just fine with only one sword, he doesn't want to risk making too much of a commotion. What if the Dai Li hears? What if they come running and find Zuko at the heart of the Earth King's palace? What if they see and they realize and they catch him? No, he can't risk that.

"Long Feng..." Kuei starts, voice breaking in the middle. It takes a deep breath and visibly forces out, "Long Feng won't let me out."

Zuko smirks, trying to channel Azula. "I got in, didn't I?" he points out, gazing back at the monster. The monster who startles, who jumps, who squints at him and stares at him. There were only animal marks on the way here, Zuko remembers. No hint of any human presence.

How long...

"Okay," Kuei says. It takes the sword out of the sheathe, just a tiny bit, and stares with unblinking eyes at the shinig metal. It swallows and says in a heavy voice, barely more than a mumble, "I am Kuei, King of the Earth Kingdom. And I will slay a monster evil. I will set my kingdom free."

Zuko doesn't say anything. He merely pulls his other sword out and twirls it through the air while he waits for Kuei to get his emotions under control. For Kuei to lead him out of here.

He doesn't remember much about Kuei, even though he knows he learned about him as a child. It was part of his duty, to know the rulers of the enemy nation. So he was taught about Kuei and his early rise to the throne after his parents' unfortunate deaths. But it was so long ago, and Kuei hasn't been relevant in years. The knowledge sits heavy in his stomach now, the reason why. His hand clench around his sword and he frowns, a glare in his eyes.

There is a monster in the palace.

quillpunk: screenshot of langa from SK8, with a very weirded out expression (langa6)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender
  • Relationship: Zuko/Kuei
  • Characters: Zuko, Kuei
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, First Meetings, Pre-Slash, Pre-Relationship
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 1047
  • Published on AO3: 2021-08-17

Notes: For KuZu Week 2021: Day 2 - Horror

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender or any associated trademarks.


Overwhelming.

That was the only way to describe the presence blanketing all of Zuko's senses. Overwhelming. Overpowering. Drowning him in sensations and feelings that weren't even his. It beat up against his heart, pounding in a rhythm that he could almost convince himself was his own. It drifted through his veins, seeking out his every organ and nestling in it like a parasite looking for a place to make a home. Over and over again, the feeling surrounded him.

"Are you okay?" Kuei asked, his voice anxious as a mouth formed in the shadow beside his head. The mouth on his face hadn't moved.

Zuko took a deep breath and let his fire move through him, burning the shadows to a crisp. Kuei shuddered, his mouths snapping closed. Zuko said, "I'm fine," and he even meant it.

Sure, it was strange that instead of getting killed for breaking into the Earth King's palace and finding that the Earth King was some kind of spirit, he was dragged to the library and spent a couple of pleasant hours studying about the Avatar. But it hadn't done him any harm, and this was his fifth visit to the palace. Sometimes he wondered why Kuei kept welcoming him back, beaming at him every time he appeared, but he also didn't want to change it.

It was nice, reading in the library.

Even though Kuei was a literal monster that had eaten Long Feng when the man attempted to brainwash Zuko, it was still nice.

Eyes blinked at Zuko from the corners of the library, staring at him from every possible angle. Zuko was used to this by now, and so he merely waved at them. The eyes widened and the internal light coming from them shone brighter. At least with eyes that bright, one barely needed lamps to read.

"Good, good," Kuei bobbed his head and it fell off his neck, tumbling to the floor as Kuei's arms flailed in the air, trying to catch it and failing epically. The monster in human skin—literally—cursed softly and picked up the head, a new one already forming on his neck. The old one crumbled into dust, falling apart in Kuei's hands. Zuko winced a little, not quite used to that yet.

Kuei stared at his empty hands for a minute, frowning, before he snapped his new head around to look at Zuko. He blinked, then grinned. "I'm glad you came back," he said, walking over to sit next to Zuko on the floor. Zuko pointed to the cushion before Kuei sat on the stone floor again, and Kuei immediately changed tracks to sit on it.

"I told you I would," Zuko frowned.

Kuei nodded, his head staying on this time. "Yes, but... a lot of people say they'll come back." Unspoken went but no-one ever does.

A mouth bit down on Zuko's swords, and he irritably slapped it away. Kuei didn't react—Zuko was half-convinced that he barely knew what his own body parts were doing. Evey stared at him from shadows, mouth forming out of them to whisper words he couldn't understand in a language he didn't know. The darkness around them soared, hiding them away between shelves and scrolls and old memories of lives long-since forgotten.

Zuko breathed in the scent of ink and paper that always seemed to linger around Kuei. The air around the man twisted, reality seamlessly bending to Kuei's will. A table made of shadows popped into existence in front of them, and Kuei gestured to it. Zuko, already knowing what the man wanted, placed his scroll on it so he could read easier.

Kuei scooted closer with every passing minute until he was sitting with his side touching Zuko's. Zuko didn't move, didn't twitch away from the cold or the sudden knowledge that he was buried fifteen meters underground and was slowly suffocating to death. Instead he stayed still, allowing his fire to burn brighter, hotter, until smoke was leaving his lips in time with his breaths.

"How is your uncle?" asked Kuei, sometime later.

Zuko took a moment to register that he was being spoken to, and then another moment to recognize what had been said. He looked up from his scroll and to Kuei—dispropriate body and all. "Yes," he said, "He's enjoying his new teashop."

Kuei smiled at him, his thousand eyes glittering with joy. The mass of existence that was probably supposed to be Kuei ended below his chest now, fusing into the shadows surrounding them. A void existed there instead, a lack of existence that made Zuko's head hurt. He forced his eyes away, rubbing them slightly to stop the spots of darkness from eating up his vision.

"I'm glad," said Kuei.

Zuko smiled at him, his smoke smelling like burned charcoal.

There was no-one else near them. The area around the library was always abandoned when Zuko came to visit, always left to rot on its own. And it was rotting, he was sure. The scrolls and books and bookshelves were losing form, bleeding shadows and ink staining the floor. Dark plants ate their way into the foundation of the stone, shadows settling into the cracks like spiders. The darkness ate up all light, every candle useless in here. Zuko's firebending was the only reason that he could read in here at all.

He allowed the shadows to embrace him, allowed them to hug him until he looked as black as any other shadow in here. When he looked at his own hand, he could scarcely see it. Ignoirng the unconscious beat of instinctive fear that nearly swallowed him whole.

Kuei's hand curled around his, their fingers slotting naturally together. The fear eased back into something more manageable—Zuko had always been very good at ignoring his instincts. At ignoring the voice in his head telling him that he was making a mistake, insisting he would regret it. It was easy enough to push those voices aside now, too, easy enough to curl into Kuei's darkness and let his fire breathe freely through them. Easy enough to smile, and turn and trust that Kuei wouldn't hurt him.

Zuko had made a lot of mistakes in his life, but he didn't think that this was one of them.

quillpunk: screenshot of adam's face in full costume from SK8 (adam)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M, Gen
  • Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
  • Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
  • Characters: Draco Malfoy, Tom Riddle | Voldemort
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, First Meetings, Pre-Slash, Pre-Relationship, Pirates
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 1200
  • Published on AO3: 2021-08-26

Notes: KuZu Week 2021: Day 5 - Pirates

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender or any associated trademarks.


Here, something in the air seems to say. Look over here. And Kuei is but a man—a starving man most of these days—and he is not infallible. Sometimes he bends to the whispers on the wind, throws his hands out to catch the flutter of fate's wings. Sometimes he turns, and he holds his hand above his eyes as he squints into the wind. Sometimes he stops on his path, turns away from the road he'd been walking, and changes directions.

Sometimes, Kuei breaks from his self-imposed promise to stay away from the big Earth Kingdom cities, the ones where someone high enough up the ladder might be able to recognize him.

Nobody has so far.

It's a slightly smaller city this time, but still big. It's surrounded by high walls, as most Earth cities are. Kuei has to stand in line for nearly half an hour to get in, showing his pass to the guard at the gate. After the wait, and the hours he's spent on his feet to get here, he heads right for the closest inn when he's inside. He hands the small bits of money he still has to the innkeeper and throws his meager possessions on the bed. Sighing, he heads to the bathroom to wash his face.

He doesn't know what he's doing here. There is nothing for him here; nothing but a golden cage should he be recognized. Long Feng is smart—he would never make the same mistake twice. And it still took years for Kuei to figure out a way to escape, years for his plan to come to fruition. If he's caught... he doesn't think he'll be able to get out again.

But the Avatar has returned to the world and Kuei dare not ignore whispers on the wind. And so he rents a room for a full week. And so he unpacks his things and stays.

A day later, a ship sails into port. There is nothing remarkable about it, except for how utterly unremarkable it is. There is a worn-down flag flying high on the mast, a crew of average-looking but strong men anchoring the ship in the harbor. Nobody reacts to the ship; nobody swerves around it, tries to avoid or ignore it. Some people greet the shipmates and some others arrange accommodations for the crew. It's all perfectly normal stuff, if one ignores the fact that the Dragon of the West just stepped ashore.

Kuei has only seen drawings of him, but it's unmistakably the same man. This is Iroh, the older brother of the Fire Lord. This is Iroh, the man who nearly succeeded in conquering Kuei's home. This is Iroh, the man who smiles and laughs and throws his arm around a beautiful young man's shoulders.

This is Iroh, an omen of disaster.

Kuei swallows his tea and slouches a little further in his chair. He's lucky that the teashop's owner doesn't mind him sitting here for hours, taking advantage of the plentiful light to read scrolls he's picked up here and there. The inn doesn't have light like this and he lost his glasses a while back—they made him too recognizable. But it means he's left squinting down at the pages, his head only a few centimeters from it as he tries to decipher the words.

He's so busy squinting, in fact, that he misses the new people entering. Instead, Kuei thanks the old man for refilling his tea and shoves his nose closer to the page. The smell of dried ink and old paper meets him. It is not until his chair is knocked into and a sword hits his table that he jerks back and—is face-to-face with a young man.

A very pretty young man.

And—Kuei is weak. He was weak as a king and he is weak as a wandering scholar. (There is something flawed within him, something that bends instead of straightens.)

The man's long, shining black hair is swept up into a high tail, his left eye covered by a black eyepatch, the skin around it badly burnt. Gold earrings dangle from both ears, matching the gold of his uncovered eye. He's glaring, his eye looking past Kuei's shoulder at a simpering old woman.

Kuei gulps. He raises his hands and scoots his chair until it bangs against the wall. The pretty man clicks his tongue and moves past him.

"Do you think," pretty man hisses, his voice low and dark, dripping promises of wicked things. Kuei gulps again, his fingers clenching on the scroll. The pretty man continues, "that we'll let you walk all over us?"

The woman's eyes narrow and she squares her shoulders. "I'm your client," she says and Kuei's gaze shoots back to the man with the sword.

The sword is raised, pointing straight at the woman. He sneers, "Our clients pay us."

She stares. The sword doesn't waver. Her eyes glance at Kuei. Pretty man doesn't so much as twitch. Finally, she gathers herself up and glares at the man. "Fine," she bites out. Huffing, she leaves the teashop with heavy steps.

Kuei waits a minute, his eyes stuck on that sword, but finally, the man moves again.

"Sorry, uncle," pretty man says to someone behind Kuei and Kuei turns his head. Glances back over his shoulder. And sees Iroh—the Dragon of the West—smile cheerfully.

Kuei freezes.

"Not to worry, nephew," Iroh says kindly, eyes twinkling like he isn't a murderer.

The nephew, the pretty man, prince Zuko, puts away his sword and walks around Kuei's table to flop down on a chair next to Iroh. He spots Kuei; his eye narrows and he spits out, "What?"

Kuei startles. "I—" he looks around, trying to think of something inoffensive and innocuous to say. His mind draws a blank. "You're very pretty," is what comes out. Kuei should just throw himself into the ocean.

Zuko's mouth snaps shut. Iroh's eyes twinkle; the deadly old man laughing and patting his nephew's shoulder. Kuei's shoulders draw up and he slides deeper into the chair, his scroll making a loud crinkling role from his abuse of it. Zuko's staring right at him, his eye wide, and he's—so pretty. Kuei is weak, and stupid and this is why he's not a good king. This is why he can't protect his country. Because when met with a pretty face and a pretty body and pretty eyes and even pretty hair (how can hair be pretty???) he's lost. There is no battle to be won when one side never reaches the battlefield.

"I'm gonna go get our luggage settled," Iroh says to his nephew, his voice full of mirth. "Why don't you get to know this scholarly gentleman in the meanwhile?"

Zuko eyes his uncle distrustfully, but says, "Don't take too long," thus giving indirect confirmation.

Kuei gulps.

Iroh leaves with a jaunty wave and a cheerful tune, and Kuei watches as Zuko turns to him and frowns. Licking his lips, Kuei attempts to smile. Zuko's earrings move again, his gold eye staring at him with suspicion, and the hair slides over another shoulder and—Kuei is so, so lost.

quillpunk: digital portrait sketch of an imaginary guy who might or might not (not) be me (Default)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M, Gen
  • Fandom: Hades (video Game 2018)
  • Relationship: Chaos/Hypnos
  • Characters: Hypnos, Chaos
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, First Meetings, Pre-Slash, Pre-Relationship
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 1101
  • Published on AO3: 2021-09-17

Notes: Translation into Русский available by Lord_Naos on AO3

Disclaimer: I do not own Hades the video game or any associated trademarks.


So Hypnos got lost.

It's not actually a rare thing. In the first place, directions don't really exist in dreams. You can certainly go up and down and left and right, but do those concepts even exist in dreams? Are you sure you're remembering which way is right? Did you mark the passages? Do the passages even exist after you've passed through them?

Just because you think you're going in those directions doesn't mean you actually are. Dreams are fickle and prone to change and they don't abide by the rules of reality.

So Hypnos got lost. He's not worried about this, like he said, it's happened before. Dreams blur, and they lead him astray and that's just fine. It's a part of him, and never something that he felt inconvenienced by—he sleeps a lot of the time anyway, so no one even usually notices.

This time, like all others, was an accident. Hypnos walked too far, turned too much, and now here he is. Lost. Alone. In another dimension altogether, it seems. One very dark, and disorienting. And he can't quite place the smell, but it's certainly very overwhelming in an absence of all other smells kind of way.

"Hello," Hypnos calls out into the darkness he's now found himself in. He scrunches up his nose as he looks around, trying to force the realm into some kind of up and down, side to side directions thing. It's not going very well; the place clearly doesn't want them. He's not entirely certain he isn't standing upside down, but equally uncertain he's not walking backward, but with his feet stepping forwards. It's all very odd.

"I'm sorry for intruding," he adds, because it's never a mistake to be polite. Tilting his head back as far as it goes, he tries to see something. So far it's all been very structureless, very free-flowing. Which isn't bad! It just means that Hypnos can't quite tell if he's moved at all since he entered here. Because he's alone, and he hasn't been sleeping well lately (due to a certain prince on a certain self-imposed mission) he babbles into the void around him, "I got lost, you see, and this is a very confusing place. You should really consider putting up a few signs for directions!"

He waits. There isn't a response, which isn't automatically a bad thing. No response means that his babbling didn't get a negative reaction either—which it sometimes does, sometimes to some not very nice effects—so Hypnos does not yet feel like he's overstayed his welcome. He does that sometimes, he knows, but he's really only been here for a few minutes. Or weeks, he can't tell. Regardless, it's not yet to the point where he feels unwelcome.

He keeps walking. There's not precisely a lot more he can do in this situation. He's been sleep-deprived lately so he's not about to wake up unless he really needs to, and though a god he may be, he's not a god of directions.

So aimless walking it is.

Hypnos whistles as he goes, a jaunty tune that he composed himself. It keeps his spirit up while the surroundings are so drab and dark, and he keeps his eyes aimed ahead. And sure, he has no idea where he's going or if he's going anywhere at all, but it's altogether not a bad trip. Nothing's tried to murder him yet, no traps have been strung, the smell is nice, the darkness is easy on his eyes.

The change when he comes upon a structure is not a change at all. In fact, the structure has always been there, Hypnos just hasn't been able to perceive it. Or that's what it feels like. It's a very strange place to try to prescribe logic to, this realm, and Hypnos is kind of getting sick of trying. It's clearly not doing a lot of good.

But the structure is nice! There's unfortunately no bed, and it all seems to be solid rock when he steps foot on it, but beggars can't be choosers.

Hypnos walks further onto the stone platform and says, "My name is Hypnos." He waits a moment but there's no answer. Pushing up his eye cover, he hums. "Can I presume I am in the presence of Grandparent Chaos?"

"Son of Nyx," the overpowering, overwhelming, discordant voice coming from all directions says. "You are lost," it remarks with no particular emotion.

Hypnos spins around, trying to get a glimpse of his elusive grandparent; the one he's not allowed to speak of, the one no one has been in contact with in ages. There is no hint to be seen though, so he pouts and crosses his arms, floating up higher. "I am lost," he admits. It's a virtue to be able to acknowledge your flaws, he thinks. It's certainly something a few people in his life could do more of.

"You did not mean to come here," Chaos says, the voice somehow containing multiple layers of sound.

Hypnos nods. "Nope! But it's a very cool place you've got here, I don't regret visiting. Very consistent decorating!"

The darkness compresses and then relaxes. The visage of Chaos steps out of the dark, the bottom half of their body still hidden—or maybe dissolved? To be fair, nobody has actually told him how Chaos' existence works, much less described how they look. All Hypnos really knows is that they created the universe and then retreated to a realm of their own; this realm, probably. That Hypnos accidentally intruded upon. ...Oops?

"I do not fault those who are lost," says Chaos. They come closer, their large visage easily twice the size of Hypnos. Hypnos gulps somewhat, hiding it behind a hand. Like this, with their presence looming over Hypnos, it really does make something squeeze low in his belly.

Valiantly ignoring it, Hypnos waves his other hand, "Gosh, if I didn't know better, I'd think you're happy to see me!"

"I am always happy to see my creations, even the one I did not directly make," Chaos responds, and really, that's just too cruel. Pretty words like will make his stomach flutter and his chest warm. Hypnos nearly feels like swooning and then does so just to be dramatic. Chaos doesn't scold him for being unprofessional, or taking things too easy, or being overdramatic. The ancient being, the very first existence that shaped the universe itself, merely looks at him.

And Hypnos feels almost fuzzy with the attention. So he grins, and he keeps talking, and the dream goes on. And Chaos listens.

quillpunk: screenshot of Aaravos (who is smirking in full evil mode) from The Dragon Prince cartoon (aaravos1)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M, Gen
  • Fandom: DCU
  • Relationship: Ra's al Ghul/Jason Todd
  • Characters: Ra's al Ghul, Jason Todd
  • Additional Tags: Ficlet, Fake Dating, Age Difference, Fluff
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 1082
  • Series: Part 1 of Flufftober 2021
  • Published on AO3: 2021-10-08

Notes: Flufftober 2021: Day 1 - Winning a Teddy for the Other

Disclaimer: I do not own the DCU franchise or any associated characters, trademarks etc.


"Here you go," Jason says and tosses the teddy bear he just won to Ra's al Ghul. He's pretty sure the (much) older man wants to murder him for it, but as it's not currently an option, the man just smiles at him and accepts.

Jason should probably go underground for a few months when this mission is over, huh.

But that's a problem for future Jason. Right now, he's got another game to win. There's a booth not far off offering even bigger teddy bears and hell, he's already dug his grave, might as well go all out. So Jason sidles up to Ra's and curls his hand around the older man's arm, hanging his weight onto him and steering him in the direction of the next booth.

Ra's eyes narrow on Jason's hand but he doesn't say anything, so Jason cheerfully pretends that he doesn't notice. When they get to the new booth, he parks Ra's in the corner next to it and picks up the toy gun. He weighs it in his hands, takes aim, and fires.

It's a hit.

Grinning, Jason hits again and again, racking up points. Or maybe not. He doesn't really know how amusement parks works, but it sounds logical enough.

The man in the booth gives him the biggest bear on the shelf. Jason, already doomed and thus having nothing to lose, walks over to Ra's and holds it out. "For you, my love," he says, trying to sound smooth and suave and in love. It must work, because he can see more than a few people nearby smiling indulgently at him. Then looking more uncertain when they see Ra's properly and realize how big the age difference is. It's kind of funny.

"Thank you, beloved," Ra's al Ghul, the arrogant fucker, says easily. There's not a hint of deception on him, not so much as a smidgen of deceit.

Jason narrows his eyes. He throws his arm around Ra's' waist and hugs him, feeling their body's align. It's unfair that he's shorter than Ra's, but he can still throw his bulk around. Though Ra's is pretty bulky too, but—anyway, Jason isn't going to let his one chance to enjoy life slip away from him. He's sure that when the mission is over, he's going to be murdered very violently, so he'd like to take this opportunity.

During the course of trying out all the booths, they've successfully gotten much closer to the employee only area of the amusement park. Where the mission details account for some pretty nasty stuff going down. And Jason is ready.

He brought some fucking fabulous guns.

"Come on, I'll win you," Jason squints, trying to read the tiny text on the last booth they need to hit. He's left cameras and bugs on every booth so far, but he doesn't think there was anything useful from them. Or this charade would have ended already; probably with his decapitation. Finally, he gives up and just says, "I'll win whatever they've got there, I'm sure it's super romantic."

Ra's chuckles and damn if that doesn't make Jason shiver. He keeps the reaction contained but Ra's probably already noticed since he's, well, Ra's. And a super ninja-slash-assassin. "I'm sure it will be worth it," Ra's says, and Jason tries to edge away from him.

Unfortunately, he's still got a grip on the other man's waist and Ra's hand clamp down on his, squeezing tightly. Jason is pretty sure it cuts off his blood for a bit before the grip eases just enough that it's not painful. Ra's smile at him, so perfectly loving that it's just creepy, and says, "Careful dear, wouldn't want you to get lost."

How many trackers has Ra's already placed on Jason? Ah, it doesn't matter, he should burn everything just to be safe. And maybe get a full-body scan to check for trackers planted inside his body...

Pulling up his most flirtatious smile, Jason grins at Ra's and says, "Not to worry, love, I would find you no matter how far we part."

Ra's leans toward him, slowing their pace even further, thus allowing the goons of the amusement park's boss to better surround them. Jason pretends not to notice, and instead keeps his eyes locked on Ra's face. This far on the amusement park's edge, the lighting is much less obtrusive. It flickers in Ra's eyes, and—Jason is not going to go there. Nope. He'd like to think he has some survival instincts, thanks.

Ra's is looking at him, too, though. Which is—fine. It's fine. The goons are getting closer, which means Jason is soon gonna be able to (work out some frustration) shoot people.

"You look beautiful tonight, beloved," Ra's says.

Jason grins, "Thank you, love," and surreptitiously palms one of his tiny knives. He rolls it between his fingers, waiting until he senses someone approaching from behind him and, when Ra's doesn't react, flings the knife over his shoulder.

"Fuck!" somebody screams.

Jason grins wider, delighted that it worked. Then he frowns, "Wait, what happened to the stuff I won you?"

"Ubu retrieved it," Ra's answers. And Jason didn't even notice.

He frowns harder. Luckily, there's a band of goons surrounding them so Jason can put it out of his mind in favor of kicking their ass. Thankfully, Ra's lets him go for this part. It would have been pretty difficult to fight otherwise.

The fight makes his adrenaline surge, the goons actually being very good at fighting. It's invigorating and takes his mind off certain other things he's been trying not to think about. He loses himself in the battle, throws his whole body in it, and lets it take over. It's been a while, after all. He's been too busy with investigations to really let loose. And these guys certainly deserve it.

When the fight's over, Jason stands still. He breathes, his head tilted back to take in the stars. It's nice night falls so early here, it leaves fewer people here. Doubtless, they heard the sounds of gunfire, but it should have just driven them off. But it's silent now, the stars twinkling, the night heavy, the air colder still. It's quiet, and still, and calm.

Jason breathes, and turns to Ra's al Ghul, and stares. Ra's is quiet too, his gaze calm on Jason. The silence would be worrying, if the mission wasn't still ongoing.

Jason wonders idly how quickly he'll get murdered once it's over.

quillpunk: digital portrait sketch of an imaginary guy who might or might not (not) be me (Default)
[personal profile] quillpunk
  • Rating: T
  • Categories: M/M
  • Fandom: DCU
  • Relationship: Slade Wilson (Deathstroke)/Jason Todd
  • Characters: Slade Wilson (Deathstroke), Jason Todd
  • Additional Tags: Age Difference, Bodyguard Slade Wilson, First Meetings, Pre-Slash, Pre-Relationship
  • Status: Complete
  • Wordcount: 3238
  • Series: Part 1 of SladeRobin Week
  • Published on AO3: 2021-10-18

Notes: SladeRobin Week 2021: Day 1 - Bodyguard Slade

Disclaimer: I do not own the DCU franchise or any associated characters, trademarks etc.


Okay, so maybe he'd fucked up.

In his defense, he'd planned for everything, had had fourteen contingencies and had established a prior relationship with the relevant people to smooth over any feathers that he might ruffle. His cover had been well-established and squeaky clean. Every precaution had been taken, every gun and goon accounted for.

He just hadn't expected fucking Deathstroke the Terminator to be there.

So yeah. He'd fucked up.

"Shit!" Jason Todd swore as he rounded the last corner, throwing a smoke bomb behind him as he turned and pulled up his guns. As the smoke began to clear, he was already shooting.

Again, in his defense, his contacts said that Deathstroke was supposed to be on the other side of the planet right now. But no, no; now he was standing squarely behind the leader of the human trafficking ring that Jason had been after for five months. The guy was smart, Jason'd give him that, but how the fuck he'd managed to convince Deathstroke's current client to loan him out for the night, Jason didn't know.

He frankly could not care less. The point was; he wasn't getting another shot like this. All his planning went to shit the moment Deathstroke recognized him, and his contingencies (and they were fucking beautiful) were beyond ruined. That left only one option.

Go in guns blazing, distract Deathstroke with a lot of flashy shit, and—somehow—kill the dickface in the chaos.

Awesome. He was already off to a great start.

Rolling his eyes at his own sarcasm, Jason nudged the last goon he'd downed. The guy wasn't dead, but he sure as hell would wish he was when he woke up. Threat neutralized, at least. Now it was time to find some other assholes to smoke.

Jason proceeded through the hotels long, long hallway until he found the stairs. He kept the AK-47 propped against his shoulder as he moved up toward the top-floor, where the shitface he planned to violently murder (hey, he was setting an example) was hiding with fucking Deathstroke playing bodyguard. Those were just cruel odds, but Jason was willing to bet he could convince Deathstroke he was an idiot long enough for his new plan to work.

It wasn't like they'd ever gone toe-to-toe before. Deathstroke probably already knew most everything about Jason's fighting style that could be found if one went digging, but Jason prided himself on his ability to adapt. And shoot somebody in the face until they flinched, whichever came first.

There were more goons on the other floors, guarding the elevators and the stairs' entrances, and Jason knocked around the cheap knock-offs until they dropped. He barely even had to use his guns, which was good since he still needed the pure firepower. As he got to the higher floors, the goons did get markedly better, but they still weren't on his level.

Sad for them.

"Okay, boys," Jason drawled as he pulled a gun out of its thigh-holster and leveled it at a goon. Behind his mask, he was already smirking. "Get out of the way, and you live."

They did not get out of the way.

The top floor didn't look any different from the lower floors, really. This was a fancy hotel, and even the smaller rooms were still elegant. Jason would know, he'd been staying in one for a whole week now, kicking back and relaxing while he monitored his prey. Well, he'd been relaxing. Until Deathstroke had definitely spotted him while Jason was going back up from the restaurant, about half-an-hour ago.

Jason wasn't in the business of being foolishly optimistic; Deathstroke knew what Jason looked like and he was damn good at his job. Even if he wasn't usually playing bodyguard, Jason had no doubt that he'd be flawless at this, too. So then there was no more relaxing.

And then there was fighting.

Amongst the smoke and the shrill ringing of the fire alarm, Jason stalked toward the classy suit his unfortunate victim was holed up in. The two goons guarding it yelled when they saw him, raising guns and shooting point blank. Well, he'd give them points for initiative but it was pretty unimaginative.

Get low, get in close, punch them, knock them out. Nothing complicated about it—sometimes the simple tactics worked best.

And it was time for the show's highlight.

Jason kicked the door open and started shooting.

Wildly, with absolutely no thought about it, he kicked in some smoke bombs while he was still shooting, snorting behind his helmet as guards yelled at him. He moved further in through the smoke, dropped another smoke bomb from his pocket, and spun in a circle, shooting every shadow he saw.

When the smoke cleared, there were a lot of dead people. Jason waited to see if he'd feel bad about it, but these goons weren't like the ones downstairs. These guy had some of the leader's trust, which meant they'd done some bad shit. And Jason was glad they wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else.

The lectures he'd inevitably get when he got back to Gotham would be super annoying, though. Oh well. Some things were worth a little pain.

He kicked another door open—the one his victim was hiding behind the last time Jason looked at his video feed—and promptly got shot.

In the head.

"Ow," he deadpanned, starting to grin behind his mask. "That hurt."

The goon who shot him looked at him, horrified. Jason rose an eyebrow, uncaring that the guy couldn't see it. The guy gulped and rose his gun, starting to shoot again. Jason used the age-old tactic of getting in too close for a gun to be effective and knocking him out. And then he was through the doorway.

And the fuckface that was his target was on the other side of the room.

With fucking Deathstroke standing beside him.

"So," Jason drawled, tilting his head in Deathstroke's direction. "You come to places like this often?"

"It's been known to happen," Deathstroke answered, voice flat.

The target Jason was going to kill was almost shaking in his boots, but he still managed to smirk and gloat, "You're out of luck, assassin! I have Deathstroke the Terminator protecting me," and strut out from behind his desk. What an idiot.

Jason snorted, "If you don't know who I am, you're the one who needs luck."

With that, Jason aimed the AK-47 straight at his target and pulled the trigger. No bullets hit him, obviously, but it was very cathartic to feel the gun's kickback in his hands and listen to the bullets ripping the furniture apart. Scraps of sofa and desk flew through the air as he continued to shoot at the target being carted around like a rag doll by Deathstroke.

He dropped a smoke bomb (damn, he only had two left now, he hadn't packed for fucking Deathstroke) and then dropped a stink bomb right after. The AK-47 was now out of bullets, so he threw it out the window—it was cool, he had more—and pulled out his other other guns.

Spinning around wildly, he started shooting as soon as he caught sight of Deathstroke. He backed away with every shot, eventually having to just vault over a couch to get out Deathstroke's hand-to-hand combat range. Then Deathstroke pulled out his own guns and yeah, this was not gonna be pretty.

The next several minutes were a blur. Quick movements, jumping to stay out of close combat range, ducking bullets and angling himself so he could still take shots at the target. This was a ruse, after all. He needed to make Deathstroke think this battle was do or die.

Out of bullets again, Jason threw away the guns and pulled out two more. He continued to shoot, taking a running leap to get to the target and jumping, shooting in the air. Deathstroke successfully pulled the target out of the way. Jason clicked his tongue and threw his whole gun (now out of bullets, too) at the target.

The target shrieked and hid under a table.

Jason continued to his furious battle with what was widely regarded as the best mercenary in the world. Things got a little confusing for a bit there, as his mind took a backseat to good, old-fashioned muscle memory.

He ran out of guns and bullets, so those were thrown away. Out came the knives and then he and Deathstroke got to have some nice, sweet fun. It was exhilarating, fighting somebody who was so very, very deadly. Somebody who would, no hesitation, kill him at the slightest mistake. Jason was walking a tightrope here, and damn, he'd missed it.

Finally, the opportunity he'd waited for came. They were on the other side of the room from the target, the son of a bitch still hiding under that table, and Jason had his back to the target, was squarely between the target and Deathstroke. There was no way for Deathstroke to intercept anything in this position.

In one smooth motion, Jason pulled back one of his hands holding a knife, turned around and pushed back so that his back met Deathstroke's chest (to keep the man from stabbing him) and flicked his wrist.

The knife buried itself in the target's head.

Deathstroke's arms clamped down around him, holding him harshly, pushing his arms down to his sides. "There's no way he survived that," Jason said, slumping in the hold now that his job was done.

"No," Deathstroke agreed.

The arms tightened around him to the point it was painful and Jason grimaced, but made no move to escape. He had thrown literally everything he had at this man, so it wasn't like he had much choice, anyway.

"You're very good," Deathstroke said. Jason didn't know if that was supposed to be a compliment, but he was starting to have trouble breathing over here, so he just nodded in vague agreement. Deathstroke continued, "It's a shame we never fought when you were a bat, I bet we could have made some sweet memories."

Jason scoffed, "Yeah, no, you'd have destroyed me. I rather think this is a much more memorable first meeting."

"Well, you're right about that."

Abruptly, Deathstroke's grip was loosened enough for Jason to be spun around. It was a little unfair, how much bigger than him this man was. Jason was big himself, but he still felt like he was being towered over. It also maybe made his mouth water a little, but that was neither here nor there.

Face to face with Deathstroke, the other man grabbed him with one arm and used his other hand to pull off his own mask. Deathstroke looked just like he did in the pictures Jason had been shown years ago, when he was still Robin. White hair, eye-patch over one eye, beard as white as his hair. He really hadn't changed at all.

Deathstroke rose the visible eyebrow at him, literally looking down on him and wasn't that a bitch. Finally, after a tense staring contest, Jason shrugged and reached out with his suddenly free hand to pull off his helmet.

It clattered to the floor behind him. "Satisfied?" Jason asked, leaning back as much as he could while still caught in Deathstroke's grip, and gave the other man his most condescending expression. It was a work of art, in his opinion.

Deathstroke—real name Slade Wilson—snorted. "Very," he said and let go of Jason.

Jason narrowed his eyes. He quickly put some distance between them and glanced around the room. Everything was chaos. The furniture was just as torn to pieces as the people, bullets littering the floor and knives stuck in walls where they'd been thrown. But the target was dead. Jason had managed to kill him, had driven himself to the brink—but it was worth it.

He swayed a little on his feet, the adrenaline beginning to leave him. Frowning, he picked up his helmet and put it under his arm. Deathstroke had gone over to Jason's target and kicked at him, but he really was very dead.

"You've put me in a bind, kid," Deathstroke said, sheathing his sword.

Jason would have gulped, if he was still a kid. "Did you actually have a contract with him?" Jason hadn't heard anything about that, but if he had... well, Jason was fucked.

"No, my client was doing him a favor," Deathstroke said and walked back over to Jason. Jason narrowed his eyes and stood his ground, refusing to let himself be cowed just because this man had more experience than him. Jason was fucking lethal, okay.

"Then what's the problem?" Jason asked.

He shouldn't be sticking around like this, much less having an actual conversation with a renowned mercenary who wasn't known for appreciating people interfering with his contracts. Jason should have been out of here the second Deathstroke had let him go, should have taken the opportunity to jump out the window. It was already broken, anyway, so it would have been easy.

But—well, there was a lot of buts. Most importantly, he'd maybe missed going toe to toe with someone like that without it being personal. There was no personal stakes to that fight, not to either of them. Jason would have been pissed if he'd lost, sure, but then he'd probably also have been dead so what did that matter.

Deathstroke shrugged, "He'll probably try to kill me now."

Jason rose an eyebrow, beginning the process of retrieving his surviving knives. It didn't seem like Deathstroke planned to stop him, anyhow. "And that's my problem how?"

Deathstroke didn't move while Jason searched through the room, just standing still and staring at him. It would probably be unnerving, if Jason was a normal person. As it was, the unflinching attention just made his stomach tingle (almost on the edge of unpleasant). As soon as he was done, he parked himself across from Deathstroke and stared back. Let it never be said that Jason backed down from challenges.

"You gonna kill me?" Jason asked, biting the (figurative) bullet.

Deathstroke tilted his head, his eyes dragging over Jason's body. Jason just rose an eyebrow and waited him out. Finally, Deathstroke said, "It wasn't in my contract to keep him alive."

Jason chose to take that as a no.

"Well, this was fun," Jason said, just about done waiting around for... whatever it was he waiting for. He put on his helmet and began to walk in the direction of the door, taking the opportunity to kick his dead target while he was at it, and said, "We should do it again sometime," as he left.

And came face to face with a bunch of goons aiming guns at him.

Sighing, Jason brushed his hair out of his eyes. One of the goons actually shrieked at the motion and the guns wavered as they aimed at him. "Seriously?" Jason demanded, glad that he'd gotten his helmet on at least. Maybe he should have paid a little more attention to what was going on out here, but they'd seemingly done a good job of staying out of sight.

He threw himself back into the room he'd just left right as a rain of bullets befell his previous location. Quickly vaulting through the room, he called, "Change of plans," to Deathstroke just as he threw himself out the broken window.

And fuck, he was up high. It was exhilarating, free-falling through the air. It took a bit of twisting to get himself oriented right and then he pulled the trigger for his parachute, it unfolding perfectly.

He was close enough to the ground by the time a bullet tore a whole through the parachute that it didn't kill him. Lucky him. Dying really sucked.

At the ground, he took off in a sprint toward his get away vehicle (one of three), tearing through the group of pedestrians that were crossing the road. The fact that there were no cops around was a testament to something alright, but Jason was too busy running for his life to worry about that right now. No, he threw himself onto his bike, glancing behind and clicking his tongue irritatingly when he saw the person chasing after him.

Should he wait? Offer them a ride? It might get him some bonus points, but it might also get him killed.

Fuck it.

"Get on," Jason called out to Deathstroke, the other man not even waiting a second before he was climbing on behind Jason. Jason immediately drove off, the bike purring contently beneath him. It was a shame he couldn't keep it.

Deathstroke's arms curled around Jason's waist, the grip tight but not strangling. He moved in tandem with Jason when they took the corners at way faster speeds than recommended. The warmth against his back maybe affected Jason more than he'd expected, but it was workable. Jason was a wizard at pushing his desires aside in order to focus on the goal.

For some twenty minutes, Jason soared through the city, going in circles to throw off any followers. He was good at this, and it didn't take him long to be satisfied that he'd thrown off any trackers. So he turned the bike toward his safe-house, slowing down to a more cruising speed that wouldn't get them pulled over by the nonexistent cops.

Finally, he rolled to a stop in an alleyway. For a moment, nothing happened. Deathstroke sat still behind him, his grip tight and warm. Jason waited to see what the other man would do, his heartbeat speeding up slightly despite all of his attempts to stop it. A different kind of warmth curled tight in his belly.

"Thanks for the ride," Deathstroke murmured, his voice soft.

Jason clicked his tongue. "You getting off anytime soon?"

Slade laughed softly at that and it took a moment for Jason to make the connection, purely because he hadn't fucking meant it that way, you asshat. "You getting off with me?" Slade asked, and his hand spread over Jason's stomach and damn it, that was fucking unfair.

For about three point four seconds, Jason seriously contemplated stabbing this asshole in the kidney and leaving him here. It wasn't like it would kill him or anything, but it might let Jason ditch this city without much trouble. But—well, Slade was deadly. And stupidly attractive. And he apparently found Jason hot, too. So.

"Yes," Jason said. He cleared his throat and knocked his hand against Slade's. "I'll get off with you, now get off the bike, asshole."

Slade laughed again. He climbed off the bike in one smooth motion, pulling Jason with him. His hands settled on Jason's waist, the fingers drawing small circles over his shirt. Jason pulled his helmet off, letting it drop to the ground after a quick look around to make sure they weren't being watched.

Slade dragged him closer, and Jason pulled off Slade's mask, dropping it next to his own helmet. He looked at that face, felt his own breaths stutter in his throat at the intense gaze Slade was staring at him with. Licking his lips, Jason smirked when Slade's eyes followed the motion.

The kiss was warm, and the steady grip Slade had on him was scorching, and the heat in his belly spread like fire.

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fanfiction by hoodwinked

November 2023

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