#desperation to please (the father/the patriarch)

[harryssunflowers]

Sanguine 1 (HS)

Summary: The time has come for the new heir of the De Santis famiglia to be proclaimed. Stephano De Santis has ruled for forty-seven years, one of the five families that compose the Italian Mafia. The new boss is calculating, cold, precise, never driven by emotion. Even though he isn’t Stephano’s biological son; Harry Styles has been groomed to follow his footsteps since he was first adopted. As Harry’s last task he is sent to the Agostini’s to do what he does best, extract information in the shortest time possible. Ainhoa Cortez happened to be at the wrong place in the wrong time when she is kidnapped by the Agostini and set to be sold to the highest bidder. She is being held captive in their dungeon, right beside the cell of the man who Harry seems to be “convincing to talk”. Will he be captivated by her beauty? Will she get tangled in the webs of the mafia? Will she swear Omertá and keep quiet about the business that the family holds behind close doors and become one or will she turn in Harry and his family?

Author’s note: Hellooo, this is our first chapter of the serie. Please let us know if you like it and what you are looking forward the most.  ASK IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST!

DISCLAIMER NEITHER OF US SPEAK ITALIAN! We speak english, spanish and a bit of french, but NOT ITALIAN. All translations come from google translator, so if you have a problem take it up with him! Enough said, we hope you like it!! Enjoy!

Word count: 3.5K

warnings: cursing, violence, talk about sexual abuse 

taglist: @mellamolayla, @hopefullimaginer123, @brockdolan​ 

It's too quiet, sufficient to hear the thoughts of the people in the room. The moans and groans from the pain inflicted can no longer be heard. His body is crouched on the floor, silently asking for mercy from the perpetrator.  Blood oozes out of the freshly made wounds on his face. The smell of iron lingers in the air. 

“Per favore” He prays to be released. Even though he knows it’s worthless. He has heard the stories and the rumors that come along with the name of his aggressor. 

He stands up straight, wiping the blood that stains his hands, just as much as his mind. He turns his back on the man that he has been torturing for the last two days. 

“Sit him up,” He says harshly, leaving no room for negotiation or contradictions. The aloof man begins the task of unrolling the sleeves of his white shirt. Mindful that today he is going to put an end to the man’s suffering. 

“I won’t say anything” He has been tied to a chair. He doesn’t have to be a fortune teller to know what’s coming next. He is desperate whereas the man that holds his life in his hands seems to be more concerned about keeping his attire clean. 

In matters of seconds, a gun is drawn to him, pointed straight to the space between his eyebrows.

“No one ever steals from the De Santis, Marco. You should’ve known better” The air piercing gunshot echoes through the room. 

It only takes the man a few seconds to compose himself and assimilate that he has taken another life. His callousness is no surprise to the men in the room. After all, he has been groomed to be a cold-blooded man since he was three, by his father —the mafia boss. 

”Clean this shit up” Harry Styles snaps just before departing.

The men gather in the dimmed room. The announcement of the meeting had been unusual and abrupt. The unforeseen change of plans had created a sudden panic to spread down the halls of the manor. Surely, a few rumors had started going from mouth to mouth, terrorizing the most vulnerable members of la famiglia.

He is one of the last men to arrive. He strides into the room in all his might. With his head held up high, his jaw clenched and his mouth set in a hard line. He takes his rightful place on the table— one seat to the right side of the Boss. He regrets not pouring himself a drink before settling down. Now it’s too late — the room is too crowded. 

Stefano De Santis — the patriarch of the family makes his way in. Instantly causing everyone to grow silent and still. He is followed by his capo bastone and most trusted friend — Victor Ricci. 

“Buongiorno a tutti” He greets his men before settling down at the head of the table. “There are some matters I would like to discuss, but first I need to know what’s the situation with the next shipment” He leans back, elbows pressed on the arms of the chair and fingers intertwined with his own. 

“The shipment was supposed to leave today, but some discrepancies surged” Stefano’s mouth switches at his oldest son’s words. 

“Why wasn’t I informed?” All eyes shift to Marcelo, waiting for a plausible explanation. His oldest prevails silent, with his head down. Not knowing what to say. “Harry?” .

“The shipment was supposed to leave today, but the payment was never met. Yesterday we were finally able to agree” The bruises on his knuckles are the only evidence of the type of agreement that he had settled between them. The way the corners of Stefano’s mouth turn up reveals he has gotten the answer he wants to hear. 

“Good” Stefano hates putting his sons as an example, but unfortunately sometimes he has to. “No more mishaps, Marcello. If it’s too much then step down. I am sure someone can take care of your responsibilities” He scolds him with narrowed eyes. 

Harry can feel the eyes of his oldest brother on him, burning him like the sun on a hot summer day. But he doesn’t care, he is used to it. Harry isn’t oblivious to the hatred that Marcello holds towards him. It has always been there ever since he first stepped into their house. It is all jealousy.  Even though  Harry is not biologically a Di Santis, he is loved and cared for as one. Marcello has always seen him as his father’s favorite. His father trusts him more than anyone else, and that infuriates him.

“Yes boss,” said Marcello as he clenches his fists under the table, his eyes wander off his father’s gaze unto Harry's, giving him a deadly glance. “Very well then, report back to me when the shipment reaches its destination. Now that we have discussed this, there is something else I would like to inform you” The crowd goes silent. “I gathered you all today to inform you that I will be stepping down from the family business and I have chosen who will be my successor”  Marcello’s eyes widened over the unexpected announcement, this is his moment, if his father chooses him he will prove him what he is capable of. 

“After much deliberation, I've come to the decision that my son— Harry will be taking my place”. The moment feels surreal to Stefano. He has been the Boss for forty-seven years. He is retiring earlier than his father and grandfather did. Everyone could thank Francesca Di Santis — his wife. She had convinced him. ”You are dismissed”. 

As expected the men sitting around the table, remained in their seats. The air feels thick enough to be cut with a butter knife and all the tension radiated from one particular man. 

“Why?” He growls. He is fuming. He feels like he has been injected with venom. He can’t believe his father’s audacity. How could he have picked someone that wasn’t even his own blood? Someone who had no right — He wonders.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you, Marcello. I am still your father and most importantly the boss. You do as I say” Stefano he had seen this coming. 

He and Francesca had discussed it the night prior. They do that sort of thing. Stefano never takes an important decision without consulting his wife first. Her opinion plays a big role in the way that the household runs. And they had come into a consensual decision. Marcello can never be the boss. 

Unfortunately, something had gone wrong with the way they had raised Marcello. He is too selfish, irresponsible, impulsive and very hot headed. Marcello had been spoiled. And they aren’t proud of it. 

On the other hand, Harry is calculating. He is never driven by emotions. He is able to make tough decisions without crumbling. And more importantly, Harry always puts his family first. Stefano had shown him the ugly and the good of the family business. Surely, he had spoiled him, but never to the same degree as Marcello. Harry knows what struggling is. 

“Son — you only have to make one decision today. Who will be your capo bastone?” Harry’s eyes shift over to Alessandro Ricci; his close friend from childhood and most trusted man. 

“It goes without saying” Alessandro nods back in response. 

“It would be an honor” Victor reaches out and pats his son on the back before guiding out of the room. There is family business to discuss. 

“Congratulations, bro” Niccolo throws his arm over his older brother. He knows that there is no one fitter for the job. “Wait until Chiara finds out. She’ll go nuts” Niccolo is closer to Harry than to any of his other siblings. He has always looked up to him. He is amazed at his drive, determination and discipline. 

“Grazie Nicco” Harry gives him a half- smile. He still doesn’t know how to feel about it. He is proud of himself, but there is a feeling that lays heavy within him. Is it fear? that he won’t be able to fill in his father's shoes? — he asks himself. Tough challenges lay ahead of him. 

Stefano can’t ignore Marcello’s heavy gaze any longer. He has tried to keep himself cool for the sake of his youngest. But enough is enough. He won’t continue to allow that sort of disrespect. 

“Nicco go tell your sister, please” is all he says before the three men are left alone. 

“How could you choose him? I am the oldest! And he isn’t even our blood?!” Marcello badgers, pointing fingers at his brother. 

“I am glad you finally grew some balls to say it to my face” Harry chuckles. He couldn’t care any less what his brother thought. He found it entertaining. He loves getting under his skin. Especially when he throws his tantrums and makes himself look like an idiot. 

 “You are just choosing him because he is your little bitch. You know nothing! Your men are probably laughing behind your back right now” It’s as if someone has dropped a bomb within the room. It takes Harry two strides to get into Marcello’s face. His breathing has picked up, his jaw is clenched and the small smile he held has disappeared. 

“Don’t you ever fucking disrespect our father in front of me! Who the fuck you think you are talking to?!” He roars. Stefano lays a hand on his son’s shoulder in hopes to calm him down. 

“Don’t waste your breath, son. It’s all nonsense” 

“Fucking asshole” Harry’s cold eyes remain on him for a few minutes before turning away from Marcello. His hand rises in the air; pointing towards the door. “Get the fuck out”.

It’s only when the door shuts that Harry can finally breathe again. His father is still the Boss and demanded respect until his last breath. 

“Congratulations, figlio mio” He smiles brightly at him. “Didn’t I tell you that one of these days of this would be yours? The day has come” The memories from Stefano sitting him on the leather chair in his office when he was only five; flood Harry’s mind. “You got a long road ahead of you” Stefano gently slaps his face with the hand that holds the family heirloom ring. The same ring that identifies the Boss and will soon be his. “But remember hungry dogs are never logal” Referring to the betrayal and hypocrisy that came along with the job. 

“Hm how could I forget?” Stefano chuckles, not worried one bit about Harry’s future as boss. 

“I do need you to help me with one last thing. The Agostini have found a mole within their state. It seems like the Morelli are behind it. Lucas has asked for your assistant immediately. Fly out tonight and make sure to take Alessandro and a few men with you. Just in case it gets ugly” For the last three years things between the five families have been tranquil. But lately red flags have started flaring up and evidence has pointed to the Morelli. 

“Yes sir. I’ll leave right away”.

Luca Agostini stands by the entrance of his estate. He wears an all-black suit with no tie. His hair is messy, looking like he has run his fingers several times through it. The situation he finds himself in is difficult, to say the least. The mole had been right under his nose the entire time. He had been in his house, near his fiance, listening to the conversations about the business and other families. Luca fears any confidential information between the families getting out. His family safety would be at stake. 

“Welcome,” he smiles at Harry as he gets out of the car, followed by Alessandro. ”It’s good to see you man” Luca had been unfortunate and hadn't been able to crack the man. He wished to know what he had learned and most importantly, who had sent him. Unfortunately, he is a bit rusty with his techniques. Hence, why he had reached out for Harry’s help. He could break anyone. 

“Good to see you too. What’s it been, six months?” It had been that long since they had met for a similar circumstance. Hopefully, it doesn't last as long as last time. It had taken them twenty four hours last time to get the man to talk.

”Something like that. How was your flight?” Luca asks, turning his attention to Alessandro. 

“Long and boring” Alessandro responds after hugging Lucas. 

“I guess congratulations are in order” He had heard the news and they hadn't surprised him. It was expected. He was just surprised that Stefano had stepped down as soon as he had. 

“Thank you. Now, where is he?” Harry is tired and just wants to get it over with. 

They start walking into the state “would you like something to eat or to drink?” He asked as they made their way into the dungeon.

 “No thanks, let’s just get this over with” Harry hated pleasantries, especially when he was working. It had nothing to do with the people, he just didn't like to mix pleasure with work, it made it messier. 

Ainhoa Cortez finds herself in one of those never in a million chance situations that parents warn their kids when going to Europe. She had arrived a week ago from Madrid with her three best friends from college. Everything had gone according to plan. However, Ainhoa hadn’t noticed that from the very first day someone had been watching her, luring from the shadows. She had gone out dancing and drinking to a nearby club with them. At the end of the night, they had ditched her for some hot Italian men. She didn’t blame them. They deserved to have some fun since it was their last night. Her phone was dead from taking pictures and videos by the time she left the club. Therefore, she couldn’t call a car service and found herself stranded. Ainhoa decided to walk. After all, the hotel was a few minutes away.

The whole ordeal had happened in matters of seconds. She had heard a car pull over, and she picked up the passe. Unfortunately, the men that had taken her where double her size and had done this a few hundred times. Everything went black and she was dragged into what she though was the car. 

She had caught the attention of none other than Enzo Carpenteri; the capo bastone of Luca Agostini. He had first seen her while he enjoyed an espresso in a coffee shop across from her hotel. She had crossed the street, carelessly enjoying her time at the Italian capital with no knowledge that a man of his caliber was watching. He decided that very first morning that he had to have her. So, then he waited for the perfect time to pounce and rip her apart from the life she knew. 

So, there she is, chained to wall like some animal. Deprived from her basic necessities until God knows when. The first night had been horrible especially because she had no idea where she was being kept. Enzo had made sure that she was kept blindfolded the entire time. He had touched her in the way that no woman should ever be touched. Little did she know that he had speared her that night, but the second day he didn’t hold back. He left her that night, on the damp floor, with what was left of her dress. It had taken her three days to get an idea of where she was and figure out the routine of the men that had kidnapped her. 

She was kept in a cell in the Agostini dungeon, away from Enzo’s wife who was oblivious to the type of man that she had married. 

Ainhoa pulls on the chains as soon as she hears the door open. She is surprised at the unexpected visit. Enzo and his men were earlier than usual. She gets the farther away from the door as if that would help. She recognizes most of voices except from two, one is definitely Italian whilst the other has an English accent. 

Harry walks beside Luca as they make their way down the dark, wet hall. They take a turn and come across the cell of the man that Harry has a date with. He sits on a wooden chair with his head down, fatigued from the last time that he had been visited. 

“Is this him? Really?” Harry asks with a laugh. “You made me travel all the way here for this motherfucker?” Luca tried not smile as one of his man attempts to open the cell for them. “He doesn’t seem that tough to break”.  At plain view the man seems weaker than the men that Harry is used to deal with. 

“We’ve been working on him for three days” Luca adds as all his men enter the cell and stand only a few feet away from him. Harry can see how much work they had put into breaking him. It wasn’t impressive, and he just knew that they were going to have so much fun. Enzo walks behind the man and pull his head up by his hair. 

“Harry Styles?” The man recognizes him instantly, whilst Harry is taking off his jacket and folding up his sleeves. 

“Mr. Popular” Alessandro smirks as he starts setting up the tools. Harry chuckles as he takes two steps closer towards him and squats down to his eye level.

“Guess I’ll skip all the pleasantries then” Harry’s eyes drift to the knots that kept his hands and feet tied to the chair. He wants to make sure that he is property tied before he begins. Since things always get a bit hectic. “Who the fuck sent you?”. 

She hears the agonizing screams for hours making her scared for her own life. To the point that she finds herself crying for the unknown man. She only hopes that she isn’t next. Ainhoa can hear them speak through the shouts, but can’t figure out what they are talking about because of the language barrier. 

Suddenly the screams come to a halt and the dungeon grows uncomfortably quiet. 

“Who’s this?” Harry says as he stands outside her cell, wiping his hands. 

“Just some girl that we are selling” Luca honestly has no idea why she was even there. Enzo had said something to him a few days ago, but he had been so busy that he had paid no attention to the matter. 

“Why is she down here? Don’t you keep the whores upstairs?”  Ainhoa shifts her weight on her feet as she feels uncomfortable by the attention of the men. She can’t see them watching her, but she can feel their burning gaze. 

“I don’t know” he shrugs, “Enzo got her. It was his idea”. 

“Isn’t Enzo married to Lorena?” Harry had even been invited to the wedding. 

“Yeah so?” Before Harry can answer, Alessandro and Enzo join them. 

“Ready to go?” Alessandro asks, desperately wanting to get back to the estate. 

“How much for her?” It is dark, but from what he can see, she is quite attractive. He never buys whores. He finds it desperate. He has never needed help in that department. 

“She isn’t for sale” Enzo snaps, Harry instantly turns towards him. 

“Who the fuck asked you? Know your place” He is pissed.  “You just said you were selling her. I’ll double the price”. 

“What do you want her for?” Luca is intrigued by his sudden proposal. 

“None of your fucking business. Do we have a deal?” 

“Va bene” Luca signals the men to open her cell. 

“I said she is not for sale!” Enzo shouts, forcing Harry to draw out his gun and point it at him. 

“What is she to you?” Harry tilts his head sideways and that’s when he feels the cold metal from Luca’s gun against the back of his head. He sees Alessandro’s hand reach back in search for his. “Don’t” he commands. 

“Put the gun down” Luca doesn’t understand why things have turn the way they had. He is confused to why Enzo is so adamant to sell her to Harry. 

“I already promised her to someone” Enzo responds coldly and vaguely. 

“Stop bullshitting me!” Harry spits, his patience running thin” It shouldn’t matter who she was promised to since I am paying double” Enzo keeps his mouth shut, not knowing how to get himself out of the situation. “Unchain and get her ready. We are leaving”. 

Luca’s men start scrambling to get Ainhoa out of the cell. She is quiet and calm; too tired to resist. Just as she is being carried out, Enzo reaches out and yanks her towards him. 

The sudden gesture is enough to make Harry shoot him. It’s chaos for a few seconds until everyone realizes what’s happening. Enzo falls on the ground, holding his leg as the pain shoots through his entire system. 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you, right now?!” Luca yells as he shoves his gun closer to Harry’s skin. 

“You don’t get it do you?” Harry smirks, “He didn’t kidnap her to sell. He kidnapped her for his own pleasure. Open your eyes, he is cheating on Lorena and that’s why he keeps her down here. Away from her”.

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[robininthelabyrinth]

Polyphonic - ao3 or tumblr pt 1

“Meet me on the Qiongqi Path if you want to talk,” the return letter from Wei Wuxian said, cold and distant, and so Lan Qiren went, grumbling the entire time.

He was far too old for this sort of nonsense. For all that his sword was named after the soaring of the heart, a memento of all his lost dreams, he didn’t actually fly on Xinfei all that much – after all, he was not a traveler, he did not go places. He remained home.

But for his nephew’s sake…

Lan Qiren did not take anyone with him when he went, not wanting to burden anyone else with his worries and concerns and unwilling to share them; instead, he took only his sword and his guqin on his back, as if he were Lan Wangji going out on a night-hunt.

It occurred to him as he flew towards the Qiongqi Path that that probably meant that his opinion on Wei Wuxian was not so dire as all that. It was nowhere within his expectations that Wei Wuxian would attack him, as if he were some sort of ravening dog. Lan Qiren knew himself well enough to know that if he truly thought that of Wei Wuxian, he wouldn’t have asked him for help in the first place.

That still didn’t mean he thought it was a good idea for Lan Wangji to associate with him.

Nor did it mean he had to make things easy for him.

“Wei Wuxian,” he bellowed in his best disappointed teacher’s voice when he saw the man, dropping lightly from the sky as he did, and had the pleasure of seeing the Yiling Patriarch jump a chi into the air and try to hide behind his Ghost General. Who then also attempted to hide behind him, leading to a rather amusing panicked shoving match of juvenile desperation to get away from an imminent scolding.

It was complimentary, if a little ridiculous. If either of them wanted to hurt him, he’d be dead so quickly that he wouldn’t even know what killed him.

“I see that I failed to teach you etiquette as well as ethics,” Lan Qiren said ponderously, accompanying his words with one of his better glares and waving the letter he had received at Wei Wuxian – he’d been shoved out in front after all. “Is this all the respect you think I am due as your teacher? A single sentence without any salutation? Summoning me to come to your side like a lapdog?”

“I didn’t think the letter was really from you!” Wei Wuxian squeaked. To judge by his expression, it appeared that he was in fact acquainted with shame, only that it had been a long time and the acquaintance had been very slight. “I thought – a prank – someone mimicking your signature –”

“Oh, we’re in trouble now,” the Ghost General murmured in a voice so soft it might have been missed, if only Lan Qiren’s ears were not quite so sharp.

Sharp enough, in fact, to hear how Wei Wuxian’s song, always a spritely thing, had grown a little slower, a little more sober, but not nearly as twisted and disharmonious as he would have expected from the stories he had heard about him. Wei Wuxian’s heart still sang free and clear, idealistic and well-meaning even if he was a little too wild, and Lan Qiren was reassured that he had come to the right person.

Wei Wuxian might be a bit of a madman, choosing demonic cultivation and defying the cultivation world as he did, making all the terrible choices that he had, but he was still a good person.

He would help.

The Ghost General, on the other hand, was in turns soft and gentle and rough and discordant, the rippling flow of his melody torn through with harsh and jagged trills like a clenching bleeding hand dragged along guqin strings, like a dying breath choked into a qiao, thick with the resentment of the unquiet dead – Lan Qiren would have to keep an eye on him.

Some classes on the subject of restraint and moderation would not go amiss, he thought, falling instinctively into analysis. That would help bring together the two sides of that personality, to soften the vicious rage and strengthen the too-weak tune…

Lan Qiren huffed, shaking his head at his own foolishness. It was too easy to slide back into the role of teacher, no matter how strange the environs – it had been a long time since he had left home, he thought, even for a night-hunt, and old habits were difficult to abandon. This trip, barely started, was already wearing on him.

He flicked his sleeve, folding his hands behind him, and began to walk in the direction of Lanling.

“Wait, your letter…did you say you wanted my help with something?” Wei Wuxian asked, his eyes wide as saucers as he hurried to catch up and fall into step behind him. “I…me? Really?”

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said. “The concern is of a musical nature, and there are reasons I could not ask Wangji. You are an excellent musical cultivator. Will you assist?”

“Of course, teacher,” Wei Wuxian said automatically, and Lan Qiren smiled, pleased. “A teacher for a day, a father for a lifetime – it’s the least I can do. Only, uh, as I’m sure you know, that is…my reputation…”

“I’m aware of it.”

“Then you see why I thought your letter was a fake, don’t you? If I go to Gusu, who knows how they’d respond to seeing me – no, I do know, I know exactly what would happen. They’d lock me up!”

“Not if you were my guest,” Lan Qiren said firmly. He had that much influence in the sect, he thought, after all those years of faithful service – and in the end if they did refuse to give him any face and insist on locking Wei Wuxian up, what then? Who would they turn to in order to find the music that might heal him from his purported madness, if not Lan Qiren himself? “I would ensure that you would be free to leave as you wished.”

“Even if it’s Hanguang-jun that wants to force me to stay?” Wei Wuxian asked, a challenge in his voice.

“Have you ever heard of He Kexin?” Lan Qiren asked, and Wei Wuxian blinked and shook his head. “I wouldn’t have expected you to. A criminal of my generation, guilty of the premeditated murder of an honored teacher of the Lan sect and sentenced to indefinite confinement within the Cloud Recesses. She ultimately died when Wangji was quite young, and it affected him deeply – if you think he would force you to stay anywhere against your wishes, you have fundamentally misunderstood my nephew.”

Wei Wuxian was silent for a moment, absorbing that, and then said, “Premeditated murder of an honored teacher, huh? Is that a warning for me?”

“Is that a serious question, or are you merely curious to know if you are too old for me to smack you?” Lan Qiren asked, frowning. “The answer in either case is no.”

The Ghost General’s sleeves were all in tatters, but that didn’t stop him from trying to use them to muffle his laughter. He seemed to be enjoying his master’s misfortune.

Assuming Wei Wuxian actually was his master. There was definitely a bond of some sort there between the two of them, more intertwined than friends, less harmonious than lovers, not as echoing as that between swordsman and his spiritual weapon; Lan Qiren couldn’t quite put his finger on it. A friendship underpinned by life debts running both ways, perhaps.

Lan Qiren was unable to resist: he turned abruptly and pinned the Ghost General with a dour look. “Would you like to contribute to this discussion?”

Fierce corpses could not pale, but it seemed that they could make a facial expression that suggested they had. “No, honored teacher,” the Ghost General said, stuttering a little. “Sorry, honored teacher.”

He had once been a poor student, Lan Qiren concluded, and had the fear of teachers firmly implanted in him.

“Hmm,” he said, and then, because he could, “Name the three most commonly encountered types of ghosts.”

The Ghost General looked like he was about to faint. “I – I – I wasn’t expecting a quiz –”

“…are you teasing him?” Wei Wuxian asked, looking a bit like he was going to faint himself.

Lan Qiren shook his head, because he wasn’t, not really – or perhaps more accurately, not entirely. It was certainly part of the reason, but there was more to it than that.

Poor students often had preconceived notions of what teachers were like and were so concerned with their fears that they were unable to focus on the facts before them. In such cases, it was better to give into their assumptions in the first instance, scaring them but also showing them that their fears were insubstantial and could not harm them – for instance, that the dreaded pop quiz would not actually cause them any trouble even if they should fail to answer. Only then was it finally possible to shift over into the actual business of educating them.

It was also, admittedly, rather fun.

“I would be willing to take you as a student,” he said to the Ghost General, whose jaw dropped. “When the present business is done, and if Wei Wuxian can spare you. It would be to your benefit.”

“I – I – I –”

“Perhaps we should table the discussion for now,” Wei Wuxian said quickly, blinking rapidly as if he were attempting to wake himself from a dream. “Honored teacher, what is it that you want me to help with? You said the problem you were having is musical in nature?” His eyes brightened. “An ancient treatise, perhaps..?”

“An investigation,” Lan Qiren said, but noted to himself that it seemed that Wei Wuxian enjoyed the prospect of abstract research. Perhaps they could encourage him to do that instead of whatever it was he was doing with demonic cultivation – it wouldn’t make him an acceptable match for Lan Wangji, but in the event Lan Wangji lost all reason and insisted on the match the way his father had, it might be a good way to blunt Wei Wuxian’s edges and make him more acceptable to the rest of the world. It was much more difficult to be afraid of an eccentric academic than a slaughtering war machine.

Not that Lan Qiren would be conceding defeat so easily, mind you.

“An investigation? Really? Regarding what?”

“Attempted murder,” Lan Qiren said.

“Attempted –” Wei Wuxian’s jaw dropped. “You said it was a musical issue!”

“It is.” Lan Qiren heard the whisper of distant bells, small and tinkling, and stopped walking with a frown.

Swordsmen flying in formation? Here? In this deserted place, where people came only to pass through?

“Did you arrange to meet anyone else?” he asked Wei Wuxian, who frowned in turn.

“Anyone else? No, of course not,” he said. “I mean, even with you, I wasn’t actually expecting someone to show up –”

The Ghost General abruptly moved, a burst of action, and caught an arrow headed straight for Wei Wuxian’s chest.

“Wei Wuxian!” someone roared, and Lan Qiren frowned: now that was an unpleasant sound. Self-absorbed and haughty, as many were, but without valor or etiquette or even courtesy to mitigate it; the dull and vapid piping sound of someone who bullied the weak but feared the strong, and worsened by an underlying sound of something like a guqin string breaking off while playing. The latter wasn’t a personality defect, but an external cause – but what could cause something like that?

The individual in question, it turned out, was Jin Zixun, he noted, his frown deepening. Jin Guangshan’s nephew, yet not one who had been sent to the Cloud Recesses for Lan Qiren to smarten up, whether due to bad timing or his own disinterest. He hadn’t much liked the boy during the few times he had encountered him at discussion conferences, and seeing him for the first time in a while, he didn’t think much of the man he’d become, either.

Jin Zixun was accompanied by a moderately large retinue of Jin retainers, as well as representatives from some other sects, although no major ones. Mostly ones affiliated with the Jin, from what he recalled.

“Wei Wuxian!” Jin Zixun shouted again, and Wei Wuxian was about to speak, an impertinent smirk curling onto his lips. He stopped when Lan Qiren waved him silent. “Lift the curse you’ve placed on me right now and maybe I’ll let you off!”

A curse? That would explain the sound of the breaking guqin string, the external music that did not fit, but of course Wei Wuxian was a flutist, not a guqin player; it wouldn’t have been his work.

(Truly, even though there was no rule that said ‘let stupid men speak freely and you will learn everything you wish to know’, there probably ought to be.)

“What are you talking about?” Wei Wuxian asked, looking bored. “What curse?”

“You’re still pretending you don’t know? Look at this! Look what you’ve done to me!”

Jin Zixun pulled open his shirt, revealing his chest, and Lan Qiren’s lip curled in disgusted.

The Hundred Holes curse – that was an interesting choice. That required a particular type of bitterness to cast, being both nasty, brutal and slow in a way suggestive of a personal grudge and yet, to not inform the victim of who was the caster? That was distant, anonymous, faceless. Impersonal.

Wei Wuxian denied casting the curse, naturally, and Jin Zixun began threatening to kill him, telling him he wasn’t welcome at Jin Ling’s first month celebration, and now Wei Wuixan looked enraged, was reaching for his flute –

“Enough!” Lan Qiren thundered, and everyone turned to look at him. Jin Zixun mouthed his name in shock, clearly not having noticed him before in his singular focus on Wei Wuxian. “You have presented no proof of Wei Wuxian’s ill intent towards you, nor are you in charge of the invitations to the event in question. You will either produce your proof at once, or else retreat.”

Jin Zixun did neither, unsurprisingly. “What proof do I need?! No one else has such as vicious character as he, and everyone knows that we confronted each other! He hates me! Who else would it be but him?”

“If he wished to kill you, why would he use an anonymous curse rather than simply tear you to pieces with a fierce corpse or summon ghosts to harass you, the way he killed throughout the Sunshot Campaign?” Lan Qiren demanded, irritated as much by the stupidity on display as by the delay. “You cannot kill a man simply based on an assumption of which you are unsure.”

“I am sure! And the proof will be in the act. Once he dies, the curse will lift!” Jin Zixun suddenly grinned, teeth glinting. “And if we’re asking questions, I have one myself: why are you here, honored teacher? Here in the middle of nowhere, without anyone else from the Lan sect beside you – one might almost think that you were conspiring…”

Lan Qiren scoffed.

“For someone as upright and righteous as the honored Teacher Lan to speak in the Yiling Patriarch’s defense is impossible,” one of the retainers shouted. “He’s been bewitched! Wei Wuxian lured him here to kill him!”

“Ridiculous!” Lan Qiren spat.

“Give us one good reason why you’re here, then!” Jin Zixun demanded. “If you’re not here to meet Wei Wuxian!”

“Of course I’m here to meet Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren said impatiently, flicking his sleeve and thinking that he would need to have a talk with Jin Guangshan regarding his nephew’s insolence. He would not tolerate such blatant disrespect. “I wrote him a letter inviting him to the Cloud Recesses so that I could discuss some matters with him, and he responded by setting this as the meeting place instead. I agreed, and so came here.”

“What matters would you need to discuss with him?” one of the other cultivators demanded – one of the Ouyang collateral branch that had split from the main family in the previous generation, it looked like, probably out to try to steal some glory. “Honored Teacher Lan, you must explain yourself!”

Oh, Lan Qiren would be having a talk with several people over this.

Still, as much as he would like to stand on his dignity and refuse to answer, that would only lead to more questions. It would inflame tempers and exacerbate the situation, turning this stupid little dispute into the horrible dissonant cacophony of battle.

“Among other matters, I intended to dissuade him from pursuing a marriage with one of my sect,” he said, raising his chin. The Wall of Discipline said Do not tell lies, but a lifetime of practicing the sort of diplomacy necessary to run a sect had taught him that Do not use frivolous words was an adequate counter: sometimes, the best way to avoid an uncomfortable situation was to tell only the relevant part of the truth.

Or, as the rules put it: Speak meagerly, for excess words will only bring harm.

These wastrels did not need to know about the investigation, confidential as it was, and so he could share the portion of his intended discussion which was not.

Several of the crowd were gaping at him, Jin Zixun included, and Wei Wuxian beside him said in a strangled voice, “Marriage?”

“I was going to raise it with you before we were interrupted,” Lan Qiren told him. “I mean no insult by it, but I truly do not believe you to be an appropriate match.”

Wei Wuxian nodded dumbly.

“This is ridiculous,��� Jin Zixun suddenly snapped, interjecting himself into the conversation, such as it was. “Lies, all of it, and you think we’d believe – mm!”

He clutched at his face, presumably appalled at being silenced as if it wasn’t exactly what he deserved for such an affront. Except of course he couldn’t leave it at that, gesturing wildly, and all the Jin retainers began to move, pulling out their swords and lifting their bows in readiness.

Wei Wuxian put Chenqing to his lips and issued a single drawn-out note.

Nothing happened.

“They cleared the path of any corpses,” Wei Wuxian hissed, his eyes suddenly reddening with rage. “This was prepared in advance. An ambush! They were never going to let me go to Jin Ling’s first month ceremony…Wen Ning, I’m going to need to use you. Ready, on my count, and – mm!”

Lan Qiren had silenced him as well.

“You will do no such thing,” he said icily, thinking to himself that perhaps he really ought to have insisted on keeping Wei Wuxian at the Cloud Recesses for longer than he had, despite the boy’s disastrous brand of nonsense. It was as if he had never heard of consequences – if Wei Wuxian so much as raised a blade to a single one of these men, the Jin sect would be calling for his head. Forget setting the Ghost General on them! “I will handle this.”

“You?” the Ghost General blurted out. “But - honored teacher…”

Lan Qiren was not, had never been, much of a fighter. He had been confined to the Cloud Recesses in his youth due to being sickly, and in his adulthood due to his brother’s choices; his experience was limited and insufficient. He had lifted both blade and guqin against the Wen sect when they came to burn his home, doing what little he could, and they had beaten him so badly that his heart and lungs had been permanently injured - to this day, he coughed up blood if he became overly emotional, and over-straining himself could lead him to start bleeding from all the qiqiao.

The doctors had warned him that it was not a wound that would ever be likely to heal.

And yet – as the rules of his sect said – with a strong will, anything can be achieved.

Lan Qiren drew his guqin in a single practiced motion and put his hand on the strings.

“Do you intend to fight me?” he asked, listening to the clamor of music from the hearts of the men in front of him. The ones with truly martial or aggressive beats were few and far between: if he needed to, he would target them first, and without their informal leaders, the resolve of the remainder would crumble, and they would flee.

But – he did not think he would need to.

“You can’t attack the honored Teacher Lan!” the Ghost General cried out, clearly appalled by the very thought of it. “You can’t – you just can’t!”

Lan Qiren looked at the young men in front of him, many of whom were frozen in indecision.

“Wei Wuxian may be a rogue cultivator, without even his corpses to aid him,” he reminded them. “But I represent the Lan sect, and it stands behind me. If you attack me now, even if you were to succeed and kill me, there would be an investigation; if there is an investigation, your actions will be discovered; if your actions are discovered, my Lan sect will demand vengeance from which not one of you will escape. You, and your families as well. Or do you believe that my Lan sect will not go to war for me?”

And not only the Lan sect. Lan Qiren might not be much of a fighter, he might never had become the traveling musician he had once dreamed of being, but he was a teacher – a teacher for a day, a father for a lifetime, and his students were scattered throughout the sects, throughout the cultivation world.

Perhaps some of them would stand by in silence, disregarding their filial duty to laugh at his demise.

More, he thought, would raise up their swords for him.

It seemed the Jin retainers thought the same, because no matter how violently Jin Zixun gestured, they did not make any move to attack.

“What’s going on here?!” another voice came at that moment, the low qiao of the steadfast lover – Jin Zixuan, settled at last, grown up and happy. Well, usually happy; at the moment he was clearly horrified. “Are you – are you attacking honored Teacher Lan?! What is wrong with you all? Are you trying to start another war?!”

“They came to ambush Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren said, not putting away his guqin just yet. “I was under the impression he was your invited guest, Jin-gongzi. Was that incorrect?”

“It is not,” Jin Zixuan said, and he knocked aside the flailing Jin Zixun’s hand, the one with the sword. “He is invited, and A-Li is waiting for him at Jinlin Tower right now. I knew nothing about any of this – Wei Wuxian, forgive my cousin, and forgive me for not having realized that he’d do something like this. I will make it up to you when we get back home, I promise.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth worked briefly, and Lan Qiren snapped the silencing spell he’d put on him with a thought.

“Thanks,” Wei Wuxian said, shooting him a look that seemed to contain questions. Lan Qiren assumed the questions related to his judgment of Jin Zixuan’s sincerity, and so he nodded his approval. “It’s – uh – fine, I suppose? It’s not like he succeeded even he did plan this out in advance, even going so far as to get rid of all the corpses to try to trap me…but know this! If honored Teacher Lan wasn’t here, I wouldn’t be nearly so forgiving!”

Or mute. Wei Wuxian had a mouth made for provoking people, just like his mother…why in the world did Lan Wangji have to like him so much?

“Of course,” Jin Zixuan said quickly. “Honored Teacher Lan, you will also come with us, won’t you? You can complete your conversation with Wei Wuxian at Jinlin Tower, and I’m certain your nephews will be pleased to see you…”

Lan Qiren huffed. “I am not so old and doddering as to need to be watched at every moment,” he said, knowing his tone betrayed his tetchiness – all entirely unfeigned, but it would still be helpful if everyone thought that his solo excursion had been merely a symptom of irritation at how he’d been incessantly pestered in his slow recovery. “Very well, we will return with you. Someone will need to carry Wei Wuxian and his ghost general, however, as I note that he has once again failed to bring his sword.”

“I didn’t think I’d need it,” Wei Wuxian drawled. “It seemed an odd accoutrement for a first moon party, but then again perhaps I should have anticipated the ambush?”

Jin Zixuan looked around, realizing that the only people here that could perform the escort were either himself and Lan Qiren or else participants in the ambush. “Honored Teacher Lan,” he said, looking a little panicked. “Forgive my impertinence, but could I ask you…?”

“I’ll ride with honored Teacher Lan,” Wei Wuxian announced, his tone grandiose and extremely irritating. Arrogant little brat. “Provided that you take Wen Ning, Jin-gongzi. After all, honored Teacher Lan still needs to talk to me about how he doesn’t want me to marry someone from his sect.”

Lan Qiren sighed. “It’s for your own good as well, you know,” he told Wei Wuxian even as Jin Zixuan attempted to swallow his own tongue in shock. “Our sect follows our sect rules no matter where we are, marrying in or out, and do so for our whole lives. Is that something you would be willing to tolerate?”

Wei Wuxian grinned at him, his expression – and the cheerful crescendos and upbeat lilt of his song, very nearly back to being as lively as they had been in his youth – suggesting that he was not as dissuaded as might have been hoped.

A few more moments and they all rearranged themselves, taking to the air. It was a little strange: the Ghost General, Wen Ning, rode in front of Jin Zixuan in the more vulnerable position, and because he was nearly the same height as Jin Zixuan their heads kept knocking together by accident, while Lan Qiren pointedly took the lead position as well. A sign of trust, and also recognition that he was a half-head shorter than his erstwhile student.

As they flew through the air, Wei Wuxian put his chin on Lan Qiren’s shoulder. “And there’s also that attempted murder you want me to help you with,” he murmured, voice low. “Reputation or not, ability or not, I will help you as much as I can, honored Teacher Lan, however I can…anything I can do, I will do. Thank you for trusting in me.”

Lan Qiren snorted. “What are you talking about?”

“The curse on Jin Zixun. You didn’t believe him when he said I did it.”

“That’s not trust, but logic,” Lan Qiren said scornfully. “The person who sent that curse plays the guqin, not the flute. How could it have been you?”

It was strange, though. A curse, spiritual poison, and both by guqin players – it was not an uncommon instrument to use, but to wield it with such skill that the instrument became an innate part of the player’s residual spiritual qi, the way the Lan sect taught its disciples to do…?

Lan Xichen didn’t like Lan Wangji’s crush on Wei Wuxian any more than Lan Qiren did, he thought to himself, even if he had encouraged it in their youth – but that had been before Wei Wuxian had turned to his dark and crooked path, and before Lan Wangji had demonstrated signs that he was unwilling to turn away from him despite it. Even more than Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen feared his brother following in their father’s footsteps, in damning himself for a lover who didn’t deserve him, feared that Wei Wuxian would shatter his beloved Lan Wangji’s fragile heart into a million pieces and more…

Still, a curse? The Hundred Holes, no less? His nephew?

A few days earlier, Lan Qiren would have said it was impossible. But then, a few days earlier, he would have said that it would be impossible for Lan Xichen’s lover to be poisoned through a spiritual song that, as far as Lan Qiren knew, only Lan Xichen and those he had personally trained had ever used on him.

Lan Qiren did not understand, and what little he did, he didn’t like.

Still, he had the marginal satisfaction that his initial mission had been accomplished, however uncomfortable the journey might have been – Wei Wuxian had agreed to assist him in his investigation. If he could only get the man alone long enough to explain the issue, they could even start looking into it at once, at the first month party in Jinlin Tower, which everyone in the cultivation world would attend.

They would discover the truth.

And when they did…

Let it not be Xichen, Lan Qiren thought. Let it be anyone else, no matter what – just not him.

I don’t know what I’d do if it were him.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wei wuxian #wen ning #jin zixun #my fic #my fics #polyphonic #wangxian #in the background

[stiltonbasket]

(Is this where you submit prompts? I really dont know ^^💧) Prompt for the renouncement au: I don’t know why i love when gossip is involved, so maybe something about people’s opinions on wangxian’s marriage and how it slowly changes to a better perspective to the point that anyone who doubts their feelings for each other gets immediately shut down. And you could add some juniors shenanigans to make wangxian have that good of a reputation because i miss them </3. Thank you for your time and effort! (And sorry if this is not the place for the prompts, i will submit it again if you say so ^^’ )

(author’s note: please please reblog if you can, since that’s how we get prompts for future chapters!)

Lan Siyong considers himself one of the more moderate elders among the Lan sect. 

He has been close friends with Lan Qiren from childhood, and he saw Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji grow up into the fine, upstanding men they are today. When the two of them were boys, he even had fond thoughts of attending their weddings, and watching them take on the most sacred of duties with glad, willing hearts. 

Learning that Xichen would never wed had been a disappointment, but Lan Siyong rallied again when Lan Qiren confided the reason why the boy rejected marriage—chastity in an upstanding cultivator was to be lauded, especially in an age where Jin Guangshan had once demanded such high respect, and there could still be children born to Lan Huan if he decided to cultivate them. And of course, Wangji was there, and Lan Siyong knew from the first that he would be the kind of youth to fall in love deeply, at first sight, and remain passionately devoted to his mingding zhiren until he drew his last breath. 

But then Lan Siyong had Wangji’s own sword turned upon him at the Burial Mounds, because the one that his many-times distant nephew loved so dearly was none other than Wei Wuxian. 

“Qiren,” he says hoarsely, when the lotus-scented wedding invitations arrive from Lotus Pier. “You cannot let this happen—an unrighteous cultivator, one who spurned orthodoxy without remorse and led Wangji down such a dangerous path—”

“What has been done has been done,” Lan Qiren replies. “We have sent the bridewealth, and the marriage was contracted between Xichen and Jiang-zongzhu. All their terms have been agreed upon, and the date set.”

And then, after a brief pause: “He makes Wangji happy.”

Lan Siyong nearly cries. He does not attend the wedding, for fear of shaming Wangji with the open despair that appears on his face whenever he sees Wei Wuxian, and sends the newlywed couple the most expensive gift he can afford in an effort to do something useful. 

Wei Wuxian is the one who writes him a letter in thanks. Lan Siyong almost has a qi deviation.

__

“You know,” one of the other elders mutters after the second wedding ceremony: namely, the ceremony held in the Cloud Recesses, since Jiang-zongzhu demanded that his brother should be married at Lotus Pier first. “Wei Wuxian refused to have a blessing for children spoken at the an chuang ceremony.”

“Gossip is forbidden,” Lan Haiyang says tranquilly. He stopped caring about practically everything after his son’s wife gave birth to the whirlwind that calls himself Lan Jingyi, so Lan Siyong has long since given up relying on him to fix any kind of sect turmoil. “And they already have two children. I have not seen a finer Lan disciple than Lan Sizhui in all my days.”

Lan Siyong is forced to concede this last. Wangji has two good children, even if the Yiling Patriarch is perhaps the most unsuitable person alive to raise them with him, and a couple’s choice to expand their family is up to them, and no others.

“He should at least have let the blessing be spoken, though.”

Lan Siyong does not disagree with this. Traditions are traditions, and surely even Wei Wuxian should know to respect them once in a while. 

__

“It’s worse than I thought,” Lan Siyong murmurs, on a summer afternoon about six weeks after Wangji’s wedding. He passed Haiyang’s grandson and his friends on his way to the refectory that morning, and heard them discussing how heartbroken Wangji had looked upon hearing that Wei Wuxian did not return his love. “I ought not to have eavesdropped, but—poor Wangji!”

“Poor Wangji what?” Lan Haiyang asks, as if their little Lan Zhan being in trouble was all in another day’s work to him. “What’s happened to him now?”

“Wei Wuxian disavows Wangji’s love at every opportunity,” he replies dismally, going over to the refreshment table to drown his woes in chestnut cake and tea. “I fear for him, Haiyang. To love for so long, and to wed his beloved, and have children with him, and still…”

Lan Haiyang snorts into his tea. 

“What do you mean by that?” demands Lan Siyong, more than a little offended. “Wangji is in distress! We must do something!”

His friend does not reply. Honestly, it’s as if no one remembers what Wangji suffered for Wei Wuxian’s sake. Lan Siyong even tries raising the issue with Lan Qiren, and then with Xichen, but all he gets in return for his pains is a tray of fresh-baked red bean buns from the hanshi and another cryptic comment about Wangji’s supposed happiness from Qiren. 

Yet again, he is forced to leave his worries for another day, and try his best to follow rule three thousand, one hundred and sixty-two: that the affairs of a married couple should not be discussed by outsiders, even if they happen to be close, concerned family. 

Lan Siyong thinks his hair might be turning white by now.

__

And then, in early winter, Lan Siyong is roused from his bed one night and told that Wei Wuxian has gone missing. He joins the search party that Wangji leads, and follows him to a dark house in the woods with the Ghost General leading the way—and then he watches as Wangji kills at least a dozen men in an effort to reach his husband, whom they find unconscious in a cave beneath the house with corpse bites dotting every visible inch of his skin.

Lan Siyong nearly weeps as he hears Wangji’s desperate whispers to his beloved on the way back to Gusu, and watches him hold Wei Wuxian close while refusing help from anyone who offers.

Let him live, Lan Siyong prays silently, when Wei Wuxian is carried into the infirmary with Wangji at his side. Please, for Wangji’s sake, let Wei-gongzi live. 

__

“Qiren?”

A few days after the news about Wangji’s soon-to-be-born daughter is made public (public being a subjective word, since ceremony preceding the birth of a third child is unnecessary, and Wei Wuxian had said that he would rather wait until the baby arrives to make a formal announcement) Lan Siyong discovers Lan Qiren in one of the common rooms, sitting at a writing desk with his head buried in his hands. It’s a strange thing to see his friend do, since Lan Qiren has not looked so distressed since those three dark years after Wangji’s sentencing, and he hardly even looks up when Lan Siyong lays a hand on his shoulder. 

“It was just four weeks ago that Wei Ying was kidnapped and confined in that dungeon,” Lan Qiren says blankly, after he registers Lan Siyong’s presence and turns around to greet him. “If he—oh, heavens—”

Two weeks later, Lan Siyong requests a week’s leave from teaching to attend the trials of Wei Wuxian’s kidnappers, who are being held under Nie-zongzhu’s jurisdiction in the Unclean Realm. He has always believed himself to be a gentle man, but when the only sentences dealt are life imprisonment and execution, Lan Siyong’s heart is strangely devoid of any pity. All he can think of are the corpse bites he saw on Wei Wuxian’s face and throat, and a baby girl who nearly perished with her father before she had the chance to take her first breath. 

On his way back to the Cloud Recesses, he purchases a bolt of thick cream-colored silk with fine sky-blue embroidery and brings it to Wangji as a gift after the next monthly sect meeting.

“Xinhua-jun will need wider-cut robes before long,” he says, when his nephew gives him a curious glance before bowing low in thanks. “Zewu-jun has told us all that he and the child are in good health, and that the little one is growing well. All of our good wishes go with them both, and we pray that you should not hesitate to rely on us in the months to come if it should be needed.”

Wangji’s eyes go soft. “Thank you, San-shushu. It is much appreciated.”

__

Lan Siyong gets his first chance to hold Wei Shuilan at the baby’s full-moon ceremony, while Wangji and Wei Wuxian are running back and forth through the banquet hall to greet the arriving guests, and seize the first trusted elder they can reach to watch little A-Lan for a moment. At first, Lan Siyong merely stands by her cradle to keep an eye on her, but then she seems to sense her parents’ absence, so he picks her up and jogs her up and down to keep her from crying; and then he begins to hum softly beside her tiny ear, soothing the baby back to sleep by the time Wei Wuxian returns. 

“My good Lan-bao,” Wei Wuxian croons, cradling the child to his chest before rearranging her crumpled swaddling clothes. “Such a good baobei, to take your nap even with so much going on! Just like your A-Die, thank goodness, and not like your A-Niang.”

Curious, Lan Siyong clears his throat. “What do you mean, Wei-gongzi?”

Wei Wuxian laughs. “I never sleep properly at night, but Lan Zhan always falls asleep at hai shi, even if he isn’t in bed yet,” he says, with his voice so full of love for the newborn child in his arms and the husband who gave her to him that Lan Siyong feels strangely humbled. “A-Lan’s just like him that way.”

At that moment, Wangji appears with a plate of cut fruit and lotus cake before presenting it to Wei Wuxian. “Here, Wei Ying. Give A-Lan to me, and eat your lunch.”

“Lunch?” Wei Wuxian asks, confused. “But we’re having the banquet in just an hour.”

“You have been having your luncheon at this time for the past six months,” Wangji says stubbornly. “I will not have you going hungry even for a minute, xingan.”

“Lan Zhan, sweetheart…”

Thank heaven they found each other again, Lan Siyong thinks, slipping away to find Lan Qiren with a rising lump of tears in his throat. I do not think anyone else could have ever made Wangji so happy.

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #renouncement verse #wangxian arranged marriage au #my fic #god this was long #BUT THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD PROMPT ;_; #<3

[volchiitsass]

all the information about the whelan familly will be placed under a read more due to the trigger-heavy content which includes: themes of child abuse & neglect, human-trafficking, mentions of sect/cult behaviors, and religious extremism. if there is anything i forgot to tag, please don’t hesitate to reach out. please note this is an informational post, the want ad will be a separate beast. if you wish to contact me regarding this or anything else my discord is hard-hearted hannah#3446. 

ABOUT

WHO ARE THE WHELANS?

Tracing their father's lineage back to Douglas, Ireland the Whelan family's ancestors got here much the way everyone did: desperation. Featuring a storied line of devout believers, these god-botherers have steadily radicalized over the years into what you see now.

The Whelans would be considered Fundamentalist Neo-Catholics by most outsiders looking in with a strict adherence to the tenets written by the founding members of the sect that calls themselves Soldiers of God. The S.O.G. were founded in the Appalachia and as such have spread throughout the mountain range and beyond. They have kept to themselves and have had very limited interaction with the folks of Magnolia until recently. * Please note that the Appalachian range runs through the following states  Alabama, Georgia, Kentucky, Maryland, Mississippi, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, and West Virginia. The S.O.G. are not in all these states, but they are spreading. The original settlement is called Little Heaven and is located in Virginia.

WHAT DO THEY BELIEVE?

Per the sermons delivered by Jeremiah, the Whelan family has been brought up to harbor a heavy distrust in government, modern medicine, and modern society as a whole. They believe the world has de-evolved into a global version of Sodom and Gomorrah, and that the Apocalypse looms like a guillotine.

As such they have dedicated themselves to a simplistic lifestyle that is free of electronics. Yes, you read that correctly. One landline exists in the main house but otherwise there are no cellphones, no laptops, no Ipods, no MP3 players, no televisions, no microwaves. Contemporary music (i.e. anything that isn't exclusively religious themed and to Jeremiah's liking) was not allowed.

The children are taught to read and write and they are also taught mathematics, but their history is more than a little fuzzy as the curriculums had to pass inspection by (who else?) Jeremiah. As such the Whelan family's youth have a very skewed look at the world.

They believe that due to the fact that they are godly folk that follow the tenets they will be spared in the face of Armageddon while the rest of the folk who do not follow their specific doctrines are damned to hellfire. Happy stuff, huh?

WHY DO THE CHILDREN GET SENT AWAY?

Typically the boys are sent off at sixteen to various installations in the Appalachians to learn 'soldiering' which is just...well, there's a reason the government is investigating them. Let's just say that. Once they pass testing they are considered apart of the Militia of the Lord and are officially men in the eyes of S.O.G..

Patriarchal in nature, the girls receive the same education as the boys but with further studies in homemaking, sewing, gardening, etcetera. Daughters are sent out to other compounds to be made ready for the life of a wife, but that doesn't mean they don't get their hands dirty too. And Jeremiah typically was very selective about which of his children/wives he sent away. Women are also taught how to hunt, trap, fish, and other basic useful life skills because you just can't have dead weight at the end of the world.

EW, JEREMIAH!

An important thing to remember is that most cult or sect leaders are described (even by their past victims) as incredibly charismatic and Jeremiah really was no different. He could sell a ketchup popsicle to a lady in white gloves on a hot summer day is what I'm getting at here. When he was happy everyone was happy. When he praised you it probably felt like you were the star of the show. When he was mad...well...you get the idea. The older kids that still remain remember fuzzy glimpses of a kinder man.

HOW DO THEY GENERATE CASH FLOW?

They are farmers, but most of the kids have developed talents in quilting, animal husbandry, etcetera. In Ag circles they sell their wares, but Jeremiah was also into seedy, shady dealings. Doing what and with who? Will be revealed...eventually. (If you’re interested in having past dealings with this norsty man let me know.)

HOW DID JEREMIAH FIND WIVES?

Some were sent down from other S.O.G. settlements, some were runaways he managed to hook in around Magnolia or in the greater South Carolina area. If you were dopesick he helped you overcome your addiction, if you were homeless he gave you shelter, his courting process was very manipulative, very highlight reel marketed as paradise with a side of family and purpose that was usually missing in the lives of the women he targeted that were not from S.O.G. settlements in the mountains.

DID WOMEN BRING CHILDREN WITH PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS WITH THEM?

For those that were not essentially traded to him from the S.O.G. settlements the answer is yes. Though it is important to note that both woman and child were given new names once they decided to stay on. The illusion of choice was important to Jeremiah. CAN THESE PEOPLE HAVE SUPERNATURAL GIFTS?

Of course they can, but it would be very dangerous for them. The children grew up believing that anything to do with magic was evil. That going against the natural order was a one-way ticket straight to the hot place. So if any of the Whelans do possess talents that are not the norm they either a) don’t realize it or b) keep it to themselves for fear of punishment.  IN THE INTEREST OF NOT MAKING YOU READ 1000 PAGES OF MY INSANE RAMBLINGS I ALSO HAVE A TIMELINE SET UP THAT I CAN REFER PEOPLE TO AFTER I BEAUTIFY IT AND MAKE IT READABLE. WANT AD WILL HOPEFULLY BE OUT LATER TODAY.

#ofunholythingsrp #truly unhinged content #i generate it

[sincerelystranger]

not enough 5

Wei Wuxian proves himself to be good.

Good and kind and diligent.

And like his father, his goodness breaks Jiang Fengmian’s heart.

“They saved me, uncle,” he says, his eyes dark and wide and desperate. “The only mark against them is that they are Wens. They’ve never killed or hurt anyone. I can’t – What the Jin’s are doing is not justice.”

Jiang Fengmian can’t do anything but look back at him.

They’re in the cursed Burial Mounds, a group of Wen’s shiver behind Wei Wuxian. All of them, hiding behind this young boy as if he can save them.

Jiang Fengmian wants to hate them, but he sees too much of himself in them. He’s no better than them, after all. He’s been looking for salvation in Wei Wuxian for years.

“This will make you an enemy out of the entire cultivation world,” Jiang Cheng snarls angrily, stepping forward to grab Wei Wuxian’s arm and shake it. “They already talk ill of your cultivation. You protecting the Wen’s… Wei Wuxian… Our sect cannot afford to protect them.”

“That’s why I will protect them,” Wei Wuxian replies seriously, “Tell everyone that my actions are mine alone – that the Yunmeng Jiang do not approve.”

Jiang Cheng turns to him. “Father – tell him!” he says desperately, “Tell him he cannot do this!”

Wei Wuxian turns his head to look at him as well.

“Wen Ning is the only reason I was able to get you and Yu-Furan out that night, uncle,” he says softly, “If for that reason alone, I cannot abandon them.”

This is the first time Wei Wuxian has really stood up against Jiang Fengmian, and it breaks Jiang Fengmian’s heart that it is to defend his honor.

If only they weren’t Wens.

If they were from any other family, Jiang Fengmian would happily protect them for the rest of their lives.

But his son is right.

And his wife is right.

And Wei Wuxian is right.

“We can’t protect you, A-Xian,” Jiang Fengmian says softly, and his voice comes out surprisingly even, even as his heart crumbles in his chest. “Is this really what you choose?”

Wei Wuxian stares at him for a long while before he nods solemnly. A stray tear falls down his face and Jiang Fengmian turns before he sees any more fall.

“Father,” Jiang Cheng calls out desperately, “You can’t let him – father!”

“With this decision, you are no longer part of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect,” Jiang Fengmian says calmly. “You are no longer under our protection and we will no longer claim you.”

He doesn’t know if Wei Wuxian replies or not, because walks away.

Jiang Cheng catches up to him when he’s already more than halfway down the mountain. “Father,” he says desperately, and Jiang Fengmian can already tell by the sound of his voice that his son is crying. “A-Xian – Wei Wuxian, he’s just – he’s just—“

“Hush,” Jiang Fengmian says not slowing down at all. If he stops now. If he stumbles even just one step. He knows that he will run back there and drag Wei Wuxian back to Lotus Pier. He knows this. So he can’t stop.

“Please father,” Jiang Cheng sobs, “You can’t throw A-Xian away like this. Look around you – a person cannot survive here. You’re sentencing him to death. Please—“

“This is Wei Wuxian’s decision!” Jiang Fengmian shouts, his eyes looking forward, his back straight and his steps steady.

“But he’ll die,” Jiang Cheng sobs, “Why won’t you save him? Don’t you care?”

I do love him, Jiang Fengmian thinks numbly. It’s because I love him that I cannot save him.

That boy. That poor boy. He never had a choice anyway.

From the moment Jiang Fengmian found him on the street, Wei Wuxian was destined to ruin himself for him.

He was just like his father after all.

---

His wife is surprisingly furious with him.

“You should have dragged him back here by his hair if you had to,” she seethes, Zidian crackling on her fist.

“He would not leave without the remaining Wens,” Jiang Fengmian explains calmly, “I did as much as I could.”

“Then you should have brought the Wens along as well,” she snaps back.

Her reply shocks him.

“You know as well as I do that bringing them back is not an option,” he says.

She scoffs at his answer. “Why? Are you so afraid of those arrogant old men and their gossip?”

“It’s more than gossip,” he says, “Protecting the Wens would mark us as traitors.”

“Protecting old women and children would mark us traitors?” his wife asks sarcastically. “How cowardly you are.”

“Do you not care of how our sect is spoken about?” he asks, his voice rising with his temper. He had expected this from Jiang Cheng but from his wife? He had secretly thought she would be delighted to finally be rid of Wei Wuxian.

“If I cared how we were spoken about, I would not have let that orphan live with us for so many years,” she yells back.

Her answer silences him. It makes him sit back on his seat and just look at her.

She’s strange, his wife. And just when he thinks he knows her… she…

But then again, Jiang Fengmian has always been a fool.

His problem is that he always thinks he knows.

He sighs deeply and lowers his head in defeat. “I cannot bring him back now,” he says tiredly, “His separation from our sect is already common knowledge.”

“You’re an old fool,” she says, her mouth turning down in disgust. “Without a sect, everyone in the world will be after that talisman of his. With your cowardice, you’ve sentenced all of them to a miserable end.”

“If you’re right, then I’ve just saved our sect from certain annihilation,” he says, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

He’s not sure anymore what the right thing to do was.

He had been sure when he was on Burial Mounds, but now…

“I do not understand you,” she says coldly. “Once you were prepared to jeopardize all of us to save him. Now, you send him off like a sheep for slaughter. Has your sentimental love for his mother finally come to an end?”

Jiang Fengmian stands and walks out of the room, unable to stand his wife’s words any longer.

I just wanted to free him, Jiang Fengmian thinks desperately.

But maybe he’s lying to himself.

Maybe.

Maybe Jiang Fengmian had just wanted to free himself.

---

They call him the Yiling Patriarch.

Wei Wuxian becomes the topic of many fearsome tales. They claim that he is half man and half demon. They say that he can kill a thousand men with one note from his flute. They say he performs dark magic with the Wens on the cursed Burial Mounds.

People speak endlessly about him and Jiang Fengmian finds that he just… misses him.

Not even just his face or the way he reminds him of the man he lost.

Jiang Fengmian finds that he just misses Wei Wuxian.

Time passes and things seemingly start to settle down and Jiang Fengmian begins to think that perhaps his decision to let Wei Wuxian part from his sect wasn’t the death sentence his wife and Jiang Cheng made it up to be.

Maybe… Maybe for once, Jiang Fengmian has made the right choice.

He finds solace in the thought.

He knows Jiang Cheng goes up to the Burial Mounds every so often. He thinks he’s being sneaky about it, but Jiang Cheng is just as subtle as his mother – which is to say not at all.

Jiang Fengmian turns a blind eye to it and comforts himself with the knowledge that if Wei Wuxian were really in trouble, Jiang Cheng would say something to him.

It’s an odd feeling, but he feels that Jiang Cheng has outgrown him somehow.

At one point, he had believed Jiang Cheng to be too much like him. Unable to love correctly and always hurting the person who least deserved it.

Now…

Now Jiang Cheng doesn’t seem to be like him at all.

“He’ll be a much better sect leader than me,” Jiang Fengmian says to his wife.

His wife turns her head to watch Jiang Cheng. He’s training disciples in the main courtyard. “At the very least, he will be more decisive than you,” she says.

Jiang Fengmian watches her watch her son. It’s hard to remember why he always thought her so indifferent. So cold.

He knows now that there is an inferno that she keeps tightly trapped inside.

She loves so fiercely that it scares her to let it out.

He’s sorry that it took him twenty years to realize it.

“I’m glad he is so much like you,” he says softly, and the truth of it weighs heavily on his chest.

She doesn’t react to his words, but she lowers her eyes and he can tell she’s touched.

“Old age has made you soft,” she says after some time.

Maybe before, Jiang Fengmian would hear the coldness in her words, but now all he can hear is the affection.

It’s strange how things change.

---

His daughter gets married.

She’s stunning in her wedding attire and her smile is bright enough to light up all of Lanling.

Jiang Fengmian had been uncertain about her marriage at first – the last thing he wanted to do was curse her to an unhappy marriage – but looking at how Jin Zixuan dotes on her, he feels safe enough to send her to Lanling…

…And after Jiang Cheng’s long ‘talk’ with Jin Zixuan, Jiang Fengmian feels rather confident that Jin Zixuan will not be like his father.

His wife has a rare smile on her lips during the wedding celebrations.

“If you hadn’t stupidly broken up their betrothal, they would have gotten married much sooner and we might be grandparents by now,” she says, but her tone is too happy for her words to have any real sting.

“I think this may have worked out better,” Jiang Fengmian replies easily with a smile of his own. “A little hardship is good fuel for a man’s love.”

His wife rolls her eyes and huffs a laugh. “Perhaps that is where I went wrong,” she says, “I was too easy.”

Her words are a sharp jab at Jiang Fengmian’s heart.

He knows that their marriage has been a cold one. A meeting of two people unwilling to understand one another.

He often thinks that if they had met under different circumstances, they may… well it might have never been love, but they would not have hurt each other as they did.

Because… he understands now that he hurt her too.

He reaches over and puts his hand over hers.

She doesn’t look at him, but he can tell that she’s surprised by the way she freezes.

“The best a parent can hope for is a better life for their children,” he says softly. “You’ve raised her well, and for that she will have a better marriage than ours.”

His wife blinks rapidly and turns her head slowly to look at him. Her eyes are wide and deep and they look surprisingly vulnerable on her stoic face.

He gives her a soft smile. “But I don’t think our marriage is too bad, either,” he says, and he squeezes her hand in his.

She turns her face away quickly and does not reply.

She’s quiet for the rest of the banquet.

But she doesn’t remove her hand from his.

#mdzs #the untamed #jiang fengmian #yu ziyuan #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #sincerely: not enough

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

not to be depressing, but what do you think carlisle would do if rosalie died, or vice versa? or even just your thoughts on carlisle and rosalie and what they mean to each other? their almost-father/daughter relationship is one of the most genuine and sweet relationships in twilight, imo, and i'm curious what you think of it

Please, this blog is depressing, I end every other post with "And then Edward ate Bella".

So, a general post on the Cullen relationships here. A post on Carlisle and fatherhood thrust upon him here.

A Bit on Rosalie and Carlisle

Like you, I'm very fond of Carlisle's father daughter relationship, and will go a bit further and say it's clearly a filial/paternal relationship. As much as Edward is a son to Carlisle, Rosalie is his daughter, the others are not quite 'children' in the same way and more end up in the role because that's how it goes.

They do have their issues.

Carlisle is plagued with doubt on whether he had the right to make the decision he did, especially as Rosalie makes it very clear she resents being a vampire. Rosalie respects and admires Carlisle, but he did turn her into a vampire not realizing she would have rather died (well, perhaps ultimately not, but she certainly fantasizes a human life she would never have lived).

Regardless, Rosalie clearly emulates Carlisle in everything she does. She pursues a medical degree (among many others), follows his way of life to the best of her ability and prides herself on it, and listens to his opinion even when it's dissenting (Bella and the van vote, protecting Bella from James, etc.)

Carlisle, in turn, is very fond of Rosalie. He always treats her with respect, clearly encouraged and aided her education, and always calmly explains when he disagrees on any issue.

Point being, they're very close, and one of the canon relationships I genuinely enjoy and don't think is a dumpster fire fed by grease. (Carlisle's other child is Edward. I'll just post this link here and remind audiences that Edward doesn't look at Carlisle the way he should a father. Edward is also Edward in general. Carlisle doesn't know it but that relationship is... yes.)

With that, on with the show.

What Would Carlisle Do If Rosalie Died

First, I imagine he grieves for her much the way he would for Edward. Rosalie, his precious daughter who was never truly happy for all the wonderful moments she had in her life, is now gone. That said, in a way, I imagine he hopes she's happier.

Carlisle believes vampires have souls and are not barred entry to the afterlife. I imagine he hopes that Rosalie can live the life she always wanted there and that, someday, he will see her again.

He grieves but has to act as a pillar of support for the family, likely mostly to Emmett, who I imagine becomes increasingly despondent with Rosalie's death.

She's what really tied him to the Cullens. To the playing human lifestyle, to the diet in general, and while he has attachments to the family they're not nearly as strong. I imagine he tries, for a while, both for lack of other connections and to honor her memory.

However, in time I imagine he leaves, falls off the wagon, and never gets back on. Carlisle, of course, has to quietly watch all this and try to help where he can.

Otherwise... the rest of the family's not nearly as upset as they should be and Carlisle denials himself into thinking they're all completely distraught when his back is turned. Edward, especially, must be devastated and yet he's holding up so well. What a noble soul.

What Would Rosalie Do If Carlisle Died

Whoooo boy.

Well, first off, without Carlisle there are no Cullens. The family would completely fall apart. These people cannot do this diet or this lifestyle on their own.

Carlisle's death would be a disaster that would devastate every single member of the coven.

Including, of course, Rosalie.

Rosalie would desperately try to keep the family together, maintain the Cullen lifestyle. She'd probably drop the high school act and apply for a job herself, make herself the patriarch, and get into very bad fights with Edward over who gets to be Carlisle 2.0.

This ends in disaster.

Edward likely leaves, sooner rather than later. Esme (and Bella and Renesmee if they're around) go with him. Alice and Jasper will likely then leave. Then it's just Rosalie and Emmett.

Otherwise, if Carlisle's been murdered, I imagine Rosalie seeks out and plans vengeance. These people will wish they had never walked the Earth. Fury and vengeance will be how Rosalie processes her grief and at the end of it she's still desperately unhappy and Carlisle's still dead.

She hopes Carlisle is right, that heaven exists for the likes of them, and that someday she'll see him again.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight reanissance #carlisle cullen #rosalie hale #anti edward cullen #edward cullen #the cullens #emmett cullen #anti emmett cullen #meta #headcanon #opinion

[in-slytherin-we-trust]

Another Time, Another Life (Draco Malfoy x Reader) Part 1/4

-> The sacrifice that Draco has to make and the price that he has to pay for even daring to fall in love.

-> Click here for Part 2

You knew... you knew everything. At first you thought knowing what’s been burdening him so would be enlightening, that you could help him carry half of the weight. But how come you’re feeling even more lost than ever now that you finally know?

After he discovered that Y/N’s been following his trail night after night, he finally relented and let her in. He took the fall and decided to trusts her with his secrets, knowing that it might as well be his downfall. But he too is tired and for once he would like nothing more than to just live in the present and stop thinking about all the consequences. About the direness of this mission that is doomed from the start, about his mother all alone in Malfoy Manor that is now crawling with Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself, about his father that is rotting away in Azkaban.

It’s all too much really.... too big of a burden for a 16 years old boy to carry. But Draco would never admit that outloud, too much is at stake and he has to take the helm since he’s now the patriarch of the Malfoy line with his father out of the picture. Is this what it feels like to be Potter? He often found himself wondering.

Draco sigh, leaning into Y/N’s touch as she weaved her fingers in and out of his silky locks. Relishing in the feeling of comfort that she always effortlessly brings to him despite all.

“Harry’s getting more suspicious, you should be more careful now that he’s trying to get a whiff of what you’re up to.” She murmured, letting one hand travel down to stroke his cheek.

“Potter has always been a thorn in my side for years, it just surprised me that it took him this long to begin his sleuthing.” Draco replied with a scoff as if it’s nothing more than a nuisance.

“I tried to steer him away from you as best as I could but there’s only soo much that I can do... he’s hell-bent on seeing this through.” Y/N said again.

Draco who’s still laying down with his head on her lap, played around with the edge of her Gryffindor tie that is now just hanging loosely instead of tied properly as usual. “I know, love. Thank you for having my back, it must’ve been hard for you to keep this away from your friends, I never wanted you to have to choose at all between me and them but here we are...”

Y/N sigh, “But here we are.....”

She let her hand travel down again, hovering near his left arm.... where the mark is etched onto his otherwise flawless skin.

Draco flashed his eyes towards her as he noticed where her hand is, “May I?” Y/N’s voice cracked as she asked him.

Instead of answering, he folded the sleeve of his shirt up, exposing the skin beneath it where the Dark Mark slithers menacingly every now and then. A constant reminder of a path that he has forged for himself. A path that strayed from hers.

Y/N slowly trailed her fingers up and down the mark, her face contorting into a pained expression as if she could feel his agony, his shame, his anger and everything else that he tried so hard to hide.

“After we’re done with...all this... do you think we could still have a future together?” She said, her voice no louder than a whisper, fearing the answer.

“Y/N...my starlight... you deserve a far better future than what I could possibly give you no matter which side that wins.” Draco said in a bitter tone. Hating himself more than ever for even saying this because gods he really wants to be a man that deserves this girl and all her love.

“I don’t want any of it if there’s no you in it, Draco.” She said as her lips started to tremble.

“Us.... we would be glorious wouldn’t we? I can see it... morning kisses in bed, spending afternoon in the manor’s library reading books, a feast for a dinner each night. Maybe a kid or two with my hair and your eyes. What a beautiful dream.” Draco said as he let out his first genuine smile this year.

“But I don’t want it to be just a dream, we could still do all that, Draco, please...” She begged, her eyes watered at the thought that she might have to go on without him.

Draco sat up and took her head in his hands, cupping it softly. “I love you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and I’ll go to whatever end for you.”

Y/N let her forehead rest on his, bringing their face pressed nose to nose. “I love you too, Draco Malfoy, to whatever end.”

Draco leaned in, his lips meeting hers and they shared their final kiss. Desperation, hope, and longing pouring between them.

“Forgive me, starlight.” He murmured as he pressed the tip of his wand to her temple.

Startled, Y/N look at him wide eyed, “Draco?”

“Obliviate..” He casted the spell to erase her memories of them ever being together. He chocked back a sob knowing that the love of his life won’t remember all that they have shared after this, but this is something that he has to do to keep her safe. No matter how much it will break him.

“Another time, another life..” He whispered out, “I promise I’ll find you again then and give us the ending that we deserve, love.”

He looked at her one last time, still under the sleeping spell that he placed on her after he altered her memories.

And Draco Malfoy walked away, out of (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s life. This is his price and he has paid it in full.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy drabble #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy oneshots #draco malfoy prompt #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader

[bonniebird]

Klaus’ True Love (Part Two)

Klaus Mikaelson x Immortal!Fem!Reader

Summary: A thousand years ago Klaus lost her. The only girl he ever truly loved but now he's found her again, he's not letting her go without answers.

Part One

Part Three

Part Four

“So you found the spell, what do you want from me?” Klaus asked furiously. He’d been called to the boarding house, pulled away from his watch over you inspecting his art, to deal with inferior creatures that seemed unable to function without him.

“Bonnie isn’t powerful enough to use the spell.” Elena said defensively, stepping in front of Bonnie when Klaus bared his fangs at her.

“Well I’ll have someone find you a stronger witch.” He snapped before vanishing leaving them to wonder where he was keeping you.

 ***************************

 “You look different now.” Klaus smiled when you jumped and turned away from the painting in front of you.

“I don’t want this spell lifted, I don’t want to lose Elena and Jer… Aunt Judith.” Your fingers reached out to brush the paint and he gently caught your hand.

“You never could keep those hands to yourself.” You looked up at him as he swallowed and twisted his fingers into yours, before you got uncomfortable enough to pull away, he dropped your hand and hurried over to the corner of the room. 

“I managed to save your flower for you… when we first settled in Fell’s church you said you’d never seen something that could rival the beauty of the sun setting over the sea.” He pulled back the panel that had stood against one wall, revealing a large pot of dirt with the same flowers that grew around your window pane at home,

“Aunt Judith thinks it’s odd the flower seems to grow just for me.” You muttered, forgetting to fill in the vampire on what it was you meant but he seemed more engrossed in watching you finger the delicate purple petals.

“I named it after you, it has become very popular.” He smiled at you and moved away, leaving you with the plant.

 ********************

“Thank you.” you whispered. Despite the kidnapping and threats against your siblings Klaus seemed… oddly indifferent to upsetting you, unlike Damon who almost tore your throat out the first time you met.

“A small gesture for a love I lost.” He muttered. You ran your fingers across one of the many sculptures and pulled your hand back, he was right, you learnt by touch and the desire to hold everything you saw was almost a hidden need.

“How did I get like this, clearly what you have told me is true enough for my sister and her brood of vampires to believe you.” You ask, settling down on the end of your bed as you waited for his answer.

“It is a very long story (Y/N) one that I will not know all of until you remember yourself.” He hesitated for a moment before beginning to speak.

 ********************

“What have you done, she had no part of this… have you become so blinded by your need for power that innocent people must die?” Klaus hissed at his father hysterically as you didn’t resurface from the lake beneath him.

“You are a savage animal, what I did was mercy compared to a life with you.” Mikael spat back. He didn’t notice the flower you’d dropped being crushed beneath his boot but the desperate hybrid’s fingers plucked it from the ground and cradled it in his hands.

“Father, how could you do it?” Rebekah yelled bravely as she tore through the woods, following the sounds of her brother’s despair. He raised a hand to slap her but Elijah appeared just in time to take the blow.

“I will not be questioned by my own children.” He hissed, storming away, leaving the siblings to comfort one another.

Your gasp for air was sad and desperate, drawing the attention of the Mikaelson patriarch. He watched you pull yourself from the lake, sitting for a moment to take stock of what happened to you, before making his presence known. 

“I never thought we ourselves could create another.” His ramblings made no sense to you as he held your chin up so he could look at your face closely.

“What have you done to me?” You sobbed. He frowned before lifting you to your feet by your arm.

“You must eat; do not worry I will find a witch to keep you safe from my wife’s bastard.” His voice attempted to be soft and comforting but made your skin crawl. You didn’t dare cry out for help, assuming he would have killed Niklaus for attacking him and showing such defiance.

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

 “So he used compulsion to keep me under his control, why didn’t it wear off when he died?” You asked. Before you could panic Klaus was on his feet gently placing his hands on your shoulder. 

“The witches, he forced the Gilbert’s, Lockwood’s and Bennet’s to protect you and the tradition was passed down, I have no doubt your Aunt knows something of your secret but hasn’t the heart to say anything… admittedly from me but not only did that guarantee your obedience, it erased any oddity of your ageing.” He took his hands away as you shook your head and pushed his arms.

“Aging oddity, I remember my birthdays and Elena’s birth… we fought over who could hold Jeremy first, my mother told me off on my sixth birthday for pushing Elena off a chair.” You yell at him frantically, pacing the room. He reached to comfort you but you shoved him away as tears fell down your cheeks.

“They are not real memory’s, the power in the land here keeps everyone human from seeing the truth.” You let Klaus wrap you in his arms as your legs gave out underneath you.

“But… No, I… you’re not taking those memories from me by undoing that spell.” You say firmly pounding your fists against the vampire’s chest.

“They will still remain (Y/N), if they didn’t everyone in Fell’s Church would know that you haven’t aged for a thousand years… all it will mean is, you will remember me and your real parents.” His voice cracked a little as he felt you give into the longing to rest yourself against him.

“But what if they don’t?” You whispered. He didn’t reply as he kissed your forehead and sat you back on the end of your bed.

“I will find a witch powerful enough to make sure they do.” He beckoned you to follow him and led you to a car with blacked out windows, indicating for the man in the front to take you wherever you wanted to go and shut the door without another word to you.

 **********************

 “Elena!” You ran up the Boarding house drive, wrapping your arms around your sister and began sobbing into her shoulder.

“Listen to me even if you forget… we forget, we love you, when Mom and Dad died you were with us and you lost them to and everything with Jer… you’ll always be our sister.” You smiled and wiped the tears from her cheeks before embracing Bonnie. 

“I’m sorry if I’d have known what Grams was doing…” You hugged your best friend and smiled.

“You always do what’s right Bonnie; you can’t fix something you don’t know is broken.” She grinned at you.

“Well this is all very touching lady’s but I have to prepare my home for an invasion of narcissistic immortals so if we could move it inside.” Damon snapped from behind you. you shared a silent smile with Stefan as you fell in step with him.

Three hours later Klaus and two other vampires appeared in the doorway dragging a woman they claimed to be causing trouble for several vampires. You reluctantly agreed to sit where they told you and Bonnie began hovering over the witch’s shoulder to make sure she was doing the spell correctly.

She began chanting something over and over, the room seemed to heave and shrink around you until it vanished entirely and there was just a plain door with a bolt in front of you. without hesitation you opened the door and let what was behind it wash over you.

 *****************************

 “(Y/N) …. Oh god please be ok, please… don’t leave us.” Elena’s tears felt like cold droplets of ice on your skin and for a moment you couldn’t move.

“Drink this.” The blond woman that Klaus had come with was kneeling on the other side of you, holding a slightly warm baggie of blood.

“Rebekah.” You muttered, taking the bag and tearing it open drinking whatever you hadn’t split.

“Drink the witch, she’s no use for anything else.” Damon muttered when your hungry gaze fixed on your sister.

“What happened to her?” You asked as Rebekah helped you away from Elena and over to the now dead witch.

“Some spells kill us if we’re too weak.” Bonnie’s voice was wavering, no doubt the whole dead witch and vampire subject was hitting her a little harder than she liked to let on.

“Well as long as she’s dead and it stops me from devouring you all.” You muttered. You went to sink your new fangs into her neck only to have Klaus stop you.

“You drink from her like that we’ll have a town with no blood supply.” He stepped between you and the witch, sinking his teeth into her neck, before pulling away and indicating for you to feed from the marks he’d left.

Your gaze on Klaus lasted longer than needed and it wasn’t until he sat next to the witch and pulled you into his lap that you noticed everyone else had moved to the next room. His lips found yours in a kiss that held a deep longing and need that you felt your heart would explode if it lasted much longer.

“I hope you know I will never be without you again.” He whispered, brushing tendrils of hair from your face as he looked up at you. you placed a gentle kiss on his lips, smiling to yourself when he moaned and curled his hands into the chair to stop himself from touching you.

“I feel horrible.” You muttered, ruining the moment when your fangs extended and refused to vanish again.

“You haven’t eaten properly for a long time; magic supplementing is a form of witchly torture so you’re going to be starving.” He shifted so you could feed without leaving his embrace and without much prompting you sank your teeth into the witch’s neck.

He moved your hair out of his way and had to sink his fangs into his lip to stop himself from moaning at the sight of you feeding, feeling the rush of power the blood was giving you.

#klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson #the originals #bonniebird

[hrhbella]

Are You?

Pairing: Tom Riddle x OC [Isabella Rosier]

Word Count: 1.2k words

Summary: Someone(s) from Isabella's past appear in their future.

Warnings: N/A; [While other characters I have little to no grasp on (I.e. her brother, Evan Rosier, etc.), Isabella's existence in the Harry Potter Universe is entirely my own creation. I can show you the forethought of her, if you wish.

Author’s Note: This multi chapter work started its planning back in late 2019. Since I have sporadically wrote chapters in no particular order, but because of this I am thinking through changing a large aspect of my plot, which renders this posted edition (found here) of the work useless. Please enjoy, but reach out if you have time to help brainstorm and/or proof reader on an ongoing basis. Desperately want to put this idea onto paper in an orderly fashion. -B

------

December 1996

Isabella had been researching in the Rosier library for most of the morning when the yew doors swing open with poise, something that the patriarch of the family was not possessing as he storms into the Victorian-accented room,

“When in Godric’s name did you think it would be fitting to mention you were being shagged by my old schoolmate?" Mr. Rosier’s grip on the back of the settee opposite his daughter was stiff, the wood within creaking under the pressure.

“What?” Isabella murmurs, deep in concentration with the pages in front of her.

“Or was it you who persuaded him into being intimate?" Louis Rosier waves his own words away, pushing a hand through his greying hair, "Oh, of course not.” He watches impatiently as her slim finger follows a line in the tome.

“Rosier, I must ins-“ The young man whose gaze hadn't left Louis Rosier's daughter starts, though this only seems to animate the poorly veiled distressed look on the older man.

Paying no mind to her father, Isabella stumbles upon a most interesting passage: An underrated and forgotten hex is the Knee-Reversal hex. Developed prior to the year 1000, the Knee-Reversal hex has proved to be withstanding of the tests of time, though the same cannot be said of those on the receiving end. The incantation, Genu Transuerso, can be translated to-

Without looking up, Isabella reaches for her tea, “Have you been nursing that decanter of yours again? My, it’s only Tuesday, Papa.”

“Isabella Catherine Rosier!” Louis breathes deeply, “Are you or are you not copulating with the Dark Lord?"

His face flames a deep shade of scarlet and his left hand is itching to grab hold of his wand. He was slowly losing his patience, something that had become increasingly difficult over time, and now he was having a difficult time keeping his voice in check.

The remaining two young men, who have their eyes glued to the scene folding out in front of them, both attempt to swallow their anxiety. The thought of looking to the young man, the one they have just started to call the Dark Lord, between them seems to ping between them but both keep obedient eyes on the two Rosier's.

Isabella stills the tea with her other hand as the cup hovers over the book, though she is tracing the wand movements on the page with her eyes. “Papa, I only was allowed at a meeting just last-“

Louis wallops a vase and its plate off the hall table, gripping the settee’s edge with a new force. “Were you bumping uglies with Tom Riddle? Or are you still?”

The volume of his voice fills the vaulted room. Two of the young men flinch, though unnoticeable to anyone but their companion between them, and Isabella jerks her teacup causing a fair amount to slosh onto the diagram below.

“Shite! It simply is-“ Isabella started, though she still hasn't truly registered the words he's verbally hurling at her.

“It simply, what? You simply fell onto him? I know he is a fit young man, believe me, I am aware, but what possessed you to- to do it?” Louis rounds the back of the settee, putting a heavy hand onto its arm.

"Scourgify!" she harshly murmurs, waving her hand flippantly over the page while setting the cup away far from the various tomes stacked in front of her. “Really, Papa? I was under the impression you had more decorum than that.” Bumping uglies? Do it? Seriously, was he a second year?

“Did Malfoy put you up to this? We both know how low they have fallen but you mustn’t think that jumping onto Tom Riddle and-“

“Draco wouldn’t ever ask me to remedy a situation for him, do you even know the Malfoy’s, Papa? I can’t even believe you wou-" She slams one hand onto the tome, rattling everything on the cocktail table. The other shoots up to feel for the necklace hiding beneath her top. "Tom?”

Isabella’s head snaps towards her father, who seems to be physically forcing himself to take a breath in and push the air back out. Her cerulean eyes quickly fall onto the young men standing just within the threshold of the room. It takes reminding herself of all the years of formality her father and brother ingrained into her very soul to keep her mouth from meeting the carpet.

“Oh, Merlin’s beard,” Isabella breathes out.

“Yes. Merlin’s beard," Louis grinds out, forehead scrunching up, "You see, I was going to approve the monthly expenditures from Twilfitt and Tattings, Flourish and Blott’s, the likes.” He shoves a finger towards Isabella “I do have to discuss the ungodly amount spent at Cobb and Webb’s with you. But instead of an unoccupied office, I found myself digging through my desk. You must understand how this might have me bothered as not only I was already in my office, but as was Theodoros Nott and, as I am now aware you have been more than acquainted with, Tom Riddle.”

The pregnant pause that fills the library is heavier than a troll.

“Papa, this is not the best time to delve into this. It is quite a complicated circumstance.”

She steadily said, but her eyes kept darting from each of the men in front of her, not knowing where it was worse to look. She was starting to trace the outline of the metal beneath her top, letting the fibers rub into the pad of her finger.

“Oh, is it tea time?” Another vase shatters onto the floor, “Forgive me but I seem to be presenting more pressing matters." Louis locks his gaze with Isabella, willing her to show an ounce of remorse for him having to push through with this conversation. "Now, Bella darling. My only daughter. Are you having sex with Tom Riddle?”

Isabella can feel her mind starting to throb as she searches for something appropriate to say,

”Are you intimate with the Dark Lord?” Louis rasps out.

The rooms, walls, and chests inside of Isabella’s wits begin to crumble on themselves, leading to, by far, one of the most embarrassing responses she could think to give to her dear Papa.

“Evidently, yes.”

Louis Rosier could no longer hold himself up, collapsing onto the settee with a hand to his chest. His next words came out close to a whisper, “Merlin’s beard, Isabella.” He shoots a quick glance over his shoulder, “Do you know who he is?”

She stares into Tom Riddle’s deep chocolate eyes, “Yes, Papa.”

The two Rosiers seem to find anything but the other pulling their gaze until a voice sound from just in front of the door,

“Blimey, have I always been like this?” Sixteen-year-old Louis Rosier speaks up, glancing disapprovingly towards the aged wizard in front of them.

“Quite.” Theodoros Nott quips, eyes zipping towards Tom. One could never be too sure of what might prompt the young Dark Lord.

“And you most definitely have not gotten better with time, Rosier.” Tom watched the older Rosier pulling at his hair but turns his attention back towards Isabella with a charming smirk. "I apologize, Rosier. I am afraid I did not have time to owl ahead."

------

> If you wish to write a formal letter to Her Royal Highness, please do so here.

> If you wish to see Her Royal Highness’ completed list of works, please do so here.

> If you wish to see some of Her Royal Highness’ most frequently asked questions, please do so here.

#tom riddle #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle blurb #tom riddle aesthetic #please help #tom riddle imagine #tom marvolo riddle #lord voldemort #tom riddle oneshot #tom riddle angst #rosier family

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH17

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 17: Journey (Second Half)

Even when the moon had reached the middle of the sky, the excitement of the Valentine tribe in the distance remained the same, and the joy continued.

But it was a joy that some people avoided.

A petite figure walked through the stone forest. It had gotten dark, and the moon overhead couldn't bring enough lighting. The shadows of the stone pillars made one unable to see the ground beneath them. When there came the sound of an eagle crying overhead, she lost her guard and knocked her head on a stone, groaning and singing in pain.

She was a human girl, maybe a Valentine.

The traveler jumped off the wind-eroded column and walked up to her. She retreated in fear, her back pressing tightly against the rock wall, and shouted, "Don't capture me! Please, let me escape! Don't tell the patriarch and the high priest!"

"Who are you?" asked the traveler.

The girl's panic was quelled by this question and this voice. She summoned the courage to look up at the stranger. In the moonlight, the handsome traveler made her unconsciously open her mouth: "I... My name is Aya, a member of the Valentines."

"Where are you going?" asked the traveler.

"Ant City... I want to go to the Ant City!" Aya whispered at first, but suddenly she said it out loud.

"You should go before dawn. The desert at night is very dangerous," the traveler warned.

Was he concerned about her? Aya looked at the stranger in astonishment. He was very tall, fair-skinned—very different from the short brown Valentines—and handsome.

Aya suddenly looked back and gazed at the bonfire in the distance. She suddenly had an idea in her heart.

She stood up from the ground, dusted the dust and gravel from her skirt, and looked at the traveler with trepidation. He stood in front of her as quiet as the moonlight, as determined as a desert poplar that refused to fall. She was nervous, but she was forced by her inner anxiety.

"You… Do you want to ask me to dance? We can dance all night!" Aya got up the courage and rushed out an invitation that was implicitly out of line.

If people from the Valentine tribe were here, they would understand her. Aya was afraid that he couldn't understand, and boldly squeezed a sentence from her throat: "I’ve grown up, I can do more intimate things than dancing, I can do it!"

When she finished speaking, she quickly bowed her head, afraid to see contempt from the traveler's eyes. This shame, mixed with fear, made her red-eyed and so sad that she almost cried.

"I’m sorry, I’m a monk," the traveler answered her.

Aya's heart retreated. Even a girl like her who lived in a remote tribe knew what this meant—he would not rush to get close to a girl, and would not do anything more than the moment before entering marriage. She should apologize and run away in shame.

But the fear of the future was forcing her. Her lips trembled and she desperately begged: "We could get married, I don't want gifts, I don't want rings... We could get married tonight, and you wouldn't have to visit me after tomorrow. Please, I don't want to... I don't want to..."

The traveler replied, "I’m sorry, I have a lover."

Aya began to cry, shaking with tears. She was jealous of the lucky girls in the tribe who could dance with their favorite boy on this beautiful night while she was locked in her room, waiting for fate. She had escaped, but where could she escape to? She couldn't cross the vast Sea of Tranquility desert, and could only go to the Underground Ant City—the hell on earth that frightened her. She doesn't have the strength of a bear, the sharpness of an eagle, or the agility of a monkey. How could an ordinary human girl survive there?

Everywhere was a dead end, and there was no glimmer of hope. She finally despaired, wiped her tears, and turned to walk towards the village. She had escaped on impulse, but now that she thought about it, there was nowhere to go. Why shouldn't she go back and accept her own destiny?

But the traveler stopped her: "Do you have some difficulties? Do you need my help?"

Aya stopped and turned to look at him. The traveler stood in the bright moonlight and watched her with gentle blue eyes. This stranger cared about her and worried about her pain. This thought makes Aya burst into tears. She couldn't wait to tell the whole of her grievances, but when she was stared at by such a pair of eyes, she couldn't say anything, she could only shed tears silently.

"Thank you... Sir... Thank you."

Amidst the joyful celebration, this tribal girl with honey skin told her story intermittently.

The Valentine tribe was a tribe that had migrated here from somewhere else. Unlike the aborigines with high noses, deep eyes, and white skin, they had a darker skin color and were not very tall. In addition, since they had come later, their relationship with other tribes was not harmonious and they even suffered from discrimination.

Demons always liked pure human girls. As the Dragon Ant Queen aged, she asked for more sacrifices. The secret of her bloody cruelty was circulated in the Sea of Tranquility desert—she drank great amounts of the blood of virgins in an attempt to stop the traces left by time. Aya, who had just become an adult, was chosen as the Valentine tribe’s tribute this year, and would be sent to the Dragon Ant Queen’s palace in the Underground Ant City. She didn't know if she would really face a bloodthirsty tyrant, but she knew that all the girls who were sent there had never come back.

Aya's mother died young and her father had been bewitched by a trader and became a believer in Utopia, leaving the tribe to pursue this dreamlike land of perfection. Left alone, Aya was brought up by the tribe on the condition that she would be a tribute for the tribe when she grew up.

Aya, who had no choice, grew up in fear. In order to keep her pure, the patriarch and the high priest had forbidden her from having contact with the opposite sex. She felt sincere envy and deep fear when she watched her peers walk into marriage one by one.

Finally, in this unattended bonfire festival, she was moved by the joy and excitement. She quietly escaped from the village and wanted to mix into the Underground Ant City to live out the rest of her days. Then she met someone who changed her life.

Now, she and this man were sitting on a low and easy-to-climb wind-eroded column, looking out over the bonfire in the distance.

She confided intermittently, confused for a while, self-pitying for a while, and sometimes even felt guilty: "Maybe I shouldn't have run away. If I leave, another girl will be sent there instead of me, and they don't want to do that... They should have a better life."

The traveler who had been silent until now told her: "No one should bear this pain, and neither should you."

Tears flowed from her dry eyes again and Aya choked: "But everyone doesn't think so. Since I’ve accepted the tribe’s support, I should repay them. This is a matter of course."

"It is an obligation to raise a child. It is unjust to ask her to repay this obligation with her life," said the traveler.

"It's not my fault? Isn't it because I’m too selfish?" Aya asked hopefully.

The traveler shook his head. "It's not your fault, nor is it anyone's fault."

"Whose fault is it then?" Aya was confused.

The traveler couldn't answer, and he was also thinking, if the world forced a warm and kind ethnic group to sell their own kind in exchange for surviving, whose fault was it?

"It's the Devils’ fault," the traveler said. "So we must destroy them and drive them back to the underworld, so that they will never come to this world."

"That's good. In this case, daddy wouldn't believe in any Utopia anymore? A world without demons itself is so beautiful. It’s a Utopia already. I want to live in such a world. Everything is good, perfect and the best," Aya said. Her poor vocabulary couldn't express the world in her heart. She can only describe it as "the best".

"What kind of world is it?" the traveler asked.

Aya thought hard and described the Utopia in her heart: "It must be an equal world. Besides human beings, there can also be demons that don't harm people... I heard that there are such demons in the Underground Ant City, and some even marry humans. If they don't harm us, I can accept their existence. No matter what kind of skin colour, like you or me, or whether we’re men or women, whether we have a faith or not, as long as we’re willing to be peaceful and friendly and not hurt each other, we should be equal and should be happy."

The traveler was surprised. He didn't expect an uneducated tribal girl to have such a mind and ideal, which made his heart that was blindly hostile to all demons ashamed.

Aya couldn't help but smile when she thought about such a world: "It would be great if I could live in a world like that."

With that, she smiled again and sighed softly: "What’s the point in dreaming of such ideals? We don't even know if we can survive the next evil tide... There will always be some demons fleeing to the surface each month during those days. Last month, they ate five sheep that belonged to the patriarch's family and they’ve eaten people before."

Aya asked, "I heard that monks like you can do magic spells. Can you do that?"

"I don't have that kind of power, but I have the Lord in my heart." The traveler replied that he had faith even though he had been exiled.

"Would believing in the Lord make me as smart and powerful as you? Can I also believe?" Aya asked uneasily.

The traveler handed her a heavy book as an answer.

Aya held the book carefully, for fear that her hands would ruin the precious book. She looked at the words on the cover and sounded it out with difficulty: "The Canon, is that how you read it?"

She only knew some simple words and feared that she would remember wrong. After flipping through the pages, she was embarrassed to find that she couldn't read even half of the contents.

"This is what my mother left me, and now I will give it to you," said the traveler.

Aya closed the book in a panic, threw it back, and hit the traveler in the waist with it. He groaned and his face suddenly turned pale.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Sorry, I’m sorry!" Aya apologized fearfully, and she was so anxious that her tears fell down.

"It doesn't matter, it's a previous injury." Although the traveler looked haggard, he had a calm expression, as if the wound on his body was really just a minor injury. He put the book back in Aya's hands. "It doesn't matter. I memorized this book very young. If it can help you, it has value."

He didn't think it was a pity to give the Canon to a girl who couldn't even recognize its words. Moreover, the place where he was going was dangerous, and the result of going was that he might be left sleeping in the ground forever. If he let her go back with this Canon, at least the tribe wouldn't blame her for her escape.

There was a kind seed in her heart. Whether she believed it or not, she should be treated well.

"Thank you, really thank you." Aya thanked him repeatedly and was overwhelmed with joy when she held the book.

During this bonfire festival that she wasn’t allowed to attend, she had still received a gift. Maybe the traveler didn't know the meaning of the gift, but it still made her jump secretly. There was a happy bird singing in her heart, almost flying out of her chest.

But he had a lover. Aya bowed her head sadly, trying to hide her sour mood. With her head bowed, she opened the book and read the words by the moonlight, secretly blushing: "Love is... is..."

"Love is patient, love is kind," the traveler told her the pronunciation.

This heartfelt statement made her emotion surge. She seemed to be inspired by fate and bravely continued to read: "Love does not... what?"

The traveler told her slowly, "Love does not envy."

Aya's hand stroking the pages froze, and her foolish longing turned into full loss and self-mockery, which finally made her thoughtful.

Love is not envy. Aya silently read this sentence in her mind. Don't be envious of the girls who can dance with their sweethearts, and don't be envious of strangers who care about their loved ones. It was not her love.

The bonfire in the distance had become faint, the voice of celebration had gradually lowered, and the festival had come to an end.

Aya held the book and whispered, "I want to go home."

The traveler said, "I can take you to the Ant City and help you settle down."

"No, I’m willing to go back. Thank you," Aya said. "But before you go, can I talk to you for a while? We can talk about anything."

The traveler promised her.

Aya talked happily about the past, and stopped talking about the fear that made her feel miserable and helpless. Instead, she talked about the interesting things she’d encountered. She had been so angry when the bucket was pushed into the well by the sheep when she had been fetching water that she’d chased after the sheep. She had burned her hand when she was making naan and the neighbour's boy had helped her fetch water to cool it down. After listening to the traders talking about the outside world, she had learned that there was a place called the Vatican. She was excited to talk about all these interesting things, because she didn't think the traveler was happy. She wanted him to be happy, and she also wanted to know about his past, even if it was just his name.

But the traveler was always a silent listener, and he had no intention of telling his own story.

She didn't know where he came from, what kind of pain and despair he had experienced, why there was such a gentle sadness in his body, and what kind of person he carefully sheltered in his heart.

But the traveler didn't say anything. He didn't say anything.

Late at night, the young girl was very tired and sleepy. She murmured and asked, "Where is your lover? Where did she go?"*

*{E/N: he and she are pronounced the same in Chinese}

The traveler replied, "He is always in my heart."

Aya couldn't tell whether this is what the traveler said or what she dreamed. She fell asleep with the book as her pillow, and the traveler took the liberty of taking the strange girl back to the village. He covered her with a blanket, sat next to her to watch over her, and went nearby to find some dry wood to raise the fire and warm her.

The traveler himself didn't sleep. He waited for the rising sun and then quietly left to continue his journey.

Before the start of this journey, he actually hadn't had many opportunities to watch the sunrise, as he couldn't see it in the Village of Dusk. When he’d moved to Neverland, he had spent half a year under the eternally starry sky. When he was on tasks outside, he was in a hurry and didn't have the mind to wait for a sunrise. In fact, he didn't have any attachment to the sunrise. If his lover was still there, it would be beautiful for them to watch the sunset together. The sunset never fell in the land of Dusk. They could sit side by side on the beach, holding hands and watching the end of time.

He wanted to take him to the snow-capped mountains to see if the snow leopard he had once treated still occupied the mountains, where there was a beautiful waterfall and ice lake and the frozen blue-green water amidst the ice and snow made the mountain as beautiful as a fairy tale. He also wanted to take him to the polar regions to see penguins. They could even adopt an abandoned baby penguin, feed it, and watch it stagger on the ice until it was strong enough to return to the colony.

He had many, many things he wanted to do with him. Maybe he didn't want to do these things. Maybe he just wanted to be with him.

When people who love each other are together, they can feel each other's hearts even if they don't say a word.

But if the distance was between life and death, could these thoughts reach the other side of the Styx?

The traveler watched the sun rising over the horizon, and his heart was at peace. He was like a boat drifting from one port to another. He may encounter storms along the way, but when the boat arrived at the harbor, he would still feel lucky and never feel dismayed.

He never felt that he should take happiness for granted. His decision with his faith was not to seek happiness, but to let his heart find peace, even if he was punished for it.

It was better to suffer frankly than to live falsely. He knew that he wouldn't run away. He had made a mistake and did not repent, so he should be punished. For him, such punishment was not pain, but atonement. All the sufferings in this world were to redeem the original sin that he was born with, and he had to pay for it with his whole life.

At dawn, Aya woke up from her sleep. She was covered with a blanket and didn't know when the bonfire before her had been lit. There were still faint flames swaying in the wind, but the traveler had left.

Aya grabbed the blanket, picked up the book, and ran to the village in a hurry. The rocks and thorns along the way made her run too fast, and she accidentally fell to the ground.

She couldn't care less about herself and picked up the Canon, only to find that a piece of paper had fallen from its pages.

She picked up the paper and turned it over. It was a hand-painted portrait of a handsome young man smiling at her.

There was a name in the corner, which should be the name of the person in the portrait. It was very simple, and she could easily read it out even if she couldn't read much. She gently said: "Qi Leren."

It was just an ordinary name, but the tender brushwork on the portrait made her voice go soft unconsciously. She wanted to take a closer look and feel the overflowing tenderness, but a gust of wind blew from the desert, violently and rapidly, and took the portrait from her unsuspecting hand, blowing it into the clear sky above the vast yellow sand.

The sand flying in the wind overwhelmed Aya's eyes. She waved her arms wildly in confusion, but she could only grasp the yellow sand in her hands. When she opened her misty eyes again, the portrait had been brought to the sky by the wind, fluttering and rootless, and was about to disappear into the heavens.

Aya chased it without thinking, racing the wind all the way. A great sadness filled her heart and a voice in her heart made her run, run, run desperately... She lost her shoes, her feet stepped on stones, and blood flowed, but the pain of her body could not overcome her inner sadness and she still dared not stop, she wanted to catch what was about to be lost—until she tripped over thorns and fell heavily to the earth.

She fell in such pain that she fell to her knees and cried. Her feet had already been cut bloody, her knees were scraped open, and she was bleeding. Even her hands were full of cuts. She shrank back and wanted to give up, but she looked up and looked into the distance unwillingly.

The wind was blowing again, and a gust of wind sent that thin piece of paper to an unknown distance. Such a large desert, such a small piece of paper. In an instant there was no trace of it, only the vast yellow sand and blue sky.

Who was the man in that picture? Aya would never know.

It was doomed to be unknown, impossible to find and impossible to obtain.

And how could the emotion carried on the delicate paper withstand the relentless sand in the desert?

It would eventually be destroyed, buried and forgotten.

Aya was stupefied and kneeling in the hot sun, with mottled blood all the way behind her showing that she had made an almost crazy effort for a story with no answer. Her eyes, which were filled with the wind and sand, kept shedding tears, but they couldn't wash away the hard sand in her soft eyes. It seemed that something sharp was stuck in her heart, so sharp and painful, but she didn't know what it was.

She didn't know anything.

Sadness and melancholy suddenly welled up in the girl's heart and she burst into tears on this barren land, for a stranger whose name she didn’t know, for a stranger who only knew her name.

-----

Editor’s Notes: After checking three different mtls (my number has gone up again oh dear), I’ve determined that BMBL calls the book the Bible in the original Chinese. I’ve chosen to translate it as Canon in order to distinguish it, as BMBL has stated previously (and will again later) that, despite being very similar, the religion in this series is not Christianity.

I think this chapter is the first time I’ve cried a bit while editing. I encourage everyone to come back and read this little interlude again once you’ve finished all of Part II, there’s quite a bit that hits differently.

I’m going to be taking a one week break while we’re between arcs in order to do some catching up, so the next chapter will be up on June 18th.

-----

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#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

[agape-philo-sophia]

➝ Deocculting 911, Occult Numerology & Gematria, SpiritualWarfare. ⏰

The spiritual supporting pillars of the world’s societal structure were essentially demolished on 9/11…symbolically, allegorically, ritualistically and literally. It was quite a sinister “stroke of genius” and so exemplifies how these dark controllers operate. This is why the wake up to 9/11 Truth is so shocking to people’s systems and they just can’t handle it. It’s overwhelming, which it was designed to be. And so the vast populace rolls over and buries its head back in the sand... Tell A Big Enough Lie …and you’ll eventually get exposed. So full of lies are these controllers it’s beyond the grasp of normal sentient beings. And they revel in the power of that. It’s amazing they can be so brash yet hidden in plain sight. The Twin Pillars Archetype, The effect of occult (hidden) symbolism on the human psyche is a nicely kept secret. Even though psychologists such as Carl Jung have written extensively on this and it’s clearly pointed out by the esoteric community. People just do not realize they are daily the subject of the sophisticated manipulation of these terribly powerful symbols. Like scientific breakthroughs are garnered by the military, these elite psychopaths have to weaponize everything, instead of using it for the betterment of humanity and our world. “Signs and symbols rule the world, not words nor laws” – Confucius There’s much more to this subject. And it wasn’t just Freemasons involved in all this, but they’re a major arm that encapsulates a belief system much of the Illuminati share. Members of this dark cabal are almost always associated with some sort of secret society or practice like Freemasonry or witchcraft, often under a religious cover like the Vatican, Mormonism or Evangelical groups. Rothschild Zionists use both the religious cover and the financial “institution” to disguise and justify their perfidy. At the occult level the 9/11 event was a ritual, empowered, as is often the case, by performing human sacrifice. War is another such ritual, usually instigated and financed by this same dark cabal loosely labelled the Illuminati. I can’t begin to cover the extent of the symbology and esoteric meaning injected into the 9/11 charade, but I hope this opens up a few things for you to look into further. These same tactics are used constantly on an unwary public at many levels. The lie is exposed, the spell is broken and the illusion loses its power over you. But the secret weapon of 9/11 was this: it was riding high on the amplified occult, symbolic preparation of not just decades, seeing the “twin towers” as a symbol of world commerce and the “triumph of the human spirit”, but seeing “twin pillars of society” throughout architecture and logos and literature for millenia, both conscious and subconscious, being destroyed before their eyes, over and over and over. In Revelation 9:11, and please note the time code as well as the number code of 911, Abbadon is described as the Destroyer, the Angel of the Abyss, the King of Plague of Locusts, resembling horses with crowned human faces, women’s hair, lion’s teeth, wings, iron breastplates, and a tail with a scorpion’s stinger, that torments for five months anyone who does not have the Seal of God on his forehead. It is clear that this is a Demon, Fallen God or Black Star, that is directly connected to powering up the Armageddon Software through the Yahweh Matrix. The Black Star Abbadon in the center of the Milky Way is what holds together the 666 Beast Configuration, along with the Yahweh Matrix that creates the Inorganic Four, the Yod-Hay-Vod-Hay system. This system feeds off of living creatures and sends the life force back to the black hole entities. As we have been discussing the shift that has been occurring with the Planetary Staff, the Planetary Staff of earth was tilted in order to align it to the Black Star Abbadon in the center of the Milky Way. This artificial axial tilt in the planet is shifting its alignment now. This shift has activated doomsday prophets wired into the Yahweh matrix that believe the current events are the sign of the alien God’s narrative, that the rapture is coming or that we are entering into the global Armageddon-Megiddo showdown, when we transition out of the final stages of the Piscean Alchemical Law. The current theme during the Paliadorian Activations is the clearing of the Yahweh Matrix and its blood covenant bindings out of the Human 12 Tribes genetic records, with the transmissions and support of the Blue Feathers of Aquaferion. As a result of dismantling this blood covenant network, those who are controlled by the Yahweh system will be agitated and activated to play out these mind controlled biblical dramas. Because the original 5D Ascension plan was not achievable becasue of the False Ascension Matrix and the damage caused through the False Navel and False White Webbing, it required our evolution through the time fields in the Harmonic Universes in the Universal Time Matrix to be drastically sped up. Those serving the Law of One, are moving through extreme amounts of the future timelines, observing its collapse, in order to arrive at the Gateway Octave where the Organic and eternal light is overriding the Artificial Machinery and replicated alien coding. False Timelines and False Software to Mind Control humanity was used to deter humans from their organic and natural ascension evolution. This is why this planet is called, “prison planet”. Meanwhile the negatives desperately cling on to the artificial timeline programs to influence humans through fear to manifest into their enslaved future selves as Negative Form. (Some examples: Nostradamus Prophecy, Armageddon Software, Pestilence Programming, 911 Military Industrial Complex Revolution, any terrorist and cataclysmic inorganic event generated by the Negative Aliens. None of these manipulated programs are sourced as “natural events”. ) Because the planet is ready to drop and collapse timelines from the previous 3D cycle where the planet is playing out the result of the Luciferian Rebellion from Atlantean time cycle, there is a struggle to dominate upcoming events that would influence these future timelines to be solely in Negative Alien or the NAA control. These groups have infighting, and the two primary groups have infected their headquartered control mechanism in two major stargates and power vortexes on the planet. Black Sun Program have headquartered themselves in the 10th Stargate or Iran Gate of the Golden Eagle Grid and lodged their technologies in Iraq/Iran to gain dominance over the power spots in Giza, Egypt. Most of them are Reptile Insectoid Collectives from out of the Phantom Matrix spaces in the parallel systems, which formed alliances with the Fallen Angelic Annunaki Groups to take control over the earth, which are referred to as the NAA. This is why they chose that area of the planet to dominate, it was easier to invade from the genetic key level. The Sons of Belial, the Nibiruian-Annunaki reptilians of the New World Order crews that engineered the 911 Timeline Agendas, have headquartered themselves in the 11th Stargate area in the United Kingdom, this is also known as Stonehenge. These are the creators of the teeth chomping technology of the Nephilim Reversal Grid (NRG). Comprising primarily of Fallen Elohim genetic lines, this reversal network was a rebellion to the hybridization attempts of Lyran-Elohim races, who were responsible in commissioning Nephilim races for genetic hybridization healing. The failure of that program, the banishment of Nephilim (The Giants) and killing of that race, resulted in Wars, and subsequently, the NRG was placed in the UK to reverse all hybridized genetics, especially any genetic material (like the Krystal DNA Silicate Matrix) that was designed to “unify” or “marry” genetics. The unification of polarity within genetics may evolve to Unity Field consciousness which is a part of achieving the Christos consciousness. There is a consciousness war to stop Krystal Star consciousness from potentially evolving and embodying in human beings on this earth. It also is clear that all matters of Blood Sacrifice, whether human, animal or of any living thing, are made to the conjuring of elemental forces that directly connect into this collective Satanic force of the Baphomet field in the underworld realms. Satanists, witches, Santeria, voodoo, violent religion or other related rituals involving drugs or killing, one is allowing their body to be possessed by lower spirits and are being controlled, addicted or feeding into the spreading of this Satanic force field. It is like an viral infection. The act of feeding this force through ritual offering and Blood Sacrifice is purposed to produce Satanic humans running the earth and to keep enslaved the female Christos-Sophia from reclaiming her body parts and creations in the earth. This is enslavement of the Mother principle. Satanism effectively is the worship of earthly forces through patriarchal domination and their False Father earthly conjured gods for selfish material gain. The world of forces can be ritualized through offerings, Blood Sacrifice SRA and its intentions made manifest through superimposing forces or binding others energies without their consent or free will in physical matter. Apparently, it is believed when the luciferian ritualist opens the portal of Daath, the heart complex and physical heart chambers are filled with life force, which supposedly grows a soul from those sacrificed and harvested, on behalf of those who are soul-less. For those of us aware that the Sons of Belial are behind the New World Order and the 911 Timelines, it becomes clearer that humanity was held captive at a global scale, to witness the sophisticated orchestration of an Adam Belial Luciferian ritual that destroyed the Twin Towers and killed many innocent people for the purpose of Blood Sacrifice for the soul-less. The Belial Program described is one faction of the NAA attempting to force the planet to serve the multiple invading species agenda, through imposing artificially replicated time fields, inverting the system and generating a false reality based upon masterful lies, deceptions and illusions. The NAA effectively declared an edict of war against the Christos Founders, and all of the Maji Grail King lines, Indigos, as well as the earth population on September 12, 2000. Exactly one year later they staged an Adam Belial ritual in order to institute a public ceremony announcing their New World Order plan with the culmination of the tragic events of September 11, 2001 in New York City. The destruction of the Twin Towers and Blood Sacrifice of those killed at the World Trade Center, was intended to be the line drawn in the sand to show the NAA were proceeding with their full domination and slavery agenda of humanity and earth. This event brought forward what became known as the 911 Timelines, the institution of the false reality timelines in order take the planet into AI Assimilation Timeline which is the Fallen AI Timeline Loops that the NAA fully control from within the Phantom Matrix. The day of the attack: 11 The Date of the Attack, September 11 or 9/11 = 9 + 1 + 1 = 11 911 is emergency number = 9 + 1 + 1 = 11 September 11th is the 254th day of the year: 2 + 5 + 4 = 11 After September 11th we have 111 remaining for the end of the year. 119 is the Area Code for Iran & Iraq 1 + 1+ 9 = 11 The first plane to hit one of the buildings was Flight 11 The State of New York was the 11th State to join the Union New York City = 11 letters Afghanistan = 11 letters The Pentagon = 11 letters Flight 11 had 92 passengers, 9 + 2 = 11 Flight 77 had 65 passengers, 6 + 5 = 11 Twin Towers look like an 11 Twin Towers had 110 floors George H.W. Bush’s famous New World Order speech to congress was on 9/11/1990. Exactly 11 years before the attacks. In that speech, Bush encodes another 9-11. “Out of these troubled times, our fifth objective, a New World Order” → 5. “An era in which the nations of the world: east and west, north and south…” → 4. 5+4=9. “100 generations have searched for this elusive path to peace, while 1000 wars waged across the span of human endeavor” →100+1000 = 1100 → 11 Through gematria we see the first plane, American Airlines Flight 11, actually encodes two 11s. A=1, so AA-11 = 11-11. This also hearkens to the spiritual organization founded by Aleister Crowley known as A∴A∴ The North Tower (WTC1) was impacted at 8:46:40 and collapsed at 10:28:22. An interval of ~101 minutes. The South Tower (WTC2) was impacted at 9:03:00 and collapsed at 9:59:00. An interval of 56 minutes, 5+6=11. (Yes, those times times are exactly at the minute marks. 9:03:00 is the impact time given in the 9/11 Commission Report. However, NIST established this time as 9:02:59… Shucks, only one second off.) September 11th was the 254th day of the year. 2+5+4=11 Thus, there were 111 days left in the year. September 11th in the Gregorian calendar is New Year’s Day in the Coptic calendar, the calendar originating in Egypt, traditionally the source of all the Hermetic traditions. Quran (9:11) - "For it is written that a son of Arabia would awaken a fearsome Eagle. The wrath of the Eagle would be felt throughout the lands of Allah and lo, while some of the people trembled in despair still more rejoiced; for the wrath of the Eagle cleansed the lands of Allah; and there was peace". (Note the verse number!)

[sithsecrets]

A Matter of Expediency - Part XIV

2.9 k After being married off to Kylo Ren in the name of securing an heir to the First Order’s throne, a princess tries to navigate the ins and outs of married life. As she grows closer to her new husband, the princess also carves out a place for herself in the Order, assuming control over her life when she thought she would have none.

---

Part 14

2.9k words

Mentions: family drama, crying, pregnancy, pregnant!reader, dead loved ones

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Though it is your intention to deal with your family swiftly, your plans are pushed aside for a time.

In the wake of over twenty executions spanning across numerous planets and entire star systems, there’s much to be done. You spend days poring over work histories and background checks, working diligently to replace lost personnel. There are four positions that need filling on the Board of Charitable Affairs alone, though Hux is at your side to vet candidates. And then of course there’s spying to do, for several Valderan mineral companies are replacing key players in their operations. Canto Bight’s casino owners are kissing major ass, stolen funds need redistributing to various charities, several small insurrections must be crushed…

It’s like you blink and nearly a month’s gone by, days passing in a haze of paperwork, meetings, and formal appearances. You and Kylo are pulled here and there, always busy, always doing something, and the whole ordeal is more exhausting than you ever imagined it could be. Sleep becomes a luxury, and not for the first time do you find yourself marveling at the Chancellor’s ability to go without it. Still, the sacrifice is worth the reward, and you’re happy to see things straightening out amongst the Order’s possessions.

Finally, all is well, and you’re able to relax again. Handling your uncle and his children sits at the forefront of your mind, but you’re smart enough to know that you need rest before launching into yet another confrontation. Still, even after several days of decent sleep, you’re dragging your feet at midday, drowsiness clouding your mind and dulling your senses. More than once do you find the notion of taking a nap irresistible, and you sleep the sleep of the dead each time you lie down.

Miriam notices the change in your behavior immediately, though she says nothing as she helps you fix your hair and set your clothes straight each afternoon. Kylo is more vocal with his concerns, more insistent that you seek medical attention. He corners you one afternoon in your shared quarters, catching you just as you’ve awoken from another one of your naps.

“I fear someone or something has made you ill,” your husband presses, pushing back against your flippant view of the matter. You turn away from your vanity, amused as you take in your husband’s furrowed brow and tense posture.

“Kylo,” you say, voice dripping honey, “I’m just a little tired. I’m not dying.”

Your husband rushes to your side, taking your face in his hands as he becomes more desperate than you’ve ever seen him before. “My love, I am begging you—”

“And I,” you cut gently, turning to kiss the inside of his wrist, “am begging you to not worry about this.”

Kylo’s exasperation heightens, though you don’t let him go on.

“I’m fine, darling” you insist, fussing with the cuff of your husband’s sleeve. “I’ve never been better.”

---

Returning to the palace is almost surreal, everything just as you left it all those months ago. You hadn’t expected anything to change, not really, but the sameness of it all still makes your chest clench in the strangest way. Every rug, every tapestry, every artifact and decoration… each one reminds you of a time that was not long ago, though you can hardly recognize that version of yourself now.

Two Knights of Ren flank you on either side as you glide into the receiving room you know all too well, your only protection on your home planet. Kylo was insistent for a while there, demanded that you be attended by stormtroopers and Reds and a number of other personnel, but you managed to talk him out of it. Ap’lek and Vicrul are more valuable than fifty imperial guards put together, and besides, you are adored here— the chance of you being harmed is slim to none.

Your uncle’s throne still sits on its dais in the center of the room, this fixture too unchanged. You approach it cautiously, mildly afraid to be caught near the thing on principle. It was the cardinal rule of your childhood— do not sit on Uncle’s throne, not under any circumstances. How many tongue lashings had you received for climbing up here as a child? Ten? Twenty? You can’t be sure after all these years.

What you do know, however, is that your uncle’s throne is even more comfortable now than it was in your childhood.

As if on cue, the patriarch of your remaining family comes striding into the room, mid-conversation with one of his attendants. His entire body shudders when he lays eyes on you, no doubt surprised to see you, or anyone else, for that matter, in this room. Arriving unannounced was a key element in your plan, and, if your uncle’s wide-eyed, horrified gaze is anything to go by, it’s already having the desired effect.

You let your uncle splutter stupidly on the floor for a moment, let him go through aborted versions of your name, your old title, and your new one before he finally blurts, “What are you doing here?”

It’s by no means a respectful way to address his Empress, but you’re too pleased with the way he cringes at his own words to care.

Setting your expression carefully, you gesture about the room with one lofty hand. “I’m here for a visit, Uncle. I wanted to check on the state of things here.” Your voice drops, becomes less pleasant. “The state of our people.”

Your uncle looks as if he’s going to vomit. This pleases you.

Mila is the first to come before you, startled like her father was upon seeing your face. She has the decency to kneel though, to show you respect as she waits for her brothers to arrive. And they do after several minutes, the both of them looking ruffled and perturbed as they shuffle into the room.

“You do not kneel before you Empress?” Ap’lek snaps, incensed by the way Sebastian and Tensin make no move to join their father and sister on the floor.

Sebastian, the smart-mouthed little shit that he is, opens his mouth at once, no doubt about to spit something acidic and defiant in Ap’lek’s face. But your uncle stops his son before he can do something stupid, yanking the eldest boy down onto his knees.

“Shut up and kneel down,” the King hisses. “Both of you.”

Sebastian and Tensin need no further prompting after that, though they obviously aren’t happy about being forced to show fealty to you. Mila, however, looks almost afraid, refusing to meet your eyes even as she says, “To what do we owe this honor, Empress?”

You like this change in your cousin’s demeanor, like the way she addresses you with humility and respect. So, you answer her question calmly, though you can feel rage coming to a boil in your chest.

“I am here, Princess, to tell your father that I know what he’s been doing with his people’s money.”

At this, your uncle pales, shifting uncomfortably on his knees. He, too, now will not look you in the eye, an indirect but still very overt admission of his guilt. You can’t believe him, so shameless and yet so cowardly at the same time.

Your uncle drops his head, voice subdued as he speaks. “Empress, I think you’ve misunderstood—”

Something in your snaps then, for how dare he treat your like you’re stupid, like you haven’t been paying attention?

“Oh no, Uncle, it is you who has misunderstood,” you snap, rising from his throne. Venom drips from your every word, Ap’lek and Vicrul your dark, dangerous shadows as you stalk closer and closer to your family. “You misunderstand the purpose of your tax dollars; you misunderstand the needs of your people. They suffer under the financial burden you’ve placed upon them while you snort spice and fuck whores.”

“Do not speak to my father like that!” Sebastian shouts, jumping to his feet in front of you. His eyes are wild, but you are equally as enraged, getting in his face, daring him to so much as touch you.

“Harm me or my child and it will be the last thing you do, you insolent little fuck.”

All eyes land on you, the members of your family stunned into silence by the implications of what you’ve just said. Mila is the only one brave enough to speak, eyeing you from the floor with a look of utter shock slapped across her face. “You’re pregnant?”

Remembering yourself, you take a breath and set your hands on the almost imperceptible swell of your stomach. “Yes, I am pregnant,” you affirm, speaking softly as you think of all your days spent in bed and the way Kylo cried when you told him what you knew. It was the one reason he was so insistent that you come here armed to the teeth.

Your family looks upon you as if you’re a live explosive then, falling all over themselves to widen the distance between all of you. You crowd right back in, however, undeterred and unafraid. “All of you must understand, then, why I came to do this before my condition progresses any farther.”

Tensin decides to be bold. “And what would this be?”

Cutting your eyes away from him, you look squarely at the King. “I’ve come to take your father’s crown.”

The noise that comes out of Sebastian is indignant and angry. Mila gasps, eyes wide and terrified. Tensin turns white as a sheet. And your uncle? All he does is stare up at your stupidly, mouth opening and closing on what appears to be its own accord for several seconds.

“You can’t— You can’t do that,” he stammers, looking from you, to his throne, and back again. “You can’t— Who will rule in my place? You?”

“I have the galaxy, Uncle,” you state, voice even and calm. “I don’t need this planet.”

The King looks at his eldest son and then back at you, a silent question swimming behind his eyes. You refuse to answer it, simply holding out your hand and eyeing the crown that glitters before you.

“Take that ridiculous thing off your head.”

Your uncle hesitates for a moment, a look of utter heartbreak coming across his face as he finally reaches up and out, handing you his crown as instructed. You hold the thing in your hands for a moment, studying the craftsmanship, the fine jewels that glint so beautifully in the light…

And then you throw it at Mila’s feet.

The clang of metal against marble bounces off the walls of the room again and again, the sound almost painfully loud in your ears until Mila’s able to get her hands on her father’s crown— or, rather, her crown. You see tears in her eyes as she studies it, looking at the gold and gilding as if she can’t believe it’s real.

Your uncle is clearly bewildered, shaking his head as he asks, “Why?”

“Because she’s smarter and more capable than both of your sons put together.” You lean down, really get in his face so that he can feel your anger properly. “And to think that you were going to sell her to the highest bidder.”

These words suck all other protests from your uncle’s mouth, and you can see now that this is over.

“You and the Princes will leave this palace immediately,” you declare. “You are not allowed to return for a year.”

Tensin looks distressed. “This is our home!”

You eye him coolly. “Not anymore. I can’t have you poisoning Mila’s reign with your childish partying and idiotic ideas. Now leave me and your Queen alone, all of you.”

Your uncle and his sons stumble out of the room, dazed and humiliated. Mila finally rises to her feet once they’re gone still weakly clutching her crown in one hand. Tears stream down her face. She looks like she’s been punched in the gut.

“Don’t waste it,” you say simply, tossing your head towards the throne in the center of the room. “I can take it from you just as easily as I took it from him.”

“I won’t,” Mila whispers. You believe her.

“Goodbye, Your Majesty.”

And then you’re walking out of the room, your guards trailing behind you without a word.

Mila calls out after a moment, calls you by your title and then by your real name.

You turn to her. “Yes?”

“I—” Your cousin is distraught, eyes darting as she pants for breath. “I’ve been do awful to you. I treated you like dirt, I— You could have let Father sell me to that old man, and I would have been miserable. Why would you give me this instead?”

You stare her down for a moment, considering what to say. “I’m not like you, Mila. I’m not cruel.”

Mila shudders like she’s been slapped, and you turn to leave the room.

---

Ap’lek and Vicrul fly you out into the countryside after the lot of you make your exit from the palace, cruising at a comfortable speed as you take in the rush of scenery bellow you. This part of your planet feels as though it belongs somewhere else entirely, underdeveloped and free from the crowding of urban sprawl.

Your mother’s house, like the palace you just came from, is exactly as you remember it. The landscaping, the front steps, the courtyards— there’s not a blade of grass out of place, and the joy you feel because of this makes you want to weep.

Stepping inside is like stepping back inside, for you haven’t been to this place since you were a girl. Servants and small droids bustle about, putting on the finishing touches for your arrival. You’d asked to have the place opened up a couple of weeks ago, wanted to spend some time here after you finished dethroning your uncle. But now that you know you’re pregnant, you have other plans for this home.

Shooing Ap’lek and Vicrul away, you go exploring, halfway surprised that you still remember your way around. But no, you haven’t forgotten the layout of this house you love so much, these halls and rooms you played in as a baby.

You peek in your old bedroom, delighted to see that no one’s changed the colors on the walls. The same furniture that looked so big in your eyes then only looks average now— small, even. Your little window even faces the same flowers, the same fields, the same sunshine. At once, you decide that your child will know all these things too, just as you did.

Crossing the threshold in your mother’s room feels almost like stepping into a tomb, though the sensation is not one of dread or gloom like you thought it would be. Her bed and furniture are, like everything else in this house, just as they were when she was alive, though the vanity looks strange without her things strewn across it. You can remember your mother sitting there before the mirror, a tube of lipstick in her hand, a bottle of perfume close by. All little children think that their mothers are beautiful, and you were no different back then. Now, though, you realize that your mother really was a gorgeous woman, buxom and bright and so, so pretty. She would have you help her sometimes before she left for a party, would let you pick out her earrings or ask you which scent you liked better that night. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you reach up and unclip your own jewelry, laying the pieces out carefully on the vanity as your first action as this house’s new mistress.

The covers on the bed aren’t the ones your mother slept under, but you still feel like you’re crawling in bed beside her as you lie down. A length of time passes in silence after that, how much you can’t be sure, but you’re brought back to reality when you hear heavy boots in the hallway. Kylo appears in the doorway not one second later, quiet as he pauses to study you for a moment. And then he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and unlacing his boots, he’s lying down beside you. The two of your clasp hands, tangling your feet together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“How did it go?” Kylo asks, though you’re sure he already knows.

“Mila will be coronated this afternoon.”

Kylo nods, unfazed. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” you say softly, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Kylo turns to kiss your palm, gentle in the same way he’s been gentle since he found out about the baby.

“This is a very beautiful house,” Kylo declares, leaving the topic of your uncle and his children behind. “Why are we here?”

“This is where I grew up,” you explain, fingers in his hair now. “I was born in this room.”

Kylo almost-smiles. “What a lovely place for a child. I see why your mother chose it for you.”

It’s your turn to nod. “I know. I… I want to be pregnant here. I want to give birth here, like my mother did. The baby needs to feel the sun on his face, needs to breathe real air when he takes his first breath.”

Kylo pulls you closer, kisses the top of your head. “I’ve always thought space was too cold for an infant.”

And just like that, the matter’s settled.

Everything’s settled.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fanfiction #ame #my writing #tw: pregnancy #cw: pregnancy #pregnant!reader

[robininthelabyrinth]

Howdy! Your writing rocks! If you don’t mind, could I ask you what you think would change if Jin Guangyao had given the regard he has for Lan Xichen to Jiang Cheng instead? Do you think there’d be huge changes or little ones? This isn’t a prompt, I think your meta is super cool. Obvs if you don’t wanna answer, there’s no pressure or anything.

So this is going to be more of an insight into the rambling way I develop stories than anything else, but basically these are my (very long) thoughts:

First step: the question is not “if”. The question is “how”. How does JGY come to have a regard for JC instead of LXC?

Let us posit that JGY meets (and becomes devoted to) LXC after he’s been thrown down from Koi Tower - rescuing him after the burning of the Cloud Recesses, which presumably happened while on his way to Qinghe or after he’s arrived (or, in the Untamed, when he’s working at Qinghe already). 

So, let’s take that as our starting point: JGY doesn’t go to Qinghe. 

He goes to Yunmeng instead, probably taking a boat to get there. Regardless of when he arrives, this doesn’t really go anywhere until after the Lotus Pier is burned, after everything that happens between WWX and JC happens, and now JC is raising an army and madly recruiting for the Jiang Sect. Meng Yao shows up with a smile and a “I’m from Yunping, just down the river, I want to help here” spiel, and he’s good - he’s efficient and smart and good with people, all the characteristics that made NMJ appreciate him, and JC needs good people so badly. Especially in the beginning, when he’s alone, with WWX missing.

But here’s the difference between NMJ and JC: JC needs people. He’s not a natural leader, having been dragged into trouble by WWX his whole life, and he’s brand new at being a sect leader; he doesn’t have established likes or dislikes, he has no idea what he’s doing. He’s going to rely on Meng Yao, he’s going to depend on Meng Yao - Meng Yao says jump and JC says “good idea, how high?” and he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. Meng Yao is all but running the sect, and he doesn’t even have to try. No prostitutes’ tricks here, no smiles, no empty flattery - most of the subtle stuff goes straight over JC’s head, but a vaguely kind word every once in a while and JC will turn bright red and look pleased as punch for the next hour. That type of power is seductive.

And then WWX shows up.

As much as I love WWX, his dynamics with JC are not the best. WWX does whatever he wants and expects JC to follow, because he always has, and JC always does - how irritating that would be to Meng Yao, who up until this point has been put into the position of big brother for the first time in his life, and who now has to tip-toe around the ticking time bomb that is Yiling Patriarch!WWX to get what he wants. Plus, Meng Yao is good with people: he doesn’t need to know all the gossip about the Jiang family (though he does) to be able to figure out that, legitimate birth or not, JC has spent his entire life being treated like the sect leader’s dissatisfying bastard son - and oh, that hits Meng Yao in the one soft spot he has left, the spot that’s almost but not entirely narcissism, the one that LXC got into by being nice and kind and treating him like an equal, the one NHS, soft and dependent, got into by being sad and pathetic, and which JC, prickly and mean, gets in by virtue of being like Meng Yao.

He doesn’t do anything about that dislike, though; JC loves WWX, and the war effort needs him, so he’ll put up with him...for now. After a while, he goes to Langya - no need to have an accidentally-not-accidentally overheard conversation here! He just says “my father” and JC is like “I totally get it, go”. And when JC finds him killing that supervisor and Meng Yao says “he deserved it”, JC believes him, because JC is ride-or-die until you force him off the ride. He’s gullible and trusting, even though he thinks he’s cynical, and he’s about as susceptible to Meng Yao’s bullshit as LXC is (as we see in canon!)

So Meng Yao goes to be a spy and (because he doesn’t know LXC in this) he sends the info to JC, who sends the info to LXC (the courier), who gets it to NMJ, and all that stuff happens about the same way. Except NMJ has no reason to know that Meng Yao is a conniving bastard that uses friendly fire to settle debts, so when Meng Yao says “I had no choice but to kill them”, NMJ is upset but has no reason to doubt it. And now you have NMJ owing Meng Yao a favor, however grudgingly.

No sworn brothers, though, not with LXC to suggest it and without NMJ wanting to put Meng Yao on the right track, and JC is pretty sensitive about family stuff so best not to even suggest it. It’s fine, Meng Yao - now JGY - doesn’t need it. Just like he doesn’t need to do all that much to get JZX killed, just a suggestion here, a little trouble there, a bit of blackening of WWX’s name that’s really mostly his own fault for being so arrogant: it’s regrettable that he has to ruin Jiang Yanli’s marriage by getting JZX killed (sad, but necessary if he’s going to be sect leader), but she was never supposed to die. He even waited until she had a son and heir so that she wouldn’t be alone! He’s very nice, isn’t he? 

(And if WWX dying and Jiang Yanli dying means that JC is all his, with no one else in the world to interfere, well, that’s all the better, isn’t it? No one can take care of JC as well as he can.)

The Xue Yang situation is easy to resolve, too. NMJ has no “in” to Koi Tower, not without a relationship with JGY, and this pushes the two sects onto the brink of war - and that’d be no good at all, especially with JC grieving the way he is, all alone and desperate. Plus, JC has father issues, and that’s a little infectious; JGY is looking at JGS through the lens of JFM and it’s a lot less idealistic. So let’s say for all these reasons JGY moves up his plans and kills JGS earlier, and the second he takes over he vows that XY will be killed...except, alas, XY must have gotten wind and fled, because he’s gone. Awkward, huh? Definitely not JGY’s fault, though. Who are you going to believe is responsible for all that gross stuff, NMJ, the dead pervert or the guy who saved your life?

And then JGY is Sect Leader Jin and he and JC can raise little Jin Ling together, and maybe even Jin Rusong (although if he kills JGS early there’s a possibility that he wouldn’t need to shore up power in the Jin sect by marrying QS, or at least wouldn’t feel like he has to get her pregnant before the marriage, though of course there’s also no reason he wouldn’t do it anyway). Now what?

The Watchtowers, of course. Except in this world, NMJ is alive and well (no sworn brothers, no Song of Clarity here - except the legitimate one from LXC) and we know JGY knows how to put on the face NMJ most likes to see. So with JC in his pocket and NMJ fond of him, and LXC as nice and friendly as always, the sects live in wonderful harmony. In large part because JGY doesn’t need to murder quite so many of them.��

(and then over in Yi City, someone sacrifices their body to bring back the Yiling Patriarch because he’s their last hope to bring XXC back, either Song Lan or Xue Yang, and suddenly WWX is back - WWX who JC loves and hates in equal measure, WWX who’s a little too good at figuring out cause-and-effect - and JGY....JGY doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like that at all.)

#jiang cheng #meng yao #jin guangyao #mdzs #mdzs meta #my fic #my fics #I guess #not really a fic #more of an outline #because there was a boat #Anonymous

[anubislover]

A Tea Party for Baby 5

(Gift fic for @velvety-love for the OP Secret Santa 2020! I really hope you like the fic - it was a ton of fun to write!)

It was quite the sight, the infamous Donquixote Doflamingo sitting at a small table in a child-sized chair, his knees practically pressed into his chest, but he would maintain that for a man of his status, any seat was a throne. Before him was a decadent assortment of pastries, chocolate-covered fruit, finger sandwiches, and quiches. Baby 5 had recently begun training to be the family’s maid, and this tea party would be a useful way to hone her serving skills. Since the eight year old girl was still too short to reach the dinner table, this was a perfectly reasonable alternative.

And yes, the dolls and stuffed animals sat up in their own chairs with cups and saucers was also absolutely necessary. She needed to learn to serve multiple people, after all.

“More tea, Young Master?” Baby 5 asked, hefting up the large china teapot, a hopeful smile on her face. There was a bit of tension around her mouth, though; visible strain from the weight of the pot that she desperately sought to hide for fear of disappointing him.

Doflamingo grinned, holding out his pink floral-patterned cup. “Yes, please.” The child had insisted on being useful to him, and while his main interest was in the deadly Devil Fruit powers she possessed, it was nice having some proper servants around.

However, her little arms trembled, the pot far too heavy for her, resulting in her inadvertently missing the cup and instead spilling hot tea onto his hand.

“Gah!”

“Oh no! Young Master, I’m so sorry! Let me get you a towel, or some ice!” she cried, nearly dropping the teapot in her panic. Luckily, Doflamingo was able to grab it before it could fall and set it on the table, preventing tea from splattering everywhere and staining his suit pants.

For a moment, his hand clenched and he glared down at her through the lenses of his fierce red sunglasses. The former Celestial Dragon wanted to be upset. She’d burned him! How dare she—

But then he looked at her distraught little face, eyes already wet with tears, and he was suddenly reminded of his precious little brother when they were children and how hard he’d tried to please him…

Picking up a napkin, Doflamingo wiped his hand clean of the tea. Honestly, it hadn’t hurt. Barely anything to someone like him. And she was trying. Really, it was impressive she could even lift the pot, considering it was nearly as big as she was and how thin her arms were. They really needed to get some meat on her bones—she wasn’t the half-starved waif who’d come to him in desperation anymore. She was part of his family. It was his job to take care of her.

Coming to a decision, Doflamingo removed a stuffed dog from the chair at his right and patted the seat. “No worries, Baby 5. Come here and I’ll pour the tea.”

“Ah! But Young Master, I—”

He gave her a reassuring smile, one as gentle as he could manage. “It’s fine, Baby 5; proper tea party etiquette says that the host should serve.”

“But then, you don’t need me,” she said sadly, small body slumping miserably.

Inwardly he grimaced. The last thing he wanted was for her to cry. So, he grinned more widely and picked her up by the back of the dress, plopping her down into the chair. “Sure I do! I need you to be a good guest! I can’t work on my hosting skills if I don’t have guests. These guys,” he said, indicating the dolls and toys, “are terrible conversationalists.”

Baby 5 visibly perked up, thrilled at still being needed in some capacity. “Oh! That’s true. Then I’ll be the perfect guest for you! I’ll be anything you need, Young Master.”

A small sigh of relief escaped his chest. Crisis averted. She was happy, and while serving himself was not ideal in most circumstances, the child could learn by example and he wouldn’t have to worry about his suit.

Getting an idea, he attached his strings to one of the dolls sat around the table, making it lift the teacup so he could pour. “Watch carefully; it’s important to hold the pot from both the handle and the spout to avoid spilling. We don’t want even a drop on the nice white tablecloth, do we?”

“No, we don’t,” she agreed, studying his technique carefully. Her dark eyes took in his every movement with near-reverence, her own little hands even miming him to ensure she would get it right later.

Satisfied, he filled Baby 5’s cup and offered her a blueberry scone. “Here, eat up—you’re a growing girl, and someone who works as hard as you deserves a treat.”

“Really?” she asked, even though she was already practically drooling as the smell of the pastries she’d baked that morning wafted up her nose.

“Really. Now have a scone, then some sandwiches, and then you can help yourself to the tarts and cupcakes.”

Practically glowing with happiness, she snatched one off the plate, but froze before she could shove it into her mouth. “Oh. Sorry,” she said, setting it on her plate and picking up her knife and fork.

Doflamingo shook his head. “Nah, you were right the first time. Eat the scone with your hands. Save the fork for the quiche.”

Thrilled that she was getting to sit at the Young Master’s side and enjoy the goodies she’d baked and laid out to his specifications, she tucked in, smile so wide her cheeks ached.

It was…kind of cute, seeing her so happy. Just a child eager to belong. Sure, she would make a fantastic assassin, but there was no reason not to let her have little moments like this, right? The chance to just be a kid and have fun? His father’s foolishness had denied him that joy after they’d left Mariejois, but he was far better than Homing.

He was the patriarch of the Doflamingo Family; it was his job to keep everybody happy. To give them all they could ever ask for so that they would do the same for him.

Looking her over, he wondered what else he could do. Her bow and dress were looking a little worn. He’d order replacements. Simple ones for everyday wear, but he was sure he could get her something cute and fancy as a reward the next time she got back from a mission. Dress her up like a doll and show her off. New shoes would be a must, too – he and his brother had constantly been outgrowing theirs, and while he doubted she’d every reach his exalted stature, she certainly would grow up to be a lovely young woman.

And lovely young women attract boys, he thought, scowling for a moment behind his teacup. Gonna have to watch her like a hawk once that happens. Can’t have anyone thinking they’re good enough for Baby 5 and trying to steal her away. I’ll make sure she’s got no reason to leave the Family. Who could provide for her like me, anyway?

On a whim, he got another idea – something that would surely amuse and delight her. Holding out his hands, he attached his strings to a pair of dolls. Like a puppet master with a pair of marionettes, he made them waltz around the table, chuckling while Baby 5 applauded and laughed with joy.

“Figured the least they could do was put on a show for us as thanks for our hospitality,” he explained, making a few more join in so it almost resembled a ball. “Too bad we can’t bring the toys to life—then they could dance without the strings.”

“Maybe there’s a Devil Fruit out there that can do that,” Baby 5 said excitedly, eager to help in any way she could.

“Hmmm, maybe there is. I’ll have to look into it,” Doflamingo agreed, rubbing his chin. The hand fell to pat her on the head. “What a clever girl you are.”

As she beamed up at him, there was a knock at the door, and without delay Corazon strolled in carrying Buffalo and Law by the back of their shirts like a pair of squirming kittens. Law even seemed to growl at his manhandling. Clearly, they’d been caught by his right-hand man doing something they shouldn’t, at least if the way he ground the cigarette between his teeth was anything to go by. However, all three of them froze at the sight of their leader serving tea to his maid-in-training surrounded by a bunch of dancing stuffed animals.

“What the he—” Law started, staring in utter bafflement.

“Ah, just in time! Baby 5 and I were having a tea party! Sit down and join us!” Doflamingo exclaimed cheerfully, indicating the newly-empty seats.

“Yes! Please, join us!” she chimed in eagerly. Even though they could be rude and mean, she considered the two boys her closest friends, so of course she wanted to have them involved. Corazon, too, even though he was grouchy and clumsy and might make the tablecloth catch fire.

Corazon looked between the tiny chairs and the uncomfortable-looking way his brother was sitting, then raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Oh, come on, little brother! It’s perfectly comfortable,” he said, even though he could already feel his legs cramping up. Ah well. At least he wouldn’t suffer alone, and Baby 5 could have some time enjoying herself with friends. She needed more socialization. Maybe he should call up Vinsmoke Judge – he had a daughter about her age, didn’t he? Maybe they could set up a play date.

“I’m not taking part in some stupid tea party,” Law groused, glaring at the utter ridiculousness around him.

“Kid, you can either sit down under your own power or I can tie you to the seat,” Doflamingo warned with smile. He turned to the child beside him. “But thank you for providing Baby 5 with another valuable lesson – boys are obnoxiously stubborn.”

“Law, c’mon, let’s play along-dasuyan,” Buffalo not-so-quietly whispered, eyeing the tray of cupcakes.

“Fuffuffuffuffu! But they’re easily bribed with food,” he added, smirking when she giggled. Pleased with himself, Doflamingo gave the three new guests a terrifying smile. “Now, you gonna join us like proper gentlemen, or am I going to have to show you to your seats?” he asked, raising his hand meaningfully.

A shiver ran down their backs and neither Law nor Buffalo argued as Corazon plopped them both in a chair before gingerly taking the spot opposite his brother, grimacing at how sore his legs and back would be after this.

Pleased that her friends were in fact joining the party, Baby 5 instinctively rose to her feet to serve them. A large hand on her shoulder stopped her, though, causing her to look up at Doflamingo inquisitively.

The patriarch smiled down at her, sincerity in his tone. “Now now, I told you the host should serve. The hostess who made all the preparations needs to take a load off and enjoy herself. Let us take care of you for once,” he said, pinching her cheek.

Yes, he’d take care of her, she’d take care of them, and they’d all live together as a big, happy family. What more could anyone want?

@op-secret-santa-2020

#op-secret-santa-2020 #One Piece Fanfiction #baby 5 #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo family #donquixote rocinante #donquixote corazon #trafalgar law #trafalgar D. Water Law #buffalo #tea parties #tea party #tooth-rotting fluff

[nillegible]

Mo Xuanyu notices someone following him on his way back to Mo manor one night. It's not a villager, they wouldn't walk so lightly. Mo Xuanyu would hazard a guess that it's not a cultivator, either, heaven knows they would have attacked him hours ago for harassing and frightening the villagers as he has been. Curious, he melts into the shadows.

"Ghost of the Yiling Patriarch?" asks a soft voice, closer than Mo Xuanyu had expected.

It's a familiar voice; and when he looks to where it came from he sees a young man he’d met often at Koi tower, crying to his broth Jin Guangyao, not knowing exactly how cruel his San-ge truly was.

"Sect Leader Nie," says Mo Xuanyu, approaching Nie Huaisang where he stands in the patchwork darkness beneath a tree.

Nie Huaisang stares for a long moment, then says, "Mo Xuanyu."

"Expecting the Yiling Patriarch?" asks Mo Xuanyu, not without some bitterness. It's all that his father had wanted out of him as well, he had ignored him in favor of Xue Yang who barely even tried to understand the Yiling Patriarch's incredible mind. Xue Yang had been more interested in re-animation and puppetry than the magic, the theory, and that was just pitiful.

But that kept him safe, and where was Mo Xuanyu now? Back with his mother’s brutish family, barely clinging to his sanity, and amusing himself by pretending to be the ghost of a demonic cultivator more than a decade gone.

"I could have used Wei-xiong's help, yes," says Nie Huaisang simply. It makes Mo Xuanyu look closer. Nie Huaisang is drawn, and pale, but he stands straighter than he ever has at Koi Tower. Some instinct tells him that this man, here, is dangerous. Mo Xuanyu, the 'mad village fool' understands.

Perhaps Nie Huaisang is no more a weak fool than he is. Hidden depths, Sect Leader Nie.

It's because of the way Nie Huaisang says Wei-xiong with more respect than anyone Mo Xuanyu has ever heard, it's because Mo Xuanyu has seen Nie Huaisang's beloved brother's head locked away like a curiosity among Jin Guangyao's other war prizes, it is because Mo Xuanyu is sick and tired of the world and wants to burn it all down, that he says, "I've studied some of his work. Would I do?"

[read on Ao3, or click below to read on tumblr]

Sect Leader Nie accepts his offer, tells him that he’ll get in touch, but does not explain himself or what he wants. He is really really good at giving non-answers, at batting those pretty eyes of his and pouting (he carries a fan. Every quirk of his lips that isn’t hidden is calculated, is intended to be seen).

He also keeps his promise and visits again in the dead of night, nearly a week later. He brings with him notes on different sorts of monsters. Some are generic and some are intriguing. None of them seem like the sort of thing that would require the help of the Yiling Patriarch, but Mo Xuanyu talks him through the techniques and banishment methods that would be required for each class of monsters or demons.

It feels like an assessment. He wonders what happens if he passes.

Just a few years ago Mo Xuanyu wouldn’t have noticed the details, but he’s been thinking about Jin Guangyao a lot, recently, and he’s worked out enough of how he had been played to see someone else using similar techniques.

Why hasn’t Jin Guangyao realized that you’re dangerous? he should ask, but instead he tells Nie Huaisang about the time WWX had written about redirecting yao into helping in a fight against a demon, and how he seemed never to have revisited that idea again.

“That would be dangerous,” says Nie Huaisang.

Mo Xuanyu smiles at him, “He was the Yiling Patriarch, I don’t think he minded.”

“No. Wei-xiong was never afraid of danger,” Nie Huaisang agrees. That again. “Thank you for the advice, Young Master Mo. Shall we meet here next week?”

“Isn’t this a little far out of your way, Sect Leader Nie?” asks Mo Xuanyu.

“Ah, for help of the sort that Young Master Mo can provide, it is not a bother.”

“Have the peerless Gusu Lan stopped supporting other sects in need? That Sect Leader Nie would cross Gusu to approach this humble one for help…” It’s a good lead in, Nie Huaisang can laugh it off or tell him what he really wants.

Then another thought strikes him, so he giggles, “Or can it be that Sect Leader Nie has need of a cutsleeve whore with no options, and thought to try his luck?” Mo Xuanyu bats his lashes, desperately missing the little fineries he’d grown used to at Koi Tower. He probably looks a mess and can’t quite pull it off, now.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes widen, round with surprise, “Ah, Young Master Mo, that’s not it! It really isn’t, I have. I have a specific problem but it will be a source of great shame if it comes out that Nie Sect couldn’t solve it without depending on Lan sect or Jin sect… they already do so much for my Sect.”

The bitterness is barely perceptible, but it is there. He wonders if Jin Guangyao is the reason for the distrust between GusuLan and QingheNie, too. It gives him a flicker of hope, “If I could be of more use to Sect Leader Nie in Qinghe I would be willing to–”

“No!” says Nie Huaisang. “We can’t show that we’ve met.”

Oh. “Is this because I said – I don’t actually want to sleep with you, Sect Leader, I’m not really an animal, whatever my brother has said.” Of course he hadn’t pulled off charmingly flirtatious, what had he been thinking? If he’d been prettied up it could have been enough to fluster Nie Huaisang, now he’d probably just been disgusted at the thought.

“I do not think that of you, Young Master Mo. But Jin Guangyao cannot know that we’ve met. I’m sorry that I cannot take you with me. But I can use your help. May I please meet with you a week from now?” asks Nie Huaisang.

It sounds more genuine this time.

It’s still a no. “My cousin beats me. I’m fed once a day, alongside the donkey, I sleep in the stables. Sect Leader Nie… please.”

“Mo Xuanyu, I –” he looks up into Nie Huaisang’s face, and sees only pity. No surprise or horror.

“But you knew that didn’t you?” asks Mo Xuanyu softly, and sees the truth in Nie Huaisang’s face. Of course he knew. Of course he’d come in the night to get what he needs from him, but not help him in return. Maybe he’ll give Mo Xuanyu a pouch of coins in the end. Coins that no-one in the village would take from him, would accuse him of stealing from his aunt and cousin. And once Mo Ziyuan heard, he’d be beaten for it and never see the money again.

Get lost, then, Mo Xuanyu should say, because he is tired of being used and cast away. But he truly has nothing, and another visit… someone to talk to who at least speaks to him like he’s human… Mo Xuanyu has so little that he can’t turn down even scraps like this.

“I will see Sect Leader Nie next week,” Mo Xuanyu says. “You can bring me the notes for the real problem. If I cannot solve it, I’ll tell you that, I won’t con you with some fake ritual.” He makes to leave, but Nie Huaisang stops him.

“Is there something else I could do for you?” asks Nie Huaisang. “I can pay you, in cash or weapons – I heard that your sword was taken from you before you left.”

“Sweet buns,” he says, before he can think it through. His stomach speaking before his pride could stop him. He prays that it sounded sarcastic and not desperate.

“What?” asks Nie Huaisang.

“Go away, Sect Leaser Nie,” he says. Mo Xuanyu isn’t going to repeat himself, isn’t going to beg for sweet buns, of all things.

A hand grasps his shoulder and Mo Xuanyu recoils, pushing him away so fast that he unbalances himself, stumbling and falling heavily to the ground. It sends a shock to his still healing ribs, making him gasp for a moment before he can regain his breath and look up at Nie Huaisang, who has his hands out, open to show he mans no harm.

“Mo-gongzi, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have grabbed you, I didn’t think.” He’s rummaging in his sleeve and Mo Xuanyu wonders if now is when he should run away to save his own life.

Maybe if he cared about his own life, he would.

Instead he just watches, until Nie Huaisang pulls a small paper parcel from his sleeve. He kneels down, and offers it to Mo Xuanyu.

He opens the paper, to find three sweet buns inside. They’re still warm. He takes one and returns the others, and takes a bite. He’s finished, it and resisting licking his dirty fingers to chase down the last of the sweetness – he hadn’t had anything sweet since the local temple gave out sticky buns during the last festival. The priests had turned him away – disgusting, aberrant, abomination, but some of the boys had made a game of tossing buns at him, and they’d tasted wonderful after he scraped the dust off.

“Keep them,” says Nie Huaisang, pushing the package back towards him. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just startled that you asked for the one thing I had up my sleeve.” The smile is hesitant and drops off quickly. He just looks sad. Tired.

“Thank you,” Mo Xuanyu whispers, because he still has manners. He’s not going to cry over just two sweet buns, but his eyes sting as if he might. “Is this about…” he swallows the words back. Don’t be stupid, A-Yu, but Nie Huaisang doesn’t look angry. “This is about Chifeng Zun, isn’t it?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” asks Nie Huaisang voice sharper.

“His head,” says Mo Xuanyu, and can’t hold the tears back. “His head is at Koi Tower. Why do you think I’m here? Why do you think that I… for a bun. Jin Guangyao tried to kill me because I found out and. Three buns.” He laughs while he cries. He’d never realized how cheap he would become. I am so sorry, Mother.

A pale green handkerchief is produced from the same sleeve, and Nie Huaisang holds it out to him. “I will speak to you next week, Mo-gongzi. I’ll bring you food. I’ll help. It’s late, I need to go now. But trust me, please.” When Mo Xuanyu doesn’t move to take it from him, Nie Huaisang takes his free hand and presses it into it. “Good bye, Mo-gongzi,” he says, and this time he gets up and walks away.

Mo Xuanyu doesn’t move until the footsteps are long gone. He traces the delicate embroidery on the handkerchief. Pine trees in deep greens, a stream nestled within it.

It’s too beautiful to cry on, so he wipes his face on his sleeve instead. Shortly before dawn he gets up and brushes some of the dirt from his robes, and rushes back to the manor. He needs to start on his chores or he’ll be in for a worse beating than usual.

*

In the light of day it feels surreal.

Was that really Sect Leader Nie?

Was that someone that Brother sent to see what I am up to? To see what I'd do?

If that was Jin Gunagyao, then Mo Xuanyu wouldn’t have long left to live. Not if he's leaking secrets the way he is.

(He wishes he'd come himself, that he'd have a chance to defend himself, a chance to live. But. He has never played fair, and wouldn't start now.)

Mo Xuanyu would give nearly anything to kill his brother first.

Three days later, Madam Mo hires a new kitchen-girl. She has friendly eyes and a green ribbon in her hair.

That night when Mo Xuanyu heads to the stables to sleep with the donkey, he finds a blanket, a portion of the food that his cousins and aunt had been served, and a small pot of medicine.

There is dinner every night after, he sees the new kitchen-servant sneak it out at dusk. She's terribly good at sneaking, and Mo Xuanyu is grateful to have food again. He's been eating stale vegetables and uncooked grain with the donkey for months.

Four night later, there's a person waiting for him siting cross legged on the floor of the stable, lit by a small lantern. Mo Xuanyu's dinner waits for him beside him on the hay.

"Now will you tell me what you really need?" asks Mo Xuanyu, lifting the lid off the bowl. Soup, still steaming hot. He'd found the talismans carved into the bowl to keep it that way yesterday.

"I was wondering," says Nie Huaisang. "Can Mo-gongzi play the flute?"

#mo xuanyu #nie huaisang #mdzs #mxy #nhs #au: canon divergence #the soul summoning array doesn't exist #tw: canonical abuse

[songofclarity]

Wen Qing was so good at the dealing with WWX back in the Burial Mounds because she actually had a lot of practice dealing with World's most frustrating and uncooperative patient ever- Wen Ruohan- (I know he is so powerful that he's almost immortal but I'm sure once in a blue moon he manages to get sick/injured enough to need a healer) I just want want tiny healer WQ dealing with ill but uncooperative WRH and having to pull all the tricks in the book to make him drink his medicine and rest, maybe that's how she gained her sharp tongue and sass

WRH: I'm fine.

WQ: with all due respect sect leader you have enough corpse poison in your bloodstream to kill 10 horses! You are NOT fine! Go back to your bed or else heavens help me I will make you!

I like you, Anon, I like you a lot. This is exactly the kind of content I love to hear about!

Wen Qing has so much pride in her work and she's afraid of nothing. Angry teenage boys who are ready to stab first and ask questions later? She’s not paid enough for this. Terrifying Yiling Patriarchs who can raise any army and think they know best? Please, she's not an amateur.

I love the idea of her being one of the few person who isn't intimidated by or scared of Wen RuoHan. One of her parents was his favorite cousin, and Wen Qing surely became a favorite because their families were close and her talent was easily recognizable! That also means she's heard the story of baby Wen Chao with colic vomiting on Wen RuoHan’s fancy robes, and her father switching robes with him behind the building because thousands of people were waiting for their indomitable Sect Leader to make a speech.

So when people talk about Wen RuoHan being all fearsome and terrifying and godlike, she's just like, "Mm, sure, if you say so," because she stays in her lane and has never been afraid of him in her life.

And since Wen RuoHan only gets sick and/or injured once in a blue moon, he doesn't know how to deal with it. On top of that, all of his council and elders are trying to keep it on the down-low because Sect Leader Wen doesn't get sick and/or injured (that only happens to other Sect Leaders). All of which makes Wen RuoHan a terribly uncooperative patient!

Wen Qing: "You're face is all red and you're sweating. Do you feel hot?"

Wen RuoHan: "I'm fine."

Wen Qing: "You have a fever. Open your mouth, show me your tongue."

Wen RuoHan: "See, everything is normal."

Wen Qing: "Hello?? I’m a doctor and this is obvious corpse poisoning. Here, have this medicine."

Wen RuoHan: "I'm fine."

Wen Qing: "OK. Then have some of this soup."

Wen RuoHan: "You just said that is medicine."

Wen Qing: "Your fever is making you delusional."

Wen RuoHan: "I don't have a fever."

Wen Qing: "..."

Wen RuoHan: "...That was medicine."

The elders and aides, clutching at their chests in horror: "!!!!!"

Wen Qing: "Yes."

Wen RuoHan: "You said it was soup."

Wen Qing: "And you said you were fine. How embarrassing for us both!!"

Tricking patients into taking medicine is not, ethically speaking, proper, but we’re going with desperate times call for desperate measures and “goddamn it, Uncle, you will die if you don’t drink this and I will kill you if you die!”

Having tiny healer Wen Qing saying she will kill tall, almost-immortal Wen RuoHan is just so funny. The rest of the cultivation world rises up and wants to kill Wen RuoHan and he’s just, “lol, you all will have to get in line behind A-Qing.”

Just Wen Qing and Wen RuoHan both having no fear because of this weird healer-patient relationship. But goodness, the trust of family involved is *chef’s kiss*

All my WIPs have Wen Qing being doctor to Wen RuoHan in some capacity because I am a hurt/comfort connoisseur who has a dozen ideas on how to make even an almost-immortal Wen RuoHan sick and/or injured. And it works so beautifully! Because Wen Qing becomes a fantastic doctor in part because whatever the heck is wrong with Wen RuoHan absolutely would have killed anyone else, so she gets to see some really interesting cases!

#anon #asked from above #wen ruohan #wen qing #wen fam #this ask made me so happy and it arrived right when i needed it most ty anon! #i love the potential that is wq and wrh's relationship #like if she dealt with him like family and not as sect leader #if they had that kind of separation between work and home #it helps explain why she didn't get involved in wen sect affairs #it wasn't that wrh had nothing to do with her but the wen sect had nothing to do with her #and that kind of nuance opens a lot of doors