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dcxdpdabbles · 4 months

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DCxDP Fic Idea: The Contact, the Butler and the Sly Time Lord

Martha accidentally engaged Bruce to a higher being when he was two.

It sounds terrible, but she hadn't thought that the man wearing the Time ghost costume at her husband's Halloween Gala wasn't wearing a costume and was actually the physical embodiment of Time.

She just thought he took Halloween very seriously.

Mr. Clockwork was charming and didn't care that she had married from the lower level of first class. Her parents were rich, of course, but they weren't old money, and they certainly didn't have a lot of power to speak of.

Because of that, the elites of Gotham thought she wasn't good enough to be in a family such as the Waynes. It was so lovely not to be dragged into conversations that were thinly concealed insults.

Everyone else at the Gala thought Martha had no right to be there with them. Why was she just a few zeros off from being middle class, and wasn't it just so sad that Thomas would stain his family with her?

Secertly, Martha prayed Bruce would do something wild, like marry a girl from Crime Alley or even adopt kids in lower classes to make them all choke on their pearls.

Her son would be one of the most powerful men in a few years, and she couldn't wait to see what kind of hell he would unleash upon them. She would never push, of course, but it would be a nice fantasy to have every time she had to face passive-aggressive comments from ladies told by their fathers they would be a far better Mrs. Wyane.

" Why, hello there. Aren't you the cutest little thing?" Mr. Clockwork coos, smiling down at Bruce. He clung to his mother's skirt, his matching cowboy costume a miniature version of what she was wearing.

The boy had wandered over in the middle of their conversation once he was bored of coloring at his table. Martha couldn't blame her poor baby. There really wasn't much to do for those his age here.

Thomas had stated that children were usually not brought along due to being loud and distracting.

Martha wouldn't hear any of it, insisting her son would be going with them at the party or there would be no party. The majority of the elites believed children should be seen, not heard, and that boiled her blood something fierce.

Thomas had thankfully known when to pick his battles, so he allowed his wife to drag him to a costume store for a family costume to wear. He currently chatting with a group of investors in all his cowboy glory somewhere on the other side of the gala.

"Say thank you, Bruce," She tells her boy, but he only hides his face more, causing the two adults to chuckle. "Do you have kids, Mr.Clockwork?"

"Yes. Two daughters and a son" The man chuckles "All three are a handleful but I love them dearly."

"Oh, how wonderful. Bruce is my only son, but I want to give him siblings," she tells him warmly. She can picture Bruce chasing after his younger siblings dressed up as the Grey Ghost he loves.

She knows Thomas was worried about their chances of having a second child. He was informed not too long ago that he may suffer from secondary infertility. She didn't mind. If they couldn't have a child of their own by blood they could easily adopt.

Martha worked long and hard to provide good orphanages to the city. Maybe one day, a child from there could be her own. She'll have to speak to her orphanage managers- those in charge of the kids- to see if they could help her find one.

They have successfully been getting kids into good homes (At least she thought the number of children constantly changed, and the kids were never seen again, meaning the families that adopted them loved them enough to never return!)

Mr. Clockwork hums "how about giving him a spouse instead? My girls or boy could be a good partner"

Laughing, she assumes he meant her work on bettering the lives of the gay community- in honor of her brother who passed during the AIDs epidemic. "I'm sure Bruce would be happy to hear Mommy found him a husband."

"Is that a yes?" Clockwork eyes' flashed with an emotion that was gone too quick for her to identify.

"Yes, of course. If that is what they both want, I wouldn't mind their marriage at all."

Mr. Clockworks red eyes - contacts? A medical condition?- gleam, and his voice takes on a strange rhythm. "Then so shall it be, my son Danny Fenton shall be married to Bruce Wayne per their Blood Mother and Core Father deal."

Huh. Maybe Mr. Clockwork is a nutcase. Suddenly, she thinks back to her father, who would often tell her that she lived in a delusion because he did not want her to see the horror that Gotham truly is.

Even when you think you're doing good, Gotham has a way of making your work into nightmares.

Was Mr. Clockwork one of those people he warned her about?

Thankfully, he leaves not long after that. He claims he must return to work before his co-workers notice him gone. She doesn't see him for the rest of the night and half wonders if she had been speaking to one of the wait staff they hired as extra help.

Not that she minded, but it made her think his name might not even be Clockwork.

She tells Thomas the story hours after Bruce is put to bed with a candy bucket and the last guests have all slipped home. Thomas is exhausted, having been playing host longer than her because Martha had left around eight to take Bruce trick and treating. Then she got home and put him down for his bedtime.

She got back to the party around eleven but it was a much-needed break from all the hostility that Thomas had been forced to face alone.

"WHAT!?" Thomas booms when she finishes the story. They had just crawled into bed, and Thomas had been rolling to his side for sleep before her words flung him back. "Clockwork!? You're sure you spoke to Clockwork!?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"What did he look like?"

"Um well he was in costume, but red eyes, blue skin, and he was wearing purple robes." She watches as the blood drains from her husband's face. "What is it darling? Who was he?"

"Oh, this isn't good....Alfred! Alfred!" Thomas frantically calls as if the devil had appeared in their bedroom.

Their servant and sometimes lover comes racing into the room, carrying a loaded shotgun. Ever since Thomas had met him overseas when he hired the British man as a personal bodyguard, he fell hard and fast for Alfred but he still deeply loved Martha.

He had sent Martha a letter detailing his feelings for his guard, and only after she had given him permission did he pursue the butler. Alfred had insisted on meeting Thomas' wife to prove that she was okay with him having a lover, so he had followed Wayne back home.

Then he simply never left.

Maybe because he was the best butler Wayne ever had, with his regal training and service in her royal highness' army, but she thinks that her own developed feelings for Alfred convince him to remain.

Alfred insisted that he was only a servant and thus could not be added to their marriage besides a bed partner occasionally. Still, Martha hoped one day they could convince him otherwise.

Bruce already saw him as a second father.

He looks at the pair, dressed in their nightwear in a rather enticing position (Thomas had grabbed Martha by her shoulder, to look into her eyes but that left them rather entangled on the bed) with no visible threat, and raises one brow.

Before he can say anything Thomas is all but rolling out of bed in a frantic leap. He tangles up in the blankets, falling gracelessly over the edge in failing limbs "Martha made a deal with Clockwork!"

At once, Alfred's handsome face drains of blood. "Oh dear, Martha darling, you made a grave mistake."

She can only blink at the men in confusion. "Who is Clockwork?"

"He has many names, but I knew him as Merlin," Alfred informed her evenly. He took her hand in his, the tremble in his fingers revealing his unease. " He had shown interest in Master Thomas before and was the one I protected him from. I barely fought him off and only due to outsmarting him. I would not be able to do it again a second time."

What?

"He is also known as a Fae or incubus in some circles. The kind that steals you away for fun." Thomas babbled from where he was pacing next to the bed, eyes franticly glancing about as if the bogggie man was about to leap out at him from the shadows.

For a moment, Martha wondered why her husband, a man of science and medicine who had never been superstitious, believed this Clockwork was some...some creature of myths.

"Martha, love, what did he ask of you?" Alfred questioned, bringing her hand to his lips as though kissing them would confirm she was safe before him.

"He asked for Bruce to marry his son."

"Oh, gods!" Thomas fretted, speeding up, his long strides becoming far more frantic. "Please say you didn't say yes."

"I-thought it was a joke, I didn't see anything wrong with it, I- said yes."

Alfred closed his eyes, looking like a man who had just been informed his death sentence had been signed by the Queen. "Then all we can do now is pray."

Years later, as Alfred is dusting the portrait of his deceased loves. He allowed his hand to trace the cover of Martha's painted smile and Thomas' strong jaw, mind filled with stolen kisses and sweet nothings that were ripped away that fateful night.

He is still struck by their loss. Every now and then, the knowledge of their death creeps in during his most mundane activities. It's like a kick to the chest every time.

Oh, how he misses them.

Ding Dong

The front doorbell jolts him out of his memories so violently it takes the aged Butler a moment or two to get a hold of his senses. He puts down the duster, climbs down the latter, and quickly makes his way to the door.

Stopping to fix his suit coat, he throws it open with a prepared smile. He expects extra help from the catering company Master Bruce hired for Wayne's annual Halloween Gala.

He was not expecting the two men, one looking nervous around Master Bruce's age and the other sly. His age is hard to gauge, but it may be due to time not affecting him as it did mortals.

Alfred's blood freezes at the sight of those cunning red eyes and smirk. "Merlin."

"Alfred Pennyworth." The demon chuckles. "I prefer Clockwork, as you know, but it's good to see you remember me. Most humans are prone to forgetting in their limited age."

"What are you doing here?"

"Why I came to fulfill the deal between Martha Wayne nee Kane and I"

"Martha is dead. Your contact is void."

Clockwork chuckles again, the sound as deadly as poison. "The contact lives as long as all those involved in it live. You know this."

Alfred presses the panic button on his wristwatch, knowing it sends a message to everyone in the manor to evacuate immediately. He will not live through this battle, but hopefully, it will give Master Bruce time to escape. "You will not lay a hand on Master Bruce."

"Come now, Alfred. We are to be in-laws. Our sons are joining in holy matrimony. Why the hostility-"

"Excuse me what?" The other man-demon? Ghost? Higher-being? cuts in, looking at Clockwork with brows knitted into a frown. "What did you mean holy matrimony?"

"Danny, you're getting married," Clockwork says with a cheerful wave.

"The hell I am!" The man barks, flushing red with anger. Alfred can hardly believe he just yelled at the monster. "I am not marrying some random guy!"

"It is the way things must go for the good of mankind-"

"Oh, go suck on a lemon! We both know that whole "this is fate" is bull!"

"You are embarrassing me in front of our new in-laws, younn man" Clockwork actually waves a finger at the fully grown human. "This is my one chance to marry you off to a good man. We both know that you can't attract a mate on your own."

"What!? Yes, I can! I've had girlfriends and boyfriends before!"

"And yet, no spouse! No wedding! Not even a ring!"

"Moby Dick, I knew this bonding fishing trip was a lie! You can't make me get married because of some contact you made when I was three!"

"It's not permanent! Martha Wayne said If that is what they both want, I wouldn't mind their marriage at all. This means you both must want to be together after one year of marriage. See if you like it, and if you don't, I can always find you a new husband."

"This isn't returning a jacket to a store! I can't just see if I like being married Clockwork!" The man hissed running a hand through his hair. "We're going home. I'm so sorry for bothering you today Mr. Alfred."

Alfred blinks at the young man's sheepish smile, wondering if ti's a trick. "No bother at all."

"Danny, if you leave without marriage, Bruce Wayne will die in an hour due to breaking our contract," Clockwork says, crossing his arms. "Honestly, your sisters were far more mature regarding their marriages."

Danny punches him in the face with a glowing hand. The higher being falls like a sack of bricks.

"Right, I'm going to drop this one off at a nursing home, and then I'll return to marry Bruce. Only so the contact doesn't kill him, and I swear I'll only visit every once in a while until our year is up." Throwing- Merlin, holy shit- over his shoulder as if though he weighed nothing, Danny waves at Alfred and scurries away, vanishing into a green portal.

Alfred is left standing at the doorway, utterly flabbergasted. Distantly, he wonders if the hollowing wind is actually Martha laughing herself silly in the afterlife.

Carefully, he reaches up for his com, switching it on to the sound of his family's frantic bickering. They were all worried about him since he sent the alarm and were fighting about following policy or saving him.

"Master Bruce," He says faintly silencing the coms "Please come to have your suit fitted as soon as you can."

"What for?" His son asks, likely looking for a coded message, but Alfred doesn't have the mental capacity to make one.

"Your wedding, sir. It's tonight, courtesy of your mother."

The coms explode into chaos.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Alfred/Thomas/Martha #spirit halloween #In which Martha thought her lovers were making shit up about their epic battle against the Time Lord #Clockwork is Merlin because he likes messing with humans #Danny is tried of his adoptive dad trying to set him up #arranged marriage #Clockwork hords choas like a dragon and motherhens like a bear #Alfred is just tired

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 9 months

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snowfall

summary: when she’s young and in between foster families, she meets a scrawny kid named Simon. Simon sits to the side while the other kids play, and she gives him her sandwich. When he leaves, forced to go back to his dad, she feels bad for him.

Then, when she gets older, she realizes that Simon was the lucky one. He made it out.

notes: based on the song snowfall, bc I’ve been listening to it and thinking about this fic a lot lately

warnings: mentions of abuse, human trafficking and childhood trauma. Violence. Allusions to smut? Afab!reader

taglist: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins (hmu to be added to any taglist!)

masterlist | requests are OPEN!

You’re back to square one, where you always end up when a foster family lets you go. A big, grey house that was built in the sixties and not once painted afterwards, that’s square one. Makeshift beds and damp rooms, showers that smell of piss and food that has the consistency of cardboard.

The house is so terrible on the inside that everyone flees into the parking lot, a barely better place to be. In the dirt-poor areas of Manchester, it’s all anyone can ask for. The younger kids play with chalk or run around, chasing each other, while the ones your age pass cigarettes and other stuff to each other.

None of you know each other’s names, but you’ve all seen each other in passing. Kids that were left on their own, that don’t trust easy won’t talk to each other either. Not really.

It’s rare to see a new face, so the teen sitting off to the side while the others talk catches you by surprise.

He’s massively tall already, but scrawny as hell, his hair in the awkward stage between short and being grown out. His eyes flit around, meeting no one else’s.

“Haven’t seen you before.” You greet, and he barely looks up. You offer him your name, and he pauses before he responds.

“Simon.” He says finally. There’s a short silence, broken by his rumbling stomach, and you hand him your sandwich without thinking twice. You’re not a big fan of tomatoes. He hesitates, inspecting it before he takes a bite. He barely nods as you tell him you don’t like tomatoes, and you doubt he even heard you.

“What are you doing here? Never seen you before.” You attempt, trying to make conversation. He shrugs in response, and you don’t pry further.

Simon sticks to you like glue in the days afterwards, a silent shadow that towers over you. Timmy, a kid that joined a gang after feeling overly confident, tries to approach you twice, but apparently, Simon’s glower is more intimidating than his stature.

After a week and a half, a social worker interrupts a game of Uno between you and Simon, pulling him away for a conversation. That usually means one of two things: going home, or going to a family of strangers.

You never get to find out which one it is, because Simon doesn’t say goodbye. You tell yourself that he made it home, or at least made it out. He seems like the type.

***

Against your hopes, and in line with all odds, you don’t make it out. Bouncing between foster families leaves you frustrated, angry and alone. A recipe for disaster, and you know it. Two years after Simon left the grey house that smelled like a germaphobe’s nightmare, you did as well.

Barely eighteen, with no one to back you up and not a single penny on your name, that went to shit quicker than you might have thought, and you found yourself exactly where you did not want to end up: the crime scene of Manchester.

It started off with little favors. Timmy convinced you. He said it wasn’t hard to sell drugs. That you’d only have to do it a few times, and then you’d have enough money to start yourself off with a real job. Something honest.

Something that would finally get you some real security. A sense of permanence.

Over the years, little favors turned into bigger favors.

Timmy, of course, didn’t know batshit about anything, and he certainly did not care to look into things more than he had to for you. And by the time your idiot, barely not-adolescent brain realized that, you were in too deep.

You’d done everything wrong, because selling drugs for a few days ‘wouldn’t hurt anyone’.

That was how you ended up as the cliché character of anti-everything prevention movies they showed you, back in the grey house. Abused, beaten-up, trafficked, sold, and not even out of your twenties.

Each time you thought about it, you wanted to laugh at yourself, to try and stop yourself from missing the gray house and the exhausted social workers that weren’t paid enough to care for any of you.

Just this time, you couldn’t go back to the gray house. You weren’t a child anymore. This time, people came for you to make sure that you’d pay them back what you owed them. Technically, what Timmy owed them.

They, whoever they were, took you away from Manchester, the only semblance of home you’d ever known. You found yourself in an abandoned cargo hall, freezing cold. From what you could see, it was snowing outside, the chill creeping inside. The girl next to you was out like a light, either from drugs, exhaustion, the cold, or a combination of all three.

You could make peace with the fact that you would never get out. You could just accept it, like you’d accepted everything else in your life. A voice in your head screamed that it wasn’t fair, and it felt like that scream was becoming more and more real. There was a ridiculous notion in the back of your mind, telling you to get up.

It bled into the screech from the gates of the cargo hall, protesting as they were opened. Your captors pointed their guns, but thick, white smoke filled the building, and you felt yourself become suddenly sleepy.

The last thing you saw were shadowy figures storming the hall, gunfire ringing out, smoke filling your nose and mouth.

***

When you came to, the smoke had dissipated, but you were still in the cargo hall. A group of men in camouflage walked around the hall, checking the men that were lying on the floor. One of them approached you and the others.

Almost automatically, you slinked backwards, out of his reach, but he gave you a soft smile.

He was young, too young to be in a place like this, with a sweet expression on his face that felt too saccharine to belong in the midst of this violence.

“I’m Gaz.” He said. “I’m with the British army, and we’re here to take you home. Are you hurt?”

Varying reactions came from the people around you, and you felt yourself numbly nodding. Home. Had a God heard your prayer and then decided to turn it into a joke?

The doctors arrived a while later, taking a look at everyone that had been with you. Some of the girls around you were drug addicts, and going into withdrawal was never pretty. The cargo hall quickly filled with the stench of vomit and cold sweat, but it meant that you got the time to look at the men that had stormed the hall. A gruff man with sideburns, a Scot with a mohawk that was chattering away with Gaz and-

He was hulking, a mountain that wore a skull instead of a face. You’d never met someone like him in your life, but he paused when he saw you, and you knew that he’d seen you before, this behemoth of a man.

***

It takes two more days before you’re back in England, but it doesn’t feel like a homecoming. Some of the girls have people waiting for them, parents, children, boyfriends, girlfriends to run into their arms and hold. Some are like you. No one comes, and they leave on their own.

You want to follow them. You can’t go back to Manchester. You’ll only return for your papers, if those still exist, and then you’ll leave.

You’re about to finally lift your feet from the cold, concrete floor when you feel a pair of eyes burning into your back.

Turning around, you see it’s the one they call Ghost. He’s standing off to the side, and it reminds you of something. You can’t figure out what it is, even though you try so so hard to just remember.

“Thank you for getting us out of there.” You blurt out, and he looks like he wants to say something, his jaw almost cramping together as he makes a tiny movement. You think it’s towards you.

“I owed you for the sandwich.” He says. The shrug looks forced, and you know that he can’t bring himself to say something more honest. “No tomatoes, of course.”

The seconds it takes you to understand seem to tick by outside of your brain, like a clock hammering with each moment passed. Then, your jaw falls slack.

“Simon?” you ask, too loudly, and the Scot named Soap snaps his head around to stare at you.

He doesn’t reply, and he doesn’t have to. You recognize his height, his eyes, the awkward standing off to the side so suddenly that it hits you like a fucking train. How couldn’t you see it before?

This is Simon. The kid that-

“You left without saying fucking anything!” you accuse, and you’re sure the others think you’re exes.

He just nods, and that almost infuriates you. But he made it out. He made something of himself, and you have to respect that. It’s all you want, always slipping away from your grasp, and Simon got it. Carved it out for himself, by the looks of it.

And finally, after an eternity, Simon steps forward and holds out a bag with the yellow-and-green subway logo on it.

“Hope you like it.” He mumbles, and it’s an almost adorable gesture. There’s no tomatoes, as he promised. Someone remembered something from your childhood.

You take the bag, and then you take the step separating you and hug him tightly. Are you overstepping a boundary? Is he going to push you off roughly?

He doesn’t hug you back, but he does allow you to wrap your arms around him (or, as much as you can do that with his new size).

His teammates stare, but you don’t let go. Not for a while.

“You got a place to stay?” he asks, when the others have gotten over the shock of your interaction. There’s genuine concern in his eyes, and a part of you hopes that you’re special in this, because you helped him too. Somehow.

“McDonalds is always open, and I’ve got…” you reach into your pocket, finding a crumpled note. “Enough for a large drink.”

He shakes his head. He offers his apartment, his home up to you and you should say no because he could traffic you, or rape you, or hurt you just enough to make you drag yourself back to Timmy.

You get into the car with him, and your mind screams danger. Your gut’s feeling alright though, so you ignore it.

The first change beyond the obvious of his massive frame that you notice is that he’s gotten even quieter. While you drag yourself up the dark staircase with some effort, he stays true to his name, not a single scrape coming from his combat boots.

In the apartment, he switches on the light, and you take in the spartan interior. A small kitchen, a sofa, a TV, a coffeetable with a mug still on it. No dinnertable, but three pictures on the refrigerator.

A young boy, a woman that reminds you of the younger Simon (maybe his mother?) and his teammates. Gaz, Soap, the older guy, two men that you don’t recognize, standing in scenery that looks almost tropical.

He lets you stare, before he quietly shows you the bathroom. You let the lock click behind you, even though you know that wouldn’t make much of an obstacle for the person he’s become.

You shower as quickly as you can, slipping back into your underwear. You hesitate for a moment, and then you grab the big, fluffy bathrobe hanging over the towel rack. Someone had vomited on your shirt, and you refused to put it on again.

The robe was too big for you, black with white skulls on it, and you highly doubted that Simon had bought it for himself. Maybe the Scot that cracked jokes with, or rather at him, had bought it for him and he’d caved to using it.

When you walked out, Simon was pulling clean sheets over the bed in his bedroom. He lifted his head when he heard you, and even through the balaclava, you knew he was lifting a brow at you.

“You’re wearing Soap’s bathrobe.” He commented.

“Someone vomited on my shirt.”

Simon did not reply, but he did turn around to rummage in his closet, throwing you one of his old shirts. You went back into the bathroom to put it on, and decided to not comment on the fact that it looked like a midi dress on you.

He closed the door behind him when he went to sleep, and the click of the lock felt a little insulting to you. Yet, you couldn’t expect him to trust you.

Sleep did not come easy to you, and when it did, you only had nightmares.

After a particularly bad one, you woke up with a start, only to find yourself face-to-face with one of your captors, face hid behind a balaclava, and you screamed.

Only after a few moments did you realize that it was Simon.

Between your panicked apologizing, and his nervous tea-making, it took a while for either of you to speak.

“I’m sorry for not telling you I was leaving.” He said finally, sitting across from you on the sofa, and still managing to take up three fourths of it.

“You didn’t have to. You didn’t know me.” You replied.

“I clung to you.” He said under his breath, as if it was an admittance of weakness.

“I liked it. Made me feel less alone.”

Your hands found each other in the dark, his fingers curling around yours and you swore that you could feel his heart hammer in his wrist.

“I don’t want to go to Manchester alone.” You whispered. It was an admittance of defeat.

“I’ll go with you.” Simon replied. He had no incentive to.

In the dark, it didn’t feel as preposterous or dangerous to move closer to him. He stilled when your knee bumped against his leg, and you held your breath, waiting for his rejection.

It didn’t come, only a shaky breath from Simon that gave the smallest of hints about how he was feeling. His hand was still holding yours, warm and a little rough, but it felt real. It made you move closer, to try and lean into his touch.

His hand slipped from yours, and for a moment, you thought that you’d done something wrong, but then you felt it on your waist, and Simon pulled you onto his lap. Your hands flew to his chest to steady yourself, and you could feel his hammering heart beating under his shirt.

Simon was so massive that he engulfed you, drowned out everything around you, and you loved it. There was nothing but him, and that didn’t scare you. It made you feel unfathomably safe.

He hugged you suddenly, a mirror gesture to what you’d done at the airport, his thick arms wrapping around you, pulling you even closer, until your lips were almost on his and he looked up at you with something in his eyes that you couldn’t place, because no one had ever looked at you like that.

You couldn’t help kissing him. Slowly, asking, almost begging, you peeled up the lower half of his balaclava, waiting for him to tell you to stop. Instead, even in the darkness, you knew that the stubble on his jaw was blonde, because it was impossible to forget someone like him. Your lips found his and it felt so right that your hands snaked up to his jaw, cradling his face in the hope that he’d know you cared for him.

Simon returned your kiss equally as hungry, demanding the air you breathed from you, his embrace swallowing you, and you wanted to give it all to him. Your hands shook as you reached to slip them over the band of his sweats, still unsure if he’d reject you, or let you do it.

Cautiously, your hands slipped under his t-shirt first, his skin feeling like it was burning in comparison to your cold fingers, warm to the touch, and safe.

“I thought about you a lot.” You admitted between kisses. “Wanted to know what happened to you.”

Simon stilled at that, his gaze shifting, warping from one unreadable expression to another.

“Nothin’ good.” He replied finally. You felt like an idiot. Like you’d just ruined the moment.

“I’m sorry.” You said, because you had no idea what else to say. His hand found yours, and you felt like whatever was going to happen to you, it was going to be okay.

#simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x you #cod: mwii #cod x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost cod x you

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wwinterwitch · 4 months

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buy me presents — joel miller

summary: you and your ex situationship reunite at a christmas party

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

word count: 3.1K

tags: age gap (mid 40s and mid 20s), no outbreak, you fell hard and didn't know he fell harder bc he's an idiot!, miscommunication, angst, awkward reunion, everything gets fixed at the end tho don't worry, tommy is featured

note: i've been listening to fruitcake non-stop and i had this little idea that turned into an entire fic. it was kinda shitty at first but i decided to give it a try anyway

reblog or comment if you enjoy please!

all masterlists | pedro pascal masterlist

You always thought that going after older guys meant having absolutely no problems when it came to maturity and commitment. Guys your age are so good at playing games, keeping you guessing, too afraid to make it official.

So, evidently, when you met Joel at his workshop you were over the moon. He was charming, incredibly handsome and single. You still remember his attractive smile and the way he'd lean way too close to you, offering to fix the piece of furniture that you showed up with that day in exchange for a nice dinner and your phone number.

Everything looked good in the beginning. He was a true gentleman, so sincere and attentive, and you were foolish enough to believe he actually considered you special enough to pursue a relationship with you.

In your defense, he really tricked you. Showing you pictures of his daughter, taking you out on countless dates, interested to know as much of you as possible, texting non-stop...it was like a dream come true. After many terrible relationships with pathetic and insecure little boys, you found a wonderful man willing to give you exactly what you were craving.

But then everything changed after seeing each other for almost four months. Because he'd always get super defensive whenever you asked him why you always had to meet at your apartment and never at his house. Or why he refused to introduce you to his family. Or why he kept introducing you to people that happened to see the two of you together as 'a friend of his'.

Tired of this uncertainty, you decided to confront him. It was a very messy conversation. You asked what you were, he said he didn't know. You asked if he had any intentions of asking you to officially be his girlfriend, he said he probably wouldn't. You cried, he didn't know what to do about it.

You kicked him out of your apartment that day and that was the last time you ever heard of him. No texts, no calls, no one waiting outside your apartment or showing up at your work with a well-deserved apology.

Were you just stupid for thinking he was into you the way you were into him? Did you get your hopes too high a little too soon? Was there something wrong with you? Were you overreacting?

Yes, no, whatever– you wanted someone to go all the way with you, thought it was Joel, and he turned out to be like every other guy you've met. It sucks, but you gotta move on. You've dealt with a lot of shitty men to know better than to suffer for one.

The heartbreak Joel caused soon turned into a mixture of disappointment and annoyance before it turned into nothing but an unpleasant memory. Soon enough, Joel Miller was out of your mind, and you were more than ready to jump right in into the dating world again. Maybe it was pathetic, but you still refused to lose hope that the right guy will show up in your life and change things for the better.

You kept your options open for a while, not wanting to immediately rush into something like you did with Joel. If any of these guys you're seeing want to keep you to themselves, they'll have to put that extra effort. You're just tired of always chasing after them.

A whole month went by and you never heard from Joel again, which was completely fine by you. He doesn't even cross your mind at this point. He's probably spending all his hours at his workshop, keeping his nights free for his no-commitment dates. And probably getting ready for the holiday season too.

Christmas has always been your favorite holiday. There's something about it that cheers you up like no other festivity. Maybe it's the decor, the food, the fact that it's everywhere you look...it's always been a magical time.

You also love the parties and gatherings around this time of year, so you immediately agreed to be someone's date to one of them. You met this guy a few weeks ago– three years older than you, tall, dreamy eyes and great in bed. There was no reason as to why the two of you couldn't have a good time at this little party...or so you thought.

He casually mentions who's hosting on the way there. A friend from work, he said while offering you a hand to help you out of his car. His good ol' buddy Tommy Miller.

Your smile practically drops at the mention of that name, immediately going back to that date at the bowling alley. Joel bought a large portion of nachos to share after you completely beat his ass at bowling (he totally let you win, he said), remembering the way he talked about a brother named Tommy.

But...surely this is all a coincidence. The universe couldn't possibly hate you that much, right? At one point you almost thought you were crazy for even thinking of the possibility of this friend being the brother. There has to be a million Tommy Millers out there. It's such a common name!

What are the odds of this actually happening? That you're really going to Joel Miller's brother's Christmas party? And even if you are, that doesn't guarantee that you'll see Joel there.

And why should you care? You haven't spoken in so long, he probably doesn't even think about you when he hears something that could potentially relate to you. He doesn't think about the chances of reuniting with you for longer than a second. He surely doesn't think about you at all! You should give him the same treatment.

Holding onto your date's arm, you walked inside the impeccably decorated apartment. Red and white everywhere you look, with a large table filled with various snacks, a lit fireplace that gives the room a much cozier look, and a Christmas tree standing tall on one of the corners of the living room.

Tommy Miller was at the entrance greeting the two of you and enthusiastically introducing himself to you. Nerves were starting to overtake you because shit, there's definitely some resemblance.

Still, you tried to ignore your racing mind, wanting to have a good time with this great guy who's glad to keep you close to him, introducing you to all his friends in a manner someone should introduce their date. You feel important next to him, like he's really trying to show you off. Something Joel failed to do.

Eventually, you were able to relax when you got to meet everyone at the apartment and realized Joel wasn't there. With a beer in hand and a polite smile on your face, you joined a conversation by the fireplace, talking amicably and genuinely thinking the night was safe.

That is, until you heard the doorbell.

You watched Tommy walking towards the door, immediately opening his arms wide to receive whoever just arrived. When the stranger leans forward for the hug Tommy was offering, your smile completely fades when you notice it was none other than Joel.

He walks inside the apartment and leaves his jacket hanging by the door, taking a quick look around. You immediately turn around, not wanting him to recognize you– yes, it was stupid because he'll sooner or later notice your presence, but maybe you can avoid the awkward encounter for a few more seconds.

It takes everything in you not to turn around again, putting your hand on your date's back as you lean closer to him, trying to seek any kind of comfort you possibly could. He immediately wraps his arm around your waist, inevitably making you smile. God, this guy really knows how to treat you exactly the way you want it.

Unfortunately, Joel reaches the group of people you were talking to. He starts greeting everyone until his eyes land on you, standing there completely speechless for a few seconds before a smile appears on his face.

He leans forward for a quick kiss on the cheek as a way to greet you, and you barely move away from your date to return the greeting, moving back immediately to refugee on the guy's side.

"You two know each other?" your date asks. You almost wanted to kill him.

You stay quiet, deciding to leave Joel the responsibility to answer. It's genuinely intriguing to see what he has to say.

"Uh, yeah..." he starts, clearing his throat. "I think...you took a coffee table to my workshop for a repair?"

Wow. Glad to see things haven't changed in the slightest! Of course you two just met each other for a little repair. Of-fucking-course! It's not like he woke up completely naked next to you on your bed more times than you'd like to admit out loud.

"Yes. Exactly," you faked a smile, agreeing with his statement.

That was pretty much the only thing you said to each other. After greeting everyone he quickly joined a completely different group to talk to (because it's obvious he couldn't handle being close to you for much longer). You actually appreciated that, making the task of ignoring him until you left that apartment just that much easier.

Things went downhill when your date had to go to the bathroom and you decided to get another beer from the kitchen. You didn't notice Joel following you, and by the time you did realize, he was standing in front of the exit, blocking it entirely.

"Oh, hey, workshop guy!" you greeted with fake enthusiasm, sarcasm dripping from your words.

You hear Joel sigh, and as if that didn't piss you off enough he decided to open his mouth. "Yeah, I figured you'd get upset."

"Then why did you say it?"

He raised a brow. "What, you wanted me to tell everyone– your date included, that we were seeing each other like a month ago?"

The kitchen was completely silent after that. Perhaps he had a point there, but it was impossible to deny you were still hurt by the way things ended and how poorly he treated you, so that last thing you'd ever do is admit he's right.

"I thought perhaps now that it's done, you wouldn't care about keeping it a secret anymore," you shrugged defensively.

He smiles softly, seeing right through you. "Perhaps I've just never been the type to kiss and tell."

Again, you didn't have much to say, so you just scoffed. "Whatever."

Much to your irritation, he laughs. A low, deep chuckle escapes him before he's looking at you up and down. "You look good."

"I know."

Another chuckle. "Of course you do," he sighs, the smirk on his face fading. "You always look fucking incredible."

You stand there like a complete fool, taken by surprise when you hear him say that. It sounds so...defeated? Is that even a thing? As you try to come up with an answer to that, you just look back at him with a lost expression.

"Is there a point to this conversation?" you eventually ask.

Now it's him who's looking back at you in complete silence. Unfortunately, you know him enough to know there's something in his mind and he's not telling you anything about it. He's hesitating, doubting, the engines in his brain moving faster than ever.

For a moment, you thought he'd say whatever random bullshit he can come up with in that very moment and be done with it. And you'd roll your eyes because you know that's not what he wanted to say, right before moving him away from the door so you can go back to the party.

But in a surprising turn of events, he doesn't do that. He looks at you with nothing but honesty, and you even catch the smallest glimpses of hope when he speaks. "Yeah," he answers your question. "I've missed you like crazy."

If you were speechless before, it's almost impossible to even remember how words work right now. Never in a million years would you've expected Joel Miller to confess he misses you. Not when it was you who was always trying to arrange dates. Not when it was always you the one remaining him you really liked him and him barely saying anything back.

Maybe he just needed a wake up call? Had to live that 'you don't know what you've got until it's gone' type of situation to realize how he feels?

Your heart beats faster as you process his words. He's missed you like crazy.

Still, despite feeling so fuzzy inside, you show none of it on the outside. "No," you promptly warn him. "No, no. We're not doing that."

"What?"

"That, Joel!" you exclaim, frustrated. "You can't break my heart and then say shit like that when we happen to meet by accident."

"Is it an accident?" he asks shortly after.

You chuckle sarcastically. "Oh, so is this some Christmas miracle? The festive season brought us together because of some nonsensical fate-thingy that's written up there in the stars?"

Joel looks slightly embarrassed, letting out another frustrated sigh. Before he can answer, you hear footsteps down the hall that leads to the kitchen so the two of you stay completely silent and turn around to see who it was.

"Hey...oh," Tommy says, his initial smile fading when he notices the tension between the two of you. He quickly raises both of his hands in the air as he walks towards the fridge to grab two beers. "Don't mind me, I just wanted to grab these," he quickly explains.

When he turns back around, he immediately focuses on his brother. At first he looked very confused, like silently trying to ask him what the hell is going on, a small smirk appearing on his face just seconds later. Without another word, he quickly makes his way outside the kitchen to give the two of you much needed privacy. You could feel your cheeks heating up after witnessing that little exchange.

Focusing back on you, Joel decides to continue the conversation. "Okay, if you put it like that of course it sounds silly..." he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. "But, I don't know, I’d like to think something out there wanted us to meet again so I could make it right."

"No," you repeat. "You had a chance to make it right as soon as I kicked you out of my apartment. There was a chance to pick up your phone and give me a call or send me a text or...anything, Joel– fucking anything!"

There's a brief pause, and you're so glad to see he has nothing to say because boy, oh boy did you have things to say.

"You don't get to come back a month later and claim to miss me when you didn't even try to get me back. And you were a real piece of shit with me, by the way. You really made me think we had something special, just to treat me like it was nothing," you continue, visibly upset by the incredibly uncomfortable and difficult situation he's putting you in. "You made me feel...you made me feel like I was some stupid little girl you only wanted to get into bed with."

He looks absolutely horrified by your last statement, taking a few steps forward until he's standing right in front of you. The proximity makes it so much worse, forcing you to look down at your shoes. He gently grabs your chin to force you to look into his eyes, and for some reason you allow it. Maybe you were vulnerable, maybe you wanted to feel his touch. Maybe both.

"I promise you, that was not my intention at all," he immediately assures you in the most serious voice you've ever heard coming from him. "It was never just that. I was really falling for you."

You frowned, feeling so incredibly confused and frustrated. "Then why did you never show it?"

"Because I was dumb and I was scared," he reveals simply. It surprises you how honest he's being, how you don't have to ask more to get information out of him. "You were the first woman I started developing actual feelings for after my divorce, and at the time I thought things were moving too fast between us and...I didn't know how to handle it."

Joel can tell you're still not having none of it, so he decides to continue. "I really wanted to be with you officially, but I guess my insecurities got the best of me. I'm just an old man and you're gorgeous, and young, and...Jesus Christ, darling, you're the most amazing person I've ever met," he sighs again, hoping you'd understand what was going on in his head when he made the terrible decision of letting you go. "I didn't want to fuck it up or get my heart broken again...but I totally did fuck it up, and the worse thing is that I broke your heart in the process. I'll forever be sorry for that."

You were speechless yet again, and Joel didn't know how to take that. Are you going to say something nice or are you going to yell at him and tell him to go fuck himself? The uncertainty was eating him alive at this point.

Eventually, you speak up. "You did fuck it up," you agree. "Like, big time."

He sighs yet again, nodding. "Yes, I did. And I know I don't deserve it, but I'd like to have a second chance to prove to you just how much I care about you," he continues, not giving up this time. He couldn't live with himself if he managed to lose you twice. "To give you all that you deserve, to be there for you, to show the world how happy I am that you're my girl...I'd make it right."

Letting go of your chin, he moves his hand to the side of your face, anxiously waiting for an answer. The fact that you're not pushing him away is already a good sign, because he knows you're capable of throwing a beer bottle at him for saying what he just said.

You considered your options. There's a guy outside in the living room waiting for you. There's a bunch of other guys on your phone that'd run to your doorstep if you give them the chance. All of them have behaved better than Joel...but you can't fool yourself.

Even if you combine all of them, there's no way that everything you've shared with them can come close to what you experienced with Joel. You've never liked anyone so much before, and holy shit how badly you've missed him.

If he thought your proximity was a good sign, the soft smile that appears on your face makes him relax considerably, almost wanting to pull you in for a hug and start thanking you already.

"I guess you can take me out to dinner or something to prove you're sorry," you eventually reply, making him grin from ear to ear. You notice he's leaning even closer with the intention of kissing you, but you quickly stop him. "Don't even think about it. You'll have to earn the right to do that."

Joel silently agrees to that arrangement, immediately taking a step back from you, the smile on his face never disappearing. He doesn't care that you're not kissing him right now, not when you agreed to give him a chance. That's more than enough for him. The best Christmas gift he could've ever received.

#joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #joel miller angst #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel x reader #Spotify

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leviscolwill · 4 months

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something in the way you put your hands on my waist ★

pairing: bsf!levi colwill x reader

req: congrats to 600 followers! 🩷 may i request number 8 with levi colwill? ("arms wrapped around your lovers neck")

note: what can i tell, i love a good cliché trope. thank u for requesting anon 🫶🏻

now playing killer by fka twigs...

of course being levi's fake date for his cousin's wedding was a terrible idea. so, of course, you accepted.

if there was any person you would follow blindly, even if they had the worst idea, that would be your best friend.

it was just a small favor after all, saving him from a stupid bet he did with his cousin back when he got engaged; if he didn't have a girlfriend to bring as his plus-one to his cousin's wedding, levi would have to give away his insta password for a whole day.

he had a couple girlfriends during that year between the engagement and the wedding, but nothing too serious, surely not anyone he could take to a family wedding. and you couldn't say no when he said there was no one he'd rather go with.

your thoughts were interrupted by levi's hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer. your hands instinctively wrapped around his neck when the beat of the song got slower, the first notes to just the two of us played out and brought a smile on both your faces.

he had been dancing with you all night, very aware of how he was pretty much the only person you knew at the wedding, despite introducing you to every family member and friends, putting extra emphasis on the fact you were his girlfriend, for the night at least.

but something about this song, about the way his hands were the perfect fit for your waist. made all the laughs and small talks all around you subside, and you could somehow, in all the noise, only focus on the man standing dangerously close to you.

your giggles were levi's favourite sound, and he felt like he could die a happy man like this, making you twirl, your laugh floating in the air before your fingers found their place back to his neck, rubbing circles softly.

you knew what was going to happen next, something you found yourself daydreaming of quite often. his eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips while yours bore in his, unrelenting, silently daring him to make a move.

one of his hands left your waist to let his fingers brush against your lips ever so softly, as if he was scared to break you.

ever the pessimist one, choosing to put levi in charge of the positive side of your duo instead, you always complained about the obvious realism in your romance books whenever the main character mentioned something about feeling like you were 'the only people on earth'.

but that's how it felt, perpetual nothingness in your mind if it wasn't for levi's touch.

"can i?" his voice brought you back a bit closer to reality, although everything about it still felt like a dream.

you didn't trust yourself to speak right now, instead opting for a small nod, big enough for levi to get the green light.

his fingers tilted your face up, but he still had to bend a bit to be at the perfect distance to finally kiss you, he made you wait a couple more seconds though, scanning your face, to count every single freckle, every beauty mark, every little thing that made you, you.

and he then leaned in, connecting your lips. standing on your tippy toes desperately chasing more. your fingers slightly scratching the skin at the back of his neck, if you let go of him your knees would probably give up on you, so this only gave you more of a reason to hold on to him for dear life.

everything was better than in any of your dreams, or in any of levi's dreams for that matter. it was a kiss that left you breathless, literally. you had to push levi's chest to catch your breath seeing as he wouldn't stop anytime soon.

the small trace of common sense remaining urged you to check if anyone in attendance had an horrified look on their face at the unexpected pda, but everyone was just enjoying the wedding. the world around you didn't change one bit, but you knew this action changed the course of your relationship with your best friend.

when you looked up at him, his eyes were already on yours. you couldn't help the laugh at the smudged lipstick on levi's lips, quickly wiping it away with your thumb.

your little moment was interrupted by levi's cousin playfully slapping his back, “not gonna lie, i thought you were gonna pull a trick to get out of the bet, but it's nice meeting your girlfriend still."

#so fluffy i want to throw up #hope u like itttt #levi colwill #levi colwill x reader #levi colwill imagine #levi colwill fluff #levi colwill one shot #levi colwill fanfic #levi colwill blurb #levi colwill x you #football one shot #football fanfic #football fluff #football imagine #football x reader #footballer imagine #football blurb #600 followers celebration <3

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stargirl-and-potts · 6 months

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I think Stede is actually wrong about them both being “whim-prone,” and I think that set him up for Ed leaving. “Whim” is Mary’s (angry, uncomprehending) word for why he did what he did. But he’d never told Mary much of anything. He didn’t run away to sea the first time on a whim. He ran after forty-some years of deadly loneliness, on a last desperate bid to stay alive, to feel something, be something, when being everything he was asked to be had failed. And he did it after meticulously planning every inch of his ship, including space for her and the children. When she wouldn’t come, he wrote them a letter and planned his escape. That wasn’t a whim.

And he didn’t return back home on a whim; he went back after learning he’d gotten the actual pirate Blackbeard to fall in love with him, quite by accident — after having two men die in front of him, because of him — which drove home that he is in fact not a ghost or a stain but a real person, really affecting people’s lives; and that him leaving might have hurt his family badly. (And he was terrified to stay and see what more effect he would have on Ed. He couldn’t imagine it being anything good.)

And he didn’t go back to find Ed on a whim. He went because home wasn’t home any more. Home was where Ed was. He went because he found he wasn’t the same old Stede after all. He went after he’d made peace with his wife and children, and was sure they would be loved well, and had gotten their blessing to chase joy.

So for him to return and tell Ed, in the same minute that he tries to tell him he loves him — to tell him then that he left because he’s whim-prone? And that Ed fell for him instead of killing him on a similar whim? That just wasn’t true. It was Stede making light of himself and his pain and his longing, still, and the things he knows; and still not really understanding that Ed had fallen devastatingly in love with him too. Not on a whim, not without knowing who he was falling for, but because of who Stede is. Even when Ed tries to tell him, twice, I was all in, Stede doesn’t really get it. He can see Ed’s glad to have him back. He knows that’s shared. He thinks that’s enough.

So I think Ed goes on thinking this love is not so devastating for Stede as it is for him. He thinks, He loves me, but not like I love him. He thinks, I don’t even know who I am now, so how can I trust how I love him? He thinks, I was meant to teach him to be a pirate, and now he’s a pirate. What else do I even have to give him?

So Ed decides to leave and find out what else; and he thinks Stede will let him go and be fine while he’s gone, because he thinks all of this has been a whim of Stede’s. He thinks Stede has gotten what he wants most of all, the thing he asked Ed for — he’s become a proper pirate. Ed doesn’t think his softer self is essential to Stede. He has no idea what Stede went through to get back to him — Stede hasn’t told him. The first thing he consciously saw Stede do was kick him off the ship. He never even saw him cry.

All I want for Ed in the finale is for him to understand that Stede calling all this a whim was horseshit. (Perhaps by finding a love letter in a bottle? Or a few dozen?) That Stede was understating his heart terribly, as he does; and that Stede is all in, too. That Ed’s presence is essential to him. That Ed’s love is all he wants; that this is for life and till death parts them.

#please #ofmd s2 #ofmd #gentlebeard #ofmd spoilers #my truest hope is that Ed reading Stede’s letter(s) will drive it home #Stede doesn’t like him he LOVES him

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peachymilkandcream · 5 months

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My Husband, My Monster|Part 3|William Afton x Wife!Reader

(A/N: We're getting a bit more into the Yandere-ish side of things now, I think it's obvious this is going to be a shorter series than something like Break Me Slowly but I still hope you all enjoy! This will be the first smutty chapter so please please please read the warnings before continuing! Also if you're not listening to FNAF songs while reading what are you doing? I'm listening to Stuck Inside while writing this. But hey if anyone wants I'll make my FNAF playlist for this fic. Comment below to be added to the taglist <3)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, power imbalance, age difference, manipulation, mind breaking, yandere themes, yandere behaviours, domestic violence, misogyny, violence, William’s a warning himself, etc.

=============================================

So far everything had been going well, an independence had been suiting her well clearly. It had only been a week since William had found her an apartment of her own but she was thriving. The parents had apparently chewed her out, disowned her, and then left without any more of a fuss. Their move had gone on as planned, but just without their precious daughter. Just as well, the last thing he needed was them poking around, especially since she was college age and didn't need her parents bossing her around like a child. That was his job.

This work really suited her, she was great with kids, a quality that was extremely important to him. However William was more interested with how she would interact with their own children. Something he should probably get started on.

Originally his goal had only been to sleep with the newest employee, but if he was honest, he longed for a family of his own. Everything about Henry made him incredibly jealous, he wanted everything he had, and that included a wife and kids. Although he was realistic and knew he didn't have the time, with a business to run, how could he spend the time trying to find someone, and then dating, followed by the messiness of in-laws, weddings, and legality. The whole affair was a waste of money, surely shortcuts could be made.

Which is what brought her into his office that day.

============================================

"You needed me sir?" She peeks her head in the crack of the door, it was later in the day, it was the just the two of them left in the restaurant.

"Yes yes I did, come in and have a seat why don't you?"

She does as instructed, staring at him curiously.

"I'll cut right to the chase." He leans back in his chair, making his posture seem nonchalant and relaxed. "If I'm being brutally honest, while you're a great worker and an asset to the team your regular hours just don't cover the cost of your pay and your rent."

Worry flashes across her face. "What can I do to make up the rest? I can take on more hours-" She offers.

"No no, don't worry about that. I have better idea for you to make up for the extra."

"Oh right, just tell me and I'll do it."

She was too easy, all of this was too easy. Her friend wasn't kidding when she said she wasn't the smartest person. Better he was the one pushing her around rather than someone else he reasoned.

"Come here and I'll show you.."

============================================

Convincing her to suck his dick had been easy, all it took was telling her that this was common and that she shouldn't question it but also shouldn't tell anyone else about this. The little nymph took the no questions seriously and knelt in front of him, her eyes growing big at the size of him. William figured this was undoubtedly her first encounter with the opposite sex, which benefitted him greatly, the idea of teaching her how to please him and only him made his dick twitch in her eager mouth.

Her gag reflex was terrible, but that could be trained out of her. In his experience, just forcing her down to the base was the easiest way. She'd force her throat to relax or choke, he didn't care much either way. What mattered for him was his own satisfaction, how long it had been since had been with someone he couldn't remember, time was never on his side.

"Watch the teeth." He hissed, grabbing a fistful of hair and dragged her off of him. "Can't you open your jaw any wider?"

"I could try- it's just starting to get sore-"

William bit back a sarcastic retort, the last thing he wanted was to scare her off now after all the effort and money he had put into molding her into a perfect woman. "Don't worry about it, there will be time enough for that in the future." He forced a smile to his face, helping her to her feet. "Just bend over my desk for now."

Nervousness seeps into her expression. "What for-?"

"You don't think just that was enough to pay for your rent do you? Prices have gone up, everything's more expensive. Besides, I'll make it feel good for you."

She bends over the desk, her uniform pants unbuttoned and hastily pushed to the floor. Her panties were lacy, predictable, and pink like her perfect pussy.

A large grin spreads ear to ear on William's face, when was the last time he'd taken a woman's virginity? It had been too long. Way too long. This girl was fresh out of college and naïve to the world, any respectable man would think her consent was too dubious to proceed.

But William wasn't a respectable man.

His fingers slid up and down her folds, making her whole body twitch when he brushed over the clit. Her body was reacting to him, becoming wet with each touch, soon making everything glisten with arousal. Despite everything William was a nice enough man, and didn't want to hurt her too much that she'd refuse to do this again with him, so her comfort was important. He slowly stuck a finger inside her to see how wet she had become. The gasp was audible when he initially pushed it in, no doubt his fingers were bigger and thicker than hers so just this felt better than and pleasure she'd tried to give herself in the past.

A second finger was added, making her writhe and grasp the desk more firmly. She clamped down on his fingers hard, eager and hungry for something more than just his digits.

Who was he to deny her?

The initial contact made him shiver, it had been too long, how he had missed this feeling.

He made sure to take it slow, it would be painful at first, but she would get over it. Besides, even as he broke through her barrier her body continued to suck him in eagerly. She wanted this, all of her screamed with how much she wanted this.

William never really cared about protection, he always figured if a girl ended up pregnant it was their own fault, it couldn't be his, which is why he took no precautions before pounding into her. The pause between the initial stretch and his soon set pace was small, this was about urgency, in case that nosy prick Henry came snooping back around for anything. The last thing he needed was Henry warning the girl to stay away from him, all of this would have been for nothing.

His speedy pace made him climax quicker than normal, however he didn't bother to pull out, merely painting her insides with a smug smile of pride. She hadn't cum, but there was time for that, from the way she had moaned and gripped onto the wood for dear life he knew she enjoyed it.

When he was through with her he straightened his pants and tossed her the key. "When you're through be sure to lock up." With that he left her there, shutting the door behind him after taking another look at her ruined state.

===============================================

Their little arrangement went on for a few months, whispered moments of passion, hiding behind Henry's gaze so nothing would come in to question.

She was getting better at following what he wanted, catering to his whims and desires. Every day he looked forward to being with her, bringing her into his office and leaving the day fucked out of her mind and dripping. He was flying higher than he had ever been, everything was going his way and nothing could bring him down.

"William...? I don't know how to say this...I...I'm late-"

And things were just going to keep going up.

Tags:

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#william afton x oc #william afton smut #william afton x reader #william afton #william afton x you #steve raglan x oc #steve raglan smut #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan #steve raglan x you #fnaf movie #five nights at freddys #five nights at freddy's #fnaf

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earthstellar · 9 months

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I think there's a really potentially dark kind of lonely desperation in the way Mirage kidnaps Noah

Like, Noah immediately starts to panic and yell to be let go, and Mirage's response to this is to lock the doors and go faster

It's fucking terrifying from Noah's point of view, he's confused and is in the process of committing a crime--

--He's not just worried about his own safety, he's suddenly been thrown into a high speed, high profile car chase with a multi-vehicle car pursuit and he's going to be unable to help his family if he ends up in prison

And these are city cops in 1994 and Noah is an adult cis male POC, he is absolutely beyond fucked if any of the cops manage to identify him even if they don't outright catch him

And then Mirage creates a copy of him that is sitting in the driver's seat and taunting the fucking cops, fuck fuck fuck

His fear and panic is overwhelming, he's being trapped and driven somewhere and he can't figure out by who or what or for what purpose, and the cops are after him, and if he's busted then what happens to his mother? What happens to his brother?

It's incredible he stays even somewhat calm.

Meanwhile Mirage is fully having a great time.

He finally found a human like Bumblebee did, the human actually found him! How convenient-- Some may even say it's destiny. Even if the human was trying to steal him. Rude!!!

Now he has someone he can play with, though. Optimus might not yell at him too much since it's not really his fault this human tried to steal him.

Stealing the human instead sounds fun to him, actually. Turnabout is fair play, and all that.

And I do believe that on some level, surely Mirage understands this is not great to do, really.

But Mirage also seems really terribly lonely amongst his team; It doesn't feel like he fits in with them quite as well, and we know all the bots miss Cybertron.

Mirage and Bee seem particularly socially oriented, and Mirage seems to be quite possibly even more outgoing than Bumblebee is, based on both of their portrayals in this and the prior film.

So Mirage might have pushed aside his better judgement in the name of companionship and having fun for once, perhaps for the first time in a very long time, fuck it, we ride.

As someone who can't go out and do things because I'm disabled and COVID will take me out, I truly understand the difficulty of forced isolation into perpetuity.

So I can really feel for Mirage -- He just hit his breaking point, and could not resist the joy of treating the highway like the Speedia 500 racetrack, of really letting his rubber burn and having a potential friend along for the ride.

Plus, he got Noah away from the cops, and that's good, right? It must be! I mean he got the attention of even more cops, but they're probably dead now. That was a pretty sturdy road barrier, after all.

But the fear Noah must have felt in that moment is genuinely upsetting.

His brother's life was on the line here, not his own, as far as he's concerned.

And of course, Mirage would not have known that right away, fair enough.

But even when being begged to stop, Mirage egged on more cops, drew more aggro from the authorities than was needed and did so at extreme risk to his passenger, and carried on. He had a good time.

And that's really fucking scary, that Mirage's loneliness and overall sense of isolation was so severe that in many ways it overrode his compassion to some degree.

When Noah is panicking, Mirage was physically feeling Noah's fear. Feet were digging into his interior, fists slapping against his windows, hands gripping him from the inside, tense with anxiety.

We know Mirage cares deeply about Noah, and later on, Kris as well.

But when they first meet, there's this somewhat blatant disregard for Noah's fear that he only sort of half-heartedly, somewhat jokingly even tries to address while he just keeps flooring it.

Sure, at that point, as far as Mirage knows, this dude was just trying to steal him. He doesn't have a feel for who Noah actually is yet. He doesn't know about Kris. He has a right to be a little suspicious, and it's reasonably understandable if he wants to fuck with someone he thinks is just a bog standard petty car thief for a minute.

But Mirage isn't all that suspicious; He knows the power balance is so wildly in his favour that it's sort of whatever, really. Why investigate when you can be driving?

He eventually "tests" Noah when he finally reveals his root mode to him.

And to be fair, he even acknowledges that this is probably a lot for Noah to deal with.

But then he responds to the equivalent of a Barbie doll shaking a twig at him by levelling a charged weapon directly at Noah's head and chest.

We know that Mirage isn't actually going to fire. Probably.

But Noah doesn't, and all he has is a pipe, after a joy ride from hell that scared the living shit out of him and put his entire family's wellbeing at extreme risk.

It's kind of fucked up; Of course it's understandable from both sides, knowing the perspective of both sides. Noah needs that stolen car money. Mirage was about to get stolen.

It's not the greatest situation for them to be meeting in.

But holy shit.

Mirage is a little... Excessive.

Which is consistent with the behaviour we see from him after he gets more familiar with Noah, and we know he's not going to hurt Noah or Kris, and he's just a very energetic type of bot. Okay.

But I wonder how Mirage behaved prior to meeting Noah. How much of his excitability and outgoing nature and willingness to do pretty much anything comes from the joy he gets from having his own human, getting to have a new friend, finally?

How depressed might he have been previously, given how abundantly happy he is, how quick he is to disregard almost anything else in favour of having a friend-- Even if he has to take a human temporarily captive in order to obtain that friendship?

We know his care for Noah ultimately overrides his sense of self-preservation as well.

But Mirage is extremely intense and high energy, and that's interesting, because you wouldn't necessarily think of a fairly isolated, lonely alien lost on a foreign world as being so upbeat and exuberant.

He wants to be happy. And he's very invested in the few people that can make him happy.

Mirage is the definition of ride or die, and that can actually be pretty scary.

He didn't give a second thought to causing at least one likely fatal car crash with his illusions, so that he and Noah could evade arrest.

We already know he's willing to take out humans if need be.

It's a good thing Noah's a good guy, because I can easily imagine Mirage as willing to do nearly anything to keep the new friend he found...

Anyway, my break's over now. lol

#just thinkin #long post #rotb #noah diaz #rotb mirage #mirage #rise of the beasts #maccadam #maccadams

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dyns33 · 1 year

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Upon a dream

Dream x reader, being idiots, as always

Morpheus was truly the best boyfriend in the world. Romantic, poetic, attentive, tender, passionate.

If he had been real, he would have been truly wonderful.

But unfortunately such a perfect man couldn't exist, and so it was normal that Y/N only met him in her dreams.

During one of her nocturnal wanderings, she had found herself in a huge library, his library, and even if he had been surprised to find her there, he had not chased her away, allowing her to explore, showing her the castle, chatting at length with her.

It had been a beautiful dream, which she thought she would quickly forget. But she had dreamed of him again the following night, then every other night.

She was trying to convince herself that it was no big deal.

Her life wasn't so terrible, she had her family, her friends, her job, her hobbies. There were plenty of people who remained celibate all their lives and were perfectly happy being alone in front of the television, eating ice cream and imagining an ideal lover who would visit them in their sleep.

Nothing special.

"My love, you seem troubled tonight. Far from me. Are you alright ?"

"Yes, Morpheus. Excuse me, I'm just tired." Y/N apologized with a smile, snuggling into his arms to forget her worries, and the fact that he wouldn't be there when she woke up.

"Good. That's what I'm here for. You can rest in peace, I'm watching over you. What do you want to do, my love ? Lucienne would be happy to show you new books, Cain and Abel wish to tell new stories, Matthew asks for gossip from the waking world. We can also walk in the gardens, travel to the other side of the galaxy, or stay in bed. Tell me, my love, I am at your command."

"You're adorable. Anything is fine with me, as long as we do it together."

"My sweet." he whispered, kissing her.

As always, it was difficult for Y/N when she opened her eyes and found herself in her bedroom, alone, in her cold bed, just like when she went to sleep.

It was absurd, she repeated it to herself every time she was about to fall asleep, but a simple dream managed to make her feel things she had never felt in her entire existence. The human brain could really be fascinating. And dangerous.

Depressing.

Because even if she was terribly happy when she was with Morpheus, she was just as sad when she left him and returned to reality.

Several times, she had thought of talking to a doctor about it. To find a solution. But Y/N didn't really see what it was going to solve.

They were only going to tell her that she felt lonely, which she already knew, and that her dreams were trying to fill that void.

The only thing she could do was seek the company of real people when she was awake.

It was not easy.

If Y/N had been able to get a real boyfriend, she would have done it a long time ago.

And it was worse now, because no one could ever be as good as Morpheus. She was really in love with him.

In love with a dream, it was really depressing.

There was also this ridiculous idea in the back of her head, which kept telling her that it wouldn't be very proper to cheat on him. Even if he didn't exist.

He didn't exist. Morpheus didn't exist, he wasn't waiting for her in her dreams every night, he would never magically appear in front of her, and if he loved her, then he would understand that she was looking for someone to spend her life with.

After asking her friends for advice, one of them offered to introduce her to a charming man, with whom she could get along well. It was less risky than meeting a stranger, because they could tell he was a good person.

And if she didn't like him, it would be fine, she would find other suitors.

Désiré was indeed a charming man. Funny, kind, seductive. But during the whole evening they spent together, Y/N only thought of Morpheus.

When their hands touched at the end of the meal, she quickly pulled it away apologetically. He looked a little offended, but he didn't say anything, forcing a smile.

"It seems to me that I am not up to it." he sighed when it was time to part ways. "I don't like to lose, but I know when I'm not... wanted. Which doesn't happen often. He's lucky. He doesn't deserve it."

"... I don't understand what you are talking about."

"Oh, darling. I think that's the part I find the funniest. He'll be pissed that we had dinner together, but I can't imagine his reaction at all when he finds out why we had dinner together. "

"It's late, I have to go home."

"You're right. Sweet dreams." he purred, throwing a kiss at her.

Y/N did not try to understand what Désiré had meant. No doubt he had drunk too much alcohol during the meal, and he had guessed that there was someone else in her heart.

Going to bed, she relaxed thinking that she was finally going to find Morpheus and his marvellous kingdom, after this long day.

The throne room was horribly empty and cold when she materialized there. Sitting on the steps of his huge staircase, Morpheus watched her with an impassive face.

"How was my brother-sister ?"

"... Your what ?"

"Desire. You were with them all night. At first I thought I had to step in, that they were going to try to hurt you, but... Matthew told me you asked to have dinner with them. A "date". You asked your friends to find you a 'date', several 'dates'. So I'm not enough for you ? You don't love me anymore ? Are you making fun of me ?"

"Morpheus." she sighed sadly. "Of course I love you. I love you more than anything."

"But not enough to be faithful."

"Oh, I knew my mind would go to that ground, it's really not fair."

"... Your mind ?" he repeated slowly.

"Listen, I love you. But you're not real. It's just a dream. I can't wake up every morning to be reminded that this isn't true, that I'm alone, not loved, and the only times I feel some joy are during my sleep, with a being that my subconscious has invented. You are perfect, and the more time I spend with you, in this fabulous world, the more I cut myself of the real world. It's not healthy."

“It is true that it is not good for mortals to live in the Dream. But that does not mean that it is not real. That we are not real. You... You really don't know who I am ? You really don't know it's not just a dream ? It's never just a dream."

"Morpheus... Don't make me hope in vain."

"I told you to go on dates in the waking world, boss. Just because you always say you exist doesn't mean the lady is going to believe it's true."

The little raven trembled a bit when his master looked at him, flying away to rest on Y/N's shoulder, where he would be safe, for the moment.

"Maybe I should have listened to you, Matthew. But it's not too late. Desire also showed me that our love was strong, they couldn't do anything against it. I just have to make up for my mistake."

Slowly, Morpheus stood up, approaching Y/N, who didn't know what to make of this dream. It really wasn't like the other nights.

He caressed her cheek tenderly, before kissing her like every time she was going to have to leave soon.

"When you wake up my love, I'll be there and you won't have any reason to be sad, or look for another partner."

"Don't make me..."

"This dream is over."

Jumping up in bed, Y/N first looked at the window, seeing that it was still dark. She then looked at the time, which made her sigh. It was still very late.

"Good evening my love."

This time, in addition to jumping, she screamed, falling off her bed. Immediately, a man came running to her side, asking her if she was alright and helping her to sit on the mattress. He had the voice of Morpheus. And his face.

No, it was impossible.

"Well done, boss. Subtle. She wasn't scared at all."

"Silence, Matthew. My love, forgive me, I told you I would be here."

"... I'm still dreaming ?"

"No."

"So this is it, I'm crazy."

"You are not in my younger sister's domain, I can assure you. I should have explained a lot about myself to you more clearly, I should have visited you in the waking world earlier. We were so happy I was not thinking, as soon as you appeared in front of me I only wanted to be with you and I did not see that I was hurting you. I apologize. My love, I am Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, king of dreams and nightmares, prince of stories, and I am very real."

"... You are real." she said softly, touching his face to make sure he really wasn't an illusion. He closed his eyes when her fingers touched his skin, turning to make them pass on his lips. "All this time, you've been real. And I almost dated another man. You must hate me."

"I wasn't thrilled by this news, but there was a misunderstanding, so I forgive you, if you promise me never to do this again, and to stay away from Desire."

"His name is Désiré, and okay."

"Desire is my brother sister, my sibling. Another Endless. They wanted to have fun with you, at my expense, but your feelings were strong and sincere, preventing them from manipulating you, and proving to me that I had no reason to be jealous."

"But you were still a little jealous."

"No."

"Boss." muttered the raven, poking its head out of its creator's cloak. "Boss, you're really bad with girls. You always have to say yes. Yes I'm jealous, but I trust you, I love you, I don't deserve you and I'll do anything to be worthy of..."

"Thanks Matthew, you can go back to the Dreaming now."

"I'm a good wingman, I think it's safer if I stay."

"My love and I are together for the first time in the waking world, at night, in her room, on her bed."

"... See you, boss ! Madam ! Be good !"

The raven disappeared back into the cloak. Morpheus waited a few moments, as if wanting to make sure he was gone, before laying sensually on top of her, suddenly looking a bit taller, his shadow enveloping the entire room as a sort of purr emanated from him. Y/N wondered if she was really awake.

"So, my love, what do you want to do ?" he asked, as he asked her every night.

"Hmm... I'm too tired to go out. It's a little late to read, watch a movie or even dance. So what could we do ?"

"What, indeed ?"

"Is the king of dreams sleeping ? Is he dreaming ?"

"No, and no. But I think about you all the time, to the point that it interferes with my work. A lot of people often dreamed of you, because I wasn't concentrating enough."

"Are you willing to sleep with me ? I mean, sleep sleep. I'm really tired. But if you're here tomorrow morning... You know."

"It would be an honour for me to watch over you while you sleep. I already do it every night, but to hold you in my arms while you are asleep. It is the most beautiful proof of love and trust. Not many people realize that there is nothing more vulnerable than a sleeping being. Thank you for this gift, my love."

Smiling, Y/N snuggled up to him after being settled under the covers. She would have liked to listen to his heart before falling asleep, but obviously he had none. He didn't need it, he wasn't human.

They would talk about that later, and the consequences that implied.

But now she was tired, and happy that Morpheus was really there, in her bed.

"Are you really not going to sleep ?"

"No. I'm going to beg my father for the night to pass faster, so that it's morning and we… You know."

Y/N would also ask him about his strange family when she was better awake. In the meantime, she fell asleep peacefully in the arms of Morpheus, who sang her a lullaby while stroking her hair.

#sandman #the sandman #dream #dream of the endless #dream of the endless fanfiction #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus #morpheus x reader #tom sturridge

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autisticlancemcclain · 7 months

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fic rec friday 44

hello and welcome to fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

Block, Punch, Dodge by @chasing-the-sterek

"You're not bad," Keith says. "I'm going to take that as a compliment and not think about the implication that you thought I was going to be terrible," Lance shoots back, eyes tracking Keith's hand when it twitches towards his hip. /// In which Lance is a secret badass, Keith is surprisingly not as emotionally constipated as normal and everyone cheats at least little bit.

LANCE SANCHEZ KEITH GYEONG RIGHTS ALL DAY EVERY DAY ALL THE FUCKING TIME NEVER ENDING. this is actually one of the first vld klance fic every posted!! a national treasure fr. poweful younger sibling lance my love and light. he is badass and annoying and i love him so bad

2. Tongue Tied by WinterAndLittleBrunettes

Lance and Keith have been dating for a couple months, but have kept their new status under wraps from their families until they were sure this relationship was worth something. Now that they've found that, they decide to tell Lance's family together at the monthly family dinner. But, things don't exactly go as planned.

i will forever and always be obsessed with the secret relationship trope. always always. and its BETTER when its revealed and then the mcclains are like FUCK yeah keith is our BOY finally you make a good decision!!! iconique

3. Secrets and Lavender by VertigoReader101

Lance rolled his eyes. “Not like you know anything about love, Pidge podge.” “And you do?” Pidge questioned. Lance’s eyes subconsciously glanced over to Keith who was stubbornly looking straight ahead, but you could tell he was listening closely. “I’d like to think so.” ````````````````````` Or five times Lance was jealous but couldn't say anything and the one time that he punches someone in the face.

i will ALWAYS love this fic!! the way they love each other so fiercely but they don't trust the world with them yet!!! like!! but they want to. they want to be out and proud but there is patience that needs to work its way through them and their relationship. the way lavender is woven so so intricately through the entire fic...crying and screaming

4. Frilly Apron by @ficletsandthelike

Pidge just wanted some food goo, but disgustingly sweet secret dates might be even better.

more secret relationship bc truly who is going to stop me. also, we as a fandom have failed in implementing a pidge and keith rivalry. this fic is so dorky and funny

5. Rough Cut by zenstrike

The war effort makes demands of everyone. or, that time the paladins are forced to go on a hunt for a diamond and Lance makes everything a little more difficult for Keith.

I WILL ALWAYS BE SO SO OBSESSED WITH ZENSTRIKE. for starters they have written probably one of my favourite klance series of all times. they are the MASTERS of klance being knowing and quietly loving and right on the precipice of falling again and again and again. this fic in particular is so fucking funny and comes with the added bonus of allura losing her whole entire shit at the dumbass mission they're sent on lol

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

#zenstrike my love and light #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #keith #keith kogane #soft klance #established klance #secret relationship #bamf lance #lance sanchez #keith gyeong #team as family #fic rec friday #frf #fic rec #longpost

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fairykery · 6 months

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The Vampire Diaries opinions people hate me for:

Forwood is actually a good ship and I wish it didn't have to go down like that, at the expense of Caroline's character.

I ship Klaroline; but Klaus was toxic. I could only ever see this ship becoming endgame if Klaus redeemed himself first.

Caroline had chemistry with everyone except Stefan.

Bamon had potential (and it was literally in the books). If they had come up with a "I had my humanity off" plotline it would have made the ship work🤷🏻‍♀️

Bonezo is a good ship and is clearly less toxic than Bamon; but it only happened to please racist dullena fans that complained about Bamon's romantic implications(even if it happened in the books)

Caroline, Katherine, Bonnie, & Stefan are the most interesting characters of TVD

Jeremy & Anna were cute IDK🤷🏻‍♀️

Matt did not deserve the hate. His feelings were valid. All his friends were killers and he was an abandoned, heartbroken boy, whose mom was a drunk and pedophile, and his only sister & family was killed by the boyfriend of his ex-girlfriend who he loved alot, just cause he decided he was bored. He remained loyal & brave to his friends and they didn't account for their murders and killings & stopped caring for the innocent.

Alaric was not a bad father and teacher. Even if he had his slip-ups he was actually an interesting & good character.

Damon is way too defended In this fandom. People should like the character and not defend the wrongs?! Just how many women has he compelled to sleep with him and to let him drink their blood? And what about what he did to Aaron whitmore? He slaughtered entire families of Innocents even while dating Elena. So all that "sHe mAkEs hiM bEtTeR" crap, is not valid. You can like Ian's acting and the smugness of his character, & like the character for those reasons, without defending the terrible acts of the character.

Delena was a horrible ship. The only reason it's popular is due to the shallow fact that people see Ian as more handsome than Paul. The ship only has good chemistry and looks. Beyond that, there is nothing.

Stefan is still the better man. (Fried humanity/off humanity Stefan don't count just as it goes for all the other vampires) Gaslighting writing through the other characters won't change that(Nice try, Julie P)🤷🏻‍♀️

Alaric and Jo were really cute together. I don't care. They made epic twins together.

Elena is overloved; but overhated at the same time. It's annoying. Just love the kind human girl that she used to be and hate the vicious, selfish girl she became, without hating her for breathing. That simple.

Klelijah(Katherine x Elijah) is not a good ship. Katherine loved stefan. She was only using Elijah to survive, and back then she only pitied him. Elijah also only was with her because of what he did to Tatia

Katherine did deserve better though, even if she did bad things. Making her the biggest/& ultimate devil and pretending there wasn't any good in her was incredibly misogynistic. Like Damon & Klaus did worse things and they get happy lives and good character ends? Like No! Horrible! Katherine's core was a scared little girl who wanted to live a normal human life while still being powerful and beautiful. She was chased for 500 years, had to see her entire family slaughtered, lost a baby because of misogynistic expectations, found her again, just to see her last family die again. Did she do horrible things? Yes; all to survive. But she also saved Jeremy, Damon, Stefan, encouraged Elena to be honest about what she felt for Damon even when she didn't have to.

Caroline did annoying things; but overall she was an interesting character. And she was way too smart and strong as a vampire. I loved seeing it.

Bonnie deserved so much more than the show gave her. I hope she gets her own show one day. A show about witches would be pretty lit.

Rebecca could have tried harder to be kinder and less evil. I get she had centuries of habits she needed to break but still. (Elena stabbing her in the back was still shit though)

Klaus was evil to his default and was an abuser to his family. I'm glad he changed/died for hope; but still I would have been nice if there were other factors to this action.

They shouldn't have thrown away the good of Elijah Mikalson. He didn't deserve that. The way they also tried to pull a Stefan on him.

Haylijah was a cute ship🤷🏻‍♀️

Esther wasn't wrong about her children being evil as vampires. And what she wanted to do with them was have them live as humans.

What the originals did to Marcel was fucked up

What the originals did to Davina was cruel

I wish we could have seen more of the witch that played "the hollow".

Glamorizing Hope's evil side is not "a flex". Again, like the character & actor art; but not the vicious actions.

Hosie should have been canon

That random new original sister was so unnecessary.

Kolvina is the most interesting ship of the entire TVDverse I wish there was more of them

All TVD ships were good I just find: Steroline, Delena, & Klamille to be cringe. Steroline only happened to compensate Forwood/& Klaroline and justify Delena. And Delena only happened because of looks and the love story was trash. Klamille was also a compensation ship to Klaroline so yeah, cringe.

TVD writing, lore, acting, cinematography,. directing is all a 10. The only thing that is trash is the ending and all the romantic entanglement the show had.

Warning: This isn't to start an agree to disagree party. This post is just so that those that agree with me can high-five with me. If you disagree, don't even bother commenting on this post. Everything is a matter of perception & perspective. I'm just sharing mine, while venting. By jumping on this post to fight with me you are immediately self-labeling yourself as entitled. Everyone has their own opinions bestie so don't even.

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mimis-memes · 1 year

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🍎 ｡:*• ─ WEREWOLF SENTENCE STARTERS. › ( a compilation of werewolf-themed quotes from various media & some original ones. feel free to adjust them to better fit your muses ! )

1. ❝ I didn't choose to become a werewolf. ❞ 2. ❝ Have you seen a lot of werewolves ? ❞ 3. ❝ You were bitten, you're already changing. ❞ 4. ❝ I’d take a silver bullet for you, you know ? ❞ 5. ❝ We were attacked by a lycanthrope, a werewolf ! ❞ 6. ❝ Am I a victim of your carnivorous lunar activities ? ❞ 7. ❝ Isn't there any way that I can become human again ? ❞ 8. ❝ Whether you’re a vampire or werewolf, love is still love. ❞ 9. ❝ The last remaining werewolf must be destroyed. It's you ! ❞ 10. ❝ You’re one of them ! I've hunted these creatures for years ! ❞ 11. ❝ I may be upset or screwed up right now, but I'm not a wolf ! ❞ 12. ❝ Did you just whistle at me ? I’m a wolf, not a dog, you know ? ❞ 13. ❝ You don't scare me. Underneath all that hair, you're still a dork. ❞ 14. ❝ Am I a werewolf ? I don't know, I'll let you know by the next full moon. ❞ 15. ❝ Yeah, be rational, sure. You’re a fucking werewolf, for Christ's sake ! ❞ 16. ❝ Wait... you’ve always known about me being a werewolf all along ? ❞ 17. ❝ The full moon is rising. Would you rather I remained out here with you ? ❞ 18. ❝ The three “F”s of being a werewolf — feeding, fighting, and… reproduction. ❞ 19. ❝ I'm torn between feeling very scared of you and finding you terribly attractive. ❞ 20. ❝ I was always meant to be a werewolf, I just know it ! How do I get one to attack me ? ❞ 21. ❝ You're real, lycanthropy is real, so the solution must be real. We’ll find it together. ❞ 22. ❝ There's gotta be a cure, right ? Otherwise, there'd be a hell of a lot more of them ! ❞ 23. ❝ Tomorrow night's the full moon. You're gonna change. You'll become... a werewolf ! ❞ 24. ❝ If they were to send a werewolf to the moon, would he be a werewolf permanently ? ❞ 25. ❝ I didn’t see. I was chased by a big thing, uh-- some kind of wild animal. A wolf maybe ? ❞ 26. ❝ I am a fucking werewolf ! Do you think I want to go back to being a nobody ? No thanks ! ❞ 27. ❝ Maybe he's like you, and it's not in his nature to kill, and he secretly wants to mate with me... ❞ 28. ❝ If you survived an attack by a werewolf, wouldn't you become a werewolf yourself at the next full moon ? ❞ 29. ❝ Just the other night, half-man, half-beast got shot down ! They took 'em to the hospital... was it you ? ❞ 30. ❝ Do you really believe that tomorrow night, under the full moon, I'll sprout hair and fangs and eat people ? Bullshit ! ❞ 31. ❝ Haven’t you heard ? There was a disturbance in our neighborhood involving some sort of mad dog... or was it a wolf ? ❞ 32. ❝ Soo... you guys are werewolves too, huh ? Super glad to know you, I thought I was the only one around here. ❞ 33. ❝ You’re telling me you were bitten on a full moon, and now you’re getting hairy... could you be turning into a werewolf ? ❞ 34. ❝ I woke up thinking about wolves and realized that wolf packs function as families. I’ve never had a family before, I’m happy we met. ❞ 35. ❝ I googled “what to do when your future werewolf mate courts you and brings you a dead rabbit.” There was a lot of porn, then I found a recipe for stew. It was delicious ! The stew, not the porn. The porn was weird. ❞

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robininthelabyrinth · 8 months

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The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 17

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

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The worst of it was how little it changed anything.

Lan Qiren had always been afraid – justly, in his view – of matters of the heart. Even before his brother’s mad infatuation with He Kexin, which had ruined so many things, Lan Qiren had read the stories of his sect founder’s great love with trepidation rather than anticipation. And later, when his brother had seemingly lost his mind in pursuit of love, all his old fears had been confirmed. He had at times woken at night in a sweat, shaking off dreams of being endlessly chased by the strange madness called love that seemed to possess those of his family.

Avoiding that insanity, that dire fate, had been the only relief to the disappointing and often unfulfilling emptiness of the life he’d ended up with: a lonely life, with scarcely any friends and certainly nothing more, giving all his love to his sect and then to his nephews. It was no less consuming a love, of course, but it felt a little more abstract, a little more normal.

A little more head and a little less heart… It had seemed safer, somehow.

Well, that great curse and blessing of the Gusu Lan bloodline might have taken its time, might have dawdled and dragged its feet and taken the long way around, but it had found its way to Lan Qiren at last. At long last, he could stand side-by-side with his brother and his father and his ancestors, know that awful truth they had each discovered in their own way, in their own time.

It was a terrible thing to be in love.

Lan Qiren burned.

He was angry, of course. How could he not be angry? He had only just discovered who his heart belonged to, then immediately after learned that his affection was not returned in equal measure: his love had betrayed him, his lover had demanded his pain and misery, his beloved had not even given him a chance to explain – and all over what must surely have been some sort of misunderstanding! All Lan Qiren had done since their return to the Nightless City was go to his room to wash and change his clothes, settle down to play a few notes, and then get called away by a message asking him to meet Wen Ruohan down in the Fire Palace, which he had assumed was for some variation on the usual reason. There simply wasn’t any time for him to have done something deserving of such a rebuke. Assuming there was anything he could have done that could justify ordering him to be tortured, which he doubted.

Of course Lan Qiren was angry.

He just wished he was only angry.

What does he think that I did? he wondered, again and again. He was unable to stop picking at the thought like a child would a scab, his usual serenity and self-possession nowhere in evidence. What is it that put that look on his face, that sound in his voice? Wen Ruohan thinks himself above matters like pain, yet someone has hurt him, and worse, hurt him through me.

Someone did this to him – and I cannot warn him of the danger!

Lan Qiren wasn’t stupid. He had received a message asking him to come down to the Fire Palace, a message which to all appearances had come from Wen Ruohan, and yet moments after he had arrived Wen Ruohan had found him there and been aghast, very obviously having been primed to make some sort of deduction that Lan Qiren couldn’t begin to guess… It was obviously a set-up. Someone had played them both, taking advantage of the fact that they felt safe enough inside the Nightless City to let down their guard, and used the chance to deliberately sow discord between them.

Lan Qiren could even guess at the source: it was his brother, of course.

It was almost appallingly repetitive of what he’d tried his hand at when they were at the Lotus Pier, which suggested that he’d already had the idea of framing someone for something on his mind at the time. And if that was the case, then it was plain enough to see that this stratagem must be his handiwork. Anyway, looking at it from his brother’s perspective, why not frame Lan Qiren? He still did not know why his brother hated him so much, but it was clear that he did. Hated him enough that he would never be able to tolerate seeing him happy…

But that wasn’t what worried Lan Qiren. Instead, what concerned him was figuring out the means his brother had used to convince Wen Ruohan that Lan Qiren had betrayed him, figuring out how long the plan had been in place and above all, most critically, the final goal that his brother was working towards.

The exact mechanics of what must have happened were not difficult to deduce. It was obvious that some spy must be involved, probably even multiple spies, feeding in incorrect information at exactly the right time, each one compounding on the other in quick succession, quickly enough to make mere supposition seem like unshakeable fact to the fevered and distressed mind. Yet that was precisely the problem! The Lan sect, under Lan Qiren’s guidance, had not used spies. Even if his brother took a different approach, there were none available for him to utilize, and a few months was far too quick to place them effectively. How could he have managed to extend his influence so deep into the Nightless City within such a short time?

Wen Ruohan was a notorious paranoiac, who trusted no one – for him to believe some lie, it must have come from someone with whom he was familiar, someone who had been with him for long enough and who had sufficient devotion (or at minimum coordinated self-interest) that he would not automatically question their word the way he did just about everyone else’s. If there was a spy involved, they must have been very deeply planted.

But that only raised more concerns: even if Lan Qiren’s brother had managed to buy a spy off of someone else – Jin Guangshan, perhaps, given the strangeness of his behavior at the discussion conference – then why would he choose to burn such a valuable spy so quickly? For surely it was inevitable that Wen Ruohan would eventually discover the lie, even if he might not figure it out soon enough to save Lan Qiren, and once he did, that would be the end of all peace. Wen Ruohan would retaliate, as sure as the sun rose up in the sky every day, and his retaliation would be devastating; his pride would permit nothing less. And in any true contest between the Wen sect and the Lan sect, the Lan sect would invariably come out the loser…

Why would Lan Qiren’s brother risk such a thing? What purpose could possibly justify such a risk? And of course, what would the possible consequences be to Wen Ruohan?

There was a certain indignity about being unable to stop worrying about Wen Ruohan when the man had literally just given the order to have him tortured, yet Lan Qiren couldn’t seem to stop.

Being sent to the Fire Palace was not enough to make him stop. It was a disappointment, of course, but not, Lan Qiren acknowledged wryly to himself, entirely a surprise. He had known what he was getting into, after all, when he had made his vows to a man known for both his tyranny and his love of torture, and decided to keep those vows in his heart as well as his head.

It was not unlike a man making a pet of a tiger, for a tiger no matter how seemingly docile it grew would always be wild, always a tiger rather than a cat – if the man then gathered the tiger into his arms, he could not then expect to complain if and when the tiger inevitably bit him. Lan Qiren was precisely that man, and yet…yet he did not regret it. It had not been his choice to marry Wen Ruohan in the first place, and certainly falling in love with him had been unintentional. But he had married, and he had fallen, and there wasn’t a single one of his actions that he would have done differently. And that meant that there was no point in complaining.

Perhaps that was why his primary worry was not for himself, since he was confident in his ability to endure until Wen Ruohan escaped the trap that had been set for him, but for Wen Ruohan.

And oh, but he was worried.

This trap was too well-designed, too well-thought-out! The true target of the trap could not have been Lan Qiren’s life, or his happiness, or anything of the sort; the true target must have been Wen Ruohan, with his arrogance and his well-known paranoia. The pieces must have been put into place long before; Lan Qiren had likely become the focus of the plot after his importance to Wen Ruohan had become apparent, but the plan must have existed first.

That meant the goal could not merely be Lan Qiren’s pain, but some other consequence.

He kept turning it over and over in his mind, wracking his brain to try to figure out what it could be. Political consequences, perhaps, or personal consequences – though an attempt on Wen Ruohan’s life was surely improbable, given how ridiculously powerful he was – and perhaps even emotional consequences…though maybe that last one was just Lan Qiren flattering himself, thinking that Wen Ruohan’s obvious agony and over-the-top reaction to Lan Qiren’s perceived betrayal might suggest that his affections were in fact in some way requited, though likely in some unconscious and even unwilling manner.

But if it were true…if Wen Ruohan really did love him back…

If that were the case, Lan Qiren’s injury or even death in the Fire Palace, upon Wen Ruohan’s orders, before Wen Ruohan had the chance to find out that he had been deceived – it would devastate him.

Also, Lan Qiren would be dead, which seemed also relevant but somehow less important.

Being in love was ridiculous.

(Lan Qiren burned.)

Falling in love had come upon him abruptly and found him unprepared. Oddly enough, it was not entirely unlike the experience of becoming a parent, or at least the way it had happened to Lan Qiren, suddenly and without notice. All at once he found himself burdened with an inseverable connection to another human being, burdened with the need to care for them and worry for them, and burdened above all with a wide array of confusing and conflicting feelings about the whole business. Joy and pain were intermingled, fear and anticipation equivalent…and the most horrifying bit about it was that Lan Qiren knew that, for him, it was permanent.

His love had always been wholly irreversible, wholly unconditional.

That was just the way their Lan sect was, he supposed, each of them cursed with a sense of devotion that bordered on the obsessive. From the very first moment he’d realized that what he felt for Wen Ruohan was love, he’d known that he would love Wen Ruohan for the rest of his life.

It was one thing to know that he would never marry another, which Lan Qiren had accepted when he voluntarily took his bows to Wen Ruohan. He might have told himself that it would be better to try to fall in love with him lest he yield up the chance for love in this lifetime, but he hadn’t really meant it, not really. Lan Qiren had planned to make the best of things, hoped to reach a reasonable détente and assumed, once that was obtained, that it was all that he would be able to get. He’d thought that he had been content with that, that he would remain content with that.

He hadn’t been prepared to actually fall in love.

He hadn’t been prepared for the way his whole world had shifted on its axis to accommodate another point of orbit, the way it had for each of his nephews. He hadn’t been prepared for the fact that now that it had happened, it meant that no matter how Wen Ruohan disappointed him, whether now or in the future, he was in Lan Qiren’s heart, and there he would remain, forever.

Even if one day Lan Qiren stopped liking the man – and when he had started liking him, he had no idea, could not name the exact moment when Wen Ruohan’s arrogance and narcissism and, yes, even bloodthirstiness had stopped generating feelings of revulsion and started generating feelings of resigned fondness – even then, the love would still be there. Even if Wen Ruohan one day became something that Lan Qiren could not forgive, even if he continued down the dark and dangerous path he was walking and lost himself, becoming in truth the monstrous madman he so often liked to pretend to the world that he already was, the one he so obviously feared becoming in truth…even then, Lan Qiren would still love the man that had once existed, if only in his memories.

Even now, after what he’d done.

Even here.

The guards that had surrounded Lan Qiren at Wen Ruohan’s order had at least spared him the mortification of being immediately seized and dragged off unwillingly. If anything, they had looked dreadfully awkward, torn between their duty to follow their sect leader’s orders and their quite evident conviction, shared by Lan Qiren, that Wen Ruohan was eventually going to regret giving those orders and seek vengeance against those that actually did what he’d told them to do. In deference to the situation and to spare them the trouble, Lan Qiren had indicated that he would go along willingly.

He was starting to regret that.

The two torturers that entered the room once he’d been tied down to an ominous-looking chair had also been conflicted, albeit in a different fashion. One wrinkled his nose as if smelling something foul and said, “This is exactly the sort of thing that old bastard He Zhong is always complaining about. He’ll probably say it’s more trouble than it’s worth to ply our trade on the sect leader’s wife.”

“His husband,” Lan Qiren corrected him.

They ignored him.

The second man grinned a nasty sort of grin. “That’s true. And he’s probably right. On the other hand: when’s the next time we’ll get a chance to play with someone that recently graced our sect leader’s bed? It’s a far way to fall, going straight from heaven to hell.”

After a moment of thought, the first man, with eyes hungry like a wolf, had agreed.

The next interlude of time was one that Lan Qiren would have very much liked to erase from his memories.

Given the strict discipline of the Lan sect, he’d thought himself relatively inured to pain, and perhaps somewhat more than that. Certainly he had been confident enough in his resistance to offer himself up to Wen Ruohan, and he would be lying if he tried to claim that he’d done it exclusively for the joy it had brought Wen Ruohan, though that had been the primary reason. Wen Ruohan had hurt him, yes, but he’d soothed him after, too, a careful balance of intense sensation and emotional satiation, and that had made it enjoyable enough in and of itself, a pleasant self-discovery. Before the two torturers began their work, Lan Qiren had even, in what was retrospectively a breach of Do not be arrogant and complacent, been briefly worried that his memory of that event, mutually enjoyable, would be tainted by this travesty.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. The experiences were in no way comparable.

Lan Qiren spent what time of it that he could in contemplation, seeking as much as possible to divorce the turmoil of his mind from the pain of his body. It would have been easier if he could have spent the entire time cursing Wen Ruohan’s name for what was being done to him, but no, he was apparently too foolish for that. Perhaps it was just that he had so quickly realized that Wen Ruohan had been tricked, or perhaps it was his conviction, however absurd, that Wen Ruohan would quickly grow to regret what he had done once he'd realized what had happened…

Or maybe he really had simply lost his mind along with his heart, doomed by his inheritance of the immovable Lan sect love, the blessing of constancy in good times and the curse of obsession in bad.

He will regret this, he thought to himself when they tore off the nails from the two smallest fingers of one hand. His regret will break through that shell of apathy and indifference he wraps around himself as a shield, and once broken, he will hate himself for what he has done, for he will be able to blame no other. But his self-absorption cannot permit self-hatred, so he will reject that feeling and turn further towards indifference, seeking oblivion as a remedy, when in fact it is only a poison that will drive him further into madness…I wonder if that was what went wrong between him and Lao Nie? If so, it is good that they have not yet reached the point of no return.

Ah, Qiren, do not lie to yourself. That is good for you, too, is it not? Now that you yourself have reached that point of no return, you are equally uninclined to share what is yours.

Even when it burns you.

And that was the real problem, wasn’t it?

Lan Qiren had always been so steady, so unmoved, in comparison to all his peers. All his innate inclinations tended naturally towards the ascetic, even before you added in his lack of instinctive lust towards others. He had never really struggled with the temptations that bothered many of his kinsmen; he was neither glutinous nor greedy, treating food as a fuel and power as a burden, and although he appreciated beautiful things, his dislike of change meant that he was content with what he already had. Even his longing for freedom had been only a dream denied.

No longer.

For the first time, Lan Qiren burned.

His love for Wen Ruohan was like an ember still hot from the flame, and yet Lan Qiren cradled it within his hands, willingly letting himself be scorched if only he could hold it a little while longer. He feared death more for what it would do to those he loved, his nephews as well as his beloved, than for his own sake, and he spent his time in foolish worries about what his brother had planned, what it would cost Wen Ruohan, how it would damage his nephews, rather than concerning himself over what cost might be extracted from him in the process.

It was in some ways exactly what he had feared most after everything that had happened with his brother and his own doomed love…and yet in other ways it was not similar at all. Lan Qiren had seen his brother’s self-destruction and feared losing himself to his love, treating it like a wild fever that would burn out all the things he cared about most. He’d feared becoming only a shell that bore his name, a man with nothing in his heart but another person’s name, willing to look the other way over anything at all, no matter how wrong, as long as it was his beloved.

It wasn’t like that, though.

Wen Ruohan had wronged him, yes, but Lan Qiren understood what had happened, this time, and that understanding dampened his anger. He knew that he had been framed; he knew that he had not been believed, even where he would have extended Wen Ruohan the same grace – had extended it, when it had been Wen Ruohan who had been questioned and suspected. But he also knew that Wen Ruohan was far more wary than he was, that he had been betrayed time and time again until he had wrongly thought himself numb to it, and he understood why Wen Ruohan might not yet be able to trust him in return. Under the circumstances, provided that Wen Ruohan realized his error and was willing to repent, he would be willing to forgive…eventually, anyway. Lan Qiren followed his sect in believing that punishment was as essential to the resolution of an issue as acknowledgment of wrongdoing.

More critically, though, was that Wen Ruohan had wronged only him, not others, and that meant it was in Lan Qiren’s hands to decide how he felt and what he did about it. But when he thought matters over, seeking solace in reflection as a means of escape from the hands of his torturers, he found that he still had lines that he would not permit to be crossed. There were things he could not imagine doing, things he would not do, unshaken principles and rules that were as essential to the being he was as the breath that filled his lungs. And there werethings that he could imagine Wen Ruohan doing, some that were even quite plausible and realistic, that would be that step too far, things that Lan Qiren knew in his heart that he would not be able to forgive.

If Wen Ruohan ever did something Lan Qiren could not understand, if he ever wronged the world or acted in a manner that was wholly and indefensibly malicious, then Lan Qiren would be the first to condemn him, no matter how much pain it caused him. His love for Wen Ruohan might lead him to try to blunt the worst of the punishment that would be due for whatever act it was, but Lan Qiren was simply too rigid, too inflexible, too tied to his rules and beliefs as to what made a good person – if he believed Wen Ruohan was in the wrong, truly in the wrong, he would never be willing to stand aside and look the other way.

Just as he wouldn’t look away if it was his nephews that did wrong, no matter how it broke his heart.

Just as he wouldn’t if it was his sect, if it came to that.

Lan Qiren was still himself. He was just in love.

The realization was like a sudden wash of clarity, as brisk and shocking as the ice water his torturers held his head under – far from the worst thing, for a Lan accustomed to cultivating in the Cold Spring, though done in a manner that rendered it both humiliating and grotesquely unpleasant – and the shock of the sudden understanding stunned him. Because if Lan Qiren was in love, as deeply and passionately as any Lan that came before him, and yet retained the essential nature of who he was and what he stood for, that meant that the same must be true for his brother.

Lan Qiren had spent so long being afraid of love because he blamed it for what his brother had done. But it wasn’t love. It wasn’t even He Kexin.

It was his brother.

Every single choice his brother had ever made had been his own.

It wasn’t as though Lan Qiren hadn’t already hated his brother – he’d given up on denying that already – but it still came as a relief to have it reconfirmed that he had been right. He’d been right when he’d been angry, when he’d thought his brother selfish, when he’d blamed him for all his decisions. For so long he had tried to blame He Kexin instead, because it was easier than admitting the truth, but even then he’d known in his heart that it was really his brother’s fault. Whether it had been at the start, when he'd stutteringly offered to bar his brother from He Kexin’s door, forcefully parting husband from wife in a manner that would have been scandalous in any sect and was far more so in the Lan sect with its heavy-handed conservatism and passionate devotion both, or later, when his frustration with her endless punishment had led him to offer to break his sect rules to see her free, an offer no less sincere for the fact that she had refused it…

Truly, if there was one thing Lan Qiren regretted, it was that he could not have done more for He Kexin. He didn’t know what more he could have done, but she’d deserved better than the ending she’d gotten, dying alone like that, at her own hand, her body left on the floor for him to find.

He should have realized, somehow, that she was reaching her limit, that seclusion had become too much for her…it was no excuse to tell himself that she hadn’t shown any signs in those last few months that might have given him notice, even though it was true. She’d been neither happier nor sadder than usual, with no words that in hindsight turned out to be meaningful, nothing like that. Their last conversation on a subject other than his nephews had been about a book of trite poetry that he’d thought was absolutely ghastly and which she’d informed him, with a smirk, that she’d found delightfully charming. He couldn’t have guessed that she would take her own life, but he still felt that he should have guessed – that he should have stopped it, somehow.

Somehow.

Perhaps it was only that Lan Qiren was reviving all his old ghosts, both ancient and new, as a means of distracting himself, but it just so happened that he was thinking about He Kexin when a man he did not recognize but who had a face that strongly resembled hers threw open the door to the room he was in and stormed in, glaring. “What are you doing?” he snapped, and the nasal twang of his accent was similar to hers, too. “Stop this instant! The Sect Leader will have your heads for what you’ve done!”

“We’re the ones following instructions, He Zhong, not you,” one of the torturers said snidely. “The Sect Leader was the one who gave the order – ”

“Duan Rong, you think the rest of us are willing to suffer just because you can’t control your thirst for blood?” the man, He Zhong, roared. “We all know Wu Zuo’s a lost cause, but you know better. Haven’t you ever heard of a marital dispute? You know, the sort that gets resolved after a bit of shouting? When the Sect Leader finds out that you took him seriously…ah, look at what you’ve done! Couldn’t you bastards at least have taken it easy on him?!”

“We did take it easy,” the second torturer, presumably Wu Zuo, said. “He’s barely even screamed.”

He sounded petulant about it, as if Lan Qiren had wronged him.

“Get him out of that damn machine this instant,” He Zhong said, and Lan Qiren couldn’t help but exhale sobbingly in relief when Duan Rong begrudgingly released the cords that were currently binding his ankle. He hadn’t quite been able to tell through the white-hot sear of agony exactly what the machine had been doing, only that it had been highly unpleasant, sending wave after wave of pain radiating through his entire body, and also that he would more than likely need some time before he could once again balance his weight on that foot. “Now get out.”

They got out.

Lan Qiren watched the entire thing happen with a sense of unreality. He’d disconnected so much from his body that he couldn’t get back in tune with it right away; everything seemed distant and fake, as if it were happening to someone else through a thick screen that muted both sound and sensation.

He Zhong stomped over to where he was tied down, muttering curses to himself as he undid the shackles and not-so-gently pulled Lan Qiren back to a sitting position, which at least helped bring Lan Qiren a little back to himself.

“Not good, but could be worse, I suppose,” he grumbled, examining him. “No missing bits, as far as I can tell, your face is mostly untouched, and at least they didn’t cut your hair. Did they break anything while they were beating you?”

Lan Qiren automatically shook his head, winced at how dizzy the motion made him, then hesitated, thinking back. They’d started out by what they called “softening him up”, by which they meant hitting him all over, in all the soft spots that were easy to damage. “Perhaps a cracked rib, and maybe two of my fingers,” he said after a brief review. “But the latter were broken only a few months ago, so for them to break again is not a surprise.”

He Zhong grunted, then pointed to his wrist. “How’d they manage that one? That’s the only bit worth noting, everything else is as unimaginative as you can get.”

“…that was with me when I arrived.”

“Typical.”

Lan Qiren decided not to comment. “I am also unsure of what they did to my ankle.”

“You don’t want to know.” That was unhelpful. “Get up, I’ll help you walk over to a cell where you can rest. Wu Zuo and those other bastards won’t dare pester you while I’m on duty.”

He held out his hands, but Lan Qiren didn’t take him up on the offer.

Instead, he asked, as politely as he could, “The others called you He Zhong, did they not? Are you by any chance acquainted with a lady by the name of He Kexin?”

He Zhong froze.

He had already been scowling, but now the scowl deepened.

Lan Qiren decided that that probably meant yes. “I was under the impression that she had no living family,” he explained, “but your face strongly resembles – ”

“The fact that I don’t want the Sect Leader to come fuck us all up for laying a hand on you doesn’t mean you’re immune from being hurt,” He Zhong interrupted, his voice hard, and aggressively put his face in front of Lan Qiren’s to try to force the direct eye contact that Lan Qiren avoided out of habit. “Duan Rong, Wu Zuo, they’re idiots. You don’t need pain to hurt a Lan… I strongly suggest you shut up.”

He pointedly put his hand right over Lan Qiren’s face, hovering over his forehead ribbon with only a small space separating them. Lan Qiren instinctively recoiled from the implication that someone foreign to him might touch it – which, he supposed, proved He Zhong’s point.

Nevertheless, he gritted his teeth and persisted, having failed He Kexin enough in life that he wasn’t inclined to do so now in death. “He Kexin died recently. Her family should have the right to give offerings – ”

He Zhong tore off Lan Qiren’s forehead ribbon.

Lan Qiren had one moment of severe light-headedness, his ears suddenly ringing with some sort of high-pitched noise – that’s wrong, that’s against the rules, you can’t do that, it’s not allowed! – and then he blinked, finding that he somehow had his forehead ribbon back in his hands and was already going through the usual motions of putting it back into place on his head. Also, his forehead hurt, and He Zhong was sitting on the floor clutching his now-bleeding nose.

“You just bashed your skull against my face, if that confused look of yours means you were wondering,” He Zhong said conversationally, pinching his nose shut. He didn’t seem any angrier than he had been before, and possibly even a little less. “Must admit, I didn’t see that one coming. Why isn’t your cultivation sealed? Didn’t the guards do it when bringing you here?”

“No one said it was necessary,” Lan Qiren said hesitantly, abruptly swamped by that too-familiar feeling of having made some sort of social misstep. Had he somehow managed to mess up being tortured? Was such a thing even possible? “And no, the guards simply escorted me.”

“Escorted you. Are you saying you just walked into the Fire Palace of your own volition? And then, what, you sat down and let them tie you up?”

That made it sound stupid.

“The guards were only following orders,” Lan Qiren said defensively. “They did not deserve to end up in trouble due to my actions. You pointed it out yourself, Wen Ruohan will likely be angry later, should he come to regret what happened, and when he does, he is likely to act irrationally. Why risk the suffering of innocent bystanders in the inevitable temper tantrum?”

He Zhong stared at him silently for a long few moments.

“All right,” he said eventually. “Fine. He Kexin was my cousin.”

Lan Qiren stared at him blankly for a moment, his brain a bit too tired to follow the twists and turns of the conversation, but after a little while He Zhong’s words finally landed and he stumbled up to his feet to try to salute the other man. Only he hadn’t reckoned with his ankle, which gave out at once, and he stumbled again before finally righting himself on the other one with a force of will.

“Then you and I are kin through marriage,” he said, bowing and wincing when he noticed how bloody his fingers were. He hoped he hadn’t inadvertently left fingermarks on his forehead ribbon, there was a punishment for dirtying it. “He Kexin was my sister-in-law.”

“Sit down before you do something even worse to that foot of yours,” He Zhong said grumpily. “I’m still processing you daring to say that the Sect Leader was going to have a temper tantrum, I can’t handle the idea of being related to him, even indirectly.”

That sounded reasonable. Lan Qiren considered his options for sitting – the chair he’d been being tortured in and the floor – and opted for the latter.

By which he meant that he untensed a tiny bit and abruptly collapsed in an ungainly heap, as if he were a puppet whose strings had all been cut. Everything hurt, and not in the pleasantly righteous sort of way that it did after he’d completed discipline according to his sect rules.

“She told me there was no one in her family still alive,” he said, and was embarrassed when it came out sounding plaintive. “I had not realized she lied.”

He supposed he’d thought that He Kexin wouldn’t lie to him. Stupid, of course. Who wouldn’t lie to their jailor?

Well, Lan Qiren wouldn’t, but that was because do not tell lies was a rule. And rules, like Lan Qiren, did not change under different circumstances.

He Zhong grunted uncomfortably. “Pretty sure she probably thought I really was dead, and even if she knew I wasn’t, it wouldn’t have changed anything. I wasn’t going to go visit her.”

“I would have permitted it, if you had.”

Maybe He Kexin wouldn’t have killed herself if she’d still had family around, or someone she could actually consider family. Lan Qiren certainly didn’t consider himself to qualify, for all that they’d eventually started treating each other in a manner not dissimilar to those cousins at family festivals that you didn’t especially like but had no choice but to tolerate.

(As a member of a Great Sect, and one who’d temporarily held the post of Sect Leader, Lan Qiren had a great many of those, all of whom wanted for one reason or another of their own to talk to him. Not having to deal with those gatherings was certainly one advantage about the Nightless City, he supposed – though perhaps it was debatable whether having an excuse to escape social torture was enough to outweigh the risk of literal torture.)

“Doesn’t change the fact that I wasn’t going to go.” He Zhong shrugged. “We parted on bad terms. I told her she wasn’t any family of mine, that I never wanted to see her face again, and that I hoped she’d be found dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Lan Qiren gaped, aghast, but that only made He Zhong laugh.

“I meant it, too,” he said, unexpectedly in a better mood than before. “She fucked up everything for me when she took that job…though I admit you saying she married a Lan was pretty unexpected. Gusu Lan, really? He Kexin?”

“Yes, she married my brother. It was not widely publicized, but – ” Lan Qiren frowned, abruptly distracted by something unusual He Zhong had said. “Job? He Kexin took some sort of job? What job? Are you referring to a night-hunt?”

“A night-hunt? No, of course not.” Now it was He Zhong who was frowning at him. “Why would you think she was night-hunting?”

After a lifetime of badly stunted social skills and ten years of having no choice but to play politics, Lan Qiren had painstakingly developed the ability to detect when he’d missed or misread something, or alternatively when he had been deceived. Every single one of those internal alarms was now singing at full volume.

“I had been informed that she was a rogue cultivator,” he said, very carefully. “And that my brother had met her while she was night-hunting in the Chuzhou region with some friends. However, it is possible that I heard – incorrectly. Or perhaps that assumptions were made that should not have been made.”

Lan Qiren was not unaware that his sect placed great weight on matters of ancestry and propriety. To put it in simpler terms, they were all tremendous snobs.

He had run into that trouble himself when he’d first started welcoming outsiders to his classes, with the sect elders lecturing him for days the first time he’d brought in someone from a sect they considered too minor to be worthy of attention, or the few times he’d agreed to take an especially promising outside disciple (or worse, a servant’s son) as one of his students. And if that snobbery applied to Lan Qiren’s classes, which were considered little more than a bizarre but ultimately insignificant hobby, then it was triply true when it came to matters of marriage. His brother had faced an uphill battle over his courtship of He Kexin with the sect elders to begin with – some of them had been extremely against it – and that had been when he’d said that she was a rogue cultivator that was night-hunting for fun, implying without saying that she was both well-born and well-off. Lan Qiren couldn’t even begin to imagine the trouble he might have had if he’d admitted she was anything else.

“I’m pretty sure the only friends Kexin had in that area were the bastards that got her the job in the first place, and you’re better off dead than with friends like that,” He Zhong remarked. “The rest of our family got executed years ago for supporting the wrong side in some internal strife, so it was just her and me left over, but we both still had that bad luck sticking to us. Kexin had more of it than me, though. She always did have a way of attracting and then encouraging the notice of bad people.”

Lan Qiren grimaced, wondering if his brother counted in that category or if he was just being prejudiced.

“Did she really die?” He Zhong asked. He seemed only mildly curious at best, which was a bit disappointing, but then again Lan Qiren supposed they had been genuinely estranged. “I always thought she’d find a way to survive no matter what.”

Lan Qiren privately agreed. Right up until the moment he had found her dead, he would have confidently asserted that He Kexin was stubborn enough to outlast granite.

(He’d always maintained that Wangji took after her in that respect, and she’d always retorted that he was the one Wangji resembled there. Neither of them had ever conceded so much as a hair on the subject, which…probably said something about both of them. At minimum, it suggested that Xichen’s peaceful and conciliatory tendencies must have come from a different place than either of them.)

Lan Qiren sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands, then remembered a moment too late that his hands were still sticky with blood, pulling them away again quickly. He wasn’t sure at this point if the blood was from his fingers or from his head or from somewhere else.

“All right, time to go to your cell,” He Zhong said, standing up and pulling Lan Qiren with him. “You’ll be able to wash your hands and your face, though I’m afraid a bath is out of the question.”

“I cannot take a bath,” Lan Qiren agreed regretfully. “I do not have any clothing to change into, and change clothes after bathing is a rule.”

He Zhong gave him a strange look. Lan Qiren conceded after a moment of reflection that perhaps he was still a little dizzy and disoriented, and that it was out of place to have mentioned such a thing. The rule about bathing was only a minor rule, after all, with any number of exceptions that might be relevant in a situation like this…

“Tell me more about He Kexin,” he said, trying to avoid falling into a lecture about the rules. Lan Qiren hadn’t realized until he’d started working on Wangji’s issues how often he himself would go into a state of fixation when he was distressed, since talking about the rules was generally an acceptable topic in the Lan sect, but once he’d realized he’d started trying not to do it so often. He had to be a good role model for Wangji, after all. “She never spoke of her life before, and I – I admittedly did not ask. It seems I knew her less well than I had thought.”

“You probably knew her about as well as anyone, given that she never said anything to anyone about anything,” He Zhong snorted. “Were you as charmed by her as everyone else?”

“…no. We did not get along,” Lan Qiren admitted. “There was scarcely a single subject on which we agreed. I found her taste in poetry appalling, her preference in paintings trite, her taste in music…”

He shuddered. Some things were just unspeakable.

A moment later, he realized that He Zhong’s shoulders were also shaking, although in suppressed laughter.

“I take it back,” he said, voice gruffer than before. “Maybe you did know her better than most. Certainly I never talked about poetry with her.”

“We didn’t have anything else to talk about,” Lan Qiren said, a little puzzled. “She was decent enough with the sword, I suppose, and she had a real talent for cultivation, but both subjects bored her to tears. She liked fine clothing and make-up, but I proved a poor audience in that respect.”

He’d tried, when she’d asked his opinion, but women’s outfits all looked about the same to him. He Kexin had declared him hopeless, blaming it on the Lan sect’s separation of men and women, though he suspected it might just be him. Certainly Wen Ruohan seemed to be much more attached to putting him in particular outfits than he was about wearing any of them, as long as they were comfortable.

“Now that sounds more like her,” He Zhong said. “She didn’t try to seduce you?”

“…I proved a poor audience on that subject as well.” It had only happened the one time, after her imprisonment; it had been half-hearted, and Lan Qiren hadn’t held it against her – he’d understood that she was just desperate, and by silent unspoken agreement they never brought it up again, lest Lan Qiren not be able to visit any longer.

He Zhong snorted. “I can believe that.”

They made it to the cell, which gave Lan Qiren a chance to splash water on his face and sober up a little. Once he did, he recalled that there had been something He Zhong had mentioned that had caught his attention, something that he had wanted to know more about. “What was that you said earlier about a job she had taken, the one that caused your estrangement? Could you tell me more about that?”

“Why do you want to know about that?” He Zhong crossed his arms. “If you have some picture in your head about her, that she’s some innocent saintly lady – ”

“I assure you that is not the case.” Lan Qiren hesitated there, accustomed from years of covering up his sect’s secrets to always obfuscating all matters related to He Kexin. Still, this was her relative, surely he at least deserved the truth. “In fact, when I first met her, she had just been accused of murder.”

Accused, though not tried, and that was forever a thorn in Lan Qiren’s side. Couldn’t his brother have waited until after she’d had a proper trial to marry her? Couldn’t the elders have waited? Sometimes Lan Qiren wished he had not been away on sect business when the issue of his brother’s life matter had come to a climax – he had heard of He Kexin before that, of course, and been disturbed by the extent of his brother’s adoration for a woman who by all reports did not much care about him, but his brother hadn’t wanted them to meet. He hadn’t yet become actively hateful towards Lan Qiren, but he still hadn’t wanted to bother his already impatient lady-love with an annoying younger brother…

“Her, murdering someone?” He Zhong frowned. “I don’t have a high opinion of her, but that’s not her usual line. Her problem was always that she looked the other way about things she shouldn’t, ignored anything that didn’t affect her directly, no matter what. Not that she did the bad things herself.”

“Perhaps she made an exception?” Lan Qiren suggested hesitantly. Come to think of it, he didn’t actually know very much about the circumstances of He Kexin’s murder of a sect elder, only that by the time he’d arrived back from his trip the elder was unquestionably dead and she was universally considered to be unquestionably guilty. She’d certainly never disputed the issue, after, and so he’d assumed it was as simple as that…though perhaps he shouldn’t have. Do not make assumptions about others. “Was that what she did that caused you such difficulties? Look the other way?”

“Difficulties! Difficulties!That – ” He Zhong paused, presumably to account for Lan Qiren’s sensibilities, since he’d already established that he himself didn��t follow a rule similar to No vulgar language. “My cousin ruined my life. I’d finally found a place to settle down, after everything – a new sect willing to take me as an outer disciple, a house of my own, even a sweetheart, one of the other outer disciple girls. It might not have been as fine as where we came from, but it was safe, and stable, and mine. And then, just over ten years ago, maybe eleven now, Kexin swans back into my life after more than two or three years gone, wearing a dress worth an entire year of my wages, and suddenly everyone’s wondering how she got it.”

Lan Qiren nodded. Working with smaller sects had given him something of an insight into such matters, which he’d previously lacked, since, awkward and disliked or no, he’d still grown up a young master of a Great Sect, and matters of money had puzzled him for far longer than socially acceptable. “I understand their suspicion,” he said. “Such an outsized reward would be available only when the work is highly risky or else highly dubious.”

“The latter, in this case. She was working with a dodgy merchant house – technically a sect, but not exactly one that focused on cultivation. They’d had a client come into possession of an iron mine filled with spiritual energy. They wanted it taken out as fast as possible, and they didn’t care how it was done, so the merchant house had every reason to maximize profits.”

Lan Qiren frowned. “Profits from mining spiritual metal? That’s a very tricky business. It’s very valuable once extracted, of course, but the process of extracting it is unbearably expensive, both because the metal flees the person mining it and because it must be mined only by cultivators. And of course most cultivators won’t do such dangerous and low-status work absent any other options. There’s rarely any profit in it at all.”

“Hah! Only if you actually pay for the labor.”

“Forced labor? Of cultivators?” Lan Qiren scowled. “That’s unconscionable.”

It wasn’t wholly without precedent, but it was only barely deemed acceptable in some very limited cases – the punishment of a sect that had committed some dire sort of crime, for instance, and even then Lan Qiren had always disapproved. It had happened only once during his tenure as sect leader, very early on, with one of the Jin sect subsidiaries seeking to take advantage of another and blaming them for a small skirmish gone wrong, a crime which was in no way severe enough to justify being sentenced even to temporary slavery.

Lan Qiren had spoken out against it at great length and with great vitriol, even overriding those of his sect elders that cautioned him against taking such a hardline position – the first time he had ever done so, in fact. It had been less than a year after the matters with his brother and He Kexin, and he’d been especially sensitive to the notion of any punishment involving involuntary confinement. The other Great Sects hadn’t really taken a stance on it in either direction, but he’d kicked up enough of a fuss to make the Jin sect feel the need to step in and stop it from happening for fear of losing face due to the actions of their subsidiary.

“Like I said, Kexin had a bad habit of trusting her friends and a worse habit of closing both eyes and ears to anything that seemed unpleasant.” He Zhong shook his head. “She probably never asked why they were paying her so much money to travel the countryside looking for small sects or cultivator families that no one would miss.”

“That’s appalling.”

“Yeah, it is,” He Zhong said grimly. “That’s why my new sect kicked me out. That’s why my sweetheart broke it off with me, and why I was chased out, again, forced to start over from nothing, again, because no one wanted to be associated with a family that did things like that!”

Lan Qiren could understand that.

Trafficking in human lives, kidnapping and enslaving her fellow cultivators – it was genuinely terrible, perhaps even unforgivable. Even if He Kexin did nothing but close her eyes to it, she was still culpable, and it was always possible, albeit out of keeping with her character as he knew it, that she had done more than just that.

And with that, Lan Qiren supposed, he had his answer as to why He Kexin had never mentioned her past life to him. She would have known that he would never approve – not that he would add anything onto her already dire punishment, of course, but it would certainly have poisoned their relationship. At a minimum, he would have pulled back to the stiff formality of the early days, when he’d been hurt and bewildered and angry with her as if she had caused it all by herself, because to do otherwise would be to question his brother’s at-the-time unimpeachable position in his heart…but even that distance, he thought, would likely have been too much for her to bear.

After all, through no fault of his own, he was her only real connection to the outside world.

Once, when he’d been particularly tired from all of his various duties, Lan Qiren had suggested that she try to strike up an acquaintanceship with some of her servants, but He Kexin had scornfully refused, saying that she was not a woman who enjoyed the company of other women, and women who were her social inferiors even less. Lan Qiren hadn’t really understood the logic, but he’d accepted it, not wanting to annoy her further, and so he’d forced himself past his exhaustion to come to see her every time.

Every single time.

No matter how angry he was, no matter how tired, no matter…anything.

Constant and reliable, the way he wished other people would be for him.

And if she feared that knowing the truth would make him stop –

Under the circumstances, he could see why she wouldn’t dare risk telling him.

Lan Qiren was abruptly reminded of his earlier musings about Wen Ruohan, who had been unable to risk trusting him. He Kexin’s prison had been genuine, while Wen Ruohan’s was self-made, a prison of his own paranoia – but perhaps Lan Qiren was only seeing a parallel there because he already wanted to forgive Wen Ruohan’s betrayal, and therefore felt he had no choice but to forgive He Kexin’s.

Or perhaps he just wanted to forgive her, too.

They hadn’t liked each other, to be sure, but they’d both loved Xichen and Wangji, and they’d respected each other for that. Her presence had been a constant in his life, and her death had destroyed his world. He thought he might even miss her.

He certainly regretted her death. He wished she hadn’t –

“Lan Qiren!”

Both Lan Qiren and He Zhong startled.

“Is that First Madam Wen?” He Zhong asked, clearly taken aback. “She never comes down here!”

Lan Qiren resisted the urge to explain that technically she was no longer First Madam Wen on account of having been demoted thanks to his presence, as he did not want to accidentally give He Zhong the impression that he was ‘Madam Wen’ anything. He was a husband, not a wife; Wen Ruohan had agreed. Throwing him into the Fire Palace did not invalidate that agreement.

“Lan Qiren – where is that man – you, guard, show him to me this instant – ”

Lan Qiren grabbed He Zhong’s arm and pulled himself into a standing position, balanced on the foot that he could still use. He’d met enough people like Lu Qipei to know that he would rather not demonstrate weakness in front of her, or at least as little weakness as possible.

She appeared a moment later, sweeping in front of his cell with Shen Mingbi dogging her footsteps like a shadow as always.

“What did you do?” she demanded. “You bastard, what did you do?”

Lan Qiren arched his eyebrows at her rudeness (and inaccuracy: his parents had been married long before his birth) and decided to forgo the usual courtesies in return. Propriety demands reciprocation went both ways, after all. “You will need to be more specific.”

“Our husband threw you into the Fire Palace and stormed out without any warning!” She jabbed a finger at him. “He stormed out. He doesn’t do that! If I’d known he was going to react like that, I would never have let him overhear me slandering you –”

Of course she had. Lan Qiren wasn’t even surprised.

“And anyway, it was only with some random rumors I heard about the discussion conference. It shouldn’t have had this effect! Nothing should have had this effect! It must have been you. Something you said…” She shook her head furiously, her jewelry flashing as she did. “You need to tell me what you said to him. You’re new, you don’t know him like we do – he’s capable of anything. That motherless dog-fucking bastard…”

“That seems uncalled for.”

Lu Qupei looked at him as if he’d gone insane.

Lan Qiren could understand why – he was trapped in the Fire Palace at the moment, which was not exactly conducive to making a plausible defense of Wen Ruohan’s actions – but there were no exceptions to the rules regarding supporting one’s wife. At any rate, while he could certainly think of certain appropriate ways to describe Wen Ruohan at the moment, he still did not think that those particular adjectives applied.

“Wait,” Shen Mingbi said, frowning. “If he’s a dog-fucking bastard and we’re his wives, does that make us the -”

“Shut up!” Lu Qupei shouted at her, then turned to glare at Lan Qiren. “You don’t understand. He’s gone to the army – that’s where my Xu-er is. My Xu-er! Tell me what you said to him. Tell me what you did to him. Right now.”

The army? That seemed strange. Why in the world would Wen Ruohan go to visit his army, of all places? Even if he wanted to flee the Nightless City to escape Lan Qiren’s presence, he had the entire world open to him. Why there?

“I did not say anything to him,” Lan Qiren said, because it was true. His mind was racing: the Wen sect was the only one with an army, which naturally required regular maintenance, but surely that was too unusual a destination for a spontaneous visit. Perhaps it was something to do with the spy that had set Lan Qiren up? Was this the next part of the plan? Was there trouble brewing? “Where is the Wen sect’s army located right now?”

“Does it matter?”

“Near Jiujiang,” Shen Mingbi volunteered unexpectedly, just before Lan Qiren lost his temper and started shouting. “The local sect there asked for help with a large-scale haunting, I think.”

“Jiujiang?” Lan Qiren scowled. “That’s – surely not! That territory belongs to Quanjiao Liu, or rather the sect immediately adjacent to them, the Xu sect in Yuexi, which is so miniscule as to not be worth mentioning. Either way, the Wen sect’s army cannot be there.”

Quanjiao Liu was the proposed target of the Lan sect’s future war. If they attacked while the Wen sect was in the area – much less if Wen Ruohan himself was in the area – then every sect in the vicinity would immediately assume that he was there on some scheme to steal some benefits for his own sect. The war would immediately spiral out of control, and everyone would think it was Wen Ruohan’s fault!

Framing again.

Lan Qiren’s brother!

“What is my brother doing?” he demanded. “Gusu Lan – what is the Lan sect doing?”

“Your brother? Who cares?” Lu Qipei sneered. “He’s on the warpath, I suppose. Isn’t that what Gusu Lan does?”

It was most certainly not what Gusu Lan did. Or, well, in fairness, if Lan Qiren thought about his sect’s history, it wasn’t what they did unless there was a broken heart involved –

Oh no.

His brother. He Kexin.

Who had –

No. No.

What if she hadn’t – or at least he thought that she hadn’t, or that she’d been deliberately incited –

But then –

But who –?

“I have no insight for you,” Lan Qiren informed Lu Qipei abruptly. “Also, I would like you to leave. At once.”

She gaped at him. “Are you – are you trying to kick me out of here? You can’t do that!”

“I outrank you,” he reminded her. “As per the terms of the marriage agreement struck between my brother and Wen Ruohan, my wife has given me authority over the Nightless City second only to his, and that means that I can banish you from any particular part of the Nightless City that I choose.”

“…you’re locked in the Fire Palace!”

“For now.”

He let her weigh the odds of Wen Ruohan regretting his choices later in time, and unsurprisingly Lu Qipei scowled, finding just as everyone before her that Lan Qiren had the odds largely in his favor. She hissed an especially nasty word at him and turned on her heel, storming out.

Shen Mingbi lingered behind. “Uh, Lan-gege,” she said, looking awkward. “I know you’re in the Fire Palace and all, but our husband said something about you teaching the kids, including my Chao-er. Are you still planning on doing that…?”

“…provided I am not in the Fire Palace at the time, then yes,” Lan Qiren said, biting back a sigh. He sincerely hoped that her son had inherited at least some part of Wen Ruohan’s intellect, or else his next set of classes were going to be unbearable. “We can discuss it once I am no longer confined. But for the moment, if you could also…?”

“Oh, no, that’s all I wanted. Thanks!” she said hastily, picking up her skirts and hurrying out.

Lan Qiren huffed a sigh of relief and turned to He Zhong – who was gaping at him.

Unhelpful.

“There’s no time for you to make faces at me,” Lan Qiren said firmly. “I need to go to one of the records rooms. And before you complain, my wife only ordered me confined to the Fire Palace, and the records I need are likely to be stored in the Fire Palace as well. You will not be violating his orders by taking me there.”

Lan Qiren had expressed some surprise the first time he had asked to borrow a particular record and Wen Ruohan had sent a servant to the Fire Palace to fetch it. Apparently, records storage had been the original purpose of the Fire Palace, long before it had been converted by a previous Wen leader into a pleasure palace and, later, into Wen Ruohan’s hall of tortures, and it was still used for its original purpose in many instances. The idea, Wen Ruohan had explained with a smirk, was that no one who made their way into their sect illicitly would ever think to look there, and any invading army would probably proceed straight to burning it down, thereby robbing themselves of all that information…it made a certain amount of sense, albeit through an irritatingly twisted sort of logic.

“Your wife ordered you…?” He Zhong squeaked. “I thought – aren’t you the Sect Leader’s wife?”

“I am his husband.” Lan Qiren was starting to get a little annoyed. “He is obviously better fit to manage the household, wouldn’t you say…? Anyway, please, there is no time, we must go at once. I require the records room where the Wen sect stores the land surveys it collects. I need to find out who owned the mine you mentioned, the one who hired the merchant firm that employed He Kexin in the first place.”

“Huh?” He Zhong frowned. “What? The mine? Why? What does it matter?”

“If He Kexin took her own life because she lost hope, it does not matter at all,” Lan Qiren said. “But knowing her character, neither you nor I would think such a thing is likely, and I suspect my brother feels the same. If instead she took her own life for another reason, if she was incited to do so – or even if she wasn’t, but there was some reason to think she might have been – if there was someone to blame,and my brother found out about it…”

Their Lan sect loved like madness, after all.

And love, Lan Qiren now knew to his sorrow, could make you burn.

“I need to know who he blames,” he said, shaking his head. This was no time to be distracted by self-immolation, either his own or his brother’s. “Whether he is right or wrong in doing so is irrelevant. My brother’s behavior since leaving seclusion has been irrational, with the risks he is taking being far too great for the possible reward that he might obtain. It only makes sense if he is not acting for objective reasons, but for subjective ones – if he is looking for revenge.”

He Zhong still did not understand, but in the face of Lan Qiren’s frantic appeals he agreed to take him to the records room, with Lan Qiren hobbling forward at full tilt to try to urge them to move faster.

It must be the Wen sect, he thought to himself as they went. It has to be – something unethical like that, not paying attention to where their labor was coming from, that could be any sect, but it is more likely to be them, and my brother has been aiming at them this entire time. I thought he was aiming at me, because he hates me for whatever reason, but it was Wen Ruohan that he framed in the discussion conference, not me. I thought it was meant to be pointed at me, but maybe not…even now, my being sent to the Fire Palace could have been a strike aimed at Wen Ruohan as well, through me, though the logic there is less certain.

Perhaps the marriage between us was just meant to lull Wen Ruohan into a false sense of security, or perhaps just as a means of getting to him. Perhaps he knew he was going against Wen Ruohan and decided to throw me to the wolves in the process, just because he could. Perhaps…

What if it is Wen Ruohan?

What do I do then? What if this ends up being my brother’s love against my own?

He hoped it wasn’t the Wen sect. Or at least, he hoped that it was a subsidiary sect, or something like that, something that they could offer up to appease his brother’s anger – it was a selfish thought, a ruthless one, but Lan Qiren couldn’t help it. The same horrible mixture of rage and sorrow that he had felt when he’d thought about the spy that had deceived Wen Ruohan, the one that had used him to genuinely hurt Wen Ruohan…his brother was feeling that way right now, Lan Qiren was sure of it.

Only He Kexin was dead, gone forever, and he had found someone to blame, and even though it was little more than intuition that told Lan Qiren that it had something to do with what had happened all those years ago, he was nevertheless sure of it.

After all, just as Lan Qiren hadn’t done anything since the time he’d arrived back to the Nightless City to cause Wen Ruohan to doubt him, He Kexin hadn’t done anything since her arrival at the Cloud Recesses that could cause her to doubt herself in such a way. It had to be related to what had happened before she was locked away.

It had to be related to the mine.

And that meant, whatever sect had owned the mine – that was the sect his brother blamed.

That was the sect his brother was going to destroy.

Nothing else would be enough. If it had been Wen Ruohan who’d died unjustly –

Lan Qiren refused to consider that, his heart hurting within his chest at the mere thought. Wen Ruohan was the closest thing the cultivation world had to a god; he was not going to die.

No matter what his brother might intend.

“Here it is,” He Zhong said. He’d made Lan Qiren sit down at one of the tables while he scurried around looking through the various shelves; given his physical state, Lan Qiren hadn’t objected. He came back now, putting the relevant pile of books down in front of Lan Qiren. “Are you sure you know how to find what it is you’re looking for?”

“I am certain. The Wen sect keeps better records of land surveys and ownership lists than anyone else in the cultivation world – it is in the nature of their interest, given that they hope to rule over it all one day. Ten years ago is not that long, for Wen Ruohan, and so this book should be based on the same model as the current version, which I consulted in advance of the discussion conference. Now, where did you say the mine was? Chuzhou? Do you recall where in the Chuzhou region exactly?”

“Uh, sure. It was in Xixiang.”

“All right, Xixiang, let me look – ” Lan Qiren paused, even as his hands already started turning through the pile to get to the right book. “Did you say Xixiang?”

Wasn’t that where Cangse Sanren said she was going…?

Xixiang wasn’t far from Jiujiang, either, which in turn was not far from Quanjiao, all three of them closely clustered as such things went…had Xixiang been Lan Qiren’s brother’s target all along? Were his nephews and Cangse Sanren about to find themselves in the middle of a war zone, inside a trap set up by a grieving madman intent on revenging himself on the sect he thought had caused the death of his wife, in the place she had done the things that had later led to her suicide?

The book fell open in Lan Qiren’s hands.

He looked down.

“Oh,” he said, and suddenly his ears were doing the same high-pitched ringing they had when He Zhong had snatched away his forehead ribbon, violating every rule that Lan Qiren held dear.

“What is it?” He Zhong asked. He’d gotten into the spirit of things by now, and he was eager to find out the truth. “Is it the Wen sect? Were they the ones that owned that mine?”

“No,” Lan Qiren said. “No. No, it is – it – ”

He trailed off, unable to say the words, unable to even process them, to think about what those words actually meant, so instead he merely pointed mutely at the book. At the damning words on the page, written ten years ago by some scribe in clear black and white.

He Zhong looked, and then frowned.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he said, puzzled. “If that’s right, and what you were saying was right, then your brother isn’t aiming to destroy the Qishan Wen sect at all. The sect he really wants to destroy is – ”

“Gusu Lan,” Lan Qiren said numbly, staring at the damning words. “He wants to destroy Gusu Lan.”

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #Megafic #another 10k+ chapter #enjoy!

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void-ink-studios · 5 months

Text

Lost but Loved, Forever and Always

Don't be alarmed by the title, no one dies in this fic.

I wanted to do this for quite a while. Prismo has been constantly comforting Scarab. It's time for Scarab to return the favor. We're talking about Jake tonight.

And, this is my own catharsis. I've had more death and health scares in my close family in the past 3 years than I have my entire life. So... this is to them, I guess.

So... yeah. Enjoy you guys.

TW: Suicidal Ideation and Alcohol Abuse

Word Count: 2,700

Prismo was missing.

This was a new worry for Scarab. He was usually the one to disappear into the Time Room's lower chambers, usually to recuperate his aching shoulders.

But it was Prismo missing today. Scarab hadn't seen the Wishmaster nearly all day, not since the one wish maker wandered in. Even then, Scarab's companion seemed very... withdrawn. Quieter than he'd ever seen him, at least not since before Fionna and Cake.

Prismo's energy had been draining out of his spirit over the past few days. He started going quiet at random intervals, with seemingly no trigger.

Scarab was fretting.

He was not used to fretting. Prismo always seemed... untouchable, emotionally speaking. Unflappable in the face of it all, always a lazy sort of happiness radiating off of him. But... this was not anything the beetle was used to.

He wondered if he should search for Prismo... The Wishmaster had gone looking for him more than once, he should return the favor. But what if he didn't want to be found?

Hmm...

Maybe he'd go find Prismo, then back off if he wasn't wanted. Yes, that sounded like a decent plan.

He closed off to entrances to the Time Room for now and scuttled down into the basement.

Okay, where to look... Scarab's first thought was the pickle room, maybe he was just working on a new recipe? It wouldn't explain the melancholy, but it was a start.

So, to the pickle room Scarab wandered. He idly thought about how well he knew his way around this section of the Time Room now. Oh, how himself from a year ago would have cringed...

Okay, pickle room is empty. No evidence of it being used.

Come on Scarab, you're an Auditor. You've tracked down things that could teleport across the multiverse. You can find one messy Wishmaster who can't leave the Time Room.

He took another look around. There had to be something, anything in here...

Wait, there!

There was a missing jar from the shelf, a trail of brine on the floor. Bingo.

Scarab followed the trail, the faint smell of alcohol slowly seeping into the air. Or, maybe it was stronger, but he couldn't tell. Either way it was... concerning.

"Prismo...?"

Hmm...

He doesn't recall coming this way before. The walls of the Time Room seemed to be coming more unstable the further he searched. Walls with random notches in them, the floor becoming trickier to navigate, drop offs appearing suddenly, walls sliding into each other.

Wait a moment...

Wait, this was familiar. This was where the chase for the Crossovers ended in the Time Room.

Which means...

Scarab found himself staring at Prismo. Both forms.

Prismo, the Wishmaster, staring down numbly at Prismo, the Dreamer.

"...Prismo...?"

Prismo looked terrible, for lack of a better word. He looked tired. Scarab wasn't sure how a dream could look tired, and yet, here he was. He looked... empty. Just staring blankly at his own body, slowly drifting up to Scarab. And, even with his own crippled sense of smell, Scarab was smacked in the face by the harsh smell of alcohol and vinegar. There was a half tipped over pickle jar in the corner.

"...hey..." he murmured. Just like his gaze, his voice was... empty. He said nothing else, drifting his gaze back to his sleeping body. He took a silent swig from a bottle.

"Uhm... What are you doing down here...?"

"...Thinking."

Scarab made a few tentative steps closer to his partner.

"What about?"

Prismo remained silent.

"Prismo...?"

"...You... wouldn't get it."

"I wouldn't?"

"You don't... talk to people. Talk to mortals." His voice sounded wobbling, his voice trailing up and down. Drunk. Prismo was drunk.

Scarab had never seen the Wishmaster... drunk. Tipsy on Star Punch. Maybe a bit too loud and cuddly after a game night with the guys. But this was just... sad.

"You're right, I don't talk to mortals. But that wasn't what I was asking. I was asking what you were thinking about."

Prismo didn't look up. It was honestly making Scarab nervous.

"...You ever think about how long immortality is...? Like... compared to the shorts that pass by upstairs everyday?"

Scarab blinked, pondering.

"I do, sometimes. It's... inevitable with beings like us."

"Hmm... Beings like us..." Prismo sighed blinking tiredly. "They're like... like a blink... Like a spark and then they're gone..."

"I suppose..."

"...Why am I still... here, Scarab? Like... I'm what, hundreds of thousands of years old? I think that's too long, don't you? I died at some point... I sometimes... wonder if I should've stayed that way."

Scarab felt his chest seize, suddenly also very fixated on Prismo's sleeping body. He... he wouldn't right...?

"I... I'm thankful that you are still here, Prismo... More so than you might think..."

"Hmm..."

Prismo took another drink.

"...I'm only alive because of a mortal..."

"Really now...?"

"Yeah. It was... well, super off the books. Wasn't even pinged by the Organizer... Not supposed to get involved with mortals and all that junk... But... well, he was one of my best friends... and... well, that's all I've got left of him."

Scarab gave him a confused look, approaching Prismo's body. It was unnerving, seeing the warm, soft old man the beetle loved so fondly being so still and silent... Wait, was that... fur?

Yes, right there, at the edges of the beard and hair were little whisps of yellow dog fur.

"What on Glob...?"

"Yeah... I got killed, and he helped me with my backup plan. Long story. Complicated. But, a copy of him became... me. It's his dream and memory of me keeping me alive. And... well, the original passed away. A while ago. And... Well, this is all I have left of him. Just... staring at him, looking like me, but that's not even really me..."

Prismo was spiraling. Scarab could hear it in his voice, he was spiraling.

"Prismo-"

"And what was it for? He's... He's stuck here or he's dead or he's a monster or whatever else, and for what? For... me? For everybody's pal Prismo. What a joke."

"Love, what-"

"I got nothing, Scarab. I've tried to have something. But... what do I have to show for it? The banjo? Fucking pickles? A hot tub? I got nothing."

"Prismo" Scarab hissed, sternly, gripping his upper arm, stopping Prismo's spiral.

"Prismo... how long have you... thought about this?"

"...I dunno, man. It comes and goes again..."

"Prismo. You know I, and many others, would be... heartbroken if you disappeared. Many were the first time. Even when I had my grudge, I felt... empty when you vanished."

"I... I know, I guess... Maybe that's why I haven't... done anything. Not yet, at least..."

Scarab warbled, nudging his head against Prismo's shoulder.

"...I might not know much about your... mortal friend... but I don't think he'd want you... wallowing like this."

"Oh, what do you know" Prismo snapped, startling Scarab. "You don't know him! You don't know how this feels!" His eyes flashed purple, a black color pulsing through his whole body before returning to normal.

Scarab took a few frightened steps back, looking up at the Wishmaster with wide, uncertain eyes.

Prismo's eyes sparked with immediate regret. He looked at the bottle, then back to Scarab. He groaned in frustration, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I just... I don't know how to be when I'm like this... I've... I've never felt like this before Jake... I don't know man..."

Scarab chirped out a soft sigh, feeling emboldened to come closer. "...It is not exact, but... I do know a bit of what you're feeling, Prismo..."

"...You do?"

"Mhm. So. How about this. You tell me about this... Jake. And I'll tell you about Cricket. We'll mourn together."

Prismo seemed to be considering.

"...Can we... stay here with him...?"

"If that's what you'd like, love. But let's not loom over him, okay?" Scarab gently tugged Prismo's arm. And he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when the Wishmaster allowed to be tugged. The beetle retireved the pickle jar, and the two sat down, leaning against each other.

"So... Jake?"

"Yeah... Jake the Dog."

"...How'd you two meet?"

"A wish. His brother, Finn, they were chasing their universe's version of the Lich into my Time Room. The Lich wished for the end of all life, and I granted it. Finn wished for the Lich to have never existed. They both got warped to their new realities. And then there was Jake..."

Scarab tilted his head. He'd heard of the Lich. One of those beings he'd have liked to take in, but couldn't. Vital to reality and all that nonsense. He didn't know Prismo met him before the incident with the Citadel.

"Jake... Well, I think he was in shock or something. He... seemed confused. Didn't know what to do, what to wish for. He nearly wished for a sandwich, but I talked him out of it. Like, I could just make a sandwich, no need to waste your one and only wish on it. So... we just hung out. We watched Finn's wish altered reality for a while, and we talked. Mortals never really... stick around long enough to talk. To know me as anything other than 'Almighty Prismo.' He chilled with Cosmic Owl and me. He had some of my pickles, said they reminded him of his dad. And I just... couldn't stop smiling. Some... some human part of me hoped he'd never make a wish, just so he could stay..."

Scarab could hear Prismo's voice shaking, so he pressed his head against his upper arm and nuzzled, chirping quietly.

"But... Something in Finn's wish reality started going wrong... He started to panic. I... I definitely broke protocol on this but I talked him through his wish. The wish that would make things go back to somewhat normal, and he was gone. I sent him some pickles, invited him back, but... Well, I never thought he would. No one just comes back to the Time Room, not unless you're a god. He got his wish, why would he want to come back? But... he did. Again. And again. And again and again."

Scarab wrapped around Prismo's arm, nuzzling softly as the Wishmaster sounded on the verge of weeping.

"He became one of my best friends. He was... something special. He'd level with me like a person. He didn't have this... weird, distant respect that everyone first comes at me with. He treated me like a person and... well, that was special to me. More so than I ever really noticed... not until he was gone for good.

"When the Lich killed my human body, Jake was the one who volunteered to help bring me back. That's him, sleeping in the bed. It's him keeping me alive. And... I don't know, I don't know how I could possibly repay him for that... I can't just bring him back to life, he belongs to Death now... and I don't think he'd want it. He's on the highest Deathworld, and he deserves to be there. I'm not gonna take him away from paradise just for my sake..."

Prismo trailed off. Scarab assumed he was done talking now, as he gently massaged the Wishmaster's arm.

"Thank you for telling me, Prismo. He does sound special. And I'm sorry you have lost that."

"...I can't talk to the others about it... They'd just say I was stupid. It is stupid, getting that attached to a mortal like that. So... you're the first person I've told, I guess."

"Is this... Finn still around?"

"I think so... Humans live a lot longer than dogs. I see him on the screen wall every once in a while."

"Have you thought to talk to him? I'm certain he's mourning Jake just the same as you. It might be nice to share memories of him."

"I dunno... I don't know if my heart could take it if I got attached to Finn..."

"Hmm... That's understandable, I suppose..." He reached up, gently rubbing away the tears from Prismo's cheek, nuzzling it lightly, even trying his best to kiss it.

"So... Who's Cricket?"

Scarab hummed. Time to hold his end of the deal, yeah?

"Well... My situation with Cricket doesn't align exactly with yours... I knew Cricket from when I was still mortal, rather than meeting them in the middle of eternity. But... well, they were my best friend."

Prismo's eyes widened at that.

"Cricket and I were neighbors, in the mounds. You tend to bond pretty quickly with those burrows around you, but Cricket was my first and best friend when we emerged. They farmed mushrooms while I patrolled. Our routines would have us pass by each other a few times a day, and we'd both get into heaps of trouble for slacking off to chat."

Scarab chuckled at the memory, trying to picture Cricket's face... Glob it's been so long...

"I told them everything. We told each other everything. What we thought about our other friends, who we thought we fancied, what might've been up in the stars, all of it. Thinking back, they actually remind me of you, in a lot of ways. They had this... magnetism about them, it made it easy to talk to them, they were charming and relaxed in ways I wasn't. I... I suspect, if my life turned out simpler, we could've been mates."

Prismo gulped at that, leaning down to listen.

"But... well, then I saw the mouth in the void. They helped me research, they helped me train, they helped me get that audience with the Pantheon. They gave me a crushing hug when I went to go fight. And they were the last I spoke to when I ascended. I promised I'd come back for them someday..."

Scarab rubbed his mandibles together, hesitating.

"I... I've said I haven't seen my home since then. But... that was a bit of a lie. I did go back, once. But... I hadn't realized how much time had passed between me leaving and coming home. What felt like, maybe 5 years to me was... almost 70 for them. Eternity messes with your sense of time like that. I never saw Cricket again. It's been so long; I feel guilty I can't clearly remember their face... I remember a few things, though... they had a deep blue shell, their antenna were long and curled, they laughed loud enough to get neighbors to complain about our late nights... But I can't remember their face. Not clearly anyway."

Scarab sighed, leaning into Prismo's open arm.

"...Does it ever get easier" Prismo whispered. "Knowing you've lose someone that important...?"

"...I'm not sure if easier is the right word... It never really stops hurting, when you think about it. But... it becomes a part of you. A part that prickles and catches you off guard sometimes, but a part of you none the less. You eventually evolve the hurt. The hurt mixes with everything else you felt about them. The hurt of the loss blurs together with the warmth of memories."

"Oh..."

There was a long silence, as Prismo looked between the body sleeping on the pedestal, and the drink in his hand. He gently set it down.

"...I might not know much about Jake. But I can tell he was special. It's okay to feel that hurt when you lose someone special. But... don't let it drown the warmth you felt with them. Remember them. The hurt just... tells you how much they were loved."

Scarab felt the tingle of light as Prismo wrapped around him completely. He could feel the Wishmaster's chest struggling to heave. The beetle shushed him softly, petting his talons against what he could reach.

"...One second" Scarab whispered. He conjured both himself and Prismo a small glass of Star Punch. He picked his up. "A toast. To Jake."

Prismo blinked wetly, a shaky hand reaching for his glass. "To Jake. And to Cricket."

"To Jake and Cricket. Lost, but loved, forever and always."

The two clinked glasses and took their drink.

Scarab knew talking about this would bubble up old emotions. That cloyingly harsh coldness, fighting with an aching warmth. Thinking too long about his home did that, sometimes.

But, it was worth it. Worth it to remember his friend. Worth it to bring some comfort to his partner. Worth it to bring some light onto the peacefully sleeping body across the room.

Lost, but loved.

Forever and always.

#prohibitedwish #scarab x prismo #scarab the god auditor #prismo the wishmaster #prohibitedwish fanfic #wrath of the wishmaster #tw: sucidal thoughts #tw: suicidal ideation #tw: alcohol

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