#Because I can no longer look at anything with any remote resemblance OR ANY AT ALL without me relating it to them

[kikyoupdates]

Love Bite ⭑˚🩸⭑ 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒

yandere!vampires x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, original characters, vampire!ocs x fem!reader

Desperate for money to pay off your debts, you sign up for a program that allows you to sell your blood to vampires. At first, everything is fine, and you’re finally able to make ends meet. But they soon begin craving more than just your blood.

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It doesn’t hurt as much anymore.  

You let out a quiet sigh and lean your head further back. As always, Xavier is holding you close while he drinks your blood. You can feel his lips gently sucking on the surface of your skin, and there’s the dull discomfort of his fangs being lodged in your neck, but the pain is unmistakably less intense than before. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re starting to become a bit more accustomed to this whole thing, or if Xavier really is making an effort to be as gentle as possible, but either way, it’s far more manageable now. 

He even pulls away from time to time, just to make sure that you’re doing alright.  

“Still okay?” he affirms.  

You nod. “I’m fine, thank you. You can keep going until you’ve taken the usual amount.”  

Xavier pauses for a moment, and he doesn’t smile, not quite, but there’s a subtle warmth that fills his gaze, and for some reason, it puts you at ease.  

Yeah. This is what vampires should be like. That asshole Felix could really take a page out of Xavier’s book.  

You sit there for a while longer, waiting for Xavier to be done. You haven’t been feeling too lightheaded these days, so you figure the supplements you’ve been taking must have helped somewhat. So long as you don’t run into any other clients like Felix, who drink far more blood than the allotted amount, you’ll probably be fine.  

Xavier eventually pulls back for good, making sure to wipe his blood-stained lips with a napkin. You can appreciate how put-together he is, because seeing someone with your blood smeared across their face will never be a pretty sight. Although you suppose that’s another thing you’re slowly getting used to.  

“How are you feeling?” Xavier asks.  

“I’m good,” you reassure. “Don’t worry. If something was off, or if I was feeling unwell, I would make sure to let you know. I’m not reckless with my health.”  

Ha. Okay, that was a bit of a lie, considering you just landed yourself in the hospital not long ago, but in your defense, that wasn’t entirely your fault.  

Xavier seems relieved to know that you’re feeling alright, and normally, this is the part where he would get up to leave, but today, he opts to stay seated for longer.  

After a few moments of silent deliberation, he works up the nerve to ask:  

“Do you have any other clients besides me?”  

The question catches you off guard. For one thing, he doesn’t normally engage you in conversation, other than occasionally checking in to make sure you’re not feeling sick. Unless you’re mistaken, it’s the first time he’s asked you anything remotely resembling a personal question, even if it was simple intrigue on his part.  

Before you can respond, Xavier scrunches his brows together. “Um. Actually, forget what I just said. You don’t need to answer that. Now that I’ve stopped to think about it, it’s not really any of my business, and it was perhaps a bit inappropriate to ask.”  

He looks rather flustered all of a sudden, which amuses you, because he’s normally stoic and poised—almost to a fault.  

Well. In any case, you suppose you have nothing to hide.  

“I did have another client,” you admit. “But I had to drop him because he was making me uncomfortable. So, right now, you’re the only one I’m meeting with.”  

Xavier frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that. This arrangement only works if the client and donor respect one another, so it’s unfortunate that you had to have such an unpleasant experience.” After a brief pause, his eyes widen in concern. “I’m... not making you feel the same way, am I? Because if so, I urge you to be honest with me. The last thing I want is to upset you.”  

“That isn’t the case at all,” you assure him. “I enjoy meeting with you, Xavier. You’ve even gone to the trouble to make sure it doesn’t hurt me so much anymore, and I really appreciate it.”  

Unless you’re imagining it, he looks a bit pleased all of a sudden. Then again, it’s a bit hard to tell with him, since his expression reverts to a neutral state almost immediately.  

With your session having come to an end, he finally stands up to leave, but once again, he doesn’t walk out of the room right away.  

Instead, he glances back at you, looking a touch hesitant.  

“Have... a nice day,” he eventually settles upon. It comes out sounding a bit awkward, because quite frankly, he’s a bit awkward, but it’s the thought that counts, and you can’t help but smile. 

“Thanks!” you beam. “I hope you have a nice day as well.”  

This time, he actually leaves, swapping places with the doctor that comes in to examine you after every session. The doctor pulls the door shut to conduct the examination in private, but right before it closes, Xavier steals one last glance your way.  

You don’t see it, but there’s a smile on his lips. 

“Thanks for agreeing to come with me, [Name]! I’m so glad we finally have the chance to hang out like this.”  

You’re walking down the street with Caleb, having just finished washing dishes for several hours straight. He invited you to go someplace with him after your shifts were over, and usually, you’re so tired that you head straight home, or you book it to your other part-time job depending on what your schedule’s like, but for once, you finally have some free time.  

You wouldn’t normally have taken him up on his offer. Quite frankly, you’re usually way too fucking tired, and you don’t often have the time to spare. But ever since Caleb called you his friend, you’ve been trying to open up to him more. Life is one hell of a shitshow, at least for you, but friends are supposed to make it a bit more bearable. They’re supposed to help you smile and laugh, and find joy in the little things.  

Besides, Caleb is clearly a nice guy. He’s the kind of guy anyone would want as their friend. He’s one of the few good things that ever happened to you, and you’ve decided you’ll do everything you can to keep him around. 

“Thanks for inviting me,” you say, offering a brief smile. “I’m probably not that fun to be around since I just work all the time, but I’ll do my best not to bore you.”  

Caleb blinks repeatedly. “What? There’s no way you could ever bore me! I always have fun when I’m with you. Whenever I find out we have a shift together, I always get super pumped!”  

He flashes you a huge grin for added emphasis, and you giggle, very much amused by his golden retriever-type personality.  

As it turns out, the place Caleb wanted to bring you to is an arcade. You’ve never been anywhere like this before. Even as a child, your parents never took you. Well, you grew up poor, after all, and they were usually either gambling away whatever money they had or spending it on drugs and alcohol. Taking care of their daughter wasn’t exactly at the top of their priority list.  

You suppose there’s no point in lamenting the past, though. There’s no need to waste your time thinking about the selfish assholes who abandoned you, and besides, all that matters is that Caleb brought you here. You’d like to try enjoying the moment as best you can.  

Caleb leads you inside and buys enough tokens for the both of you. He insists that it’s the least he can do, since he’s the one that invited you out, and he reassures you that it isn’t that expensive either. Part of you feels guilty about not contributing, but the other part of you is secretly relieved that he offered to pay.  

He gives you a quick run-down of the place and shows you some of his favorite machines. He must come here pretty often, by the sounds of it. You can sort of understand why, though. The arcade is loud, equipped with colorful, vibrant lights, and everyone is clearly having a great time. You spot friends laughing as they beat each other at the games, parents that are cheering their children on, and even some people that have come alone, but are still enjoying themselves. 

“Look!” Caleb beams. “They have Mario Kart. Do you like Mario Kart?”  

“I’ve never played it before,” you admit.  

“What?! Seriously?”  

His eyes bulge out of his head, as if the very notion of such a thing is beyond his comprehension. You chuckle softly in response. Again, you grew up in poverty and had a remarkably shitty childhood, so... yeah. Video games weren’t really your biggest concern.  

“I’ll teach you how to play,” Caleb offers. He gently grabs your hand and leads you towards the machine. “It’s really simple, but it’s fun. Well, for the most part. It can also get kind of frustrating when people keep spamming shells at you.”  

You bite back a grin. You never expected him to be so passionate about video games. It’s kind of cute.  

To no one’s surprise, you’re not very good at Mario Kart. Or any of the other arcade games, for that matter. Your lack of experience is woefully apparent, and you may as well be an overgrown toddler, with how you keep clumsily mashing buttons all over the place.  

“I kind of suck at this,” you remark aloud.  

Caleb laughs. “It’s okay. People come here to play for fun. No one’s keeping track of how well you’re doing.”  

“But you’ve been winning so many more tickets than me.”  

“Well, that’s because I don’t suck,” he muses, winking at you.  

You huff. What a little show-off. Fine, then. You’ll take him up on his challenge. Practice makes perfect, after all. Besides, with all these different machines, you’re bound to find at least one game that you’re better than him at. Right?  

Wrong.  

“Oh my god!” you fume. “I’m tired of losing! Can't you go a bit easier on me?”  

Caleb clamps a palm over his mouth, clearly stifling the urge to laugh, although he’s not doing a very good job of it. “Th-That wouldn’t be fair to you,” he chuckles. “Would you be satisfied with a win if I just hand it to you?”  

“At this point, yes!”  

He fully laughs out loud this time. Meanwhile, you roll your eyes in frustration. Arcades are fun. They are fun, but still. You never imagined you would suck this bad.  

“Come on,” Caleb gestures. He’s composed himself and is back to smiling gently. “There are still a few machines we haven’t tried yet. Don’t give up hope. I’ve got a good feeling you’ll pull through in the end.” 

You cross your arms and stick up your nose, pretending to snub him. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it just makes his smile widen, and his cheeks flush a beautifully pink shade. He doesn’t say it so that you don’t think he’s making fun of you, but you’re ridiculously adorable right now.  

You stop in front of a new machine. It’s some type of arcade fighting game, the kind where you have to pull off combos to win. You highly doubt you’ll stand a chance against someone as skilled as Caleb, but maybe you’ll get lucky by button-mashing enough. Or at the very least, you’ll be satisfied with not having him wipe the floor with you.  

But you suppose you’ll never find out, because someone decides to rudely cut in.  

“Move,” a deep, impatient voice mutters. “I was here first.”  

There’s a young man leaning against the side of the machine. You didn’t notice him at first because he was so quiet, but it looks like he also wants to play this game.  

“Oh. Sorry,” you mumble. “Go ahead. We’ll wait until you’re done.”  

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even nod in response. He just positions himself in front of the machine, then reaches down to load a few tokens in.  

But then, Caleb steps in front of him. 

“Come on, man,” he frowns. “We clearly got here before you. You’re just trying to cut ahead. We won’t be long, so can you just let us have this?”  

The man’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck? I was the one who got here first. You were just too blind to notice me.”  

“I don’t think so. It kind of sounds like you’re making things up.”  

“Caleb, it’s fine,” you insist, grabbing him by the hand and trying to pull him away. He’s probably right about the fact that the two of you beat the other guy to it, but arguing with him doesn’t seem worth the hassle.  

Caleb smiles reassuringly. “It’s okay. I’m not trying to pick a fight, but I just think people need to respect others and wait their turn. I promise we won’t take too long. I’ll probably beat [Name] right away.”  

“Hey!” you protest.  

He chuckles and pats your head, to which you ball up your fists and shake them in his face. You’re too immersed in your banter to realize that the other man is dead silent now, and his expression is darkening faster by the second.  

“I’m using this machine,” he mutters. “So, fuck off and get out of my way.” 

Caleb stops patting your head, and just like that, his smile drops. 

He’s glaring now.  

“Dude,” he scowls. “I was trying to be polite here. I don’t know why you’re getting so hostile, but we’re all grown-ups here. Let’s not do this. It’s clear that you’re not going to budge, so fine, you can use the machine first. But for the record, talking to people like that really isn’t cool—”  

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. You can’t even process what’s happening in time. It all happens so fast.  

One second, Caleb is perfectly fine, but when you blink, he’s lying on the ground with a bloody nose.  

The man towers over Caleb’s fallen body. There’s blood on his knuckles, but instead of wiping it off, he brings it to his lips and swipes his tongue over the crimson fluid. You shrink back in horror, and suddenly, it makes sense why he was able to knock Caleb out so easily.  

“Tastes like ass,” the vampire grimaces. “Probably ‘cause of your shit personality. This is the problem with this fucking city. Dumbass humans think they can get away with disrespecting us.”  

The arcade is deathly silent now. Everyone has turned towards the source of the commotion, and rather than calling him out for his act of violence, they all shrink away out of fear. They’re clearly worried that if they so much as breathe wrong, he’ll come after them next.  

And honestly? You can’t blame them.  

Because you’re scared shitless too.  

“Ruined my fucking night,” the vampire hisses. He kicks the machine, and if it wasn’t screwed into the ground, you get the sense that it would have flown backwards and shattered into pieces.  

He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks off. Everyone steps aside in a hurry, desperate to stay out of his way. That was a public assault, and the police will probably have to be called, but the vampire doesn’t seem the slightest bit concerned. Almost as if he’s used to getting away with this kind of thing.  

Your muscles don’t unclench until you’ve affirmed that he’s left the arcade, and the moment he does, you drop to your knees and cry out.  

“Caleb! Are you alright?!”  

It’s rather ironic. Not long ago, he was the one in this position, fretting over your unconscious body when you blacked out at work. It doesn’t look like he’s unconscious, thankfully, but his nose is almost certainly broken, and you can only imagine how much pain he’s in—on top of being incredibly scared.  

“I-I’m fine,” he winces, slowly sitting up. “Shit... I wasn’t expecting... him to hit me.”  

You wrap your arm around his shoulders and swallow nervously. He wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you hadn’t come to the arcade with him. The one time you decide to let loose and do something fun, and it ends like this.  

“Someone needs to call the police,” you insist, addressing the crowd. “What just happened is a serious crime. He broke my friend’s nose!”  

Caleb keeps trying to reassure you that he’s going to be okay, but you’re not having it. Vampires are naturally stronger than humans, which means it’s their responsibility to hold back and exert restraint. They can’t just go around doing shit like this. It’s beyond fucked up.  

And yet, the longer you stare at the crowd, the more you start to realize that something’s not right.  

A man clears his throat. “Uh... you don’t know who that is, do you?”  

“Huh? What are you talking about?”  

“That vampire. He comes here pretty often, and a lot of us regulars know to keep our distance and avoid him.”  

So? What are they trying to say? Just because he’s known for being an asshole doesn’t mean that they should let this slide. If anything, it’s all the more reason to make him own up for what he’s done.  

“He attacked my friend,” you grimace. “For no reason.”  

“Yeah. I know, and it sucks. A lot of my friends have stopped coming to this arcade because of him. Because he’s such a loose cannon. But unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do about it. He’s untouchable.”  

You narrow your eyes, still not understanding what the fuck he’s on about.  

“That’s Kai,” the man finally says. “And... he’s the Police Commissioner’s adopted son.”  

Oh.  

You blink repeatedly.  

Oh.  

"Well, shit,” you mutter.

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[ohitslen]

They are serving alright

Alternative vers. under

Inspiration:

Ann Demeulemeester Fall 2018 Ready-To-Wear Fashion Show

Alberta Ferretti Fall 2018 Ready-To-Wear-Fashion Show

[antebunny]

a cuckoo in the nest

(part three. for @authenticaussie whose comments on parts 1 & 2 inspired me to write this. i might actually finish writing the whole thing now hehe).

Premise: fae!Tim AU where Tim's parents gave him to the fae when he was nine. Now he's twelve, part fae, and trying to escape the Unseelie Queen. He strikes a bargain: if he can make every member of the Wayne family love him by the end of summer, he can leave. If not, he must stay with the Unseelie Queen forever.

Meanwhile, Bruce strikes his own bargain with her: he gets Jason back, safe and sound. In return he takes in this creature of her choosing, which resembles a human boy. Of course he won't let it hurt his family, but he'll play along for Jason's sake.

[part one] [part two]

~

“What the fuck, Bruce?” 

When Bruce’s eldest bursts into his study he knows it’s going to be a long afternoon. Dick has spent much more time around Wayne Manor since he brought Jason back, but he and Bruce haven’t spoken much one-on-one. So Dick approaching him now means he’s ready to fight.

Dick waits for the doors to slam closed behind him before he demands: “Why didn’t you tell us that Tim’s our neighbor?”

Bruce sighs and gestures for Dick to take a seat in the green velvet lacquer chair across from his desk. “What are you talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Dick rages, “I know you knew that Tim used to be our neighbor before his shit parents gave him away. You didn’t think this was relevant information for the rest of us?”

Usually Bruce is pretty good at figuring out what line of thought Dick is racing after like the world’s largest bunny rabbit. He’s not subtle and in fact is usually openly cheerful about it. In this case, however, Bruce struggles to connect the fae in his house with anyone living in Bristol. He mentally sifts through all the information stored in his brain about the current and past Bristol residents (very paltry, compared to his database on the most effective acids and poisons) and finally comes up with Jack and Janet Drake, of Drake Industries. They’d had a son of approximately the right age of the fae–or what the fae appears to be. 

Bruce reminds himself that just because the fae looks and acts like a human child doesn’t mean it is anything even remotely human. Like the Unseelie Queen it will exploit every weakness and loophole it can find in the bargain if Bruce lets it. That said, he is reluctantly impressed by the fae’s acting. Of course, the fae says and does things that are transparently unusual for a human child, but given that the fae is not a human at all, it’s doing a rather convincing job of pretending to be one. More than pretending, it attempts to stir sympathy and protective feelings from the other members of Bruce’s family through its lost little boy act. Worst of all, it’s working on them. 

“Tim…Drake,” Bruce ventures. 

Dick rolls his eyes explosively (quite the feat for anyone but Dick, for whom it is a natural talent). “Yes,” he huffs. “At least with Jason you told us you fished him out of a dumpster. Tim you just dropped him here without a word. I mean I’m trying to include him and stuff but…you aren’t exactly making it easy, B.”

Even though Dick is mad at him, Bruce can’t help the creeping feeling of fondness. It’s been a while since Dick sat in that chair, and Bruce had nearly forgotten how he sprawls, half-noodle, half-boy, into any container he’s put into. Dick has a way of being laidback and looking comfortable everywhere, even at galas where he is distinctly uncomfortable. In Bruce’s office, he looks right at home. When Dick was younger, he used to insist on sitting in the chair even though his feet dangled half a foot off the ground, determined to be grown-up and taken seriously. Now he overflows, draping himself over and around an old wooden chair that no longer fits him. 

The memories remind Bruce exactly of what exactly is at stake here. It’s no longer just Jason. Dick, Alfred, even Barbara who is spiritually his, and the mantle of Batman depend upon Bruce winning this battle with the fae. 

Unfortunately, the Unseelie Queen’s bargain with Bruce has trapped him in an awful cycle. In order to protect Jason, he must act as if this fae is a regular human boy. But in order to protect his whole family, he must not only keep an eye on the fae but also convince them to be on their guard around it. 

“It is not easy,” Bruce enunciates carefully. 

Dick rolls his eyes again. “Boys, you have a new little brother, his name is Tim Drake, I acquired him through dubious and doubtless wacky magical means. Boom. How hard was that?”

It is deeply distressing to Bruce that the fae has convinced Dick that it is Tim Drake. A lucky coincidence, perhaps, that the real Drake boy is approximately the right age? But why him, out of all the boys in Gotham? Bruce doesn’t believe in coincidences. He’ll have to look into that. 

But first, he must rid Dick of his delusion. He has refrained from interfering with any of the fae’s interactions with his children of Alfred so far, terrified that he might jeopardize Jason’s life. Now the fae goes too far. Nevertheless, Bruce has faith in his children, in his brilliant, clever, caring boys. They’ll figure the fae out.

“It is not easy,” Bruce repeats. “It is…impossible.”

“Impossible to say what? His name? Where you got him?” Dick’s eyebrows knit together when Bruce stays silent. “B. What type of magical means?”

Bruce sits ramrod straight. He places both palms flat on the desk, brushing aside some old papers on WE finance reports. Stares right into Dick’s eyes. And says nothing.

“Ohhhhhhhh.” Dick leans back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. “I see what you’re saying. Or what you’re not saying. I’m picking up what you’re putting down.” He waggles a finger at Bruce, frown replaced with his typical cheeky smile. “Don’t worry B, me and Babs are on the case. We’ll figure this out for you no prob.”

“Hnnnnn,” Bruce says neutrally.

“Hehe, I knew you couldn’t suck that much at communicating.” Dick springs up and leaves the office whistling what seems to be birdsong, in a much better mood than when he entered.

As soon as the doors close again, Bruce sinks into his chair with a deep sigh. Dick knows something is awry. He’ll get Barbara, perhaps his friends on the Titans, and definitely Jason whenever he finds out, to solve the mystery for Bruce. He has faith in them. He taught Dick everything that he knows, and Dick is plenty innovative on his own. If nothing else, his establishment as Nightwing has proven that he can roll with the best of the best. Bruce is unbearably proud of his kid. Now he just hopes it is enough.

Bruce is nearly certain he did nothing to imply that the fae is not human. Perhaps he implied that the fae was “acquired,” as Dick put it, through magical means, but that by no means implies that the fae itself is not human. It isn’t, of course, but that is for Dick to find out through no suggestion or help on Bruce’s part. 

He knows that Dick will agree with his decision to bargain their safety for Jason’s safe return. The only person he suspects might disagree is Jason himself. Already he can picture Jason lecturing him if and when he finds out: accusing Bruce of doing it for himself, of being unbearably selfish, of forcing Jason to bear a responsibility he never asked for. And Bruce will bear it all because it’s all true. He saw a way to have his son back without having to break his moral code and he seized it. Jason can call it self-serving and hate Bruce all he wants, because Bruce would do it again in a heartbeat. 

-

“So, Timmy,” Dick says casually, “are you a metahuman or what?”

Barbara, Dick and Tim are in the middle of a near-empty Staples when Dick pops out with his invasive question. They’re shopping for school supplies, since come fall Tim will need to go to school. Bruce has registered him, through a combination of fake and real forms, for Gotham Academy. Tim’s memories of school were his first to go from Before, when he was purely human. Needless to say he’s not looking forward to school again. But he’ll be going with Jason, and maybe they can talk about it even though they’ll be three grades apart. He’ll get to know kids his age who will learn his name and never think twice about using it. Anything that makes Tim more human is a good thing, in his book. 

“Dick, for the love of God,” Barbara groans. She casts a quick look around the Staples. Luckily, no one is around to hear. 

Sometimes she wonders how she got caught up in not one but two school shopping trips for Dick’s little brothers. No less than eight employees and customers at the various stores they’ve stopped at have given them strange looks, no doubt thinking that Dick and Barbara are a tragically young couple to have a kid Tim’s age. She isn’t sure who would be most embarrassed if she corrected them, so she said nothing.

The truth, that Barbara is a freshman in college taking her high school boyfriend’s new kid brother shopping, potentially sounds stranger. Add in the part where they’re trying to acclimate the kid to human society, and Barbara’s certain she’d be kicked out of the store.

“What?” Dick protests. “I have a deal with B. C’mon Timmy, you don’t want your favorite big brother to lose to the big bad B, do you?”

“A deal?” Tim warbles.

“Yeah,” Dick persists doggedly. He still hasn’t figured out what triggers Tim, so for now he continues until Tim comes to some internal resolution. “He doesn’t think I can figure it out. C’mon Tim, my ego’s on the line here.”

Tim stares at the blue spiral notebook in his hands. Both Dick and Barbara lean in, anticipatory, as he turns it over and over. Despite Barbara’s reservations about Dick’s timing and bluntness, she’s also desperately curious about where the new kid comes from. All he has been able to tell her so far is that Bruce seems to have sworn some kind of oath not to talk about the details.

“You don’t have to tell us,” Barbara adds, only a little reluctantly. “But you know, no matter if you’re an alien or a cyborg or a sentient piece of mud, you’re a part of the family, right?” She gestures in a wide circle, to encapsulate the absurdity of their situation. 

Two first-year college students, arms full of Ticonderoga pencils, notebooks, binders, rulers, calculators and the like, all for a not-quite-human twelve-year-old boy. Jason insisted on getting his own trip, which really made Barbara feel like she and Dick really were parents with two kids competing to be the favorite. Jason also strong-armed Barbara into agreeing to a Dragon Ball Z marathon next weekend. She really doesn’t know how she’ll explain that one to her new college friends. They already think she’s a bit strange for still dating her high school boyfriend. 

“I’m not…I made a bargain,” Tim whispers. He trusts them, even though he grips that notebook so tightly it folds over. Weeks ago he gave Dick and Jason his true name and they have never used it to make him do something he doesn’t want to do. Surely, if he can trust them not to use his name against him, he can trust them with this. 

“With who?” Barbara asks immediately.

“About…?” Dick prompts at the same time.

Tim ponders over the phrasing until words lose their meaning. There really is no safe way to explain that he made a deal with the Unseelie Queen to secure their undying affection in exchange for his freedom, is there? No matter how he says it, he’ll be outed as the emotionally manipulative little infiltrator that he is. In the end, all Tim can do is shake his head. “If I win my bargain I’ll be fully human,” he evades.

“Oookay.” Dick attempts to fit this piece of information into his catalogue of Timmy facts. So far it includes “used to be Timothy Drake, age nine” and “my parents handed me over as part of a mysterious deal” and “I’m not fully human (anymore???)” and “Bruce can’t talk about where he found me” and now “I made a bargain with my own humanity.” It’s not making any goddamn sense. Dick has some amount of pride in his skills as a detective, and Tim’s situation is pretty thoroughly destroying it. The only through-line he’s found is an awful lot of bargains and deals. Which perhaps explains Tim’s overreaction to Dick saying he made a deal. Whoops. 

“But you know,” Barbara jumps in again, “you don’t have to be fully hu–”

“I want to be,” Tim cries. “I want it back. I will be–”

Someone clears their throat. At the end of the notebooks aisle, a Staples employee points at the analog clock on the western wall. It’s rather unhelpful as a visual signal, since only Barbara can read it.

“It’s almost closing time,” the employee explains delicately. They look anywhere but Tim’s teary face or Barbara and Dick holding hands. 

-

“Mr. Wayne,” Tim says bravely, “can we talk, sir?”

School starts in a couple of weeks. Tim is running out of summer, but he has Alfred, Dick, Jason and Barbara firmly on his side. Last week Jason taught him how to make frijoles and tried to get him to read Jane Austen. Neither attempt succeeded, but the intent was there. Dick tried to teach him parkour, which went much better. His one remaining problem is that Batman still does not want him at all. 

So he corners Batman when the man’s alone with one solid plan of action, a heart full of hope, and two shaking knees. 

Batman stares down at him suspiciously. “Yes.” 

He turns away abruptly and Tim hurries to keep up with his long strides. After so long in the human realm, he no longer have the floatiness they once did. By the time Batman makes it to his office, Tim is panting. His feet hurt. He worries and waits in the corner as Batman shuts the doors, shutters the windows, and manually activates enough security measures to shock Harry Houdini. Is he in trouble? He hasn’t even done anything yet. 

Wordlessly, Batman gestures for him to take a seat. “What is it.”

Tim collapses into the chair. His feet dangle half a foot in the air. “I would like to make a deal.”

“No.”

“Please, Mr. Wayne.” Tim can’t cry yet, he hasn’t made his proposal. “I–I think–”

“I said no–”

“I’m offering information!” Tim says quickly. His hands, driven to distraction by all his stress, twist into pattern after pattern in his lap. “I can tell you what I can do and how the fae work.”

Batman is a regular human who operates in a world of gods and monsters. He works with the most powerful superheroes. He leads the best of the best. In order to do that he plans. He needs information, and there’s only one area where Tim knows more than him. 

Batman’s eyes narrow. “And what do you want in return?”

The same love and affection he gives so freely to Dick and Jason. But Tim knows better than to ask for that. That’s why he’s proposing this deal in the first place. He can’t trick Batman into loving him the same way he tricked the others, but maybe he can offer his services. Maybe if Tim is useful enough, good enough, that will be enough for Tim to get to stay. So instead:

“A Nikon D850,” Tim answers. “It’s a camera, sir. For nighttime photography.”

For a tortuously long moment, Batman just stares at him with that dark, unreadable expression. There isn’t a hint of emotion, much less affection, in his eyes. Tim’s hands flap around loudly. He jams them under his thighs to quiet them. 

“Done,” Batman says tonelessly. “Now tell me everything you know. And,” he adds, voice dropping to a growl, “I will know if you’re lying.”

Despite his promises to himself, something hot stings Tim’s eyes and tickles the back of his throat. He’s not sure if Batman has magic powers, but he doesn’t doubt the threat for a second. 

“Right,” Tim acknowledges, only a half-step from crying. “Well. I was born Tim Drake. When–”

“I know you purport to be Timothy Drake.”

Tim’s shoulders hitch. Batman’s interruption cuts, paper-cut-like, into his thin skin. One wrong word from flinching, one quarter step from crying. 

Batman pins him to the chair with cold eyes. “I already said I will know if you’re lying. Try again.”

It’s so unfair that Tim almost bursts into tears just from frustration. Just because his parents sold away his right to be Timothy Drake doesn’t mean that he wasn’t born human. But he knows better than to argue with Batman, so he takes his second chance and changes the subject. 

“Yessir. Sorry, sir. I can teach you how to find fairy circles,” Tim offers. “The trick is not to look for something out of place. ‘One may enter the realm of the fae wherever the–”

“–Wherever the wild and mundane meet,” Batman interrupts, voice so flat he sounds bored. Unspoken is the order: tell me something I don’t already know.

Tim had forgotten that Batman journeyed to the fae realm by himself. It isn’t as though he stumbled upon a fairy circle by accident and decided to strike up a deal with the Unseelie Queen. He must have researched how to locate fairy circles by himself. He’s Batman. What in the world can Tim possibly tell him that he doesn’t already know?

“I can tell you about the abilities of the fae in the human realm,” Tim suggests, nearly despairing. “We can commune with plants. We are more in tune with the weather. We can, um, float a little. Sometimes. I think I can also make people not notice me. It’s like a veil on people’s senses. Like I’m always in their per-fory–per-fi-fory–periphery vision–”

“You can also make plants grow a little fast,” Batman interrupts for the third time. “You sometimes cause video footage of you to corrupt. You attract the loyalty of animals, both wild and domesticated.” His lip curls. “You are a superb actor.”

Somehow Tim doesn’t feel complimented. The underlying dark tone to Batman’s observations is I told you I was watching you. But it is the lip curl, a small, nearly intangible action, that finally breaks Tim, not a word or even anything serious. Just the slight hint of a sneer on Batman’s face even though the Unseelie Queen has accustomed Tim to far worse condescension and Batman isn’t even wrong to judge him. Hasn’t he tricked the rest of Batman’s family into loving him with his acting?  

Tim squeezes his eyes shut. A tear escapes and leaves a cold trail on his cheek as it snakes its way to his chin. He fights the urge to vomit. “I can teach you how to use a fae’s true name against them,” he whispers.

When he opens his eyes, Batman is watching him cry with a blank, apathetic face.

“To test that,” Mr. Wayne says slowly, “I’ll need to use yours.”

All at once Tim is struck by the childish desire to close his eyes and wish himself into a world where Batman never looks at him like a dangerous, evil, life-sucking parasite. Wants so dearly to deny the existence of this world where he must replace the Unseelie Queen with his hero. But Batman demands it must be so. Declares that Tim has no other use. So Tim trembles and shakes and falls apart in that oversized lacquer chair until he’s cried his little heart out, but in the end he gives Batman what he wants.  

“I understand, sir,” Tim says miserably. 

It won’t be forever, Tim vows to himself. If Mr. Wayne accepts him, if Tim is allowed to stay, then one day he will be fully human again. One day his name will hold no power over him than it would over any human. Mr. Wayne doesn’t want to use it like the Unseelie Queen does anyways, he just wants to verify Tim’s honesty, which is fair because Tim has done nothing but lie since arriving to Wayne Manor. 

Even though it feels awfully cruel. 

Tim scrambles through his memories to recall how it was explained to him. “A fae is under the thrall of whomsoever can speak their true name.” Then he struggles to verbalize what it actually feels like to have your name used against you. “But the effects–they’re temporary. It’s like…a rubber band. You can pull it into a shape but the moment you stop it instantly snaps back. And if you use it again and again and again then it works less and less and less.”

“Fae names suffer from diminishing returns.” Mr. Wayne looks just the tiniest bit amused. At least he’s not interrupting Tim this time.

Tim has no idea what that means, but he nods anyways. “And it is easier to command that which is easily given. The…effect is…quicker.”

When the Unseelie Queen says dance then Tim is swaying before his body can communicate with his head, but when she says won’t you stay with me forever, Timothy Jackson Drake? then Tim digs his heels in and refuses. You can be the prince of my Unseelie Court, little one. Drink the blood of stars, dance with the mad and the lost, and serve at my feet forevermore. Tim shudders and shoves the memory away firmly. It won’t ever come true. Tim won’t let it.

Tim straightens to the fullest height offered by the giant chair, acting for all the world as if he is making a business deal with an equal. “You may use Timothy Drake,” he offers primly. “Though it doesn’t work very well on me.”

“But of course.” Bruce assumes that this is because Timothy Drake is the assumed name of a fae who refuses to give Bruce its true name. He cannot say he blames it. “Stand up, Timothy Drake.”

Tim pushes the chair back and stands. He blinks. Feeling return to his legs as pinpricks of sensations. He sits back down. 

For the first time, Mr. Wayne’s gaze breaks away from Tim. He casts about his office in search of a command which Tim would be reluctant to do yet doesn’t break Batman’s moral code. Tim, who had begun to recover his nerve, starts to tremble again. Mr. Wayne received the information of fae’s true names positively, so Tim became more confident. Now he worries that Mr. Wayne received it too positively. Where is his line? What wouldn’t he order Tim to do, if he could? 

“Come here, Timothy Drake,” Mr. Wayne commands finally. 

Tim’s legs move of their own accord again. They carry him around Mr. Wayne desk until he stands before the man. He may be a liar but he is not so good that naked terror isn’t written plainly on his face. He keeps his hands behind his back and lets them twist around and around out of sight.

“Now,” Mr. Wayne says. “Timothy Drake. Take a step to the left. Right. Spin. Sit. Up. Right. Left. Left. Jump. Down.”

The rapid volley of commands ends with Tim flat on his stomach, chin stinging fiercely from its introduction to the floor. His body interpreted down as fall on your face for him. He gets back to his feet unsteadily and waits for more. 

“Take this batarang.” Mr. Wayne pulls it out of one of the desk’s many secret compartments. “Timothy Drake. Cut my hand.”

Tim lurches, batarang between his fingers, for one heart-stopping moment, towards Mr. Wayne’s outstretched hand before he gets himself back under control. Batman watches just as unemotionally as before as the batarang nears his unprotected palm, as Tim wars with himself.

“I don’t want to,” Tim pleads. “Please, Mr. Wayne.” His hand shakes violently. “Please don’t make me.”

“Stop.”

The batarang clatters to the floor. Mr. Wayne leans back in his chair, unaffected. Tim staggers back to his own chair, cheeks stained anew with hot tears. 

“It feels like someone altering who you are.” Tim offers this truth in a last, desperate appeal to make Mr. Wayne understand. “It’s like someone possessing you. I know it’s not very powerful, Mr. Wayne, but–it hurts. It–”

Mr. Wayne raises a hand. “Enough.” His voice is just as gravely as before, but it feels a little more gentle. “I believe you.”

The next morning, a Nikon D850 appears in Tim’s bedroom. He leaves it on his nightstand. In a week he’ll pick it up and head to the streets where he first found Batman and Robin. But for now, the sight fills him with dread. 

[meraki-yao]

Now I'm curious to know all the "candies" between Nick and Tay 👀 lol I don't ship them but I also find it interesting that some fans really ship real people together and gather evidence or proof of it. If its fine with you to share it pls do 🙏 but if not its also fine :)

Huh...

Actually, sure! I kinda wanted to share some of these at times but again I understand that rps is a complicated subject.

A couple of quick prefaces though:

1, If you’re uncomfortable with the subject, again, please don’t read under the post

2, I don’t have all the candies because I really just view them in passing, so I’m just gonna write/translate the ones I’ve seen, remember and find at least a logical speculation

3, I need to reiterate this in case my position in this gets misunderstood: Me writing about “candies” isn’t because these are MY opinion or things *I* found or *I* believe in them being evidence. I am just a translator and messenger.

4, (this one is gonna sound a little academic lol) Two things I realized when thinking about this “candy eating” culture is that Chinese people have a very difference understanding of platonic/romantic affection/relationships with the Western world, and that they look at the candies with rose-tinted glass. Chinese/Asian people are generally a lot less affectionate with their personal relationships, for example friends wouldn’t say “love you” to each other if they’re just friends, nor would they expand their friend group to the others easily or other stuff. And these people who look for candy go into their “investigation” already with the belief that “they are together”, everything remotely resembling a close relationship will automatically be interpreted as romantic. I thought about it a lot, and honestly among the “candies” I’ve seen, most of them are a matter of interpretation: yes those are things couples will do, but it wouldn’t be weird if friends did it too. So they’re not that seriously or up for further speculation. There is I think only one “candy” that I can’t quite say the same, which I will explain and elaborate on in this post. 

5, Please remember that the people who do this do it in good nature: something I didn’t make clear in my post yesterday, which is on me, is that the fans do want them to be together, but they’re not like… yandere level or something. If they’re just friends the fans won’t be upset or betrayed or anything, they just prefer to see them as romantic. They don’t mean any harm, and they don’t cause any harm because China is physically and digitally too far away for them to actually fuck shit up, and they understand the lines of parasocial relationships: those who met with Taylor during his China trip in December know to, and didn’t bring up this in front of him. They know where to draw the line, and whoever doesn’t and starts becoming a problem gets kicked out of the community. This is meant for fun.

6, Ok Future Meraki here, turns out, there’s a lot to translate, a lot more than I anticipated Jesus Christ and I do want to get this post how within today and make it a reasonable length, so I’m just gonna do two events and the one that I mentioned in 4. If yall want a part 2 let me know.

Ok with that being said, the main event under the cut:

In December they made a whole article about “candies” from December, and to quickly summarise (again noted that all of this is speculation, I didn’t and can’t fact check them, and I’m just a translator) (also this ended up way longer than I anticipated so for photo reference if you can please go to the link of the original article):

Academy Gala:

Nick and Taylor both attended the gala: Since the strike ended up to that point, the two times Nick attends a public event, Taylor’s there too (GQ men of the year and Academy Gala), and for both times he’s wearing Cartier’s Tank Must Watch (remember this watch, I’m gonna elaborate on it later because it is the only candy that even I can’t say it’s a matter of interpretation)

In various pictures of the night’s party that other people took, the boys can be seen together in the background

How the photography worked that night was magazine photographers wandered around the venue and randomly found people to take some relatively candid photos: so people who were walking/sitting/in any way sticking together would be photographed together. So best friends and married couples would be photographed together, which is what happened to Meryl Streep, Greta Gerwig, Saoirse Ronan, and Christopher Nolan, Cillian Murphy and their wives. With that logic, Taylor and Nick were caught by the photographer together TWICE, in clearly different places. Later Korean fans (with the same “candy-searching” mindset) read the time on Taylor’s watch in the photos: one was 8:30, one was 9:50. The implication is that they were together for at least that period of time (nearly 1.5 hours)

In both photos of the boys together, Nick’s elbow is…straight up leaning into Taylor's chest. In a photo with Kaia, Nick’s friend and co-star from Bottoms (Brittany), there’s visible space between Nick and Kaia but none between Nick and Taylor (… okay I’m gonna pop in with my own opinion on the latter one real quick: I really think that one is just Nick being a gentleman)  

During that night, Taylor re-posted an Instagram post from July onto Little Red Book: but the things is in the comment section of the original Instagram post, Taylor teasingly pretends to not know Nick; and according to the posting time and the time calculated in 3, Nick would have been watching him post that to Little Red Book.

Nick got a photo with Taylor’s friend Jay Ellis (Jay and Taylor follow each other on Instagram, and Taylor comments under Jay’s post), even though Nick and Jay don’t seem to have any direct connections. Kaia and Taylor started following each other on Instagram after the event.

While other people who got photos with Taylor posted them, in Taylor’s Instagram Post for the night: He only included his photo with Nick, the rest are all solo portraits of himself. Not only that: he edited the background of the photo so it’s just them, and proceeded to put the photo in the middle of the post.

a bunch of Taylor's good friends, including Taylor’s cousin went to like Nick’s post for the academy gala night. Taylor’s sister Ash shared Taylor’s post to her stories: 2 photos of Taylor himself, and the one photo of Taylor and Nick. Taylor mentioned in a past interview if he had any emotional or relationship (I don’t know which one is the right translation, the original wording is 感情) issues, he would talk to Ash. (please note that I didn’t not and don’t know how to fact-check any of the things mentioned above except for Ash’s Instagram)

Conclusion/ Speculation (okay the academy gala part alone took me 40 minutes what the fuck): I cannot reiterate this enough: THIS IS JUST SPECULATION DO NOT TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY but under the assumption that Taylor and Nick are a thing, the serious of shenanigans that happened that night, especially with the family and friends stuff in 6,7,8, was interpreted as they announcing it to their personal social circle. AGAIN THIS IS SPECUALTION DON’T TAKE THIS SERIOSULY 

Taylor’s China Trip

On 7th December, Taylor had a photo shoot at the GQ gala venue, but spent the rest of the afternoon taking photos and signing things for fans. Among those, one was the photo of him and Nick from the academy gala just three days ago. He was visibly extra happy and showed off the photo to the crowd, unlike the other photos which he simply gets it, signs it, and then gives it back.

This day was also the start of “Taylor giving Nick/Henry a moustache”: throughout the trip, he drew on four photos of the two of them

(This one is a … really big stretch) among the four, one of them was the GQ magazine shoot, and he first drew the moustache on Nick’s face, giggling “I’ll sign on Nick’s face”, signed his own signature, then just when he was about to give the magazine back he suddenly changed his mind and said “wait wait I wanna do something on my face”, and then drew a crown on his head while muttering “crown prince”. And the thing is… historically, George Villers had a moustache. And then he drew a moustache on Nick and a crown on himself. Also, one of the most popular Chinese RWRB fic on AO3 is called “The King’s Palace”, and the premise is putting Henry in George place as the social climber and the Duke of Buckingham (it is literally George’s character with blonde hair and a different name), and Alex as the crown prince who ascended to the throne and is also utterly infatuated with Henry. So… yeah.

When he drew the fourth photo, which was the piano scene, the fan who asked said “Oh you’re so nice to Nick!” and according to their description (there’s no video), Taylor blushed a little and said “yeaahhhhh” with a big grin

While Taylor was in China people were stirring shit up on Twitter about him, and during the Twitter drama, Nick liked Taylor’s Academy Gala post.

The boys liked the same video on Instagram but from different accounts (a video about a pony in the snow)

During the trip, Taylor was seen wearing a white button-up with blue stripes. Nick has been seen wearing a shirt that looks identical before.

Cartier Watch (aka the one that makes me do a double take)

Taylor used to wear a lot of Cartier watches until he started wearing Tagheuer last July due to a commercial partnership

Nick likes wearing Omega watches. In fact, Henry’s watch in the movie is Nick’s own omega watch. He also has a commercial partnership with Omega.

But then starting last year, both of them were seen wearing matching Cartier’s Tank Must Watches (the silver on with a black surface and a sapphire crown): Taylor can be seen wearing it in the 5th photos of his September post, while Nick can be seen wearing it during the GQ gala, the Academy Gala, in Milan during fan interactions, and last weekend in his TIOY co-star’s Instagram story.

And the thing about this watch is (and here is where I need to reiterate that I’m just translating, I didn’t fact check this) 1, watch is a typical thing to give a lover, and you must be familiar with their wrist size 2, Cartier is a pretty romantic brand 3, the price of this watch is closer to what Taylor’s used to wearing but much cheaper than Omega 4, This specific watch is a popular watch to give a partner/lover, 5, David and Victoria Beckham’s relationship was discovered because paparazzi saw the Cartier watch he gave her and connected dots together

Jesus Christ at this point I should consider getting a part time job in translation

This was fun but this took me so much time, it’s ~2000 words long

Again, all of this was found and speculate for fun, and mean no ill will, and haven’t, and won’t harm the boys, please understand that and don’t take this took seriously. If you find this interesting and want a part two, let me know.

[philomenie]

Anything More Than Human

Pairing: Demon! Jolly x Harriet

CN smut, fluff, oral f receiving, penetration m to f, unprotected sex (use condoms!!), deflowering, sex with a demon, 18+, MDNI!

@nojoyontheburn @dsireland86 @jilliemiw86 @aubrey-melinoe

Life in the large wooden hut in the middle of the remote forests of the Appalachian Mountains could not have been easier for the four creatures that lived there.

Outwardly, when transformed, they resembled the inhabitants of the village to a tee, but when they appeared in their original form, they were anything more than human.

The transformation itself was not a problem for the 4 at any time of the year, only on one day of the year was it not possible for them, they were forced to live through the day and night in their original form....

This day was Samhain Halloween.

This day was today!

This day was to decide their fate and that of 4 sisters, 4 special sisters who knew neither of their specialness nor of their importance for the future of the forest.

“Millicent... stop, damn it!” curses Harriet, following her younger sister through the thicket to catch her.

Madness to go into the cursed woods at dusk on this day, out of sheer spite, to prove her right....

“Where is she?” Prudence, the eldest of the four sisters, wants to know.

“I don't know!” hisses Harriet, sweeping the branches out of the way as they appear in front of her.

Furious, she trudges further and further into the dark forest.

“We should turn back!” you hear the despondent voice of Elizabeth, the youngest.

“Without Milly? Not a chance! Father will have a hissy fit!” growls Harriet, continuing on her way undeterred.

“Harriet, stop!” Prudence puts all her authority into her words.

But Harriet neither slows her pace nor does she intend to listen to her sister.

She MUST find Millicent, otherwise it will be unpleasant for them all, including Millicent, because her father has strict rules that they all had to abide by.

These rules became increasingly strict and rigid after her mother's death, culminating in the fact that they were no longer allowed to leave the house unaccompanied.

Millicent had defied this, as she always does... not that Harriet couldn't have understood her, she has a mind as strong and free as her sister, who is only a few minutes younger.

But Harriet thinks things through, whereas Millicent acts spontaneously and sometimes rashly.

Millicent and her sister had grown up with the stories of the forest, with the warnings told by their beloved mother and grandmother.

But they were never allowed in the forest after dark, especially not alone, even during the day they were well guarded by their father's men.

“HARRIET!” echoes behind her in the now complete darkness.

Damn it... where is she? Where is Milly? Where are her other sisters?

Harriet stops and looks around... but she is alone, in the middle of the forest... in the middle of the all-consuming darkness.

Harriet looks up, the tops of the trees are so dense that not even the moonlight can shine through... no stars can be seen.

Harriet notices how the fine hairs on her body stand up.

Damn it... she's not usually scared... but this.

Not a sound can be heard, not even an owl or other nocturnal animal, no rustling, no cracking.... There is an uncomfortable silence that intensifies the goose bumps on her body.

It is as if she is trapped in a complete black silence that lulls her, that threatens to swallow her up.

Harriet has the feeling that the silence is suffocating her, breathing is difficult, her limbs seem to sink into the soft forest floor.

Panicked, she tries to free herself, but she can't move, she can't even blink. She is completely frozen, completely paralyzed.

Her heart is beating up to her neck and Harriet finds it increasingly difficult to breathe, as if she is inhaling molasses instead of air.

Panic breaks out in her as a sudden breeze hits her cheek, causing the hair that has come loose from her bun to blow slightly.

Her eyes frantically search for the source of the breeze as she sinks deeper and deeper into the forest floor.

“Are you lost, beauty?” she hears a teasing voice, which makes her shudder because the voice is right inside her head.

Panic rises in Harriet, she can't even answer, then she has no voice left.

“What is it, pretty little girl.... Too shy to answer me?” laughs the voice in her head and again Harriet feels a breeze in her hair, her face.

Her eyes dart back and forth, searching, but nothing can be seen in the all-encompassing blackness.

Harriet sinks deeper and deeper, has already disappeared up to her thighs in the forest floor, when she cries out loud in her thoughts, “MY SISTER, I'm looking for my sister.....”

“Hu, the little human that's the spitting image of you?” laughs the dark voice.

“Yes,” gulps Harriet in thought.

“Well, she was found too......” the voice explains, stretching.

Harriet's eyes widen in horror, “Where is she?”

“Hmm, you'd like to know now....” the deep voice teases her and the breeze can be felt directly on her exposed neck, further increasing the goosebumps on her body, making her nipples hard and causing her to feel an unexpected tug deep inside....

Light as a feather, she suddenly feels her arms being stroked, which sends further shivers through her body.

“Little beauty... your name!” she hears the dark voice possessively in her head.

“Harriet....” she swallows.

“Hmmm, the mighty ruler then?! I knew I had chosen the right sister for me.....” the voice whispers harshly and Harriet feels lips pressing greedily against her neck.

“Who are you?!” gasps Harriet in thought.

“Well.... That's the wrong question.... Harriet!” she hears the lurking voice in her head, ”I know you can do better.... Ask me the right question!”

Panicked, Harriet thinks about it, but then she realizes the question the voice wants to hear, but Harriet isn't sure she wants to hear the answer.

“Well, beauty... Do you know the right question?” the voice kisses her again on her neck, behind her ear.

“WHAT are you....” sighs Harriet.

“Hmmm, I knew it, you're not only beautiful, you're also smart.... What else? Are you brave too?” the voice in her head rumbles, even darker and dangerously quiet, and Harriet feels herself no longer sinking into the forest floor, but being pulled out bit by bit, as if by invisible hands, until she has solid ground under her feet again.

The numbness in her loosens, she can breathe freely again and the blackness seems to have retreated a little, but still lurks in the shadows between the mighty trees.

Harriet looks around frantically. More strands of her dark brown hair have come loose from her bun and are now dancing around her finely cut face with its full lips, high cheekbones and amber eyes with gold flecks in them.

Panting, she wraps her hands around her waist, which is cinched by the tight, silky dark red bodice. A wide, puffy skirt in an even darker red billows out from underneath. The blouse she is wearing is tight-fitting and cream-colored.

In the leather bag that she has tied around her as a kind of belt is her small dagger, without which she never leaves the house.

With trembling fingers, she undoes the buckle of the bag and pulls it out. She holds it out ready to attack.

“Harriet...” sighs the voice in her head, ”Why do you think you have to defend yourself against me?”

“Then show yourself to me!” hisses Harriet, tense to the extreme.

Long, muscular fingers close around her hand holding the dagger and Harriet stares at it in horror. Her gaze wanders along the hand to the arm, which is decorated with lines, patterns, sigils, like the hand, the fingers themselves. What is also striking is the pale, almost white skin tone.

No fabric covers it.

Harriet doesn't dare lift her gaze.

“Hmm, look at me, beauty!” the voice now whispers at her ear and Harriet closes her eyes.

“Come on....” the voice whispers almost tenderly and Harriet feels the muscular fingers close around her chin and lift her head, ‘Open your eyes, beautiful!’ it breathes close to her face.

“I know you can....” it sounds tenderly and the fingers on her hand caress her skin so that her grip loosens automatically and the dagger falls to the ground.

Harriet raises her head a little and then she opens her eyes, draws in a sharp breath and stares at her counterpart in bewilderment.

For what stands before her is anything but human, anything more than human, cause it, he... has human forms, only different. He is so much more, so much more of what makes a human being.

Tall, taller than any man she's seen so far, long muscular limbs, a broad chest covered in more seals.... And this skin.... That incredibly pale, almost white skin that seems to glow in the dark. Shockingly, he is barely clothed, wearing only a kind of loincloth around his narrow hips.

Harriet's gaze now wanders to his face and she gasps as she sees his eyes glowing like coal in the darkness. Pitch black with red speckles.

His eye sockets are just as pitch black and the blackness stretches a little across his face.

This face that doesn't look anything like a human face and yet seems so familiar

High cheekbones, a forehead with a kind of bony horns, the long nose wrinkled, the lips slightly open so that Harriet can see his teeth flashing, pointed like daggers, but tiny in comparison to his powerful fangs.

Harriet stares at him.Mockingly, he purses his lips and tilts his head slightly, his hands still on her hand and chin, “Well Harriet, surprised to see me?”

Harriet's eyes widen in shock at these words and her eyes wander over his impressive appearance again.

His long dark hair falls loosely around his shoulders.

“Who are you and what are you? What is your name?” Harriet whispers softly

“Who I am.... You should know that by now...” he looks at her seriously and Harriet nods slowly, remembering the words of her mother and grandmother.

“You are one of the guardians of the forest....” she breathes.

“Right beauty.....” the creature sighs and takes her chin in his hand again, sending shivers through Harriet's body once more, quickening her pulse and breathing.

He forces her to look him straight in the eyes, which now seem to glow even more, “My name, beauty, is Jokhesh'Aikihm!” he now introduces himself to her, “There are 4 of us, but I'm sure you know that! The names of the others are Nohar'Bash'Tienh, Nokool'Rufioth and Nek'Fholosh.”

Harriet can only blink, the names sound so strange and yet again so familiar, as if she knows them and yet again she doesn't.

“Jokhesh?” the name rolls off her tongue.

“Jokhesh'Aikihm,” he nods with a gentle look.

“What are you?” she wants to know quietly.

“We have always been here, long before humans, since time immemorial. You can call us demons or fallen angels, some call us dark elves, but we are neither creatures of light nor darkness, but beings of balance. A balance that is currently being severely disturbed!” he adds grumpily. ‘By whom?’ Harriet wants to know, confused.

“Well, can't you guess?” Jokhesch'Aikihm's gaze is cold.

“My father...” the realization hits Harriet like a hammer blow.

The demon nods slowly, “I knew you were smart!” his mouth twisted into a smile, “He's invading our forest, clearing it. The forest is sacred!” he growls and his eyes suddenly glow like fire, his fangs shoot out.

Harriet backs away in fright.

“I didn't mean to frighten you, forgive me!” He carefully places his hand on her arm, which makes Harriet flinch at first, but then she feels a pleasant warmth where the demon touches her arm and she immediately relaxes.

Only now does Harriet realize that it has become very cold and she shivers a little.

“You're cold!” Jokhesch'Aikihm states and his grip intensifies. The warmth of his hand penetrates deep into Harriet's skin, spreading from her arm throughout her body, causing her to groan in surprise.

“Better?” he wants to know from her.

“Yes!” she sighs, unable to shake off the thought of what it would be like if this demon, or whatever he might be, were to embrace her in his strong arms.

Would she burn in its fire?

As if reading her mind, he steps closer to her, his chest rising and falling, his hand trailing down her arm. 'Harriet has the feeling that she must burn under his touch.

When he reaches her shoulder, his fingers move to her neck, closing lightly around it.

His breathing increases, just like Harriet's, who also feels like her heart must be bursting in her chest.

Slowly, he pulls her closer to him and Harriet lets it happen, lets herself be pulled against his chest, rests her cheek on his chest.

His arms close around her and Harriet suddenly feels nothing but peace inside her.

This embrace doesn't leave the demon completely cold either, because Harriet notices how he also breathes more slowly and his arms close tighter around her, he rests his head on her head and sighs softly.

Closely embraced, they simply stand there.

The warmth he radiates lulls Harriet to sleep and she closes her eyes trustingly, knowing that she is safe and protected in his arms.

“Beauty,” he murmurs softly, ”Let me take you to my home...”

Harriet's head jerks up, “My sisters....” she gasps.

“Have all been found and brought to safety safe and sound... by my brothers. Only you and I are still missing!” he whispers harshly.

“What will happen to us?” Harriet wants to know despondently.

“Nothing you or your sisters don't want....” Jokhesh'Aikihm explains seriously, ”You are safe with us, because you are valuable!”

“Valuable?” Harriet wants to know, confused.

“Remember, beauty, remember the words of your ancestors!” he breathes close to her ear and Harriet has the feeling that his words are caressing her delicate skin.

“I....” but Harriet's mind seems empty. She looks at him questioningly.

“Then I'll explain it to you!” he whispers harshly and pulls her closer to him, bending down to her ear again. That alone sends shivers through Harriet's body.

“You and your sisters are no ordinary people, you have powerful blood flowing through you, magical blood... fairy blood! And it is prophesied that when you are old enough, you will unite with us, the Guardians of the Forest, to form an alliance.... To restore the balance and to preserve it!” his voice a hoarse whisper.

Harriet's eyes widen, her head goes up and she looks Jokhesh'Aikihm in his pitch-black, glowing eyes, “An alliance?” she wants to know.

“An alliance, a vow, a union....” his voice rough and hoarse, his eyes glowing and his body vibrating.

His hands eager, demanding, running possessively over her body.

“Can you feel it? Your blood, how it screams for my blood? Can you feel it like I can?” he asks her quietly.

Harriet doesn't know what to think after this revelation, but she feels one thing, his words are true, because her body also longs for him, her blood cries out for his, for a union with him.

So she whispers tonelessly, “Yes!”

Jokhesh'Aikihm groans softly, “Will you go with me then?!”

Again, Harriet can only breathe, “Yes!”

The demon lifts Harriet into his arms and moves away at lightning speed. Harriet can do nothing but wrap her arms around him and press her face against his broad chest.

The fear she felt briefly at the beginning has completely vanished.

When he stops, Harriet sees a small, inconspicuous hut in front of her.

“We've arrived...” he whispers to her, ”I have to ask you this again... you want to be here? It's your free will?”

Harriet looks at him, puts her hand on his cheek, brushes a strand of his dark hair out of his face, “Yes, I do, I want to be here, with you!”

With these words, he leans towards her, his lips almost on her lips, “Then I ask you, do you want me? Like I want you?”

“Yes... I want you!” Without even thinking about it, Harriet utters the words, because she feels, she knows that this is what she wants, what her destiny is, and so she slightly stretches her head and closes the tiny gap between them.

His lips are warm, soft and Harriet feels like she must burn.

Sighing, he breaks away from her, “If I keep kissing you now, you lying in my arms, I can't guarantee anything!”

Harriet grips his neck, “You shouldn't either!” she whispers and presses her lips to his again, running her tongue playfully over them, making the demon shudder.

He pulls her greedily towards him, presses his lips firmly against hers and their tongues play the familiar game that Harriet has never played before. She briefly wonders why his sharp teeth don't hurt her, but then this thought disappears and Harriet gives herself to him again.

Moaning, he breaks away from her shortly afterwards, his eyes glowing red with lust and desire.

“Beauty....” he rumbles, ‘Not here... not now... not YET!’ and lets her slide gently to the floor.

Harriet nods numbly, her legs tremble, her heart races and she feels that desire deep inside her again, the sweet tug between her legs, the longing for him. A longing that she has never known before and that is now taking hold.

With a flickering gaze, she watches as he strides to the door and bites his wrist. Blood drips down, which Harriet notices with fascination.

He takes some of his blood on one of his long fingers, with the dark fingernails, and uses it to draw symbols on the simple wooden door, which immediately begin to glow red.

Jokhesh'Aikihm then opens the door, extends his hand to Harriet, “Come, beauty.... I want to show you my home, which will be our home....”

In a daze, Harriet nods and staggers towards him on wobbly legs.

He wraps his arm around her and pulls her with him.

Harriet isn't sure what she was expecting from the inside of the nondescript cabin, but definitely not THIS.

The interior that opens up before her is much larger than the outside of the hut would suggest.

There is a large open fireplace on the back wall, in which a fire blazes and partially illuminates the room.

There are rugs on the floor, furs and cushions around the fireplace.

There is a large table with chairs and benches in the room as well as shelves full of books and a huge cupboard that seems to be locked. At least that's what the missing key suggests, as the lock is empty.

A comfortable wing chair with a small table on which more books are stacked stands in front of the shelves. 2 closed doors are also visible

A staircase leads upstairs, which surprises Harriet even more, as the hut didn't seem to have another floor from the outside.

Her gaze falls on the balustrade, behind which 3 more doors can be seen.

“Where... I mean... my sisters... aren't they here?” Harriet wants to know quietly.

Jokhesh'Aikihm hugs Harriet from behind, wraps his long arms around her narrow waist and breathes into her hair, “Not here... THIS is MY home. We each have our own homes, but if you step through that door...” he points to one of the two lower doors, ‘Then you'll enter our great hall that we all share... Do you want to go there?’ his breath hot against her neck.

“I....” Harriet's senses are too entranced for her to answer.

He lets go of her, looks down at her tenderly and strokes her cheek, “What do you want beauty?” he whispers hoarsely.

“I...” Harriet shakes her head briefly, trying to sort out her thoughts again. His mere presence is already characterized by this enormous attraction that has developed from 0 to 100 over the last few hours, but as soon as he touches her... and Harriet literally craves it.... She is completely smitten.

“I can show you how they're doing too...” he whispers and pulls her with him to a mirror that she hasn't noticed yet.

“A mirror?!” she asks in surprise, one that seems strangely familiar.

“Hmm, not an ordinary mirror...” he smiles and runs his hand over it.

The image blurs and suddenly shows her parents' house, her room, and Harriet gasps in surprise and stares at Jokhesh'Aikihm in horror.

“My ROOM? YOU could see my room the whole time?? I mean....” Harriet's face takes on a dark red color.

The demon laughs quietly to himself, ���Don't worry, beauty.... I can only do that now that you've given me your permission. Your grandmother was very strict!”

“My grandmother?” Harriet has the feeling that her whole world is turning upside down and suddenly she remembers why the mirror looked so familiar. Her beloved grandmother had the same one.

“Yes, beautiful, your grandmother. She was one of the Old Fairies, but fell madly in love with your grandfather and chose mortality for her so that she could live with him... hence your magical blood, your fairy blood. Your father eventually figured it out, which she is, his wife is, his daughters.... And from then on, he used you!” he growls angrily.

“Used us? How? I mean he's strict... if not....” she breaks off in shame.

“Cruel? Is that the word you're looking for?” the demon wants to know.

With her head bowed, Harriet nods.

Jokhesh'Aikihm pulls Harriet close, “YOU are safe now, beauty, I will protect you with my life as my brothers will protect your sisters. Nothing bad will ever happen to you again.”

His embrace, his words are soothing and trustingly Harriet snuggles up to him, sighing softly.

“He used you to subjugate the forest, to keep us in check.... That we couldn't intervene. But that's different now. You are now at our side and together we will guard and protect the forest, just as it was prophesied!” He looks at her tenderly, bends down to her lips and kisses her gently.

Harriet places her hands on his mighty chest, pushing him slightly away from her.

“The prophecy... I mean, aren't we human?” Harriet wants to know.

“Your birth was foretold....” he whispers harshly, ”As was that you and we would form a mighty alliance so that the balance would be preserved for all time... The sacred forest protected forever!”

“But...” Harriet interjects.

“Your appearance may be human, beauty, but your blood is ancient, you are one of the fairies, descended from the bloodline of kings, immortal, like us!” he nods gently.

Harriet gasps and stares at him in disbelief.

He tenderly removes one hairpin after the other from her hair so that her full, dark curls cascade over her shoulders to her waist, looks at her impassively and then pulls her greedily against him.

Harriet melts into the embrace, pressing herself against him.

“This... I mean...” she runs her hands over his muscular body, which is so much more than that of a normal mortal.

He laughs softly again, “You don't have to be afraid, beautiful, I'm going to be very gentle with you...”

Harriet blushes again, scolding herself in her mind for her folly.

“No.. I just wanted to ask, do you always look like this? I dimly remember stories of my grandmother....”

“Hmm, we can shapeshift, take on mortal form... which makes things easier. Only on one day and one night is that denied to us... and that day and night is today....” he explains gently.

“Samhain...” gulps Harriet.

“Samhain!” he confirms ‘And this is also the day on which our alliance must be sealed!’ he adds quietly.

Harriet's thoughts and feelings are pure chaos. Never before has she felt attracted to a man who is not actually a man, but... now a demon, an immortal, taller, broader, more powerful, stronger than any mortal... she desires him.

Just as he seems to desire her... just as he seems to want her.

“What are you thinking about, beautiful!” he sighs.

“About what I want.....” Harriet swallows.

Uncertainty flickers in the gaze of the so confident demon, “And do you know what you want?” he asks her harshly.

“Yes... even more so now.... It's like I said before... I want you!” she explains simply.

Relieved, he takes her in his arms again, “Then may I assume that you....” he runs his hands along her sides and Harriet's body is covered in shivers.

“Yes!” she breathes and takes off the belt with the bag, dropping it carelessly on the floor. Then slowly begins to unbutton the front buttons of her bodice.

Jokhesh'Aikihm's gaze fixes on it, his eyes glowing red again.

Once her bodice is open, she lets it fall to the floor. His chest rises and falls frenetically.

From the corner of her eye, she can see that this leaves him anything but cold, he must be very aroused, because a huge erection is visible under his loincloth, which makes Harriet swallow and waver in her plan.

How on earth is THAT supposed to fit... and she hasn't even seen him naked yet, which makes her blush again... Oh God, she's going to see him naked... more naked than he already is... and he her.

“What is beauty?” he asks harshly, noticing her hesitation.

“Nothing!” Harriet shakes her head immediately, but her hands tremble slightly.

“You don't have to be afraid...” he repeats gently, ”I'll be careful, prepare you.... You can always say no!”

“And if I don't want to say no? If I want to?” Harriet explains defiantly.

Jokhesh'Aikihm laughs softly, begins to unbutton her blouse, “I really did choose the right one....”

In a sudden burst of inspiration, Harriet cups his face with her hands, forcing him to look at her, “No... it wasn't YOU who chose me... rather, I chose YOU... you were attracted to me because I wanted you to be... I can remember now... I've dreamed of you... I've dreamed of you all my life... we were meant for each other from the beginning... But it was MY choice... MY decision to choose YOU out of the 4! ”

He looks at her in astonishment, furrows his brow slightly, then raises an eyebrow, beginning to understand, which brings a bright, wide smile across his face, making him seem human.

“YOU chose ME, beauty?” he smiles.

“Yes, I chose YOU!” she caresses his cheek tenderly, stands on tiptoe and kisses him lovingly.

As she sinks back, she finishes unbuttoning her blouse, pulls it off her shoulders, fingers the ribbons and buttons of her skirt.

“Let me help you...” he whispers huskily and deftly unzips her skirt, letting it slide down

Harriet now stands in front of him in her undergarment. She can see his fingers trembling as he lifts the straps from her shoulders and lets the undergarment slide down her slim body.

Harriet can't stand the tension any longer, bends down, unlaces her boots, kicks them off and pulls her underpants and stockings off her body in one smooth movement.

She now stands naked in front of him, not daring to look up, suddenly afraid of her own courage.

“Beauty, you are breathtaking!” he gasps, approaches her, takes her chin in his hand and pulls it up so that she HAS to look at him.

“You're more beautiful than I imagined!” he whispers, ”You're perfect for me!”

Harriet's pupils dilate at his words.

His hands glide admiringly over her alabaster-colored body, praising it.

He doesn't miss an inch of it, gently touching her breasts, which makes Harriet shudder again, running them along her sides.

Harriet's gaze is fixed on his crotch and she has to swallow. Fear and curiosity are still in balance and she doesn't dare touch him there yet.

So she places her hands on his mighty chest, tracing the lines of his tattoos, which makes him flinch and groan slightly.

She notices how his breathing quickens, his heart begins to beat faster, his skin almost glowing. God, he's going to scorch me are Harriet's thoughts, but she immediately shoots them away when he lifts her up and carries her to the furs and cushions by the fireplace, gently laying her down there, he next to her.

Words are no longer necessary as he begins to caress her body again, covering it with hot kisses and Harriet gasps in surprise as she feels his mouth where no man has touched her before.

He lies down between her legs, lifts her bottom slightly with his hands and greedily sinks his mouth inside her. He sucks and licks both her bud and her virgin entrance, pushing his tongue deep inside her.

Harriet feels like she's going to burst with lust, claws at his hair and pulls him even closer, moaning, to feel him even deeper inside her.

Waves of pleasure and shudders race through her body and she feels an unknown pressure building up inside her. Her breathing becomes irregular, her legs begin to tremble and she moans, pressing her head into the pillows and arching her pelvis forward to get even more of him.

Jokhesh'Aikihm realizes how close she is and carefully pushes one of his muscular fingers inside her, almost making her freeze. Slowly, he runs his finger along her hymen, caressing it and continuing to suck and lick her. He then begins to thrust his finger, in and out of her.

Harriet's moans become even stronger and with a cry, she claws even harder into his hair, literally tearing at it, which makes him groan again, but doesn't stop him from doing his job.

He skillfully guides her through her climax until she collapses, overstimulated.

Jokhesh'Aikihm pushes himself up to her, wraps her in his strong arms and cradles her against his chest.

He himself is rock hard by now, so that it already hurts, but he doesn't take that into consideration, he wants her to feel safe and secure.

“How are you, beautiful?” he whispers tenderly.

“That was.... indescribable....” she sighs, which makes him laugh.

“I'm glad you liked it....” he kisses her hair.

Harriet lifts her head, “Like it? That was incredible, I've never felt anything like it.... I mean...” she breaks off and kisses him greedily, forcing her tongue between his lips, lowering her legs down his sides so that she is now astride him.

He gently strokes her legs as Harriet pushes herself further down until she feels his hard cock, still trapped by his loincloth, between her legs.

Jokhesh'Aikihm swallows conspicuously, his hands moving erratically over her body.

“Beauty...” he gasps.

Harriet begins to rub herself against him, not taking her eyes off him.

His eyes are glazed over, his mouth slightly open, his long fangs gleaming mother-of-pearl in the light of the fire.

Harriet sits up, slides down a little further and places her hands on his privates, making him shudder.

She slowly runs her hands along the waistband of the loincloth, searching for the ribbons that hold the garment together.

“Here!” he whispers hoarsely and guides her hand with his to the hidden ribbons, which she skillfully unties.

He briefly holds her hands in his, “Are you sure?” he asks again quietly, almost anxiously.

“Yes!” Harriet breathes again and pulls the loincloth down so that his mighty cock can spring out into the open, eliciting a small gasp of horror from Harriet after she sees HOW big and thick he is.

Jokhesh'Aikihm's look is a mixture of apology and pride.

“How?” she looks at him in fascination and he just shrugs his shoulders and laughs softly.

“May I?” she asks shyly and at the same time strokes her finger carefully along his shaft, eliciting a moan from him and a breathy ”Yes!”

Curiously, she runs her finger over his veins, which are thickly visible on his hard flesh.

He radiates an incredible warmth, almost heat.

His red glans glistens moistly in the light and when Harriet runs her index finger over it, he moans darkly and pushes himself towards her touch.

“Beauty, please... I....” he gasps.

Harriet sees drops of sweat forming on his forehead and without hesitation or shyness, she takes his hard member in both her hands and moves them up and down, eliciting another moan from his mouth.

Suddenly his hand grabs hers, making her stop moving, his gaze pleading.

“Please... I....” he whimpers.

Harriet knows what he is begging her for, knows that it will close their alliance irrevocably, knows that this is necessary.... And she also knows that this is exactly what she wants.

So she just nods and lies against his side, kissing his earlobe before she breathes hoarsely, “Do it... take me!” into his ear.

“You really want it?!” he makes sure once again.

“Yes, I really do!” she sighs and clears her mind of everything so that only HE is left in it.

He slowly turns onto his side and strokes her soft skin. She suddenly appears even smaller, more fragile next to him than before and Jokhesh'Aikihm hesitates, which does not go unnoticed by Harriet.

“Please... do it, I want it, I want you!” she whispers, her eyes glowing.

Jokhesh'Aikihm strokes her belly, her thighs, spreading them wider and wider, letting his fingers dance gracefully on her skin, not sparing her hot, moist core, teasing her bud and her virgin entrance until she is completely wet again and arching impatiently towards him.

This is what he has been waiting for as he lies down between her legs, his mighty cock in one hand, his tip widening her entrance, making Harriet's eyes widen as she feels it.

If his fingers inside her were already a lot, this promises to widen her like never before.

“You can stop at any time if you wish!” he swallows, meaning his words exactly as he says them.

“Take me, please!” she nods and arches herself towards him so that his tip penetrates her further.

Infinitely slowly, he pushes himself into her millimetre by millimetre, slowly stretching her open for him and Harriet trembles.

He bumps into the resistance he had already felt with his fingers before. Her hymen.

With a single, hard thrust, he pushes into her, piercing her hymen and Harriet cries out.

Jokhesh'Aikihm wraps his arms around her body, pulls her close, waits, “This is only the first time... never again after this!” he kisses her neck.

Harriet nods, the sudden, sharp pain is gone as quickly as it came. She only feels the thickness and heaviness of his hard cock inside her, which she has gotten used to by now. And she wants more, more of him and his privates.

“Keep going!” she gasps and kisses him.

He pushes himself further until he is almost completely inside her and waits again until she has adjusted to him.

“You're filling me up completely... that's...” swallows Harriet.

“What is it! Tell me!” he whispers harshly.

“Wonderful!” she breathes, blushing.

He kisses her lovingly on her lips, her neck, waits another delicious moment until he slowly begins to move inside her, gently at first, then more.

Harriet bites her lower lip and throws her head back, “God, yes, please...” she breathes.

“You won't find a god here... only me!” he rumbles deeply as he thrusts steadily into her.

Harriet's mouth twists into a grin at his words, “I don't want a god either, I want you... just you... my demon, my fallen angel, my dark elf!”

His mouth twists into a grin at her words as well, a triumphant grin as she has memorized his words from before.

“That's right...I'm your demon, your fallen angel, your dark elf...my queen, my fairy queen!” he gasps with each successive thrust into her.

Harriet begins to moan again, rolling her eyes, trembling and he knows she is about to experience her next orgasm, so he increases the pace, thrusting faster and harder into her and as she begins to cry out loudly, his cock twitches inside her too, shooting bead after bead of his seed into her.

Panting, he then supports himself so as not to collapse on top of her as she lies beneath him, breathing heavily and with her eyes closed.

He carefully pulls out of hers, her body twitches briefly.

“My beauty!” he murmurs as he showers her with kisses. Harriet is too exhausted from the experience, so she just huddles close to him, resting her head on his chest as he takes her in his arms.

He still radiates an incredible warmth and Harriet drifts off into a deep sleep.

When she wakes up the next day, she is still in his arms.

Smiling, she cuddles up to him, then blinks.

Blinking, she opens her eyes and flinches, startled.

Next to her is no longer the creature from yesterday, but a man, almost as tall as he was in his changed form, with the same tattoos on his body, the same dark long hair. A short beard adorns his boldly cut face with high cheekbones, a long straight nose and full lips.

Harriet can't get enough of him, staring at him speechlessly.

With trembling fingers, she carefully strokes his cheek and lips and he flinches slightly, opening his mouth. Fascinated, Harriet realizes that his canine teeth are slightly longer and more pointed than those of a normal human and his ears are also slightly longer and more pointed towards the top.

Not a normal human after all, if he has changed, she realizes with a smile.

She strokes his cheek again, which elicits a sigh from his throat.

Harriet leans over and kisses him on his soft lips, which finally brings him out of his sleep.

He pulls her to him with relish and returns the kiss, “Good morning, beautiful!” he murmurs happily and opens his eyes, which, to Harriet's surprise, are incredibly soft and shimmering green-brown.

“Good morning ....” she smiles and brushes a strand of his long hair out of his face.

“Are you happy with what you see?” he wants to know quietly.

Harriet beams at him, “More than satisfied!” she smiles.

“Hmm, that's good!” he murmurs and kisses her again, ”By the way, you can also call me Joakim, my mortal name...”

“I really like that name...” she smiles and wraps her fingers around his, holding his hand tightly in hers.

“You're going to stay....” Joakim states.

“Of course, what were you thinking!” she smiles as she kisses him again.

“But not because of the prophecy and not because we had incredible sex yesterday, but because I want to... I feel comfortable, safe and loved with you. You are my destiny!” she whispers softly.

“And you're mine!” he smiles.

[broodwolf221]

Tevinter Nights: The Horror of Hormak - major spoilers!

also some spoilers for Jaws of Hakkon & Trespasser

note: if you do interact with this post, you can obviously talk about this particular short story, but please don't talk about any others in the collection! I'm still working through it!

first little caveat: this is not @ing anyone's reads on ghilly! just sharing my own thoughts and reactions. if others see her as fucked up, that's cool too, it's a very fascinating read for sure!

Ghilan'nain is not present within this story.

That's maybe obvious, but also crucial: she is not physically here. She is represented in the art within the chambers:

It was perhaps the oppressive nature of the place acting upon his worst fears, but it seemed to him that the priestess’s smile grew a little wider, and a little crueler, with each subsequent image.

Ramesh admits that his reading might be skewed, and that's entirely possible, but at the same time, I find it likely that he's interpreting this correctly - but what that means is not so clear-cut.

Shifting gears for a moment, let's look at Trespasser.

The story told through the ruins we travel through paints Fen'Harel, Solas, as a savior, a hero, a rebel who saves slaves. He says that it paints him in too favorable a light, a myth in a different direction than what the Evanuris believed, or what the Dalish now believe of Fen'Harel.

And all through Inquisition, there is a thread of the myth surpassing the person. It happens to Cassandra, the heroic woman who single-handedly slayed a dragon to save the Divine, supposedly; it obviously happens to the Inquisitor; and it happens with Inquisitor Ameridan, a man whose entire reality has been erased and supplanted with myth. The individual is lost in the face of their mythos.

So. Ghilan'nain.

According to the Dalish, she is a guide. Turned into the first halla by Andruil, after a hunter took his vengeance against her for cursing him to never be able to kill again - and that was only done, supposedly, because he had killed a hawk, one of the creatures associated with Andruil. So their tales are interwoven in this particular version, where Ghilan'nain defended Andruil, and then Andruil sought to save Ghilan'nain, and finally transformed her.

Is this the favorable telling?

Here, the implication is that Ghilan'nain is not only the source of this - which I agree with - but the deliberate mastermind behind it - which I question. The increasingly cruel priestess imagery isn't necessarily any more true than the Dalish legends. In both, they are representing a single figure as an extreme, one end of the spectrum of good or evil.

There's a pool of transformative fluid. Creatures walk through the fluid, are cocooned, and emerge changed. This is what we know to be true.

Where the fluid came from, where the lyrium came from, what connection it has with Ghilan'nain in the present, if any, when she is supposedly sealed away by Solas... none of this is known, or knowable, really.

For instance, some possibilities:

The fluid is Ghilan'nain. Grim, this, but she who changes so many things became so changed that she no longer resembles anything remotely living, instead becoming a part of the (un)natural world. I don't think this is the case, but it does kinda fit the tone of the story!

The fluid is part of Ghilan'nain. My instinct is to say her blood, perhaps mixed with something else, and left in these 12 sites for some reason. If so, was this her doing? Or was it something someone else did? Was it done to her?

The fluid is what empowers Ghilan'nain. No evidence for this anywhere, but idk, it's a possibility. In which case, these 12 mountains could be seen as places to seal her powers away, that were perhaps infiltrated eventually.

With that in mind, the artwork could be a warning. While the obvious is that it's a warning about Ghilan'nain herself, it could be using her image as a warning of the power that lay here. Increasingly disturbing imagery created by those who wanted this place to be left alone.

But then, why the beauty of it all?

At the same time, if this was Ghilly's will, why the horror of it all? Why is all the art just that edge of wrong, when presumably if it was being made for her or to honor her - whether out of respect, fear, or both - it presumably wouldn't have that wrongness about it?

Of course, there are reasons for that, too. Little things added near the end as subtle warnings from those desperate to communicate but unable to leave any more obvious signs.

Pretty much my takeaway here is that, as compelling as this story is, and as much as I genuinely really enjoyed it, I feel no closer to knowing anything about Ghilan'nain than I did at the start 😂

And I'm kind of glad about that! I like how open-ended the Evanuris really are. I was wary about reading this in a way because I didn't want to end up with a narrower view of her, but it honestly didn't seem to narrow anything down whatsoever.

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night

Author's Note: This is just an idea I've been playing with for a while now, so let me know what you think, if you'd be interested in any more of it, the usual. 💜

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: The destruction of Esgaroth 

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.9k

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Nothing is forgotten or forgiven when it’s your last time around ~ Something in the Night, Bruce Springsteen.

Sunny days were Nina’s favorite. She loved the way the sunlight sparkled against the lake’s surface, making the black water look as if encrusted with diamonds. At night, when the silver light from a full moon shone upon it, she couldn’t tell where the night sky ended and the lake began. 

She stood out on the narrow deck just off the kitchen. Like most of the houses in Esgaroth, the one belonging to her family was tall and skinny, and it seemed to lean slightly to the left. On days when the winds whipped in from the west, she’d swear the house actually swayed. The only house not built this way belonged to the Master, and Mama didn’t like it when anyone brought him into a conversation. He was the only person Nina had ever seen who seemed to be universally hated by every man, woman, child, and household pet in Esgaroth. It was rumored even his own lackey—Alfrid—hated him. But then again, the Master hated everyone in return, so it was really quite a fair tradeoff. Of course, he hated everyone because he liked to play that he was better.

Nina and the other average denizens of Esgaroth hated him because he was a greedy ass. He raised taxes arbitrarily, imposed fines by changing laws and regulations on a whim, and made certain to keep his subjects subservient by taking away and locking up anything and everything that even remotely resembled a weapon. There would be no uprising if he had any say in it and since he had the constabulary at his command and they didn’t, he had all of the say. 

The wood railing ringing the deck was old and falling apart, the paint faded and peeling from the splintering wood in long, curling strips, ruined by sun and spray, by fog and snow, by frigid winter air and baking summer heat. But she paid little mind to it. It was clear, cold day, the air scented with the promise of snow. 

But that wasn’t what had her so lost in thought as she watched the waves glitter and sparkle in seemingly all directions. 

No. Nina glanced in the direction of the Master’s fine, pretentious, utterly stupid house, and sighed.

She was in love.

“Mooning, are you?”

A shadow fell over her and she looked up to see her older sister, Lenna, propping an elbow on the railing and offering up a knowing smile. 

“No,” Nina shook her head as she managed to tear her eyes from the building, “I am doing no such thing.”

“He didn’t know you were alive, little sister. All he cared about was getting the Master to release him.”

“Which he did. And he smiled at me.”

“Or he was smiling at Shalia, as every red-blooded man does.”

“But he is not a Man, and you know it. He is a dwarf. And not just any dwarf, but the King Under the Mountain.”

Lenna let out a low laugh. “I am not calling you Queen.”

“You will when I win his hand.”

“He’s leaving in like, two hours. And he is not coming back.”

“So, I have two hours to get him to notice me.”

“You are mad. And Mama said we’re to mind the stand for a while. She has to go and fish.”

Nina sighed. “Very well. I wish Papa would return.”

“He’s not coming back, Ni. We need accept that.” 

Lenna turned to go back into the kitchen and Nina followed her. So much for going to the docks to see Thorin Oakenshield and his Company set out on their quest to reclaim their home of Erebor. She’d heard tales of Thorin and his family, but until the previous night, had never before laid eyes upon him. But as she stood in the snow, with the crowds of people who’d gathered after Thorin and his men—and a Hobbit, of all creatures—had been arrested for attempting steal weapons from the Esgaroth Armory, and her gaze fell upon him, she saw him for the first time.

And promptly lost her heart. He was simply the most handsome man—er, dwarf—she’d ever seen, with long, silver-streaked hair that was almost as black as the lake itself, a beard that was darker still, and pale eyes that could be either green or blue. She was too far away to tell. All she knew was he was handsome, with a deep, authoritative, elegant voice.

She followed her sister down to the street level, although streets in Esgaroth were canals and floating walkways. Their family’s trade was in baked goods, which were baked from sunup until  mid-morning and sold until they ran out. They had a prime location in the center of town and as everyone knew everyone, there was plenty of gossip and laughter in addition to work. 

Nina found it hard to concentrate as she kept turning west, in the direction of the Master’s house. All she could see was the upper balcony and part of her hoped Thorin Oakenshield would step out onto it. Last glimpse she had of him was on the steps of the Master’s house, promising everyone in Esgaroth they would share in the riches of Erebor, and she and Lenna had gone to sleep last eve dreaming of what life would be like once they no longer had to worry about money. 

But by the time they were done for the day, Nina had to accept that the dwarves had taken their leave and no one knew when or if they would ever see them again. A dragon had claimed Erebor and first Thorin and his company had to defeat it. As the sun sank low over the lake, Nina sighed and propped her elbow on the railing of the kitchen balcony, her chin on her fist. The thought of never seeing Thorin again, of something terrible befalling him, hurt her to her core.

“Do you suppose he’s frightened?”

Lenna tugged her worn shawl tighter about her shoulders. “Who wouldn’t be, facing off with a fire breathing dragon?”

“Well, true, but I suspect he is braver than most. He is, after all, the King Under the Mountain.”

“You’re just saying that because you think him cute. Because you want to kiss him and make those funny noises with him, like Rhys and Ena make.”

Nina stared at her sister. “You listen to them? Oh, that’s wrong.”

Lenna chuckled. “They’re so bloody loud, Ni, how do you not hear them?”

In the distance, rising from the darkness, the summit of the Lonely Mountain stood silent sentry over Erebor, Esgaroth, and Dale, the now abandoned city that lay between the two. Nina tried not to dwell on it. “I put the pillow over my head.”

“And that helps? You’re only on the the far side of our room.” Skepticism wove through Lenna’s voice.

“No.” Nina met her sister’s gaze. People often mistook them for twins, which Nina found laughable, as two years separated them. While they did share the same coloring—coppery red hair and wide, almond-shaped green eyes—Lenna was strikingly beautiful, her hair sleek and straight and perfect. She was delicate and pretty and people fell all over themselves for her. If she wasn’t as sweet as she was pretty, Nina would cheerfully throttle her for being so bloody perfect.

Nina on the other hand was short and stout, her hair often a rat’s nest of unruly curls that refused to behave. She was rough and tumble and more than once had punched a boy out for daring to get fresh with Lenna. The younger generation knew to steer clear of making Nina Carren angry. Nothing good ever came of it. 

Lenna sighed, shaking her head. “I didn't think so. Hopefully they will find a flat of their own soon.”

Nina smiled. Their older brother and his wife were married a year already, and even with saving as much as they possibly could, had yet to move into their own home. Sometimes, when they thought the rest of the house was asleep, and Rhys would exercise what Mama called his husbandly rights, Ena sounded as if he was murdering her. But come morning, Ena would be fine, smiling and laughing and no matter how Lenna tried to assure Nina that Rhys was not hurting his wife in any way, Nina couldn’t make herself believe it. The entire idea of doing… that with any man made her shudder. 

At least, it did until she saw Thorin. Then curiosity wove into the revulsion, and she wondered what it would be like, to know him in that way…

“Lenna?”

“What?”

“Have you ever…”

Lenna smiled. “Once. With Dane Inahorn.”

“You did?” Nina couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. “When?”

“Last Yule. His parents weren’t home and we… well…” Her smile faded. “It was only the one time and it was dreadfully uncomfortable. At least, it was for me. It hurt. It hurt and just when it stopped hurting and started feeling almost good, Dane came and that was that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. He smelled odd. I’m not doing it again until I’m married and won’t have to worry about jumping at—”

A low, ominous rumble rolled their way from the west, and a faint glow lit the horizon, orange against the darkness. 

“Len, what’s that?” Nina clutched her sister’s forearm. 

“I—I don’t know.” Lenna stood at her shoulder, her hand over Nina’s, her fingers tightening. She gave a gentle tug on Nina’s arm. “We—we should go inside, I think.”

The rumble grew louder and the air stirred, but it was different from the usual trade winds. Hotter. With more force. It blew through Nina’s hair, lifting it up to toss about her face as the air grew hotter still.

The entire town seemed to sway, just as it did whenever a strong storm whipped out over the middle of the lake and swept toward them, but this was different. There was far more movement. Wood and pilings creaked, some seemed to actually groan. There was nothing at all normal about the sounds or the swaying and Lenna gave a harder tug on her arm. “Ni, I mean it. We should—What is that?”

They saw it at the same time—a bright orange ball of light bouncing along the horizon, steadily growing larger and brighter. Lenna grabbed her hand and leaped back as the wind blew stronger, a low swish of leather sweeping through the air accompanying.

“Lenna? Is that… is that Smaug?”

As she made herself say the word, the dragon became identifiable, its massive wings propelling it toward them. Nina froze, unable to move, her gaze riveted on the creature as it drew in a long breath and exhaled a jet of flame that was almost red in its intensity.

The first buildings on Esgaroth’s west side were the fishermen’s shanties and they caught with the first blast, flames of orange and yellow devouring the roof shingles and licking along the walls. Another blast and the next block was engulfed. Screams rang out, footsteps pounded against the wooden walkways that were near-perfect kindling for the enormous firedrake. Heat rolled toward them like the heat of a blast furnace, almost knocking them off their feet with its force. 

“We need to go. Now.” Lenna tightened her hold on Nina’s wrist and Nina said nothing, just broke into a run to keep up with her sister. Rhys and his wife were not home yet, and as they reached street level, they plunged headlong into utter chaos. Half of Esgaroth was aflame now and Nina looked up as the dragon flew overhead. Cinders and shards of flaming house rained down upon everyone, sparking fire after fire as the dragon lazily flew from one end of town to the other, from west to east, from north to south. The heat was unbearable now, choking her, making her eyes burn and her nose run, and her breath near impossible to catch.

She and her sister ran. Smoke thickened, blinding them, choking them, and little by little, the fires gave off the light of the sun as they devoured building after building, block after block. Boats clogged the canals, and somehow, Lenna lost her grip on Nina and the panicking crowd swallowed her whole.

“Lenna!” Nina screamed despite her stinging throat and streaming eyes, fighting to get to where she’d last seen her sister. “Lenna!” 

“In you go, love!”

She screamed again as someone grabbed her and tossed her like a sack of flour into a small boat. She hit the bottom, the wind driven from her, and threw her hands up over her head as more burning shingles and wood scraps swirled on the wind from Smaug’s wings. Something scorched her left cheek, along the cheekbone. The acrid stench of singed hair stung her nose and when she brought her hand to her temple, her hair crumbled as if it was no more than ash. 

“Here he comes!” Someone above her screamed and Nina opened her eyes to see the dragon rise high into the air, its belly aglow and getting brighter as he dragged in a deep breath. She closed her eyes, braced herself for the sting of fire on her skin.

Only it never came. 

“Bard got him!”

“He did! I seen it!”

“He got ’im!”

Nina once more opened her eyes as Smaug writhed higher into the night sky, the glow of his belly going from orange to yellow to blackened ash. He twisted one way, then the other, a low, gravelly roar rolling across the night sky.

Then he plummeted back to earth.

The wave caused by his striking the water was beyond monstrous, flinging the boats and their passengers in all directions. Nina found herself looking first at the sky, then at the lake, and when she hit the water, the air left her body in a massive rush. The frigid water bit into her with sharpened fangs and the last thing she remembered was a hand snagging the back of her bodice to haul her out of the water and back into a boat, where she lay on the bottom shivering, ice crystals in her hair, on her clothes, in her eyelashes.

When she came to, she was on the sandy shore on the slopes of Dale. Her entire body ached. Her cheek stung, the burn along her cheekbone raw and sore. Like everyone around her, she had only the frozen clothes she wore—a worn blue cotton dress over a worn linen chemise, waterlogged hose and boots—and like the others, she searched in vain for Mama, for Rhys and Ena.

For Lenna.

They weren’t there. 

Over the next two days, she searched—for clothing or a blanket, for food, for her family.

They were gone. All of them.

She found Lenna washed on the beach, facedown, pale and unmoving. She was buried with the others in a simple grave just east of the beach. But there was no trace of Mama. Nor of Rhys or Ena. Incinerated, perhaps. Dragged to the bottom of the Long Lake when the firedrake hit the water, maybe. All she knew was her entire family was gone and she was alone. 

Around her, she watched as families were both reunited and broken. She watched mothers and children cry with joy and sob with sorrow. She helped her neighbors bury their loved ones, allowed them to help her do the same. As darkness fell, salvaged wine was passed around and despite her tender years, she drank her share. The next day, her new life began. 

A week later, the survivors were now settling in Dale, and she overheard Bard the Bowman, the man responsible for slaying Smaug, say, “It looks as if the company of Thorin Oakenshield has survived.”

They survived. 

He unleashed the beast that destroyed her home, her town, her family. 

Yet, he survived. 

That night, at the end of Dale’s main thoroughfare, Nina sat upon the low stone wall on a promontory that overlooked the front gates of Erebor. She sat, ignoring the cold, knees drawn to her chest, and just stared at the fortress city. Light glowed from within, visible through the city’s damaged façade. 

Her stomach rumbled. She ignored it. 

Her eyes stung. She blinked back the tears. 

There were riches inside that mountain. Riches Thorin vowed he would share.

A week had passed and not a single dwarf emerged from the city. 

Earlier that day, the king of the Woodland Realm, a tall, thin, handsome elf with pale gold hair and cold blue eyes arrived with an entourage of hundreds. She’d heard men speaking of a coming war between Men, Dwarves, and Orcs.

She heard tell of a giant pale orc called Azog the Defiler. 

For some reason, he had a score to settle with the King Under the Mountain.

He had placed a bounty of said king’s head.

For just his head.

Nina stared at the front gates, fury bubbling up from her gut to keep her warm. That damned king destroyed her home and her family. 

Not only will I collect that bounty, I will do him one better. I will bring Azog the whole bloody dwarf. 

[ask-the-archs]

Lore explanation post because I think that this thread in particular deserves it

(RP thread with @bigdoginthesky ) (idk mods account so I’m just tagging the RP one and maybe they’ll respond with how God’s perspective of events worked out) (also bc I really want them to see this since they seem cool)

Gabriel had a nightmare that was an amalgamation of memories that caused him pain to think about even while awake but it specifically looped between him and Lucifer being dumb kids and Lucifer’s Fall.

The two of them were created as a set, but even then Gabriel (being slightly younger) considered himself an afterthought to his brother.

Gabriel is having a panic attack and accidentally muted himself from anything that could even remotely count as a cherub because Trauma, and is slowly getting pulled out of it by God because Loki is still asleep.

Gabriel’s walls come down bit by bit as his Father is being nice and accommodating, until God says something that triggers Gabriel, causing him to lash out (verbally)

In the lashing out, Gabriel looks and acts very similar to Lucifer and it’s very clear the resemblance between the two of them.

Where Lucifer would have (once) kept pushing, though, Gabriel flinches and backs down, reminded of his place and internally terrified of losing it and making his siblings pay the price for his actions.

In his attempt to appease God, Gabriel apologises both for ‘forgetting (his) place’ and ‘taking up (God’s) time’, saying vaguely that it ‘won’t happen again’. He’s been thoroughly reminded that any reassurances he can get will be taken away the moment that he messes up, and that God could very easily kill him if he is no longer useful. Gabriel was only the afterthought to God’s Morningstar, after all, the back-up for if/when Lucifer no longer played along.

Gabriel shuts down, and almost definitely goes somewhere actually private for his next panic attack (because he just got yelled at for trying to protect his youngest brother by his Father who had basically threatened to make Gabriel relive the trauma of having to watch his brother be raised like a lamb for slaughter again right after Gabriel opened up about how he’s still very much traumatised by the last time that that happened)

[nickgerlich]

Coming Together

When I bought my house in 1989, I was faced with a decision. Since I was out in the country and far from anything resembling cable TV, I could either mount an aerial on the roof, or buy a massive 12-foot mesh satellite dish that had to be mounted atop a pole set in concrete in the back yard.

I chose the latter, because I wanted more than what was coming over the air out of Amarillo. The dish, the large tuner and remote for the inside, heavy duty wiring, and installation set me back about $3500.

And that was just so I could watch regular old linear television. Even HBO and the other subscription services had rigid times for showings. You couldn’t pick what you wanted to watch. You could only pick if you wanted to watch what they were showing.

That old dish rocked in the West Texas wind, and did an amazing job collecting snow in winter. There was no TV watching when that happened, which as anyone who lives here knows, could be a lot of the time because of the way the wind blows.

About a decade later, I jumped ship and signed on with DirecTV. Although the company had launched in 1994 with much smaller dishes, I had to try to get my money’s worth out of my backyard monstrosity. Still, I was all too happy to see that thing go away.

In the years that followed, I eventually switched to competitor Dish TV, then back to DirecTV. Well, that is, until recently, which I wrote about a month ago. Now I am a YouTube TV customer for when I want to watch linear TV, and a streamer for everything else.

All of this for background, because today’s topic is about DirecTV and Dish coming together in a very different era of television viewing. How we watch has changed; how we consume our media is vastly different from 1989 when I handed over my credit card for that first dish.

Earlier this week, DirecTV bought Dish for $1. You read that right. It’s just that DirecTV also agreed to assume Dish TV’s staggering $9.75 billion in debt. Yikes.

There’s some irony in all this, though, because a little more than 20 years ago, Dish tried to buy DirecTV, but the FTC stepped in, saying it would hurt competition. Today, it appears they couldn’t care less. The combined DirecTV and Dish will have about 20 million customers, which is about what DirecTV had on its own before it started hemorrhaging seven million customers who just abandoned them. Like me.

It’s a dying business, although it won’t die any time soon. There are also still 68.7 million cable subscribers, but when you add them to the combined DirecTV/Dish, that comes to only about 89 million, a far cry from the 130 million households in the US. The customers are getting away and going elsewhere. Cutting the cord is very fashionable.

There’s a wrinkle in all of this, because back in 2014, AT&T bought DirecTV for $48.5 billion, but that investment rapidly plummeted in value. In 2021, AT&T sold 30% of its equity for $16.2 billion to TPG, a private equity firm. And this week, concurrent with the DirecTV/Dish deal, AT&T sold the remaining 70% to TPG for $7.9 billion. Do the math. AT&T lost one-half of its investment over the span of 10 years, and had it waited much longer, it likely would have lost far more.

All because of the shifting sands of media consumption.

While DirecTV thinks its acquisition will improve its odds of weathering this storm, it must remember the fact that it is selling programming that fewer and fewer people care about. Even though DirecTV is now offering a similar streaming linear TV service like YouTube TV, it’s too little, too late. The eyeballs, it turns out, are looking at Netflix, Max, Hulu, and others. What we want, when we want it, where we want it.

I suppose I can give a half-hearted high five to DirecTV for joining forces. Maybe two sinking ships can float as one. But then again, we saw what happened after Sears and Kmart merged. It hasn’t ended well. Consumers have spoken, and we rather like being in control of how we consume our media. And if I had to bet, in a decade or so Netflix will produce a documentary about the ultimate demise of these two companies, a demise they helped engineer in large part.

Dr “What To Watch Tonight?” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[editorsusan]

At work this week I've been training to learn a new task - producing dynamic digital editions. This is a process that Janice has pioneered for the company over the past couple of years, and it has grown to the point where more people on our team need to know how to do it as the need for it expands.

So far McClatchy is using these in about a dozen of its products, but we'll gradually be adding more until all of the products are using it (I think?). I don't understand all the details yet, but I'm learning.

I've enjoyed learning this because it's about the closest I'll probably be able to get anymore to doing anything remotely related to page design (which I enjoy), and it's a new software system to learn (PageSuite), and I enjoy doing that, too.

The biggest downside to working dynamic edition shifts is the late hours; I've been on 4pm to midnight for the training, and the regularly scheduled shifts can be until as late as 2am (in my time zone).

I used to work until midnight quite regularly back in the old days of the Bee copy desk, but with all the evolution of our work processes, it has been years since the last time I worked any later than about 9:30pm. So working until midnight has been an adjustment - it's an entirely different lifestyle being on swing shift versus day shift.

I never minded being on swing shift before, but it's the switching back and forth between the day/swing shift that can become a grind. We'll just have to wait and see how it goes.

Anyway, here's a thumbnail of one of the digital editions I worked on last night. These dynamic editions are made to resemble regular newspaper pages, but the biggest difference is that the stories don't have to fit the space. The stories usually are longer than the space, and when a reader is looking at these (as I understand it), they just click on the story and it opens the full story in another window. When they're done reading that, they close the story window and return to the dynamic page (or pages) to continue reading.

This is McClatchy's strategy to give newsrooms a chance to push out fresher news (they can select up to 20 of their top stories per day, but most use fewer than that) to their readers with later deadlines than the print editions have. Janice could explain all of this much better than I can. I think of the dynamic editions as kind of a hybrid between the print product and the newsroom's website. So yes, readers can still just go directly to the website for the latest news, but the dynamic edition sort of connects the latest news to the product's daily e-edition.

As you can see, we don't have to follow the same character-count standards here for headlines that we use for the print editions. And because these pages are 100% templated (we have zero ability to adjust the size of the articles), if a story is too short to fill the space, the only tools we have left to force the story to sort of fit are to make the headline extra long (we can also add deck heds, but I didn't try doing that yesterday) or else manually recrop the photos to be more vertical in the hope that those actions will push the text down far enough to fill the hole on the page.

The current software functionality is pretty limited, but I hear that we're expecting to get a software upgrade of some sort next year that might give us more tools/control.

[jrpneblog]

Stadium of Fright

A New Years Day lunchtime kick off 135 miles from home was never an ideal fixture to bring in 2024 but the display on the field and the utter garbage spoken by the manager off it tipped the balance for most of the hardy souls who represented our club on Wearside. On the field North End lost the game 0-2 with a sideways and backwards display a million miles from this so called "brand" that Ryan Lowe has kept promising us. Off the field we had a manager giving a post match press conference saying he has always said we are lacking in quality and at 0-2 down at half time the game was effectively over. If I hadn`t heard it with my own ears and seen the display with my own eyes I would have said it was a fantasy story made up into a fairy tale Just how much longer this total embarrassment to Preston North End Football Club can go on is obviously in the hands of the owners but I will say this. If previous history of this football club over a long period is anything to go by it will not be Ryan Lowe that is held to account it will be the owner and the board. It is clear that Lowe has lost the vast majority of the fan base and by some of the performances on the field I think the players may well have had enough as well.

North End made three changes to the side abysmally beaten by Sheffield Wednesday on Friday evening with Jordan Storey, Mads Frokjaer and Ched Evans coming on for Whatmough, Holmes and Osmajic. The game started quickly with a chance at either end through Clarke for Sunderland and Whiteman for North End. However it wasn`t long before normal service was resumed as Pritchard, unchallenged, fired a 25 yard shot past the diving hands of Freddie Woodburn and the Black Cats were in the lead. The home side were on top and Woodman saved from Clarke and Pritchard again before Frokjaer fired over at the other end for Preston. The home side remained in the ascendancy and a minute before the break Sunderland doubled their lead when Clarke fed Rusyn to score and send the home side in at half time comfortably in the lead against a side just playing sideways and backwards football.

No changes for North End at the break which didn`t really lead me to think that much was going to change in the second half. The fact of the matter was that the home side were only playing at 70% with a huge cup-tie coming up at the weekend but they were still far too good for a Preston side looking devoid of ideas, inspiration and leadership. North End did have a couple of half chances early on in the second half but the home side were hardly putting a tackle in and it looked like a bounce game for long periods of the second half. Lowe tried all three forwards he had on the bench to try and change things but neither Osmajic, Keane or Riis could produce anything remotely resembling any sort of fightback and the only relief was that the referee only added four minutes on at the end of the game to save the North End fans from any further punishment. I sincerely doubt that Sunderland will pick up an easier three points than these in this, or any other, Championship campaign.

A young man who is an avid supporter of the club home and away posted on Social Media, today, that it currently feels like he has to go and watch PNE and not that he wants to go and watch them. It is a feeling that I am sure is shared by a good number of the travelling fans who were in the North Stand Top Tier at the Stadium of Light to watch this latest capitulation by North End. Just where the club goes from here without a change of manager is anyone`s guess. I have always given managers plenty of latitude during their tenure at Deepdale because miracles do not happen overnight. However I genuinely believe a nightmare is unfolding before our eyes with the current situation at Deepdale. There must be a change of direction at the football club and I think this is absolutely the moment to invoke that change.

.

SUNDERLAND 2-0 PRESTON

.

WOODMAN 5

POTTS 5 STOREY 6 LINDSAY 5 HUGHES 6

McCANN 6

BROWNE 6 WHITEMAN 6 FROKJAER 6 MILLAR 7

EVANS 5

.

Subs:

KEANE 6

OSMAJIC 6

RIIS 6

.

MOTM: Liam Millar

Attendance 42,714

Preston Fans 750 (approx) (1.76%).

[queerstudiesnatural]

still thinking about this. i think in early seasons/pre-canon dean very much was a member of society whereas sam was not. which is ironic considering sam was trying so hard to belong while dean was purposely living on the outside of anything even remotely resembling community (with the exception of cassie).

as said previously, dean had to spend time around people in order to parent sam. he had be confronted with the reality of what it's like to survive when you have no money. to look society in the eye. and sam was somehow shielded from that. so when sam wanted to belong, when he imagined being part of society, he had a utopian and naive vision of what society was, or could be. he believed in meritocracy because that's all he could believe in. study hard and you will get a scholarship and get out of here. pray every day and you won't turn into a demon to be hunted by your family.

sam's views were basically "play nice and you too can have a seat at the table". dean's were "nice is a mask, there is no justice, all we can do is our best to survive and help others survive".

and then of course around s4-5 sam started realising that there was never any hope for him and changed his reasoning from "i can avoid this by being good" to "i can make up for this by suffering a lot/dying". and the thing is he was never wrong to believe he was special and could rise above/be a martyr for mankind because like, he literally was. he was the chosen one all along. and before he knew that for certain (though deep down he could feel it from day one) he believed he could be better than the life he was born in. after he knew, he realised he never had a choice in what he became, but he clung to the hope that he could turn it into something good. with the demon blood, with the trials, with his community of hunters. no longer trying to escape, but to spite the devil and turn his curse into something helpful and good.

and dean, well he went from being some guy to the queen in some cosmic game of chess, to god's favourite npc, and he was never able to reconcile with that. his whole life dean's desperately wanted to be just some guy. he never wanted to be important, and he never felt like he was.

and in the end any talk of politics or fitting into society is pointless, because sam and dean were never written to be part of human life. society is just background noise to their story. they literally are the main characters in god's book series, and any attempt at world exploration is futile, they are both in a highly guarded enclosure.

but the difference between them is that sam was specifically chosen and never had any choice in what he became. he was always going to be lucifer's vessel, his whole life was orchestrated down to every little detail. lucifer was very specific about wanting him. but dean could have been anyone. michael never cared who his vessel was, as long as it could sustain him. it was supposed to be john, and then it was adam. dean didn't matter. he wasn't designed to be special at first, and he never wanted to be, what did make him special is that he wouldn't let anyone else take on his burden if he could help it. sam never had a choice, but dean did, and he chose not to let anyone else be chosen. and he hated himself for it. he went to hell, surrendered to michael, took on the mark of cain. knowing it would turn him into a monster. a demon, a harbinger of the apocalypse, a relentless killing machine. but at least no one else would have to bear the burden of hating themselves as much as he did.

sam's martyrdom is in dying for humanity, dean's is in living pitifully. makes the finale really ironic don't it.

i find it so interesting to look at sam and dean's respective views of society and people vs monsters, especially in early seasons, and then how that shifts and evolves throughout the show. like when we first meet them dean is very anti establishment whereas sam is literally studying law at an ivy league college. dean is very vocally anti police, and you're like wow for someone who was raised by an authoritarian father and is trying his hardest to please him this guy sure hates authority. he is aware of and cares about issues like racism and classism. but then when it comes to anyone non human he pretty much has no grey area, he sees them all as monsters to be put down. they are Things and they all killed his mum. whereas sam is pretty neutral about people, he doesn't even seem to be aware of systemic inequalities, he has a more individualistic approach to society. but this means he also sees monsters as individuals, just as capable of being good or redeemed.

This has everything to do with the way they grew up and the challenges they faced that affected them the most. dean's biggest challenge was putting food on the table. dean grew up poor and hungry. he was arrested for stealing, he had to use his body to get by, and he had to starve to try and feed sammy. and sam also grew up poor, but he was somewhat shielded from the reality of it. he wasn't the one who had to get food and pay for the extra week in a motel john left them in. his issues were much more personal. because sam knew he was a freak by all standards, he felt impure, and he knew in his heart that the monsters they hunted weren't too different from him. so his hope was in believing that anyone could be saved. anyone could choose to be good. where dean saw a system, with people in power and people who suffered because of them, sam saw grey individuals, and he was drawn in particular to the ones that had something "wrong" with them (max, madison, the kid from bugs, etc)

dean grew up so isolated that he couldn't be individualistic. he could only look at people from afar and that's why he sees the systems. and the violence he faced wasn't targeted at him personally, it was targeted at people like him. poor people, drifters, queer (or queer-looking) people. sam grew up trying to make connections. he made friends, he wanted an education. he tried so hard to belong.

and it's interesting to me that dean ended up being the one who formed the most personal bonds with people who were different, or ostracised, or monsters. see crowley, benny, charlie, claire.

sam tried to build communities (see his s14 arc) but every time he tried to get close to someone it ended in disaster so he ended up keeping his distance. and building a system. throughout the show he takes on leadership roles, and as time progresses he keeps his relationships more and more goal-oriented. whereas dean ends up forming personal bonds with a lot of people, and focusing less on helping oppressed people in general, and more on saving the individuals he cares about. i'm not saying they switched roles, they both kept their original views of the world, but they shifted towards a more confused and confusing moral compass that pointed somewhere in the middle and made it harder for them to understand each other. and ain't that just what growing up is like. dean cared about the whole world as a teen and young adult, but then that became too much to bear, and he had to focus his energy on his circle of loved ones. still caring about the world, but he had individual connections now and had to prioritise them. and sam still saw the potential for redemption and goodness in everyone, but he grew weary of people too, afraid of them or afraid of losing them, and he built walls. tried to help by giving himself missions rather than getting personally and emotionally involved.

psychologically speaking this show is so rich, the characters don't feel one dimensional (despite some of the writers' best efforts), and following their journey for 15 years means we saw them change and evolve, they don't remain the same people they were in season 1, but they keep some of that, and they just grow organically. sometimes i just love spn

[thornedrose44]

Prompt: "Do it. Take a chance, I'm begging you. You don't want to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been."

Read on AO3

“What is it?” Kara huffed out, her frustration finally reaching critical mass.

“What’s what?” Alex replied, playing dumb by pretending to study the DEO’s monitors far too intently considering Kara had literally just dispatched the rogue villain of the week.

Kara crossed her arms, hip cocked forward slightly as she leant against the central console, blue eyes observing her sister's profile closely.

“Whatever you’re not telling me because you think it will upset me.” The superhero clarified bluntly, her social hesitation and uncertainty having dampened over the last few years.

She had learnt the hard way how important it was to never shy away from the truth and avoid speaking around the heart of the matter. It was a lesson she had absorbed completely, and it was one she refused to forget - needing to prove she had evolved, had bettered herself from the version that had required teaching in the first place.

“I’m not…” Alex refuted, shrugging dismissively but keeping her gaze trained forward, “There’s no-“

“Look, I’m asking you out of courtesy,” Kara cut in, “but you and I both know that I could just as easily ask Nia, and she would fold almost instantly.”

Alex grumbled irritably under her breath - Nia still had yet to build an effective resistance to Kara’s puppy dog eyes and this particular weakness had caused no small amount of trouble for Alex over the last five years.

“It is Lena related, right?” Kara checked, though it was completely unnecessary.

For Alex to actively try and keep a secret from her, it couldn’t be about anything else. And it had been more or less confirmed by her sister's reaction to her threatening to go to Nia.

“Just because I’m keeping a secret, doesn’t automatically mean it’s to do with Lena.” Alex tried, though the conviction behind her statement was weaker than wet tissue paper.

The redhead side-eyed her and Kara merely had to arch an unimpressed eyebrow in return for the DEO director to deflate.

“Okay maybe it’s a little to do with Lena.” Alex admitted with a wince, rubbing the back of her neck in defeat.

Kara threw her hands up in exasperation. “It’s been over five years, okay? I’m fine!”

Her bellowed declaration of stability, made the nearby DEO agents look over with a mix of curiosity and concern. Kara grimaced at the reaction and as such didn’t resist when Alex grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the central room and into her private office.

Alex turned to face her fully, lips pressed tight together and hands firm on her own hips (it had always annoyed Kara that Alex managed to make her signature superhero pose far more intimidating than her own attempts).

“Yelling I’m fine, definitely helps your case.” Alex retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Kara had the good grace to look suitably embarrassed for a moment before launching into the same variation of the speech she gave every time there was a morsel of Lena news to be had. “I screwed up, okay? Big time screwed up - ‘regret it for the rest of my life’ screwed up!” Kara declared prompting a beleaguered sigh from her sister who knew the blatant lie that was coming next. “But I’ve made my peace with it. I won’t spiral into another depressive episode when I hear how happy she is.”

Alex shook her head, not even remotely convinced - not that Kara could blame her, the last time Alex had been pestered into telling her a Lena update, Kara had spent a weekend on a drinking binge that had successfully proven that there were limits even for a kryptonian.

“I don’t think-“ Alex began.

“What is it?” Kara demanded. “Is she getting another medal from the president?”

Alex shook her head, jaw clenching and unclenching. “Kara, you don’t want to know this.”

“Her and Kal save the world again?” Kara barrelled on, her lips curling into a jealous snarl. “The greatest Luthor and Super duo continue to make the world a better place?”

That particular news article had been printed and burned by Kara’s heat vision more times than she dared admit to anyone.

“Kara, please-“ Alex begged, expression crumpling as Kara relentlessly pushed.

“Tell me, I can take it.” Kara proclaimed, voice coming out high pitched and strained. “Is she dating someone again? Another famous actress? That Olympic male gymnast? What-“

“She’s getting married.”

A bomb must have gone off, Kara thought to herself.

A kryptonite bomb.

It was the only thing that could explain the ringing in her ears, and the way everything just… hurt.

A shard of kryptonite must have pierced her chest and cut her heart into jagged pieces. That was the only thing that could explain it.

“What?” She questioned, barely above a whisper. She didn’t quite recognise her own voice - it sounded shattered and unfamiliar. She also didn’t know what she was asking.

Didn’t know what ‘what’ was all about.

What just happened?

What did you say?

What post-apocalyptic reality are we living in now?

“Next week, she’s getting married.” Alex explained, giving Kara answers she no longer wanted. “Sam, Ruby, Kal and Lois are invited.”

She knew it should sting. Not being invited even though they hadn’t spoken in nearly five years. That she should feel something about the fact that Lena had omitted Alex, Brainy, Nia and J’onn as well - it further reinforced how Lena believed them to be Kara’s friends and never hers (which was one of the things Kara regretted most - how her poor treatment of Lena had infected and destroyed everyone else’s friendship with the youngest Luthor).

“To who?” Kara asked, tone cold, hollow… empty.

“Kara,” Alex murmured softly, reaching out to comfort her sister, “this clearly isn’t good for you.”

Kara jerked backwards so fast that the papers on Alex’s desk shot into the air, fluttering down around the sisters like snow.

“Just tell me!” Kara ordered, hands turned into white knuckle fists at her sides that would be capable of tearing through the strongest of metals. Her eyes heated but she managed to stave the fire in them as she glowered at her sister.

Alex slumped back, leaning heavily against her desk, running a frantic hand through her short hair. “Does it matter?” Alex muttered defeatedly, brown eyes filled with pity and sympathy as she stared up into Kara’s eyes.

“Of course it fucking matters,” Kara snapped in outrage before she had a chance to stop and think , “because it’s not me!”

The admission hung heavy and rotting between them. It wasn’t a revelation to either of them, though the fact that the intensity of Kara’s feelings hadn’t dampened despite the separation of half a decade was.

“Kara…” Alex breathed, standing back up and moving towards the blonde with the obvious intent of hugging her.

“I should get back to CatCo.” Kara mumbled, cheeks a fiery red with shame. She stepped hurriedly away from her sister and was already halfway out the door before she halted, turning back to call out a sad yet sincere. “Thanks for telling me.”

Xxx

“I genuinely don’t get why you love these films so much.” Lena remarked, hands cupping her just made cup of cocoa, nose adorably scrunched up as she snuggled back down on the sofa beside Kara, who didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her best friend’s shoulders.

“They’re sweet and romantic.” Kara replied with a happy sigh, turning to nuzzle into the side of Lena’s head for a fleeting moment as the film’s lead started her joyful march down the aisle. “It makes me hopeful.”

“Hopeful?” Lena repeated curiously, leaning away slightly so she could meet Kara’s blue eyes.

Kara shrugged, ducking her head bashfully, “It’s stupid.”

“Hey,” Lena murmured gently, freeing a hand from her mug so that she could interlace her warmed fingers with Kara’s, “you could never be stupid, especially not about something like this.” Her best friend asserted, before asking seriously, “You want the classic big white wedding?”

“Uh…” Kara blushed, cheeks pinking as her mind struggled to kick into gear.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena that the reason she loved weddings more than any other event is because they so closely resembled Kryptonian Bonding ceremonies. That the exchanging of rings, polished everlasting metal, reminded her of wonderfully crafted bracelets clasped on wrists. That it was an occasion for family to join together across generations, for the rare flashes of art and music on Krypton to take centre stage over cold science.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena that after being alone, abandoned and lost - ripped away from her home in the cruelest of ways - that the idea of belonging to someone else, of having a home in someone else regardless of time or location was what Kara wanted more than anything else.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena because it would require admitting the truth of who she really was, it would require taking accountability for years of lies.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena without losing her forever.

“Yeah.” Kara coughed awkwardly, “I want the whole thing. Beautiful dress, surrounded by family… the love of my life at the end of the aisle. Everything.” She shot Lena a side-long glance, “I’m guessing you don’t?”

“Never really been my thing,” Lena admitted readily and Kara’s heart twisted at how Lena didn’t hesitate to bare herself, how she gave all of herself when it could be argued that Kara - at best - only gave half, “probably because I can’t imagine I have enough people in my life to invite and feel ‘surrounded’.” Lena pursed her lips thoughtfully, “I also don’t get the need for the spectacle. Just the idea that there’s someone out there that would want to…” Kara watched her best friend deflate, expression wistful and pained, “be with me, love me like that… that’s more than enough.”

Kara’s eyes stung with barely suppressed tears at how little Lena thought of herself. Whoever had the privilege of marrying her best friend would be the single luckiest and most fortunate person in the universe and Kara wished Lena knew that, wished she believed it. But when she opened her mouth to say it, to proclaim it, her breath faltered and her courage abandoned her… like it always did with the youngest Luthor.

“So no white dress?” Kara muttered instead, voice meek and lacking the lightheartedness that should have carried the question.

It didn’t matter, though, Lena let out a quick exhale that resembled something on the edge of laughter. Kara’s escalating heart rate settled at that, however, it did little to alleviate the pang of regret that was steadily accompanying all her interactions with the CEO.

“Well, I guess I could be convinced by someone special.” Lena teased, shooting Kara an overtly salacious wink that wouldn’t - on the surface - be considered genuine.

“Anyone that marries you will have to be special.” Kara replied, the statement tumbling out instantly.

It wasn’t the heartfelt confession that Kara wished it to be and it wasn’t quite light enough to be dismissed as a friendly reassurance. Instead, it was yet another thing that fell into the ethereal greyness that lied between them, something to tuck away and think back on late at night when they tried to work out if the other meant it the way they wished they did.

“Yeah?” Lena whispered, piercing green eyes studying Kara’s face closely.

Kara swallowed thickly, “Yeah.”

Xxx

Lena found out less than six weeks after that movie night. They defeated Lex and Kara had been on the edge of breathing easy, of being able to simply relax back into her life when it all came crashing down.

They had been at Games Night and Kara had been antsy, waiting for her best friend to arrive. The thought of pulling Lena into a hug had been what she had been looking forward to most all day.

Kara was at peace, laughing and drinking with her friends - her family - when Lena had arrived. Kara had beamed up at her immediately and for a second Lena’s entrancing green eyes lit up in return before turning dark and distant.

Kara’s smile faltered, crinkle appearing between her brows when-

The wine bottle smashed into the wall behind Kara’s head.

Deathly silence fell over the area.

Kara looked into hollow, emptied out versions of her favourite green. She would have preferred anger, fury, rage… the defeated nothingness staring back at the Kryptonian was far worse.

Lena turned and left, grinding Kara’s heart to dust and taking the sand particles left with her.

She knew.

She knew because Lex had told her.

She knew because she had gone to stop her brother, intent on saving the world like always only to find out that those she was saving the world for didn’t view her as their equal. That the people she treated as family had kept her on the outskirts. That her best friend had lied, had manipulated, had-

xxx

It was Lois that found out everything from Lena.

When the fallout had happened, as Kara and the Superfriends realised what they had lost, the blonde hero sent notice to her cousin that his identity was probably known as well (mostly because she remembered how hurt she had been when Kal shared her secret without her consent). Kal and Lois had arrived almost immediately, frantic and terrified (especially with baby Jon to consider) at the concept of a Luthor knowing their identity.

Kara, joined by all the Superfriends, quickly put their minds to rest, sharing Lena’s actions from before, her dependability, kindness and inherent goodness. Kal and Lois were convinced their secret was safe but they were horrified to hear how Lena had been isolated and kept at arms length after her considerable good deeds. Alex and the others had squirmed uncomfortably and tried to weakly talk around their hesitancy.

Kal and Lois had simply looked at Kara for an explanation but she had none. Yet again the words would not come.

It was Lois, therefore, that had sought out the youngest Luthor and through her incredible tenacity was able to gain access where everyone else was rebuffed and harshly rejected.

It was Lois that comforted Lena, gave her support and sympathy.

It was Lois that relayed Lena’s demand that they give her space.

It was Lois that suggested Lena return to Metropolis - presenting it as a way to celebrate how L-Corp, after Lena’s repeated sacrifices and heroism, was fully rehabilitated and ready to reclaim its once home.

It was Lois that encouraged Lena and Kal to work together becoming an unstoppable force that Kara and Lena had always danced on the precipice of.

A Luthor and a Super. Saving the world.

xxx

Kara did as asked. Gave Lena space. Or at least the semblance of space.

She checked in constantly, hovered nearby throughout the days and nights leading upto L-Corp’s departure and Lena along with it. She followed Lena’s jet to Metropolis, a sentinel ensuring safe passage.

She kept her distance for three months. Three months of stony silence before she broke.

Snapped, more like.

Landing on Lena’s new balcony in Metropolis that had been specially built for Superman this time - not for her, though Kara, at the time, had hoped that she had been considered consciously or unconsciously as well.

Kara couldn’t remember the exact words.

She remembered crying from beginning to end.

Remembered ‘I loved you’ - past tense.

Remembered finally breaking through Lena’s cold, hardened shell to the raw, bleeding wound hidden underneath and regretting it almost immediately.

Remembered how seeing Lena’s agony was worse than kryptonite, worse than watching Krypton burn…

Remembered Lena saying she needed time to heal, for Kara to stop hovering nearby - because she knew, she sensed Kara’s presence even without seeing her once - and to give her time to stop thinking of Kara and feeling only pain when she did so.

Remembered promising to do just that.

Remembered a timer starting to count in her head - the seconds that she would be condemned to purgatory.

Remembered the hope that just refused to go out - the hope that whispered give it time, give it time, give it time with every beat of her heart.

Remembered thinking that given enough time Lena would reach out and they would get the chance that Kara had almost destroyed for them.

Remembered flying zig-zagged and dangerous to Alex where her endless stream of tears returned to full flow as she sobbed into her sister’s shoulder using words and phrases like ‘heartbroken’ and ‘I love her’ and ‘I can’t survive this pain’ and ‘what do I do?’ and ‘I can’t breathe’.

Remembered a hollowed out shell of Kara Danvers moving through the motions for a year, for two, three, four… five...

Remembered taking up drinking to excess whenever she saw Lena’s life flourish and grow - not because she didn’t want Lena to be happy, that was what Kara wanted and wished for more than anything - because she wasn’t there with her for those life-changing events.

Remembered Alex and Kelly’s worries growing with each occurrence, intervening more and more to such a degree that they encouraged Kara to consider AA meetings - she did eventually, and found destroying entire junkyards to be a healthier coping mechanism, external destruction rather than internal.

Remembered Brainy at the behest of Alex, setting up Kara’s phone and computer to prevent searching for any keywords affiliated to Lena and to alert Alex if Kara ever managed to stumble upon a news article.

Remembered listening to Kal and Lois skipping large parts of stories where it was clear that Lena was involved - it was nice in some way to know Lena was getting the credit she deserved, but it hurt when Kal’s stories started to involve gaps at Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year (events that made Kara’s loneliness even more acute and her longing intensify).

Remembered her life without Lena.

Remembered regret and guilt and loss.

Remembered-

“She’s getting married.”

xxx

Kara shouldn’t have been there. Shouldn’t be anywhere in the vaguest vicinity of where she currently was.

The bride was dressed in a simple silky white shift, sipping intermittently from her champagne glass as she stared contemplatively up at the designer white dress hanging off the door in front of her. Raven locks were pinned up, so tight and intricate that it made Kara wince sympathetically at how it must tug and pinch at the bride’s scalp - she’d always preferred it down, loose and curling… soft and inviting. The bride’s make-up was artistic with a dramatic edge that would captivate but made her look… not like herself in Kara’s opinion.

Or maybe after five years it made Lena look more like herself - the version of herself she had become once free of Kara and all the pain she brought into her life.

She was hovering outside the dressing room window, trying to work out how far she was willing to take this. If it would be better to leave without saying anything, to try and leave some part of Lena’s life unspoiled.

It was the fear that she had always given into when she was best friends with Lena that made her decision for her. Like speaking her truth and learning to ask for what she wanted - Kara had also promised herself that she would never allow that bone deep fear to stop her ever again.

The window was open and it was as good an invite as Kara was ever going to get.

“Lena?”

The beautiful bride-to-be jerked in her place, champagne glass nearly tumbling to the floor but saved at the last second.

She didn’t turn around for a beat… then two…

Kara was just about to escape back through the window when Lena exhaled slowly and pivoted round to meet her.

“Kara?” Lena breathed out, green eyes closed off and wary.

The kryptonian studied the love of her life for a moment, taking in every little detail - soaking it all up as if accepting that this would be the last time she might ever get to see it again. That the timer that had counted past five years would stop after this moment, the hope powering it gone forever.

“Don’t marry them, please.” Kara requested, no flowery language, no build up. Just the honest truth.

“What?” Lena’s jaw dropped and the champagne glass didn’t survive the second shock, crashing to the ground - released by trembling fingers.

“Don’t marry them.” Kara repeated, uncaring of how the carpet below them soaked up the amber liquid.

Lena’s expression flitted through an array of emotions before settling on indignant rage, “And why the hell not?!”

Kara didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat, instead she stood taller, the crest of her super suit catching the early afternoon light. “Because it should have been me. It still should be me.”

Lena scoffed in disbelief, “You can’t be serious. Now? You’re doing this now?”

Kara pursed her lips, fighting back the regret that always came with the reminders of countless missed opportunities. “Yes.”

The straightforwardness of Kara’s answers seemed to be throwing Lena, leaving her wrong-footed, clearly expecting the blonde to talk around and hint and imply like she used to.

But Kara had learnt. (The lesson had been too painful not to.)

“You had years, Kara!” Lena argued, “Years where I…. I threw myself at you. Practically begged you to love me… to trust me…”

“I know.” Kara replied sadly, wanting desperately to reach out when Lena’s pretty green eyes began to glisten with unshed tears. “I know. But I’m here now.”

“I don’t want you to be.” Lena muttered, arms crossed over her chest and head ducked downwards to hide her expression.

“I know that too.” Kara assured, fingers twitching with the desire to make contact, to comfort and coax - even after all these years her body remembered, the pathways of hardwired instinct related to her best friend were still there, still active even if temporarily closed for service.

“Then why are you here?” Lena murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

Lena’s head snapped up at that, green eyes like saucers.

Kara’s single biggest regret was that she had never said those words to Lena before, had alluded and pointed at them during their final interaction but had never outright said them. And Lena had deserved to hear them then and deserved to hear them now to forever vanquish the doubts that had always been with her.

“Because I’m in love with you and we didn’t get our chance.” Kara affirmed, taking a half step closer to the bride, her red heeled boots and Lena’s bare feet meaning the younger woman had to tip her head ever so slightly back to maintain eye contact. “We didn’t get our chance because of me. Because I was afraid, I was so afraid of losing you. Of doing even the slightest thing that could mean you weren’t in my life. And in the end every action I took out of fear of losing you ensured just that. I’ve spent five years without you, Lena, and I can’t bear a single day more.”

“Kara,” Lena whispered, “I’m getting married.”

“I know.” Kara smiled sadly before adding, “Don’t.”

“What are you suggesting? Seriously?” Lena sighed, shaking her head mournfully and Kara knew she was losing her then.

“I’m suggesting that we have our chance now before it's gone forever.”

Gathering the small amount of courage Kara had left, she tentatively let her hands nudge forwards, brushing against Lena’s cool, pale fingers. That small contact was everything. Made it easier to breathe, made the colours of the world more vibrant, made everything just more.

“I let fear hold me back from the person that made me happiest in the entire universe and I won’t let it hold me back again.”

“Kara…” Lena whimpered, glancing back over her shoulder at the closed door that her wedding dress was displayed on, though she didn’t pull her hand away from Kara’s touch, didn’t flinch or retreat.

“Do it.” Kara pleaded, stepping across that final slither of distance between them, her forehead leaning forward to rest gently against the side of Lena’s, “Take a chance, I’m begging you. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been.”

Lena inhaled shakily, head returning to forward facing - foreheads pressed against one another, breathing in the same air - and then… and then…

Lena’s hands slipped fully into Kara’s, fingers intertwining together.

[sinnamonrolle]

[ the little moments] ♡ Satan

5 - That moment when you found Satan covered in blood.

✿ part of a series now! ✿

❀  gender neutral reader  ❀

Warnings: Blood (no gore)

“Devildom does not tolerate slander, and I, most certainly, will not sit quietly when my human is being talked about in such a filthy manner. Now, I’m sure you know this, but I have connections in every layer of the Devildom. If I ever hear anything remotely similar again, whether it’d be in text or words, there will be consequences.”

The Devildom was always dark, and it was something you’ve long gotten used to, but it was way, way darker in alleyways where the streetlights never reach. Within the shadows of a small alley, you heard a familiar voice.

“Satan?” you called out. You didn’t want to step into the shadows, knowing of the potential danger in doing so, but you wanted to see Satan again. You wanted to see him safe, and so you hesitated in the walkway, wondering what you should do.

Satan had just suddenly walked away from you earlier. He didn’t say a word to you as he left, only leaving a hint of anger—pure, unfiltered anger, ready to burst into something darker, more dangerous—in the sound of footsteps and in the bond of your pact. You felt it sparking in your chest, like firecrackers going off, but at one point in your search for Satan’s whereabouts, your head spun at the amount of rage swirling in you. You heaved, wanting so badly to thrash and to shout and to destroy something.

You whirled around in circles on the street, the colors and shapes mixing around you in blurs, and you were dangling dangerously on the edge of falling head first into the abyss of wrath until—

Satan, where are you? Satan, please be safe. Satan, are you okay? Satan, Satan, Satan, I need to find Satan, I need to make sure he’s okay. Don’t leave me here, please…

You thought of him.

It was the thought of Satan, of seeing him safe and sound, of seeing that wonderful smile on his face again that pulled you back into a more rational state of mind, enough so that you could restart your search. With one feet in front of the other, you took a deep breath.

And now, you’d finally found him, but…

A heavy silence filled the air. Every second that passed made you worry more and more. From what you heard, you were sure something had gone down. It wasn’t that you were worried about his physical well-being (although, it was still a point of concern for you), you were much more worried about his mental well-being, which had always been rather fragile compared to his brothers.

You weren’t saying that he was fragile, but rather that it didn’t take much to set him off. He might be able to hide his emotions extremely well, but he felt them harder, and they lingered longer—much, much longer. It was this vulnerability that made you worried.

You couldn’t help but call out again, “Satan? Are you okay?”

It was only after that did a familiar figure slowly walked out, the shadows clinging onto the flickering form of Satan. His eyes were a cold, harsh green—so lovely yet so dangerous with that dark glint in his eyes—and they glowed, like a warning, against the backdrop of night.

Several sharp slashes of red stained his cheeks. Droplets hung to the blonde strands of hair hanging above his eyes. And you could see similar splatters dying his gray shirt, although most of it were hidden by his boa.

“My beloved,” Satan murmured, and the flickering between his human form and demon form increased in intensity, almost resembling an old TV with static.

He stumbled towards you, conflict coloring his cold eyes, and you couldn’t help but look behind him at the shadowy corner. If it was you from when you first came to the Devildom, you would have felt sorry for those poor souls, but now—now, the only person on your mind was Satan.

You took his hand and pulled him away from the alleyway to some place with more light, some place with more breathing room, some place safe. He followed obediently behind you, letting you take him to wherever you wanted.

It was this trust Satan placed in you that made your heart clenched tight, beating along to the sound of your hurried footsteps. His breathing wasn’t loud, but you heard it anyway—gasping, pausing, hitching. The wrath had died down the moment you called out his name, and now you were left with nothing but your own thoughts and feelings swirling inside you. You wondered what was going on in his mind, what emotions he was feeling, what you could do for him. You wondered and wondered, and all sorts of thoughts cluttered your head, but you didn’t say anything until you stopped near a street lamp off to the side.

Lit by the pale white light, you finally saw Satan from head to toe. The flickering has subsided greatly, leaving him in his gray dress shirt, his ribbon, his boa, and his spotted pants, but his horns and tail were absent. There was a bit of dissonance at the sight of him in his demon outfit but without the demon features, and it seemed Satan felt it too with how his eyebrows were furrowed, and how the pale green in his eyes was growing agitated.

“You can stay in your demon form, you know,” you said softly, taking his other hand in yours and squeezing them. “You don’t have to hide them from me. I’m not scared.”

“I—” Satan began to say, but then he looked down at your hands, and he was jerking away, pulling his hands from yours.

It wasn’t hurt that you felt first, but rather concern, a kind of fear that has always nested deep at the bottom of your heart, a pain that didn’t come from the rejection but from how Satan was hurting, and you wanted nothing more but to hold him again.

So that’s what you did.

You reached out for his hands, determined not to lose him, but—

“Your, your hands,” Satan breathed out, trembling almost invisibly. His eyes were trained on your hands, and you finally looked down at them.

Semi-dried blood coated the surface of your palms along with your fingers, but you didn’t see any problems with it, especially since it wasn’t your blood. A thought knocked into your head then—you wondered if the blood was his.

You looked back up at Satan, who had taken a few steps back, his hands gripping roughly at his hair.

“The blood isn’t mine. Is it yours? Are you injured?” you asked, the words wanting to jump out of your mouth, but you held them back, urging them to stay calm and steady, lest the hurriedness of your speech scare Satan off.

“No… no, it’s not mine, and that’s exactly—” he broke off, lips pursed, and you couldn’t help but notice how his hands shook as he unintentionally smeared more blood into his hair, turning the once beautiful golden strands into something darker.

Satan fell to his knees.

It came so suddenly. One moment, he seemed like he would break apart into a million different pieces if you were too rough, and the next moment he was on his knees, forehead pressed to the ground, his fingers twitching forward like he wanted to touch something but didn’t dare to.

“That’s exactly the reason why,” Satan whispered. His voice was so small, so weak. Each syllable quivered delicately on his tongue as they escaped him, hoarse and afraid. “I, I’ve stained you. Let you see something you should never have to see. Your beautiful hands should never have to touch something as dirty as blood. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

You stared at the way he was almost curled into himself on the ground. Satan, who has always been so prideful, so full of confidence in himself and the vast amount of knowledge—Satan, who has always been aware of how he handled himself, every move thought out, every remark a well crafted reply—Satan, who used to look down at you, now, was in front of you, not daring to look into your eyes.

“I never wanted you to see me truly angry, to, to see me violent with my wrath. Violent with bloodshed and bodies and carnage. This side of me you should never see, it’s unsightly, and something so unsightly should never grace your eyes. And because of it, I left you alone when I shouldn’t—”

“That’s not it, is it?”

“Huh?” Satan lifted his head up in surprise, eyes wide with a hundred thousand emotions flying past them, yet you could understand none of them except for one. He had always been a mystery to you. A carefully composed mystery that lured you in deeper and deeper, until you were completely unable to extricate yourself from him. But sometimes, he hid himself so well, he composed himself so neatly, he closed himself off so tightly that he, himself, would forget what he was truly feeling.

“That’s not it,” you repeated, but this time as a statement. Squatting down to get closer to him, you ran a hand through his hair, brushing some of the blood away, and swiped your thumb against his bloody cheek.

He tensed under your touch but gradually relaxed to it, enough to fully switch back into his human outfit, and you noticed how his eyes were glossy. There was a light wet sheen over them, but you were sure you were also the same. Between the two of you, all differences revealed themselves in the forms of adjacency, of opposites, of analogs.

You cupped his face in your hands, and he finally looked at you. You’ve always loved his eyes—that dark, forest green with a depth that you could never decipher.

“You’re afraid,” you murmured, thumbs tracing the slope of his face. “But what are you truly afraid of? Will you tell me?”

Satan stared at you for a moment with his eyebrows furrowed, as if he was trying to find answers from your face alone. You waited for him. You would always wait for him. You would wait centuries for Satan, if only he didn’t feel so close to disappearing in your hands.

“Of course,” he said, and the silence broke under the weight of the promise underlying his words. He gently held your wrist, his thumb settling on top of your pulse. “Of course, I’ll tell you. Only you.”

A pause.

Then, Satan looked down, and you felt something wet settle on your fingers.

“I’m afraid that you will disappear,” he whispered. “I’m afraid that one day, you will really see me for who I am and leave me behind. Every moment seems so unreal, and I feel like if I don’t confirm your presence, I will wake up and realize this is all a dream. A beautiful, wonderful dream that I could never experience again. I don’t want this to end. I want you to stay by my side forever, until all eight layers of the Devildom collapsed, until the end of time itself. I’m afraid of a day without you. I’m afraid of never seeing you again. I’m afraid of losing you. I’m afraid of so much, but there is so little I can control.”

He stopped and took a deep breath, like he was living his fears in his mind, but when he saw the tears building up in your eyes, he pulled out a green handkerchief from his pocket. You vaguely saw embroidery of your name on a corner as he pressed it against the corners of your eyes, careful of the blood on his hand, even though you could see a tear rolling down his face.

“My beloved,” he said softly, as soft as a kiss, “I can’t imagine my world without you, so please, please, don’t suddenly disappear one day.”

You disregarded everything and pulled him into your embrace, squeezing him hard. There was so much in your mind, clanging against each other in an effort to be first in line to be said, but any thoughts were overshadowed by the pain in your heart, consumed by that clenching sensation where you felt like your heart was being crushed by an invisible hand.

“I want every side of you, every piece, every emotion,” you sniffed. “I want everything that is yours, and in return, you can have everything that is mine. I’m not afraid of you, Satan, and I never will be. No matter what, no matter if all eight layers of the Devildom collapse, no matter if time ends, there won’t be a moment I would go without loving you. So please, please don’t be afraid. Not when I’m here with you.”

You set his hand on your chest, where you could feel your emotions running rampant, where you could feel the fear chewing away at your insides, where you could feel your heart beating—badump, badump, badump.

“Can you feel it?” you asked. “Can you feel what I’m feeling? My soul is eternally linked to yours. Our pact is the first proof of that.”

Satan smiled, a breathtaking smile that had his eyes curving, the vibrant emerald green of his eyes soft with love, and while he didn't say a word, you could feel it—

The overwhelming relief.

-------

Masterlist!

[uvobreakmylegs]

The Sixth Floor Game

heavy inspiration from the Elevator Game, as well as the Three Kings Game and a little bit of Silent Hill 3

demon!Shalnark

Warnings: blood, death, kidnapping

The Sixth Floor Game is a ritual that will put you into contact with otherworldly forces and, if done correctly, can take you to a world that exists outside of our own. To play this game, you must follow all of the instructions that have been written below. Take care to remember all of them, as one mistake could result in death.

First you must enter a dark and empty building that has an elevator and only five floors in between the times of 3 and 4 AM. The only items you can bring with you are a fully charged cellphone, an item of sentimental value to you and an offering for the demon.

It is not recommended that you give an offering that bares any resemblance to that of a clown or magician.

When you enter the elevator, you need to ride it up to the 5th floor and leave the offering just outside the elevator doors and then head back down to the 3rd floor. When you reach the 3rd floor, you then need to exit the elevator and use your phone to call the last person in your call history. The game begins when you call that number.

When the line is picked up, you must say “I want to visit the 6th floor”.

Be warned that at this point you may hear strange noises on the other end, as calling the number at this time and place has put you in contact with a demon. It is possible to gauge whether the demon is happy with your offering or not based off the things he may say, if anything at all. Do not hang up on the demon; you will go back up the elevator when he hangs up on you.

There are three possibilities awaiting you when you go back to the 5th floor to see what has happened to your offering.

If the demon doesn't care for your offering but hasn't been upset by it, you will find it in the same place as you left it outside the elevator. You must then collect the offering, go back down to the first floor and leave the building.

If the demon has been offended by your offering, you will find the offering destroyed in some way. Leave the building immediately if you find this, as it means that the demon is angry with you and will try to kill you if you stay too long.

But if the demon likes your offering, there will be no trace of it when you get back up to the 5th floor. If this has happened, you must close the elevator doors and then hit the button for the 5th floor again. This time, instead of the doors opening again, the elevator will begin to move up, taking you to a 6th floor that shouldn't exist.

The amount of time it will take to reach the 6th floor varies from person to person, but it should not take longer than two minutes.

When you reach the 6th floor, you will find yourself in another world. Accounts of what this other world looks like also varies from person to person. Some have said that the floor they entered was run down and wrecked to pieces in some parts. Others have said that the floor didn't look any different from the other floors. Regardless of the state of the floor, the one thing that is consistent is a giant glowing red cross that can be seen if you look outside. You will see nothing else outside aside from the cross.

It is not recommended that you to try to open any windows or try to climb down the building.

You are free to explore this other world until you are ready to leave. It does not matter how long you stay in the other world. When you want to leave you must simply walk back to the elevator and hit the button for the first floor. It is possible that you may come across the offering that you left for the demon earlier while you explore.

Do not take the offering back; it now belongs to the demon.

Reality on the 6th floor can be distorted and you may find yourself becoming confused. If you find yourself entering into such a state, take out the sentimental item you brought and focus on it. It will keep you from losing yourself and allow you to continue as you explore the other world.

Above all else, while exploring the other world, you must never look behind you. Even though the demon may have liked your offering, he also likes trickery and will try to make you turn around to look at him by making noise or by speaking to you. If you look at the demon you will be unable to leave the 6th floor and he will keep you there forever as he has claimed you as his.

It is not recommended that you speak to the demon even if you don't look at him.

Regardless of the outcome of your offering, when you have returned to the 1st floor you must exit the building and you cannot enter the building again for any reason until the time is 6 AM.

If you have upset the demon with your offering, it is not recommended that you try the game again.

There is no reward for playing this game. There is only the experience of leaving this world and venturing to one beyond our own.

This game is dangerous and could result in the death of the player, so please consider the possible outcomes of playing before you decide to do so.

You finished reading aloud the instructions displayed on the sketchy-looking site and looked to your friend Farah, who had her hands clasped together as she looked hopefully at you and the rest of your group who had gathered in her apartment.

“Well?” she asked after a moment, “what do you think?”

“.... Why does a demon have a phone?” you asked.

“Yeah and what phone company does he use?” Cliff asked after you, “or do demons have their own phone companies.”

“You're missing the point!” Farah exclaimed.

“And the point is....?”

“We need to try this!”

There was a collective groan throughout the apartment. The other one in the group, Carmen, rubbed their forehead as they told Farah “you're our friend and we love you, but I don't think any of us want to repeat that time we tried summoning ghosts in a public bathroom.”

“This is nothing like that!” Farah insisted, “it said that we need a building with five floors and an elevator! I promise, there won't be anything gross!”

“Where do we get a building like that?” Carmen asked.

Farah pointed to Cliff.

“You work security overnight at that one office building, right?”

“Do you seriously think I'm going to risk my job for this?” he asked.

“We won't do anything bad! We'll just play a game and leave some stuff on the top floor. If the demon doesn't like it we'll take it with us. It's literally in the rules that we need to clean up after ourselves.”

Farah stopped herself, but you could tell she wanted to continue about getting a chance to visit another world. She loved the supernatural and those kinds of urban legends, but she never wanted to try these things on her own.

Carmen sighed.

“Is anyone else even remotely interested in trying this?” they asked.

Neither you or Cliff said anything at first, and Farah's face began to fall as no one volunteered. Then, when it looked like Carmen was about to speak again, you tentatively raised your hand.

“It might be fun,” you said. At least in terms of memories of 'dumb shit you did when you were younger'.

Farah beamed while Carmen gave you a look that screamed 'I hate you'.

With you willing to give the game a chance, the other two ended up conceding to do the same, and Cliff had been convinced by Farah to let you all in a week from that day when he worked at that particular building. With his shift being 11 PM to 7 the next morning, there would be plenty of time for you to play the game and then let him get back to work. As long as nothing was messed up by the end of it, there would be no harm.

At first you were rather stumped on what to give the demon as an offering. Farah was the same, but she ended up deciding on a horror anthology book from the 1920s. Carmen just got a shirt they had been wanting since they were certain that this ritual wasn't going to work and they wanted to spend the money on something that was useful to them. Cliff went out of his way to get a particularly creepy clown doll. He claimed that he wasn't annoyed by all of this, but you found yourself questioning that statement when he sent a picture of it through the group text. You had no clue where the fuck he had found something that unsettling.

The night you all had settled on was approaching and you still didn't have an offering. It shouldn't have been that hard, and yet you felt like if there was the chance that you were going to run into some otherworldly creature, you didn't want to half-ass it and make it upset. If the supernatural was real it seemed better to try and keep it on your side.

You found yourself browsing a few online forums where people were discussing the game. Unsurprisingly, most said that the ritual didn't work, and the few that claimed that it did had written some uninspired stories about how the demon had told them how they were going to die or when the world was going to end, with at least one mentioning the coming of the Antichrist. When you scrolled down to the end of the page you were pretty bored of all of the comments you read and you were about to exit the page when one particular comment caught your eye:

the demon likes bats

It was buried beneath the comments of others, and nobody had interacted with it. Common sense would tell you that this was just more bullshit, but it just seemed like such a random thing to make up. Nowhere in the instructions had it mentioned bats, and no one else on the forums had said anything about it either. The user who had posted it hadn't interacted with anything else and seemingly just came on to put out that little tidbit. For that reason, you found yourself wondering if their ritual had been successful.

You leaned back in your chair while you considered the information.

Bats, huh?

And then by complete chance the next day, when you were in the mall trying to find something because it the date you'd set for the game was only hours away and you still had nothing, you spotted something through the window of a toy store: a pink stuffed bat plush.

It was rather overpriced, but if that comment was correct, then it should be worth it. If not, at least you got something cute out of it.

Surprisingly it was Carmen and Farah that had been less than impressed by what you had brought.

“I didn't realize you wanted to offend the demon too,” Farah commented bitterly.

“Maybe the demon likes pink,” you responded as you shrugged.

Nothing more was said about it as Cliff opened the front door of the building. In exchange for doing this, he made the rest of you go about the building to turn off all any lights that had been left on which you all grumbled about but agreed was fair enough. By the time you were finished scouring the building, it was 3:13 in the morning.

It had been agreed that Farah would go first, and the rest of you waited in a darker spot of the parking lot while she went in, watching the building to see if you could spot her movements through the windows. You had pulled out your phone, as you were the last person she had called. It would probably be proven pretty fast if this was real or not if she called you and it went through to you, though Carmen had said that they felt it was likely that Farah would probably not call and just say that she had.

You checked to make sure the sentimental object you had brought was in your pocket: a small, stuffed bear keychain that you had gotten as a present from a childhood friend. It was special to you, but you didn't feel like you'd be absolutely devastated if anything happened to it.

Farah came out a few minutes later, carrying her book and looking disappointed.

“It didn't work,” she said as she sighed.

“Did you call?” you asked.

“Yes,” she answered, somewhat indignant. To prove that she had, she pulled out her phone and opened up her call history. It listed her last call as being made to you only a few minutes ago. When you opened up your own call history, it showed that she had called you over an hour ago.

….. Okay. That was weird.

Carmen went next, and it was the same story with them, as they came out a little bit later still holding their shirt. Unlike Farah, they didn't seem too upset.

Cliff went after, holding that creepy clown doll and waving it around a bit as he walked to the elevator.

It was quiet again after that. You, Carmen and Farah waited patiently in the parking lot while the electric lampposts around you hummed. Cliff had been talking earlier so you hadn't noticed it, but it seemed eerily quiet outside. Usually there were bugs or other forms of wildlife at night that would keep things from being silent, but right now there was nothing; only the humming electricity of the lot and the occasional comment from Carmen.

Farah seemed anxious as she looked at the building, her hands playing with the charm on her phone while she waited for any sign of Cliff. The thing with the phone history seemed to convince her this was for real and she seemed nervous about Cliff's offering. Carmen didn't appear to be the same way and seemed more impatient, who'd begun to tap their foot as they waited.

“Did you hear anything when you called?” you asked the both of them. They looked at you, and both shook their heads.

“It was quiet when I called,” Farah said.

“Same here,” said Carmen. Farah smiled at that.

“That means that it's real, right?” she asked.

“Sure.”

Carmen wasn't the best person to be around when they were tired and cranky, and you could see that Farah wasn't trying to take it personally. But looking back to Carmen, you noticed a slight furrow to their brow, and the impatient tapping seemed to have increased. At first glance you would have assumed that they were just really done with this whole thing, but as you kept looking, it seemed less like they were annoyed and more more like they were apprehensive.

“Cliff's taking a while,” they commented.

It was taking Cliff longer than the two of them, you realized, and you were about to try and crack a joke about him making it to the sixth floor when you saw the elevator doors in the lobby slide open, followed by Cliff walking out.

More like storming out, actually.

“What the hell?!” he exclaimed as he shoved open the main doors.

“Don't shout!” Carmen responded, “this is your job that we're not supposed to be doing this at, remember? What're you going to do if someone calls the police on us?”

Cliff ignored them, looking to Farah as he continued “are you serious? You want this stupid thing to be real that badly?!”

He was holding something that he then thrust in front of Farah's face. It was the clown doll that he'd brought.

Or at least, what was left of it.

It looked like it had been stepped on repeatedly, the body broken and the head having been caved in. One of the legs were also missing, you noted.

“You.... You think I did that?” Farah asked.

“Who else!” Cliff yelled.

“I've been here the whole time!” she shrieked back.

“She has,” you added as you felt the need to jump in, “none of us have moved from this spot.”

“Oh fuck off,” he answered, “I needed to return this. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Maybe you shouldn't have gone out of your way to be an asshole,” Farah spat back.

It quickly devolved into an argument between the two, with Carmen pulling you back when you tried to jump in again. It made sense why Cliff was upset, but Farah hadn't done anything.

“.... Should I not go?” you whispered to Carmen after a bit.

“No!” Cliff exclaimed, this time at you, “you should go! Do this stupid thing, and then let me get back to my work!”

“You're not allowed to go back in for the rest of the night,” Farah pointed out.

By that point Cliff was done, and he stormed off to another area in the lot. Carmen motioned for you to go while Farah quietly steamed. It wasn't the first time those two had fought, but the arguments seemed to be getting nastier every time they happened. Best to get this over with so they could be separated and have the time to cool down.

You walked through the darkened lobby of the empty office building, your path illuminated only by the streetlights outside. There was something about darkness and artificial light that somehow made it feel more foreboding, more dangerous. Even though you were an adult there were still thoughts that ran about in your head of creatures that you couldn't see awaiting you in the dark, and those thoughts made you tense a bit. It was such an irrational fear, but one your brain wouldn't let go of. The argument between your friends had only put you more on edge as well.

The elevator doors slid open, the bright blinding lights hurting your eyes for a second before they adjusted to them, and you stepped in the car, pushing the button for the fifth floor.

Fifth floor, leave the offering, then down to third.

There were some bits of Cliff's creepy clown doll that were in front of the elevator when you reached the top floor. It vaguely occurred to you that the instructions said to leave immediately if the offering had been destroyed, but it seemed like Cliff had tried to clean up some. Though that made sense, since he didn't want to leave a mess behind after his shift.

You pushed away some of the leftover bits with your shoe, and carefully placed the bat plush laying on its back in front of the doors.

Down to the third floor, then.

You checked again to make sure that the bear keychain was still in your pocket during the ride down, stepping out when the doors opened after you confirmed that it was.

Now to make the call....

There hadn't been anything saying you needed to wait until the doors closed to begin, but you waited anyway. When the double doors slid shut behind you, you hit the button on your screen to call Farah, the last person on your call history.

It rang twice before the call was picked up. Just as Farah and Carmen had said, it was silent on the other side. You cleared your throat before saying the words that had been instructed.

“I want to visit the sixth floor. Please.”

There was nothing that said you needed to be polite, but you figured it couldn't hurt.

You still didn't hear anything from the other end, and that silence continued for several more seconds. You held the phone close to your ear, straining to hear anything, any sort of indication that someone was on the other line. The “demon” was supposed to hang up first, you remembered, so you were stuck until something happened.

“.... That's actually cute.”

The male voice you heard on the other end was unexpected, but you didn't get a chance to say anything back before the phone call ended.

You stood very still for a few moments.

That.... That hadn't been any of the others who were still outside. Unless they had gone so far as to hide someone out there and have them answer the phone when you called Farah and all of this was just an elaborate prank. But none of them were really the kind of people to do things like that.

Remembering the instructions from the site, you turned back to the elevator and got on when the doors opened, pushing the button for fifth floor once again.

If the demon likes your offering, there will be no trace of it when you get back up to the 5th floor

The ding of the elevator signaled that you were once again at the top floor of the building, and when the doors slid back open and you looked to the spot where you'd left the bat, you found.... Nothing.

That space you had cleared from the broken bits of that doll was empty, the white tiled floor shining in the light that came from the elevator.

….. If this was all just a prank by your friends, you weren't sure if you'd be able to trust them after this.

The doors closed once again, and you took a deep breath before you pushed the fifth floor button.

The elevator began to move up.

There wasn't a sixth floor; you'd double checked that the building only went as high as five.

You told yourself to wait until the doors opened before you jumped to conclusions. You'd need to see this “other world” before you could say for certain that all of this was real.

The website said that it could take up to two minutes, but mere seconds later did the doors slide back open.

Everything looked normal. Just another floor of an office building.

Or it would have looked normal, had it not been for the fact that everything was bathed in a red glow that came from the outside.

Clutching your phone in one hand and the keychain in the other, you took a small, tentative step out of the car, looking to either side of you.

The hallways were empty. Nothing jumped out at you.

Slowly, you walked over to a window.

In the distance stood a glowing red cross.

…. This was real.

This was actually real.

It was almost too much to process for your shock-addled brain, and you had to wonder if anyone else who had been successful had the same reaction as you, to just stare dumbly at the scene before you.

It then occurred to you to get proof for when you went back.

You pulled up the camera on your phone. Or you tried to at least. Of all the times for your phone to act up, it needed to be when you needed to get a picture so people would believe you. The app kept taking forever to pull up before it would close and you repeatedly tapped on the screen as you tried to make it work. Somehow you managed to snap a few pictures of the cross before the camera closed again and you weren't able to open it back up. The lighting and your uncooperative phone made the pictures appear quite blurry, but one would be able to tell what they were looking at. No doubt some people would claim that it was fake, but it was enough to satisfy you.

You checked the time, finding it to be 3:30, if the phone was to be trusted. You wished you had checked before you came up here, but it was a bit too late for that now.

You stepped away from the window and went down one of the halls, looking all around before you remembered that the site said that you shouldn't look behind you. Or was that only when you heard the demon? Regardless, you kept glances behind yourself to a minimum as you made your way through the floor.

Aside from the red light that covered everything, it looked like a normal office floor, filled with different offices and supply closets and nothing that was particularly interesting to you. The one strange thing was that the red cross outside seemed to move along with you, as when you would move to a different room you would still be able to see it clearly outside. You went back to the windows a few times and tried to see if there was anything else outside, but all you found was an endless darkness with no signs of any kind of life or structure. Unsurprisingly there was also no sign of your friends down below, though it would have been hard to see where they were standing outside anyway given the angle.

The red light made you slightly sick after a while, and you tried opening up the flashlight option on your phone. But it refused to turn on. In fact, nothing on your phone was working now, and when you looked at the clock, the time was still 3:30.

Either time was being distorted or your phone wasn't able to function properly. Given how your phone was acting earlier the latter would seem to be the most likely option, but you also weren't sure what the rules of this place were. There was nothing that said that this world was bound to time in the way yours was.

The website had said that you could stay up here for as long as you wanted, right?

You began to see things out of the corner of your eye, little bits of movement in the darkness that dared you to look at them. You did a few times, mentally slapping yourself as you remembered what the instructions had said as you were now desperately trying to remember everything that had been written so you knew what you could and couldn't do. It was amazing and terrifying at the same time as you recalled what the site had said about possibly dying to this game, and at one point you felt so overwhelmed that you thought you were going to throw up. You managed to keep it down, but after that you decided that it was time to leave.

When you started to head back to the elevator was when you felt a headache coming on. It was mild at first, but when you went further along your route to the exit it started to hurt more, turning into a stabbing pain that jammed into your skull.

Had the website mentioned this? You couldn't be sure. Where were you even going again?

You stopped at an open door, leaning against the open door frame to rest. There was movement from inside the room, and without thinking you looked over to it.

The bat you had left on the fifth floor sat in the room in front of a whiteboard. A whiteboard that had been absolutely covered in drawn on hearts and your name repeated over and over.

…. The website hadn't mentioned that.

“Do you think it's a good place for him?”

The voice you heard came from a few feet behind you. The same voice you had heard over the phone.

You needed to get out. Now.

You brushed your hand against your pocket as you tried to stand up straight again, still fighting the pain of the headache when you remembered the little bear keychain.

It will keep you from losing yourself

With that thought in mind you pulled it out and focused on it, and the pain seemed to lessen by a good amount.

“You've got a thing for cute stuff, don't you?”

The voice came from directly behind you this time, like whoever was speaking was staring down over your shoulder as they were practically on top of you.

Don't look don't look don't look

You pushed off of the door frame, the keychain still in hand as you power-walked back down the hall. The headache was still there a little bit but it was nowhere near as debilitating as it had been before.

The voice whined from behind you.

“You're leaving already? You just got here.”

Don't speak. Don't look.

It was following you. You could hear the footsteps that trailed after yours, keeping up with your pace and almost being purposefully loud. Sudden noises accompanied the footsteps, making you jump and urging you to turn around. It was a natural thing to react to sudden sounds like that and you needed to catch yourself a few times from looking behind.

It was trying to keep you here and you didn't want to stay to find out why that was.

You turned several corners and walked down many halls, and the elevator wasn't anywhere in sight. That wasn't right. You had made a mental note of where the location of the elevator approximately was. As much as the headache was still messing with you, you should still be able to make it back. You knew where it was, goddammit.

…. Was it just you, or were these hallways getting longer?

A chuckle came from behind you.

“You didn't think I'd let you go that easy, did you?”

You started to run.

You weren't sure how long you continued like that – time didn't seem to be a thing up here. Around you the halls extended, stretching out and prolonging your time in this hell as you turned corner after corner and you still couldn't find the fucking elevator. The temptation was there to look behind and see how long the halls had become, but the laughter that followed you kept your eyes straight ahead.

Turning another corner, the doors to the elevator came in sight, and you let out a gasp of relief as you ran faster. Just a little bit more and then you'd be free.

…. The elevator seemed to be was moving away from you, messing with you just as the halls had done before.

You could hear him breathing directly in your ear as you ran. Still trying to freak you out, still trying to make you turn around. He hadn't touched you at all, though, and you wondered if there were rules for him that prevented him from doing so.

The attempts to get you to look back at him seemed to be getting desperate. If this thing was getting to a point where even he was desperate, you didn't want to know what the hell he'd do to you if you made the mistake of turning around.

Despite it all the elevator was getting closer. Escape was literally in your grasp-

And then something in the floor shifted that caused your knee to buckle and you were sent flying face down on the flat white tile.

The phone and keychain went flying out of your hands and there was blood in your mouth as you bit your lip. Your head ached again, though you weren't sure if it was because of him or because you'd just landed on the solid floor.

You lay there for a few moments, catching your breath as you tried to compose yourself.

You then became aware of the presence that was standing over you. He was quiet now, but you could feel his eyes burning holes into your back, as if trying to will you to look at him.

Pushing yourself up on shaky arms, you began to crawl forward, your hands searching for the phone and keychain that had gone flying and had vanished into the darkness, the light from outside now much duller than it had been when you'd first arrived.

Don't look don't look don't look

He can't touch you

He can't force you to look back at him

Just keep facing forward and-

A horrifically loud shrieking noise sounded through the hall. It was the loudest thing you had ever heard in your life, the noise so great that you felt the floor vibrating, and your hands immediately went to cover your ears to protect your hearing as best you could.

Don't you dare fucking look back

With your hands still over your ears, you crawled forward on your knees. It was slow and it had gotten so dark that you couldn't see the elevator anymore, but it was still progress. When your knee brushed against your phone you ignored it. Who gave a fuck about proof anymore? You just wanted to get out.

But you were still trying to keep a lookout for the keychain. It had helped before; if you could find it, it would probably make getting out easier.

You put out one hand on the floor as you blindly searched for your sentimental item, your eyes scrunching up in pain as the horrible sound continued.

For a split second your fingers brushed up against something soft.

You grabbed it.

Immediately after the shrieking noise stopped.

For just a moment, there was relief, even though you still had that noise ringing in your ears. But it took only another moment for you to realize that something was wrong.

You hadn't grabbed that bear keychain. It was larger and heavier.

Opening your eyes, you found that you were holding that fucking bat plush.

“Ah. You messed up.”

A hand reached from behind you and grabbed the plush out of your grip. A different hand was placed on your shoulder and you were spun around on the floor.

A fair-skinned man with what looked to be blonde hair stared down at you, one hand still on your shoulder as he waved the bat in front of you.

“You're not supposed to take this back, remember?” he asked as he smiled at you.

“No.... I didn't...” you trailed off.

“But you did, though! You grabbed and picked it up,” he said.

That wasn't possible. You had left that thing behind in that room that felt so far away now. But as you glanced to the side you saw that, to your horror, you were sitting next to that room again, the hearts still visible on the whiteboard. You were barely able to note that it had gotten brighter and that somehow the red lighting seemed less harsh before he was talking to you again.

“So you lost and now you don't get to go back,” he told you.

“No.... You cheated.”

It felt so juvenile to say that out loud, but it was all that could come out of you in your current state.

Strangely though, he didn't deny it.

“Can you blame me?” he asked, “I've never gotten a visitor as charming as yourself. When I heard you on the phone and saw what you left me, I just needed to keep you.”

He looked at the bat plush again and smiled at it as he sat down in front of you.

“Did you just pick this at random, or was it something else?”

You struggled to comprehend the question, and it took you a bit before you were able to blurt out “someone else said you liked bats.”

“So you mean you went to the trouble of looking up what things I liked? That's adorable. I love it!” he exclaimed.

You tried to subtly scoot away from him as he sat in front of you but you were noticed instantly.

“Where do you think you're going?” he asked. The look he gave you was so innocent.

“I-I need to go home. I want to go home,” you insisted.

“That's not an option, remember?” he asked, waving the bat around again.

You shook your head.

“You cheated. I should be allowed to leave because you did that.”

He laughed.

“There's no rule against cheating. As long as I didn't touch you it was fine. Don't be a sore loser.”

“Fuck you.”

You spat out those words in a bout of frustration, trying your best to sound strong, but it probably just made you seem more pathetic.

He only hummed at that, just staring at you for a moment.

It had been getting steadily brighter, the red going away with every passing second and you were able to make out different colors. The purple and teal on his clothes, the shade of blonde his hair was and the blue of his eyes were visible to you for a few moments.

He set the bat plush to the side, and the world began to darken again as red and black took over.

“That's okay,” he said, more to himself than to you, “you're scared and that kind of reaction is normal, so I'm not too mad.”

It was getting harder to see him, but you could see movement about him, things about his body changing. Horns that slowly curled out from his forehead. The tips of his fingers that darkened around long claws that took the place of his fingernails. Large, bat-like wings that unfolded from behind him and spread themselves.

You caught a glimpse of his teeth in the low light, and they looked sharper than they had before.

Panic shot through you as you began to scramble away from him, but your escape attempt was short-lived as something wrapped itself around your legs and pulled you back towards him.

A tail? Oh God that was a tail.

He was on top of you, and he caged you in his arms as he leaned down to whisper in your ear “don't worry, I'll go easy on you this time.”

You tried to push him away, but he ignored it.

“Oh! Before I forget, I should introduce myself shouldn't I? I'm Shalnark. Nice to meet you.”

With that, his lips claimed yours in a searing kiss.

Your friends had been waiting a while.

Farah and Carmen stayed where they had been directly next to the building while Cliff hadn't moved from where he had stormed off to. Farah had been getting upset as she had become convinced that you were being an ass to her as well with how long you were taking. It was all Carmen could do to try and keep her calm.

Because of his distance away and how distracted they were, neither of them noticed the state Cliff was in.

They only noticed when he began to violently cough.

With Farah still slightly bitter from their earlier argument, Carmen was the one to check on him, asking if he was alright as they walked up to him.

Cliff gave no answer as he had begun to cough up blood.

Carmen's hands fumbled when they pulled out their phone to call emergency services, and they yelled at Farah to go inside and get you. The sight of the blood Cliff was coughing up had Farah sprinting towards the building, throwing the front doors open as she made a beeline for the elevator.

Carmen didn't notice it at first when Farah fell to the floor. Only when the ambulance had been confirmed and they looked back to the building to see if the two of you were coming out did they see her body lying limply on the floor.

Ambulances and cop cars arrived eventually, and both Cliff and Farah were declared dead at the scene. The autopsy reports later would declare that they had been poisoned. A thorough search of the building would find no source of where the poison had come from.

Nor did they find anything from you.

Carmen had told them that you were in there, but when they searched they found no trace of you. No personal belongings and nothing to even indicate that you had entered the building. When the search for you grew beyond the confines of the office building, there was still no trace of you. You simply vanished into thin air.

The case would puzzle investigators before they would ultimately put it aside for other cases that needed their attention. It would only gain some traction online when the files were released to the public and certain parties saw that you and your friends had been playing the Sixth Floor Game. For some people it added weight to their beliefs that the game was real and needed to be avoided. For others it was just a coincidence.

Regardless of what they thought, you remained a missing person that would never be seen again, forever immortalized by your unexplained disappearance and an urban legend.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls Extra 2

- ao3 -

“Jingyi?” Lan Qiren repeated, looking down at the child tucked into his arms. “A good name.”

“Isn’t it?” Lan Yueheng said, beaming. “A-Xin thought of it!”

“You don’t say,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “Just the way your wife named all the last six?”

Lan Yueheng grinned bashfully. “She’s better at it!”

Lan Qiren shook his head, amused, and tried to offer the child back to his father.

“No, no, you should hold him longer. Babies are calming, and you’ve been having bad dreams recently, right?”

“Babies are not calming,” Lan Qiren said. There was a limit to how many times someone could play the same joke on him, and yes, he was mentally glaring at Wen Ruohan, Lao Nie, and Cangse Sanren as well while he thought that. “You’ve had six already, you should know that. Can we at least agree that this is the last one?”

Lan Yueheng and Zhang Xin had put off having children to help Lan Qiren raise Lan Xichen and then Lan Wangji, once he’d come around, no matter how much Lan Qiren had argued with them to the contrary. They’d laughed him off, saying it was nothing, but he’d been terribly afraid that they’d miss the window for it and end up childless, with no one to sweep their graves on Qingming except his nephews, and that in the end they’d blame him for it.

Naturally, despite his fears, it turned out in the end that they hadn’t had any trouble at all. Their first had been born when Lan Wangji had been three and Lan Xichen six, and they’d had six more after that, one after another like a bunch of maniacs – a girl, two boys, another girl, and then the twins a few years later, at the very end, just when everyone had thought they were already done. Lan Wangji had already been nearly fifteen, then.

Of course, the whole bit about ‘just when everyone had thought they were already done’ being about the twins was rather outdated: that was before the arrival of little Jingyi.

Nearly ten years after all the rest, even the twins; a belated and extremely unexpected child, as if Zhang Xin and Lan Yueheng and the heavens had all conspired to make fun of Lan Qiren for his previous worries. Zhang Xin had already been in her forties, yet she’d gotten through the entire process with a smile and no apparent discomfort, puttering around in her garden and managing her storehouses and scolding her children without any disruption. Not even the pain of labor would bring her down, even if she did have a tendency to mangle Lan Qiren’s hand and shout his ears to deafness in the process.

Lan Qiren’s ears and hand, because he’d helped oversee the births of his nephews – Han Kexin had resolutely refused the aid of any competent doctor, male or female, mockingly reminding him that she was supposed to be in seclusion, so he’d learned up on the basics himself while retaining the option to call in a proper doctor if something went wrong – and since he’d managed it well enough, naturally Zhang Xin wanted the same, impertinent brat that she was. And of course, she wasn’t going to hurt her husband’s precious hands in the process, never mind that he’d been the one to cause it in the first place.

At least they’d all been more or less easy births.

Little Lan Jingyi had been the easiest of the whole lot. Zhang Xin had barely made herself comfortable before he was coming, and before Lan Qiren had even really accepted that he was coming, he was already here.

Look at the rush to get going, as if he’s afraid to miss out on all the fun if he’s not here! Zhang Xin had laughed. He’s going to want to be part of part of everything!

“Last one, I swear!” Lan Yueheng promised cheerfully. “Anyway, we needed one around that age – that way he can be friends with Wangji’s boy! You know, the one he’s raising with Wei Wuxian, the one who used to be Wen sect.”

Lan Qiren snorted. As if he didn’t know the one in question. Wen Ruohan had been altogether too pleased to offer up some of his own blood to join the Lan sect when it turned out that Wei Wuxian had gotten attached to the orphan child of Wen Ruohan’s kinsman – eager as he ever was, really, to entangle himself irrevocably into Lan Qiren’s life, as if he still thought there was a chance, however remote, that Lan Qiren would find some reason to reject him or cut him out of his life once again. And never mind that it’d been years and years since anything like that had even come closer to happening!

“Yueheng-xiong,” he said patiently. “Mathematics are one of your favorite subjects, so I know you know that that means that your son will be friends with my grandnephew.”

Lan Yueheng scratched his nose. “Not your grandnephew yet,” he said, grinning; he didn’t look even remotely ashamed of it. “Wei Wuxian’s the one that adopted him, and Wangji’s not married him yet!”

“He’s working on it.”

Wen Ruohan’s “help” – in the sense of agreeing to let the Lan sect adopt little A-Yuan and not allowing Wei Wuxian to do it on his own – was probably doing more to impede it than anything else.

Lan Yueheng sniggered. “Should I offer to help?”

“Most certainly not. Save your fireworks and flares for the actual marriage.” Lan Qiren rubbed his forehead. “Cangse Sanren is being deliberately obnoxious about negotiations over it, I swear.”

“Cangse Sanren is always obnoxious, Qiren-xiong,” Lan Yueheng reminded him. “Always – and it’s only gotten worse since she had her doom stolen away by Lao Nie.”

“Don’t remind me,” Lan Qiren grumbled. He didn’t even want to know how the two of them had managed to swap fates, or what the consequences of it would be in the end. For some reason, Wen Ruohan seemed oddly insistent about blaming Lao Nie’s second wife, despite her having been perfectly nice as far as Lan Qiren could tell, if somewhat strangely obsessed with food. Possibly he was just annoyed that poor Wen Zhulio had saved Cangse Sanren’s life a dozen times over so far and yet Lao Nie was getting the credit.

At any rate, neither of them had died so far, which was all to the good.

“I’m getting to the point that I think looking for her master and asking her for permission might be the easier course,” he added irritably. “The boys want to get married! What’s the point of tormenting them over the details?”

“Please don’t go out looking for an immortal mountain, Qiren-xiong,” Lan Yueheng said, laughing, and finally condescended to pluck little Lan Jingyi out of his arms. “I’m going to put him to bed. You should rest, too. No more work today! And only good dreams!”

Lan Qiren shook his head and watched him walk away.

For a moment, the image was replaced with another, a remnant from the terrible dream he had been having the past few nights, the one that still lingered: Lan Yueheng, still laughing but walking with a limp, his right foot gone from beneath the knee – the one he’d lost when the Cloud Recesses had burned, and because of the mess that had ensued it hadn’t been treated for far too long, becoming infected; every year thereafter he had gotten sick from a recurrent and worsening illness, driving Lan Qiren and Zhang Xin both crazy with worry.

Lan Qiren’s chest hurt just thinking about it, his own injuries aching, the remnants of the vicious wounds from the terrible beating Wen Xu had ordered with his eyes curved in a mean smile as he watched them try to break Lan Qiren’s meridians out of sheer spite; one day, in that horrible future foretold by the dream, Zhang Xin would worry too much and fail to pay attention, walking on something she shouldn’t and poisoning her blood, and when she went Lan Yueheng would follow her away, the two of them going side-by-side into the next world as they had gone through this one, leaving Lan Qiren to raise their youngest child the rest of the way himself. No matter how tired he was, he wouldn’t put that burden on their other children, all of them abruptly orphaned, the final belated victims of the desperate war against the Wen sect to stop their tyrannical conquest…

Lan Qiren shook his head abruptly, clearing it.

What am I thinking, he wondered. There’s no war against the Wen sect – if da-ge ever got something like a war of conquest into his head, I’d scold him until my face turned blue. Anyway, even if he did do something like that, A-Xu would never dream of ordering someone to beat me! Didn’t I half-raise him and his little brother both, taught them swordsmanship and music and ethics even as Wen Ruohan taught Xichen and Wangji arrays and talismans and how to understand people?

Anyway, A-Xu’s a sweet boy, underneath his superficial arrogance; he knows better than to put on a face like that in front of me…nor is there anything wrong with Lan Yueheng’s foot, or Zhang Xin’s blood, for that matter. Lan Jingyi’s going to grow up in a large family, loud and screeching and thoroughly inappropriate, and unlike my dream his parents will be at the head of the table to oversee the whole thing.

It was just a bad dream.

Lan Qiren shook his head once again.

Maybe Lan Yueheng was right, he reflect. He ought to get some rest – and not just today. After all, he was already half-retired, with Lan Xichen taking over more and more of the tasks of sect leader and excelling in them; Lan Qiren already spent one month out of every three out of the Cloud Recesses, whether wandering around the cultivation world playing his music or visiting with friends and acquaintances, pretending all the while to ignore the Wen sect and Lan sect and Nie sect guards being too busy socializing with each other to remember that they were supposed to be hidden guards.

He could go again now, even. Wen Ruohan had said something about Lao Nie visiting the Nightless City, the grin on his face leaving little question as to how he planned to spend the time with him; by now they should have worn each other out and were probably capable of something resembling human speech.

Yes, he should go visit them, he thought, and realized once again that he was happy – truly happy, not just content. He would go visit them, and complain about the prospect of yet another of Lan Yueheng’s brood running rampage through his classrooms for however long it took to educate them.

It seemed like each one was louder than the next, but at least little Lan Jingyi, whether in a rush or otherwise, and even in conjunction with Wei Wuxian’s little A-Yuan or Jin Zixuan’s little A-Ling, couldn’t possibly be more disruptive than the twins.

That was simply impossible.

Right?