#MIND THE WARNINGS ON AO3

[sanaserena]

Doffy stretched out a wrist.  “Why don’t you try it?”

You stared at him.  “Are you serious?”  He was suggesting you test seastone on him; he who had devil fruit powers.

The grin on his mouth never once wavered.  “Do I have any reason not to be?”  With that smile, Doffy was always almost serious.

You wound the loose cuff around your finger. “You will be at my mercy.”

“Is that right?”  The corner of his mouth tilted up a fraction higher.  “And what will you do, hmm?”

The bracelet slipped around your hand, heavy against your wrist.  Heavier than your last pair of cuffs.  Your hand wrapped around his, and the cuff slid onto his wrist.

The effect was immediate.  The moment it touched Doffy’s skin, his hand tensed in yours.  Disgust touched his grin as he lost connection with his devil fruit. 

You pushed the cuff to his forearm where you felt the band stretch.

“It has a locking mechanism, or so I’m told,” he said.  “Twist the top half and it will snap the cuff into place. General rule is to do it quickly.”

It took you a few fumbles before you realised what it meant to twist the top half.  The moment you did, the cuff clicked several times and became rigid under your hand, constricting and tightening around Doffy’s forearm. 

Doffy grunted.  “Tight.”

It might be only one cuff.  But the sight of Doffy with even just one arm wrapped in a gilded seastone cuff with a bleeding heart insignia in the centre was appealing.

You slid your hand along his arm, far too aware of the veins that were popping with Doffy’s arm tensed the way it was.

“How does it feel?” you asked, resting your other hand between his legs. 

He flexed his hand.  “Interesting.”  You were sure it was.  It wasn’t often—perhaps never—that someone managed to cuff Doffy in seastone.

“Interesting.”  You leaned in close, the movement catching his attention. 

Suddenly he was no longer focussed on the cuff around his forearm, but on you.  And the way your lips brushed his.  His mouth parted to capture yours in a deeper kiss.

“I take it you like the gift,” he said when you pulled back. 

“I do.” You braced your hands on either side of him and tilted your chin up to look at him.  “I’d like to thank you.  Any preference for your entertainment, Your Majesty?”

Doffy hummed, cupping your face with his hands, and pressing a hard kiss to your lips.  “What do you have in mind?”

You smiled and slipped your head out of his hands.  Catching a hand, you guided him off the table and onto the chair.  He dropped down with his legs spread and you pressed a hand to his stomach. 

“Relax,” you told him, though Doffy was never someone who had to be told twice. 

He leaned back, resting his hands on his thighs.  His face was calm, expecting. 

Your hand slid down his abdomen. “I would strip, but the bandage on my back isn’t very sexy.”

“That’s a shame.”

You kissed him again.  A brief kiss that filled the room.  Your hands smoothed down his chest as you captured his lips in another slow kiss.  Doffy didn’t move his hands.  But his tongue met yours as your next kiss went deeper.

You tugged on the buckle of his pants; it snapped undone.  Doffy was accommodating, lifting his up slightly to allow you to drag them down. 

Breaking away from the kiss, you breathed, “I really, really, really hate your pants.”

~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~

‘Doffy and reader have a chat’ scene of my ongoing canon (intended) compliant fic, Doffy’s Whore, over on AO3 (Doflamingo X reader and Rosinante X reader pairing; Aokiji X reader endgame - the relationships are a little complicated, see AO3 notes, mind the warnings.)

[chickenparm]

See You Next Tuesday - Aventurine/afab!Reader (Part 2/End)

thanks @magicalbats for reading this over for me. check the tags in the parentheses and/or on AO3 before you read it.

---

Aventurine/afab!Reader 3667 Words - NSFW (Somnophilia, P in V, Strangers to Friends with Benefits+)

Read the full fic here on AO3! Excerpt below the cut.

---

In the paint that covers your ceiling, little flecks of subtle glitter reflect the constant golden light that streams in from the outside. Suddenly, your motivation to do anything is gone, and you count the flecks and sprawl on your bed, limbs spread out to cover as much space on the large mattress as possible. 

How embarrassing. Pining over a man who is probably dead by now, and if he isn’t, you’ll likely never see him again. Who comes back around to find their pre-death-booty-call, anyway?

Golden Hour moves on outside your window. From your vantage point in bed, you can see the occasional streaks of stars across the sky; blazing into existence for one brilliant moment, then gone the next. If you were even more pathetic than you currently are, you’d be making up some metaphor about Aventurine while batting your eyelashes at the horizon. 

Instead, you lift your head from the mattress as you hear a sharp knock on your door.

[im-normal-about-everything]

YALL I JUST HAD AN IDEA FOR A PURLY FIC AND I NEED TO RANT ABOUT IT

Okay so it's an AU of 'As Good As Dead' by Holly Jackson so spoiler warning for that book and the agggtm series in general (I haven't finished the book yet so some of this isn't entirely accurate)

So in AGAD the main character Pip is basically haunted by what happened in the book before (a man died and she blames herself) which i feel like could be Ponyboy post book. He could blame himself for three deaths, Bob, Johnny, And Dally

In AGAD Pip is also being stalked and only one person really believes her, her boyfriend

I'm thinking what if Ponyboy was being stalked by a soc and only Curly believes him

I have so many ideas for this in my head that don't make sense when I write it out like this sooo I might actually write this story?? Perchance??

I REALLY WANT TO BECAUSE ITS GOING TO HAUNT ME IF I DONT BUT I ALSO SAID I WAS GONNA WRITE WHUMPTOBER AND I DONT HAVE THE WILL POWER TO WRITE BOTH LAJFJOSJFNDSKK

So erm.i wrote the first chapter if anyone is interested...

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

“There’s a problem.”

Bad twitches, pausing briefly, but doesn't stop crafting. “What is it?” 

“The entity crammer won’t work,” Cellbit says. Bad’s hand crunches suddenly into the mine. He blinks down at it to see that a little red light, blinking sweetly, has been unearthed by the abrupt handling. He uses his thumb to gently push the explosive beneath the surface of the mine once again, smoothing the dirt back over it. He takes in a slow breath. 

“We could blow him up with mines.” He knows that won’t work. It’s worth saying, anyway. 

“It wouldn’t be fast enough.” Bad can hear movement behind him as Cellbit shifts on his feet. Bad keeps his ears perked for any sudden movements, but keeps his back turned as he works. If Cellbit suddenly turns against him... well. He isn’t going to just walk into a cage trap this time. “He has too many totems. We need another plan.”

There is another plan- this would be the perfect time to mention it, but the words stay locked behind Bad’s teeth. It would be so easy. All he would need is someone to keep Forever distracted while he sets up the scanner somewhere unavoidable, and then Forever would just need to walk through it, and that would be that. But that would be that for Bad, too. The scanner can take everything from Forever. The scanner can take everything from Bad. His warpstone and his enderpearls and his chorus fruit and his totems and his scythe- no, it’s not worth it. Bad remembers the cage. He remembers how quickly everyone turned on him. They’ve proved how much he can’t trust them with this.

He needs to find his kids, first. Then, maybe, he’ll let them know about the scanner. Then, if they really, truly, cannot find anything else... Then. It might be worth it then. For Forever. 

Bad promises, “We’ll think of something,” and he crafts another explosive. 

–

They think of mines. They think of the slingshot. They think of mobs. They think of everything. 

It isn’t enough. Forever has so many totems that no plan is good enough, and they’re running out of time. Whatever they do, whenever they do it, it has to work, and it has to work fast. Forever on the Risus pills is very happy, and a little dumb, but he isn’t stupid- if he figures out that they’re trying to take the pills from him… Bad doesn’t want to think about it. But every new plan is just another dead end and a fresh headache, and they’re running out of time. 

So- he does what he has to do. 

One night, only a few days after Bad and Cellbit had their conversation about the entity crammer, Forever leads Bad to the beach. On the sand is a lonely little picnic blanket, red, surrounded by red candles and bunches of roses. Wine and crepes and a chicken dinner. Bad asks if the blanket’s wool was stolen from his base, Forever laughs and says no. The stars twinkle mournfully down at them; the waves mute their voices; the sand is so, so soft. Forever doesn’t stop smiling. 

The candles are too dim to light them well, but the ring gleams in the moonlight. Forever holds it out to him, beaming, and Bad’s blood is rushing in his ears so thunderously that even as he sees Forever’s lips move he can’t hear the question over all this noise. 

It doesn’t matter- Bad knows the answer. 

He says yes.

--

It’s easy to play fiance. It’s so easy. Bad sits on his bed all day, spinning the Sunshine Protector over and over in his hands, and wonders if the world has always looked so dim. There is always a weight in his chest and a lump in his throat, and it feels like if he doesn’t move he’ll combust but he barely has the energy to stand. Most of the time, he feels stuck in standby. He can’t look for his children, because Forever gets agitated if Bad isn’t home when he gets home, and that’s against the whole point, isn’t it? The point to keep Forever happy. Keep him pliant. Pliable. Easy to worm into his heart so Bad can rip it open from the inside out.

It’s hard. 

He’s just… he’s sad. 

He’s angry, too. It sits below the surface of his soul, buzzing. He wants to scream. He wants to tear. Whenever Forever smiles at him Bad wants to chew his face off with his teeth. But Bad has a job to do, and he needs to stay reasonable to do it. He’s gone wild before- he knows what happens. He knows he needs to cling to his own leash with both hands and never let go. But Dapper is gone, and Pomme is gone, and there is a ring on his finger -not even diamond- and Forever is always smiling. 

It’s the pills’ fault. Bad knows it’s the pills’ fault. He still wishes that Forever would try to kill him again. That would make everything very, very simple, very, very quickly. 

But then the plan would be ruined, because Forever has so many totems that he could escape, and Bad- 

Well, by that point, Bad would probably be a little ruined, too. 

The door slams in the other room. He goes still, then stands. He can hear his fiance calling for him. “Bad!” Forever. He sounds cheerful. Happy. “Meu docinho de côco! I’m home!” 

Bad expertly pulls cheer into his own voice. There are many things he is good at, and one of those things is lying. “Forever!” he calls back, and exits the room with the Sunshine Protector still in his hands. Forever, as always, doesn’t seem to notice. He perks up at the sight of Bad, like a golden retriever whose owner has just stepped in through the door. His perpetual grin is still on his face, being perpetual. There’s a wide, almost wild joy in his eyes; his happiness is tacky, like hard-candy drizzled left in the sun and then drizzled with syrup. 

“Bad!” Forever cheers again, laughing. His white suit is perfect, the Brazilian flag pinned neatly across his shoulder. Every day, when he comes home, Bad looks for blood. As always, he finds none. Forever bounds over to take Bad in his arms and spins them both, as if they’re lovers long-apart finally reunited after a dangerous sea-bound journey. Forever leans in, quick, for a kiss. 

There is a game they like to play. Bad doesn’t know if it’s a game for Forever, but it is a game for him. Since their engagement, Forever has gotten more bold with taking his pills in front of Bad- he’s gotten more bold in trying to get Bad to take them with him. Bad has only ever accepted kisses from Forever on his nose, cheek, and forehead- even before he saw Forever, moments before trying to catch his lips again, slip a pill between his teeth. 

The game goes like this: Forever attempts to -literally- kiss Bad into oblivion; Bad dodges.  

This scene plays out like all the ones before it. Bad turns his head to the side just in time, and Forever, undaunted by yet another failure, presses an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek instead of his lips. His free hand is on Bad’s other cheek, pressing their faces together with unfiltered affection. His hand is warm, and a little rough with hard-earned calluses, and his beard tickles Bad’s skin. His breath fans hot across Bad’s cheek. 

He’s so happy. 

Bad has never lost their game, but he thinks about it sometimes. Even if Forever managed to get a pill into his mouth, there’s nothing that would force him to swallow. But there’s nothing that would force him to spit it out, either… And then he holds onto the Sunshine Protector even more tightly and he messages Phil or Cellbit about whatever mass-murder attempt they’re thinking about trying next, at least until he can think about anything other than- that. They’ve gotten Etoiles in on it, recently, and any day now they’ll come up with a solution. They have to. 

For now, Bad wraps his arms around Forever when he pulls back, grip loose, and plays his part by not stabbing him. “Hi, Forever!” he chirps. The enthusiasm feels wrong, but if he tried to pull up fondness he thinks he would just pull up bile instead. Maybe he should. Maybe he should spit acid into Forever’s face and see if that will kill his smile, make him angry, make them fight, just like they used to. He wants, more than almost-anything, to see Forever snarl. As a precaution to unfiltered impulses, Bad flicks his wrist and sends the Sunshine Protector back into his inventory. 

“Hi, Bad!” There’s a flash of the pill between Forever’s teeth, sparking white hidden in his smile, and then he swallows audibly. Nothing happens for a moment, and then his eyes dilate, he starts to shake, and his grin widens far enough to show all of his teeth. Forever’s trembles turn almost violent, every other breath catching on a giggle. He falls against Bad, his weight pressing heavily into his fiance as the drug makes its way through his system. His hand goes from Bad’s cheek to his hair, pulling hard and clinging to it like a lifeline. His totem-hand digs painfully into Bad’s side. Bad just tightens his grip, and holds. 

It never lasts for long. Soon, the two are left standing in an almost-peaceful embrace, with Bad’s arms wrapped securely around Forever and Forever’s cheek pressed against Bad’s shoulder. Forever’s shoulders are relaxed; his back open; his neck bared. If Bad’s leash were looser, he could lean down and tear his throat open with little more than teeth. 

His head stings where Forever pulled his hair too hard. 

Bad’s voice comes out too soft when he asks, “How was your day?” 

“Oh,” Forever sighs. “Perfect, just perfect…” He nuzzles his face into Bad’s shoulder, the scruff of his beard making little scrtch scrtch sounds against the fabric of Bad’s robes. “But it’s even better now that I’m here with you.” Bad’s heart twinges. “And I’m going to go see Richarlyson when he wakes up,” Bad’s heart weeps. “Do you want to come with me?” 

His tongue is like lead in his mouth. “Sure.” 

Forever beams again. He squirms, and Bad lets him go. Forever doesn’t pay him any mind, just wanders over to the nearest mirror to peer at his own face. There’s scrutiny in his expression- Bad almost feels hopeful, and then Forever asks, “What do you think of my beard, Bad?” 

“It’s fine.” 

“You’re too nice to me, Badboy,” Forever scolds brightly. He’s still watching himself in the mirror. There’s a glaze over his eyes, almost fevered. “I want to look nice for our wedding.” 

Bad’s stomach swoops. “Well-” he starts, scrabbling for yet another reason to delay it. He needs to wash his hair? No, he used that last time- 

Forever derails all of Bad’s excuses by not mentioning a date, and instead saying, “Can you help me shave?” 

Bad freezes. “What?” 

“My face, Bad,” Forever insists, grin blinding as he turns towards him. “My beard. O cabelo do meu rosto.”

“I know what a beard is,” Bad snaps suddenly, sharper than he intended. 

Forever’s smile twitches. “Great! So you’ll help me? Por favor, meu anjo?” 

Give and take, don’t push too far. He’s here to stall for time, not to fight. The further he pushes Forever, the less he can control him. Bad takes a deep, slow breath, and shoves the anger back down. “...Okay.” 

Forever beams. 

–

That’s how the two of them end up in the bathroom, Bad sitting on the counter as he watches Forever meticulously craft the supplies. Bad had offered one of his own (many) blades for the procedure, but Forever’s grin had just grown wider as he shook his head and shuffled Bad into the bathroom. 

It’s cramped in there, both of them in their full gear. Bad watches Forever mix the shaving cream, golden totem glittering in his palm as he awkwardly holds the bottle still. There’s a faint rushing in Bad’s ears. The knife is already prepped, laying on a warm, damp towel on the other side of Forever, furthest away from Bad. 

His eyes keep going back to that totem. The rushing in his ears grows slowly in volume, until he thinks that he’s never going to hear anything else ever again. Bad is holding a totem, too. A totem of death, darker in colour and promising more pain. It’s not as good as a totem of undying but, as long as he holds it, he doesn’t need anyone to pull him up after a fall. The both of them, holding totems. 

He’s surprised when he hears himself say, “Forever?” 

Forever hums a curious noise. “Yes, meu xuxu?” 

Bad swallows hard. He doesn’t know where this is going, but he has a feeling, and over a dozen code attacks have taught him to trust when he gets a feeling. Carefully, he gives voice to the thought that’s been nagging him, “I need both hands to shave you.” 

“Okay!” Forever agrees, unphased. 

“Forever,” Bad says. “I need to stop holding my totem.” 

Forever doesn’t- falter, but he twitches, a little hiccup in whatever happy little daydream he’s been living in. “Don’t you trust me, Badboy?” 

Bad thinks about the mines. He thinks about explosion after explosion after explosion at the end of a disastrous proposal. Bad licks his lips. “It’s not… about trust,” he says, words cautiously measured. He’s not the one on drugs, but he feels like vibrating from knotted-up anticipation. “You know I’ve been here a while. You know it was… hard. Even before the code. I’m…” Forever looks up at him. “I need your help.” 

Forever cocks his head to the side, still smiling. “My help?” 

Bad bites his lip, then, and doesn’t miss the way that Forever’s eyes train in on his mouth. “Yeah,” he says, warming to the lie. “Yeah. I need your help.” He starts unbuckling his chestplate. 

Forever freezes, mouth falling open. “Badboy?” he says, voice a little tremulous. It almost sounds like him. Bad is embolded into continuing. 

“You’re in danger, Forever,” Bad says, and oops- too true. He drops his chestplate into one of his backpacks, then continues, “As president, I mean. Not everyone loves the Federation. The code, political enemies- they all want to hurt you.” 

“Political enemies,” Forever echoes with a laugh, and Bad feels something rush through him at the almost sardonic look Forever gives him. 

Bad smiles back at him, letting it come out a little nervous. One by one, he removes the rest of his armour. Pants. Boots. His hands are shaking by the time he removes his helmet and drops it into the backpack. “I know what it’s like. That… worry. Even with your loved ones. So I don’t- I don’t want to scare you, Forever, but I want you to put your totem down, too.” 

Forever keeps grinning. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” There’s a sharpness to his voice, a grated edge that just promises more shouting and more pills. A risk of him running off, escaping, and Bad can’t lose this opportunity now that he’s got it. But Forever is stubborn, and this isn’t enough, so… 

Fudge. Okay. He’s committed now; he has to keep going. Bad takes out the Sunshine Protector just to obviously, visibly, tuck that away into his weapons bag. Anything, anything, he has to remember he’ll do anything. He starts piling the rest of his inventory into his backpacks. 

“...Meu anjo? What are you doing?” 

“I want to- to help you, Forever,” Bad promises. He feels so naked. He’s fully clothed. He has no armour, and his hotbar has no weapon to defend himself from the man who tried to kill him only days before. It- he exists in a strange state of limbo. It doesn’t matter how killable he is, because he can always respawn. What is death to a grim reaper? What is death to an immortal? What is death to a grieving parent? But- still. There’s a vulnerability to packing away his weapons, his armour, his things. All of his prep made obsolete, no scanner involved at all. “But I can’t- if you’re holding a totem, I need to hold a totem, see? But you want to hold a totem in our house, which is totally safe, for the same reasons I do. So, if- if you’re the most powerful player around, maybe- maybe you can put it down. For a little bit.” Bad puts the death totem into the bag, and closes it with finality. 

Forever is quiet. His smile looks hollow now. 

Anything, anything, anything. Bad hops off of the counter and throws his backpacks into the tub, out of reach, and draws the curtain for good measure. Forever’s eyes follow the arc of his hand. “There,” Bad pants, and turns around again. He stands there, bared but fully clothed, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t been since- since- since some point he can’t even remember. “Now I’m- it’s up to you to protect me.” Bad wants Forever to try to kill him. “Now- now it’s your turn.” 

“Bad…” Forever says, his voice softer than Bad has heard in… a while. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” 

Bad’s heart drops. He’s so close. He’s so far. The rushing in his ears is so loud. He wants to bite, and claw, and hurt. He wants to dig his claws into Forever’s skin and- “I’ll let you kiss me,” Bad blurts, the promise tumbling all at once from his mouth like a badly-kept secret. “Once I’m done shaving you. Just- please, Forever. You know what it’s like. Please. Don’t you trust me?” 

Forever cracks. 

Bad’s breath catches when Forever pulls out his backpack -the one with the totems. Forever’s knuckles are white where his hands grip around the straps, but he places the backpack carefully outside the bathroom door before he steps away again. He looks jittery already, like a wild animal, and brandishes the totem still in his hand at Bad like a cross. 

“I’m keeping this one,” he says, and his grin looks painful. “I’m- this one, I’m holding onto this one. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Bad agrees, breathless. There is a lump in his throat. It’s hard to keep his hands still. Is he shaking? He might be shaking. Forever only has one totem. Bad has nothing. Forever has one totem. 

Forever picks up the towel and the shaving knife with one hand, then carries them over. He holds them out. Bad takes them- the blade he accepts by its sharpest point, but he’s careful not to bleed. “Okay,” Forever whispers. Then, too quick, almost desperate, he takes out his bottle and gulps down another pill. He stumbles to the chair as the shakes start to wreck him, almost toppling over before he snatches onto the chair’s back to steady himself. Bad, still holding the knife, does nothing to help. 

Forever manages to climb into the chair just as the trembles subside. He slumps back with a loud, satisfied sigh, like he’s just completed some great feat. He tilts his head back to look at Bad upside-down, his relaxation a stark contrast to the tension from just a moment before. He smiles dreamily up at his fiance, and it almost even reaches his (dilated, too wide) eyes. 

“Oh, Badboy,” he sighs happily. “Come on, come on! We’re all ready now, aren’t we?” 

Bad can very clearly see the column of Forever’s throat, stretched out and vulnerable. “Yeah.” Bad’s chest feels tight. He steps up behind the chair and looks down- Forever’s throat is right there. It’s a nice throat. Bad thinks it would be easy to fit both hands around it. He starts with just one hand. The damp towel is wiped gently over Forever’s mouth and jaw, then down over his neck. He does it again, preparing the skin for the sharp edge of the blade. 

Forever hums quietly, appreciatively. He closes his eyes, and Bad’s blood sings. 

An open neck. An ignorant victim. A single totem. It doesn’t matter how empty Bad’s inventory is- he has a knife, handed to him by Forever himself. Bad should stab him now. Two quick slices to the throat, a spray of blood, and a fresh corpse. It’s what Bad would have done before- but. He’s tense. There’s a stiffness to his muscles, and he doesn’t have armour. What if he misses? They’re so close together, it’s impossible to miss. 

There’s something almost… ritualistic about a good shave, anyway.. Bad can’t put the blade to his throat, not yet. Forever will know if he starts too soon. He has no armour. He needs to do this right. The shaving knife disappears into his hotbar. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” Bad murmurs. He gently runs the towel along the bottom of Forever’s jaw, almost holding his mouth shut, but the president doesn’t seem to be bothered. Eyes still closed, he just makes a peaceful little humming noise. Bad moves the towel up a little higher- it hides the smile. It hides the smile, so Bad takes a moment to just… look. His stomach flips. Yeah, that’s Forever. That’s him. His lashes rest delicately against his skin, eyes shut and face smoothed into something peaceful. His hair has fallen into disarray, strands loose across his forehead, and Bad gingerly brushes them away.

He could lift the towel higher. It’s already over Forever’s mouth, and it could go over Forever’s nose, too. Bad could press down- or topple the chair, first, maybe, leave Forever falling into him as Bad suffocates him. Although- it would be difficult, but Forever could probably get a few good cuts into Bad before he suffocates, armourless as Bad is. But, then again, damp cloth is even better for a suffocation. Bad doesn’t think it matters if the towel is damp from water or from blood. Maybe he’d be able to keep the towel pressed down until he bled out. Maybe he’d die before Forever would; maybe he would fall across Forever and trap him beneath the wet cloth and the weight of his limp body, forcing the president to drown on the blood of his own fiance. Wouldn’t that be perfect? 

No. Too risky. It’s too risky. Forever still has all of his items. If he puts down a sponge and hits Bad hard enough, he’ll be able to get away before either of them could die. If Bad screws this up, he will never get a chance like this ever again. He has to be smart. 

So- cream, next, it’s shaving cream, next. Bad steps away as he throws the towel into his hotbar, then grabs the bottle and returns to Forever’s side.  “How did you learn?” Forever asks. Bad pauses a moment to realize what Forever’s asking, then laughs a little lowly.

 “I owned a pie shop, once,” he says. He pours the mixture into his hands to lather it. “I rented out the top floor to a barber. He was nice. Showed me a few things. Let me try a few things out with his clients.” 

Forever’s brows raise. “‘Try a few things out with his clients?’” he echoes. He’s -of course- still smiling, but there’s a note in his voice that Bad can’t read. 

“Yeah! Pies,” Bad explains. His heart twinges at the thought of simpler times. “They were pretty good. Now keep your mouth closed, Forever, or you’ll get foam in it.” 

Forever acquieses, but he purses his lips playfully until Bad gets his hands on his face. Once upon a time, when Bad first arrived on the island, his claws were sharp enough that he’d needed to wear gloves at night, just so he wouldn’t accidentally cut himself in his sleep. And then there were the eggs. Ever since Dapper arrived, Bad has taken a day out of every month to file his fingers down to dull, harmless nubs. Swords could do all of the cutting he needed, and what would he do if he poked Dapper too hard and ended up cracking him? He couldn’t bear the thought. 

But now. Bad uses the pads of his fingers to lather Forever’s face. If his claws were longer, they could gouge deep, bleeding ruts into his skin. As they are now, though, they do nothing more than scratch lightly over the stubble. At the worst, they leave a thin white line where they scrape over Forever’s actual skin.

In a moment of weakness, Bad swipes his dulled thumb under Forever’s eye, imagining the red tears that would bloom from the wound. Forever won’t cry over their lost eggs, but Bad could make him. 

Bad swipes his thumb again, pressing the pad of his thumb down with just enough force to feel at the edge of bone that gives way to eye socket. It’s an almost tender gesture, and Forever’s skin is soft. But Forever makes a little noise and Bad jolts, jerking his hand back. He swallows quickly, then wastes no more time in getting back to work. He lathers Forever’s jaw, his cheeks, around his mouth, a little way down his neck- he’s quick, and efficient, and doesn’t linger. And then… and then there’s nothing for Bad to do but wash his hands, and grab the knife. 

The shaving knife feels heavier. It falls into his hand from his hotbar with a solid weight. Inventories keep most items in the same state they were stored in, so the handle is still warm from Forever’s hands. 

Bad hand is steady when he puts it to Forever’s neck. 

His breath comes quicker, the rushing sound loud in his ears. Forever’s skin is warm and soft under his hand.  

Forever hums. His skin flutters beneath the blade. His eyes are still closed, his smile is wide. “What’s your favourite type of flower?” he asks. 

Bad hesitates for long enough that Forever opens his eyes to look at him. Bad swallows and doesn’t meet his gaze. He makes up for his hesitation by drawing the blade slowly up Forever’s neck, just an inch, and then summons the towel from his hotbar to wipe the shaving cream from the knife. “...Cornflowers,” he answers quietly. “Cornflowers are my favourite.” 

“Ah, cornflowers,” Forever sighs happily, smiling widely up at Bad again. Bad keeps his eyes pinned to Forever’s neck and draws the blade across a fresh patch of skin. “Those are the blue ones, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“They’re nice.” Forever hums. Bad puts the blade to his neck again, but then Forever keeps talking. “I think they will look nice in our wedding. We can have flower eggs! Imagine them, Badboy, all of them in their cute little outfits, throwing cornflowers around.” 

Ow. He can see it so clearly, too. His little eggs all dressed up and covered in flowers as they march down the aisle… smiling. Happy. Bad swallows hard. 

“I think the colours should be all black and blue,” Forever says, and shuts his eyes again. “And then you can stand out all pretty with your black and red, Bad. Will you wear your hair down again?” 

“...Maybe,” Bad says quietly. “Now shhhh, Forever… I need you to hold still, and stop smiling.” Black and blue… He felt stuck on that. Black and blue. Like a bruise. 

“Stop smiling?” Forever giggles. “But there’s so much to be happy about, meu anjo!” 

“Are you sure?” 

Forever opens his eyes to look up at Bad again. Bad looks back at him. The knife drifts upwards, slow, to press against Forever’s pulse. Bad’s hand is already slippery from the cold shaving cream, but he knows that the blood will be warm. He twitches when something warm touches his face- and he realizes, abruptly, that Forever’s hand has lifted up to tenderly cup his face. “Yeah,” Forever says, smiling.

Bad’s hand is shaking. Not a lot- not enough to cut, but enough for him to notice. They’re close. How long has Bad been leaning in? He presses the knife more firmly against Forever’s artery, but he doesn’t slice. “Stop. smiling,” he hisses. The words feel like grit spat from his mouth.

Forever’s thumb caresses the skin just beneath Bad’s eye, a mockery of the purely violent gesture Bad had subjected him to just moments before. Bad flushes hot in- in anger, or something else, but definitely with some anger, and then- and then Forever says, “Okay,” and he stops smiling. He closes his eyes again and leans back -Bad is startled to realize Forever had been leaning up towards him too- ultimately taking the blade away from his own neck, and he stops smiling. His hand falls away from Bad’s cheek, but it falls to lightly rest on the wrist of the hand that’s holding the towel. 

Bad is quiet for a long, long moment, just staring down at his broken fiance. And then- and then he gets back to work. 

The knife glides easily across Forever’s skin, shaving away the fine hairs of his beard. Bad is out of practice, but not so out of practice that he makes Forever bleed. When he moves on from Forever’s neck he has to lay the towel down so both hands are free to manipulate Forever’s face. He carefully pulls the skin taut where necessary, and only presses his dull nails down too hard once or twice. Forever sits peaceful and blank faced through it all. 

And then- 

And then it’s done. 

Bad turns Forever’s head to one side, and then the other, and he barely has it in him to pretend he’s inspecting him for any missed spots. And then he lets go, and he steps back. The knife hangs almost limply in his hand.

It’s when Forever is grinning again, standing now and inspecting his own face in the mirror, that Bad asks, “Is it nice? Being happy?” 

“What?” Forever turns to him, smile a little puzzled. His eyes are downright twinkling with fevered joy. 

“Is it nice?” 

“Yeah! You did a really good job, Badboy!” Forever praises. Bad’s traitorous heart leaps at the rare praise. Forever bounds the half-step over to swoop Bad into his arms and spin them, the two of them almost knocking over thr chair in the small space. Bad clings to him, and the single totem digs painfully into Bad’s side. 

“Forever, that’s not what I asked,” Bad insists almost even before they come to a stop. He feels lightheaded. “Do you like being happy?” 

“Yeah!” Forever chirps. “I’m with you, aren’t I?” And he leans in. When he kisses him, Bad doesn’t dodge.  

Forever is so warm. His lips are soft and the kiss is so tender, gentle like Bad is a wild animal who might be frightened off at the first wrong move. Forever’s hand comes up to cup the back of Bad’s head, the other arm wrapping itself around his waist. Bad is pliant, and he doesn’t kiss him back, but his arms wrap around Forever and pulls him in closer. Their bodies are flush together with no room for even air between them, and Bad thinks that if he focuses hard enough he could feel Forever’s heart beat against his own. He splays one hand across Forever’s shoulderblades, pressing hard to pin him close, and he uses the other hand, the one with the knife, to stab Forever in the back six times over in quick succession.

Blood sprays on the mirror behind them. Blood coats Bad’s hand. There’s heat at Bad’s back as the totem pops! and the room is filled with a stinging, magical shower of green and golden sparks- his ears ring from the minor explosion. Forever gasps into Bad’s mouth, and he tastes like iron. The knife was deep in his back when Forever’s heart stopped- the skin is already healing over it, so Bad holds on tighter and rips the blade out. 

Forever gets pulled back violently with the knife- their lips are disconnected with a slick sound that makes Bad’s head spin. “Bad?” Forever gasps. His eyes are wide, but not with joyous fever- with shock. It’s a good look. “You- you stabbed me?” 

“I did.” There’s something wrong with Bad’s brain, some wires that must have been crossed on a bad respawn because he’s dizzy, he’s too-warm, he’s going to vibrate right out of his skin- he’s grabbing Forever by his hair and forcing his head down to kiss him. 

There must be some wires crossed in Forever’s brain, too, because he kisses him back. It’s not tender or gentle- it’s a fight, just another battle that both of them are too stubborn to lose. Their teeth clack together and it’s awful and Bad’s blood sings. Forever tastes like his own blood and Bad bites his lip, hard, just to taste more. Forever gasps into his mouth, faltering, and Bad presses his advantage. 

He shoves Forever backwards, towards the wall, stumbling forwards with him so they don’t separate more than a few inches apart. Forever makes a shuddery keening noise when his back hits the stone- and Bad knows it’s not just from pain, but he thinks it’s mostly from pain, because the knife had been between Forever’s back and the wall and now it’s been aquainted once again with Forever’s flesh. Bad pants hard, and it’s Forever who drags Bad closer and catches his mouth again. 

There’s so much blood. 

And then, suddenly, the blood is all that’s left. 

[[PRESIDENT]Forever was slain by BadBoyHalo]

The shaving knife clatters into the ground as Bad falls into the space where Forever’s body once was. He catches himself on the wall, startled enough to stop breathing. There, on the ground, is the knife, shining wetly in the too-bright light of the bathroom. Next to it is a small pack that’s left behind after each player’s death- the remains of Forever’s inventory. Bad’s ultimate prize. 

Bad is frozen for a moment. He’s vaguely aware of more chat messages coming in at a rapidfire pace- Cellbit, maybe, and Philza, and Etoiles and whoever else is awake right now, but he doesn’t look at any of them. He falls to his knees instead which are promptly stained by the bright-red mess across the floor. He finds out that doesn’t care- nor does he care when he stains the pack when he scrabbles for it, and and he doesn’t care when he stains the inventory items when he rummages, and he doesn’t care when he stains the pill bottle when his hand finally clasps around it. 

He stares at Cucurucho’s smiling face on the too-white bottle, surrounded by smudges of red, then wipes his dirty thumb across its eyes to blind it with even more bloody smears. The bottle gets thrown into his inventory, then- the briefcase, right Forever had a briefcase, too, Bad needs to grab that, and- 

and then that’s it. 

That’s it. 

Mechanically, Bad pushes himself to his feet. He leaves the shaving knife where it is. He gets dressed in his armour, gathers up all of his backpacks, and then he goes home. 

He gets changed. He lays down in Dapper’s room, curled up on the floor next to Dapper’s empty bed. He holds the Sunshine Protector with both hands, closes his eyes, and tries to sleep. Bad doesn’t sleep. Bad also doesn’t answer any messages until morning, and maybe that can count as rest. 

His mouth still tastes like blood.

[squarebracketsmileyface]

Answering this ask FOUGHT ME I swear to god. First I hit post before I was done writing and hadn't added tags or anything because it was just sitting in my drafts, and then when I rewrite it and went to save what I'd done TUMBLR FUCKING DELETED THE POST. The universe saw me being giddy over getting songs and went "well we can't have that" so now I'm writing it for the THIRD TIME (while my thumb is randomly going numb for some fucking reason lmfao. Like, I'm not cold, circulation's not cut off. It's just slowly losing all sensation 💀)

Anyway, attempt three!!!

Omg yes yes yes :DDDDDDDD okay okay, I won't do the whole lil "going through all the lyrics" thing I sometimes do because if I did this post would be stupidly long, but omg just know I've had these on loop almost constantly since I got this ask. They have all been put in their respective playlists now >:]

Wicked Game by Him has gone in the My Girl playlist, because:

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you

It's strange what desire will make foolish people do

I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you

And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

This first verse really does feel like Jam to me. Like, they desperately wanna save each other, and the world is kinda on fire around them. And Jay never thought he'd meet someone like Tim let alone being loved by someone like Tim and have to worry about losing someone like Tim. Y'know?

Step On Me by The Cardigans is either going to go in the Tim Safewords playlist, or in the My Girl playlist, and I cannot decide so right now it's in both. I just can't decide if I want it in My Girl for foreshadowing, or in Tim Safewords for when Jay actually pushes too far and hurts Tim by accident. Like, Jays already stood on Tim's foot and Tim carried on anyway because he loves Jay and he really does want to help him and fix him.

I don't even have a specific lyric that made me go "oh yeah this goes in such and such playlist" it's just the whole song I think.

Perfect Girl by The Cure, definitely My Girl, that one's a given, Jark is indeed a strange girl and does need to be shaken and turned upside down.

Psychic Wound by King Woman... I also wanna put this in Tim Safewords BUT ALSO entry 80. I could put it in entry 80's playlist. I could. I so could.

Enslaved by the opinions, under seductive rule

Please rescue me, I've disobeyed and I admit I'm chained to you

Alex. Idk just Alex and the operator. After Alex kills Jay I have him kinda have this awful moment of clarity where he realises what he's done, and he's so overwhelmed by it that he tries to kill himself, but the Operator stops him so it can force him to continue his lil job for it.

Help me, I'm so chained to you

Someone tell me what to do

Feeling like a psychic wound

Like. This is Jaylex. This is Jaylex. In entry 80 neither of them know what to do, they need to be told, and Alex unfortunately has someone there to do it, that 'person' being the operator.

I do like it for Tim Safewords a lot, and Entry 80 is already like 60 songs strong which is far too many so idk where I wanna put it just yet. Another one that'll go in both playlists until I go through them properly again and make up my mind.

Pitch The Baby by Cocteau Twins is in My Girls playlist, I just like how it sounds, it's a fic that lets Jay and Tim have a little time and space to breathe and just enjoy each other, and the song's so pretty and like, floaty? Idk if that's the word I'm looking for, probably not but it's close enough, it's just a really nice feeling song. And like "I only want to love you" I think the lyrics say? Yeah, Tim only wants to love Jay, he just wants to use this lull in the constant, active threat of death to spend time loving on Jay a bit, teaching him how to let himself be loved and all that.

Daydream In Blue by I Monster is almost definitely going in Tim Safewords. It just feels like it fits, I think specifically because of some of what's gonna happen in that fic.

You're crawling on the bathroom floor

You float around the room and you're naked

Then you're flying out the bedroom door

Like, Tim has a bit of a freak out (for good reason) after he has to safeword, and he does end up on the floor in the bathroom, because he needs a moment on his own and that's the only room in his house with its own lock. And sure he doesn't NEED to lock Jay out, but he feels better if he can, so he does kinda, y'know, fly out of the bedroom door when he runs away to hide for a bit until he can get everything in his head under control a bit. And he's dissociating to high hell so he does feel like he's floating, y'know?

I dream a dirty dream of you, baby You're swinging from the chandelier I'm climbing up the walls 'cause I want you But when I reach you, you disappear

This bit also feels like the Tim Safewords fic, but kinda from Jay's pov more? Like, he knows he fucked up and he needs to make it right somehow, he needs to make sure Tim doesn't hate him, doesn't leave him, so even when Tim's hidden himself away somewhere unreachable (both in real life and in his head for... Reasons (mayhaps someone else fronts to handle the situation... Mayhaps someone split specifically to cope with Jay)) and Jay really does feel like he's climbing the goddamn walls to try and get him back, but when he reaches Tim, emotionally, Tim's gone, he's distant and cautious and Jay knows he's ruined it... And then they have to go to Benedict Hall together :D

Gonna pop a little warning here, the last song in here is one I'm gonna use to talk a little more about Jay's consent issues through, in case you don't wanna read that. Specifically it's talking about Jay trying to force Tim to choke him again, even though he knows Tim doesn't want to.

Reptilia by The Strokes... Yeah Tim Safewords, again. Look I can't help myself that fic's gonna be INSANE and everything reminds me of it. It's just... Consent issues, y'know? I love exploring Jay's consent issues, they're so interesting.

I'm literally just putting the lyrics to almost the entire song under this now lmao. Look, I can't help myself, there's not many lyrics and they really do feel like they could be talking about a dubiously consensual (or even a noncon) situation.

I was afraid that you would not insist "You sound so sleepy, just take this, now leave me"

I said, please don't slow me down if I'm going too fast You're in a strange part of our town

Like... Jay feeling like "god please don't take this from me, I need you to be rough with me, don't stop me, don't tell me not to, just let me put your hands on my throat, please" he's hoping Tim will change his mind and say it's fine, hoping Tim'll essentially say "yeah just take what you want" y'know?

Yeah, the night's not over, you're not trying hard enough Our lives are changing lanes, you ran me off the road The wait is over, I'm now taking over You're no longer laughing, I'm not drowning fast enough

'Tims not trying hard enough to care about my feelings about this, why can't he just see this from my perspective, I need him to be rougher with me' type shit. And then 'well maybe he's just scared of doing something I don't want, like he was scared of with trying out the feminisation stuff with me, so if I take over and put his hands there, he'll know it's fine.' and then 'oh fuck. I fucked up. Oh shit he looks fucking scared, he looks like he's sick, shit shit fuck shit fuck What'd I do what's wrong with me what the fuck!?'

Now every time that I look at myself "I thought I told you, this world is not for you" The room is on fire as she's fixing her hair "You sound so angry, just calm down, you found me"

Tim's gonna get to have a go at Jay for it, of course, he needs to make sure it gets through Jay's thick fucking skull that 'hey, you can't fucking do that what the fuck is wrong with you??? The world doesn't fucking revolve around you, did you stop for even a fucking second to think about what I've told about about why I don't want to fucking do that???'

[the-crooked-library]

Saltburn was a magnificent film with stunning visuals and a breathtaking score, but I’ve already seen some pearl-clutching about it - so here’s the thing. The only way it could possibly seem as shocking as some people make it out to be is if:

- the viewer has never been on AO3

- the same viewer never read any classic or modern gothic fiction (Wuthering Heights, Carmilla, Phantom of the Opera, Interview With The Vampire)

- the viewer also has never seen Hannibal, Jennifer’s Body, Crimson Peak, Yellowjackets, or really any visual media that draws on gothic and horror traditions

- same unfortunate viewer has never interacted with any kink dynamics in fiction or irl

- AND has never interacted with any vampire media including Twilight, and they’ve never read any fanfiction for vampire media on any site

- this viewer also has never wanted to fuck a single villain ever in their life

- alternatively, the viewer made the mistake of watching it with their family, in which case yeah fair

It really isn’t as fucked up as people try to make it look guys please it is GORGEOUS and dark and passionate and poetic I’m begging you to go see it, like check the warnings but Please don’t let people scare you off

[kg-clark-inthedark]

For @dhkinktober2024 Week 2 - Fighting/Wrestling (and added in one of the extra themes, Choking)

Relationship: Corvo Attano/Daud

Words: 4,723

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Summary:

It's been 2 years since Corvo’s world fell apart. His wound has yet to close, mirrored by that which he carved into Dunwall itself. But despite all the bloodshed, the assassin who started it all was spared his wrath. Daud has been haunted by that fateful decision ever since, so one rainy night he waits in the dark for Corvo, content to accept whatever punishment comes his way as long as he gets to ask why. Little does he know, that’s the last question Corvo wants to hear.

(In which Corvo gives Daud the angriest handjob of all time.)

Excerpt: (below the cut)

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” I dismiss, as if I would even have one to offer if I were willing. Daud frowns, fervor glinting in his eyes against what tiny slivers of streetlamp light find their way to us from the main roads.

“Please." His pleading catches me off guard. Why does this matter so much to him? "I need to know. Why was I spared your punishment?”

“Is that what you want from me? Punishment?” I rebuke. I’m not expecting the way Daud’s face drops in stunned silence. He looks horrified, as though I’ve uncovered a grave secret. I add, “Don’t tell me you’re here out of guilt.”

I can’t stand the look he’s giving me. I need him to be a villain. I need him to remain the cold-eyed monster he was that day. Instead I’m faced only with sympathy wrought in the shadows of his repugnant face.

“Attano, I’m sor-”

Daud is interrupted by the shock of my fist’s blow into his mouth. I hit him as hard as I can and it rings through the rest of his body, his head snapping back unnaturally at the impact. So rarely do I engage in hand to hand, usually opting to stealthily go straight for the kill, I’d almost forgotten how good this feels. Daud staggers back a step or two and wipes his lips, a bright line of blood staining the side of his leather glove.

“I didn’t come here to fight you, bodyguard,” Daud drawls in his gravelly tone. Yet his hands say otherwise as he raises his arms to a defensive stance, fists at the level of his head. Good.

[housseao3]

The Road Not Taken - Chapter 19

Chapter 19 of The Road Not Taken is out and we are almost done with this one. Porsche comes back to the tower and starts rebuilding his life. He's figured some things out but there are still pitfalls to be had. Kinn has some thinking to do. Everyone else has their own things happening and there is a tiny little Princess Bride reference. Obviously.

[crispyjenkins]

*whacking you all with paper tubes* tag *whack* your *whack* fucking *whack* moden *whack* aus

[colethewolf]

🚨🚨🚨 NEW FIC ALERT 🚨🚨🚨

VOID WITH BENEFITS - 10 Chapters - weekly updates

Summary: Every night, the Nogitsune takes over Stiles' body and whores him out to various members of Derek's pack. They're all in on the secret midnight fun, but Stiles remains hopelessly unaware that he is the Hale pack's newest cumslut.

Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski/The Pack, Void!Stiles/The Pack

CHECK WARNINGS/TAGS BEFORE READING

CHAPTER 1: Hello, Midnight (2.5k words)

The fun begins. Derek finds out that Peter and the rest of his pack have been whoring out Stiles during their nightly patrols.

[sirmatthew1972]

Bittersweet

Another KinkBingo inspired fic. So, this one goes from candy sweet to something darker and is basically an angst laced piece of smut. Beware though of the tags. This one is unhinged! Oh, crossing off the squares Aphrodisiacs, Workplace sex, Rough sex and Hair Pulling here... and that's my card halfway filled so far. Yay. Warnings unsub Spencer, serious consent issues, aphrodisiacs/drugs, manipulation, bottom Aaron, top Spencer, more tags on AO3 Teaser Walking into his office, Aaron closes the door behind him to shut out the bustle in the bullpen. He drops his go bag on the floor, then pulls back his chair to sit down behind his desk and dig into the pile of waiting reports. Wait. What's the glass jar filled with candy doing here? With a frown he looks at its contents; the small, red and white discs of sugar treats marked with adorable hearts, each single one of which is wrapped in cellophane. Huh. Maybe Garcia has been in here while he was out? The equally as colourful pen of bright pink and purple left forgotten atop of his waiting files seems to suggest so… and yet there's no gift card to go with the jar, not as far as he can see. Still, it's gotta be her, since it is either Garcia or some secret admirer. Yeah, as if. Read more on AO3

[sanaserena]

Aokiji was sitting on that uncomfortable wooden couch against the wall and opposite the reception desk.  His arms were outstretched along the back on either side of him.  With his shades on though, it was hard to tell if he was awake.  But his head was tilted back, and if you weren’t wrong, there was drool leaking from the corner of his mouth.

“He was awake about three minutes ago,” sighed Sen.  The girl had her head propped on a hand and was leaning dreamily on an elbow on the reception counter.

“Was he?”

“Yep.”

“Get me a glass of wine, please Sen.”

The girl jerked upright at the sudden request.  “Of course.”  She dashed off without a why, a glimmer of that old Sen you were more familiar with showing through.

She returned moments later with a decently filled glass of wine.  The garnet liquid sloshed against the bowl of the cup.  You received the glass and steadied the tempest inside it.  Taking a long gulp, you hoped to flush away the leftover feeling of being short of air.

Standing over him, you considered the large vice admiral.  Like Doffy, Aokiji’s limbs were everywhere.  The wooden settee was too cramped for men like them.  Doffy would dominate the seat.  Aokiji though, didn’t seem to care.  Just like the last time you had left him waiting for you on this seat.

“Are you going to wake him?”  said Sen, sipping her own wine.

“I don’t know,” you told Sen. 

“You don’t like him.”  You flinched at the plain observation.  Perhaps you should be more circumspect about it. 

Smothering a grimace, you said, “He’s not that bad.”

“He’s really adorable.”  Sen was flushed.  You sighed. 

Strange tastes in men.  Aokiji might be…attractive in his own way, but how was this man so indolent? How can he be so easily and carefreely in the lobby of a brothel that belonged to a pirate.  Did he have no sense of danger?

“He’s ten times your age,” you said.

“Happiness knows no boundaries.”  The girl beamed. You might disagree with her, but this glow of dreaminess was still more than you had seen from her since.

You were about to reply that there were boundaries for happiness.  Happiness could be lost in an instant, that death was unkind, and that the price of happiness was costly, just like everything else.

But you were interrupted.  “Back to the reception, Sen,” said Castelle curtly, in business mode, entering from the right.

Sen snapped to attention, the daydream for a man like Aokiji zapped from her face, bringing back the more subdued girl you had encountered yesterday. 

“Yes, madam.”  And she was once again, rounding the desk and taking a seat.

To you, Castelle sighed, “Do you want to change?”

“No need,” a deep voice answered for you. 

You blinked in surprise wondering if you had swallowed a frog and hadn’t realised. The words weren’t quite right either, however, as you had indeed planned to wear something else if and when Aokiji re-appeared.

Instead, he’d answered for you. 

Behind his shades, Aokiji was blinking himself awake.  Like clockwork, his limbs flexed and stretched, rolling his body upright.  His gaze flicked over you.

“I like it,” he said.

You considered Aokiji for a long second, then handed Castelle your glass of wine.  “I’m going to change.” 

If he liked it, then you were definitely going to change.  Nice things were for people who didn’t arrest you and who hadn’t witnessed you bathing in the middle of the ocean; who weren't marines like Aokiji.  Though, you wondered, if it were a marine like Cora, would you think otherwise?  But that was a thought you squashed in favour of the former point: nice things were for people who didn’t arrest you and who hadn’t witnessed you bathing in the middle of the ocean.

It was petty, you knew it was. 

But you didn’t care.

~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~

‘Aokiji is waiting for reader at a brothel’ scene of my ongoing canon (intended) compliant fic, Doffy’s Whore, over on AO3 (Doflamingo X reader and Rosinante X reader pairing; Aokiji X reader endgame - the relationships are a little complicated, see AO3 notes, mind the warnings.)

[hithertoundreamtof23]

Fic #40!!! 🎉

Summary: A Stephen Strange variant finds himself face-to-face with Cassandra Nova. (Gap filler based on the name-drop in Deadpool and Wolverine).

WARNINGS: Major Character Death (mentioned in Deadpool 3), various mentions of past trauma including brief torture, death, depression, suicide attempt, and family issues

Excerpt:

“You are different, you are broken. Hell, all of your variants are broken, and you-” her fingers made contact with his forehead.

It was like a hurricane came over him; waves crashed into his frontal lobe and winds blew his thoughts around into a jumble that made it hard to resist.

Bad things happen bingo: Can't Go Home

Fandom: Doctor Strange, Deadpool and Wolverine (2024)

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 1

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

Summary: Lan Qiren still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it.

He was married.

He had a wife.

That wife was Wen Ruohan.

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

A/N: Title from the idiom “The other mountain’s stone can polish jade” (他山之石，可以攻玉), meaning improving yourself through external criticism or accepting advice from others will help you overcome your shortcomings.

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

Wangji was missing.

Wangji was missing, and Lan Qiren was frantic with worry. Lan Wangji had always been a solemn child, perhaps too solemn for a six-year-old, and he had always adhered firmly to routine, the way Lan Qiren did. But now he was nowhere to be found, not in his rooms, not in the classroom, not in the training yards, the Library Pavilion…he was simply gone!

Not that Lan Qiren could blame him for running away.

Not when –

Lan Qiren had to pause in his search through the corners of the Library Pavilion and close his eyes, his chest abruptly too tight for no physical reason at all.

Everything was different now.

The moment it had all changed had been viscerally seared into his brain, every single sensation so clear that Lan Qiren needed only to close his eyes to be back there at once. Had no choice but to be back there, every time he did, whether he wanted to or not. He could feel his shoulders suddenly too-tight and too-heavy, could feel his nose filled with the damp smell of dirt and death that had permeated the room, his throat choked by the stuffy heat of it, all the windows closed…

His ears ringing, his breath too fast. His entire body frozen with sudden inextricable tension.

And the blood, of course.

There had been so much blood.

Wangji had not seen the blood, at least, and for that Lan Qiren was deeply thankful. He could not even imagine his little nephew’s reaction to such a thing – not his Wangji, who had always been so rigid, so formal, so distressed when things did not happen as they should…he’d never been especially good at dealing with change. The Lan sect’s teachings counseled acceptance of change, the recognition that it was inevitable, but Wangji had always been deeply suspicious of it.

In that way, he was…a little too much like his uncle.

Change had never been good for Lan Qiren, either, not in his whole life.

His mother’s too-early death, his father’s decline, his brother’s love and his decision to abandon his duties to save his accused murderess of a wife – it was all the same, all bad, every change a change for the worse. Every time something changed, he was forced to change with it, and never into anything he wanted. He’d been so young, so painfully inexperienced and immature, when he’d been forced to start taking over sect matters, and he hadn’t wanted any of it. He hadn’t wanted to spend his time in the confusing and unpleasant marsh of politics. He hadn’t wanted to become the acting sect leader.

He certainly hadn’t wanted to be a father.

Lan Qiren loved his nephews, he did, but at the same time…no, he hadn’t wanted to be a father.

And that was what he was to them, really, though he’d never been granted the title and had been scrupulous about never doing anything to indicate he might deserve it, even when he felt inside that perhaps he might. As usual, he’d gotten all the duties and none of the benefits, and all the months he’d had of foreknowledge of his nephews’ arrival had somehow still been utterly insufficient to prepare him to take care of two small children.

He’d never wanted any of it.

Lan Qiren hadn’t wanted the years of sleepless nights, using one hand to write out sect correspondence by candlelight and the other to comfort sleeping infants that no one else could settle, that he didn’t dare entrust to anyone else for too long for fear that they would never be returned to him. He hadn’t wanted to be burdened with so much responsibility, always worrying about them, always chasing after them, always thinking of them, having to keep in mind two other schedules other than his own, always having to accommodate them. He hadn’t wanted to endure long and agonizing waits, filled with anxiety – raising children seemed like nothing but waiting, sometimes. First waiting for them to be born from a woman he barely knew, then waiting for them to fall asleep, waiting for them to heal after an illness, waiting for them to grow up…

Lan Qiren hadn’t wanted to have to figure out how to parent a child, two children, when he felt as though he were still barely old enough to figure out how to behave properly himself.

For them, Lan Qiren had had to learn to balance love and discipline, simultaneously worrying that too much kindness and laxity would hurt them in the future and that too much strictness and censure would hurt them in the present. He’d never been sure which one to pick and he had been convinced every time that he’d picked the wrong one. He’d had to try to manage the frustration and self-hatred that came with raising his two nephews, the way he constantly questioned and second-guessed himself, the guilt that came with every decision he made for them because there was no one else available to make them.

He had been constantly dogged with the feeling that he wasn’t enough.

That he could never be enough.

Lan Qiren had at one point found himself regularly waking up in the middle of the night, utterly terrified. Terrified that he was ruining these children – terrified that they would grow up and one day realize that Lan Qiren was not only inept but inadequate, and grow to resent him in the same way that he’d grown to resent his own father, in time.

Lan Qiren’s father had resented him, blaming him for his mother’s death from the complications of childbirth, and Lan Qiren had known it, known it and suffered terribly from it.

He hadn’t wanted to resent his nephews the same way.

He hadn’t – and yet he had, at least a little. How could he help it? Lan Qiren had been a young man when his brother had retreated into seclusion, now going on ten years ago, and in truth, by the standards of his sect elders, he was still a young man. But he’d grown old before his time, trapped at home by duty during the age when most young men went out to travel the world, to do good deeds and earn fame and fall in love. He’d had to give all that up in favor of the soul-crushing drudgery of politics and the day-to-day management of a sect with so many people. He’d had to give up travel in favor of security because the sect couldn’t risk their last remaining heir, give up all thought of devoting himself to something of his own choosing, give up everything in order to fritter away his youth in endless, endless work. He’d had to give up that part of life that should have been marked by independence, autonomy, and agency, a time to learn and to figure out who he was. A time of freedom.

He hadn’t had that chance.

He never would.

From the very first moment that He Kexin’s pregnancy had been disclosed to him, that had been the end of it, the extinguishing of all hope. His nephews had shackled him to the Cloud Recesses more thoroughly than even the sect leader position, and although he loved them, it was because of that love that he was so thoroughly bound in place. He’d adored them from the first moment he’d seen them, loved them more than he loved himself, but he could not say that he had wanted them.

That would be a lie, and the Lan sect rules said: Do not tell lies.

From there came the resentment, from there came the guilt.

He hadn’t wanted them.

He certainly hadn’t wanted the closest adult relationship in his life to be with He Kexin, who he did not like and did not love and who he had certainly never touched – he, who’d never even kissed anyone – and yet he had no choice, for to do anything less would be to deny his nephews access to the mother they loved or He Kexin to the sons she’d birthed. He had had no choice but to see her every month when he took his nephews to see her, and then again even more often to ask her questions or bring her something she wanted.

Lan Qiren had resented her, too, even though he pitied her for her eventual fate, which she had brought upon herself. For his nephew’s sakes he had never said a word against her, keeping silent where he couldn’t say anything good – speak meagerly for too many words bring only harm – but in his heart he could not help but blame her for his predicament, for all the dreams he’d lost, even though he tried not to. The one who was ultimately at fault for ruining Lan Qiren’s innocent dreams of freedom was his brother, not the woman he’d married, but Lan Qiren still couldn’t help thinking that it had been her actions, her decision to kill a Lan sect elder within the Cloud Recesses, that had kicked off that terrible sequence of events.

If only she had never come to the Cloud Recesses.

If only she had chosen another way, any way, to resolve whatever her troubles had been other than murdering their teacher.

If only –

If only his brother hadn’t been so mad for love!

If only they hadn’t been so selfish, both of them - his brother in marrying his love to save her life despite everything she’d done, in declaring he would enter seclusion in penance rather than carry out the duties he’d sworn to uphold…if only they had not had children together, the second time with full knowledge that the child would be given to Lan Qiren as yet another burden he’d had no choice but to accept. They’d made him a father twice over without his consent, and sometimes it bewildered him how much he resented them both for that.

When Lan Qiren was being sensible and reasonable, he knew that his brother and He Kexin hadn’t had children for the purpose of hurting him, but that didn’t make him feel better about it.

He hated her for it.

In truth, he hated him for it.

He didn’t want to admit it – do not, the Lan sect’s rules counseled, do not, do not, do not – but he did, he really, truly did. Lan Qiren hated his brother.

He hated his brother.

As a child, Lan Qiren had adored him. His brother, ten years his elder, had seemed like a giant in Lan Qiren’s eyes, and he had for the longest time disregarded the fact that his brother had always disliked him for reasons that had never wholly made sense to Lan Qiren…but no love could live one-sided forever.

Years and years of crushing duty had curdled whatever love Lan Qiren had had for his brother into disdain and disapproval, a toxic stew made up of all those endless nights of wondering why, if he could sacrifice himself, his brother couldn’t or wouldn’t do the same. All those days of labor, those pointless sessions in front of his brother’s locked door attempting to report to him about matters of the sect that he ought to have cared about and maybe did, and receiving not a single word in response, not once.

Not one single time in all those ten years.

Yes, Lan Qiren hated him.

He hated the great and powerful Qingheng-jun, the man who should have been elder brother and father both, who should have cared for Lan Qiren instead of disdaining him. He hated the man who had been the Lan sect’s prized treasure and hope for the future, once upon a time, before he’d thrown it all away for a love like disaster, a love that no one had wanted, not even his wife.

Especially his wife.

He Kexin…

There had been so much blood.

Lan Qiren had been the one to find her.

Had it really only been four days ago? Only four days, four sleepless nights, and seemingly endless hours, since Lan Qiren had gone to see He Kexin – thankfully without his nephews – to ask her some pointless question he no longer remembered, and had instead found her dead upon the floor of her beautiful prison of gentians?

This will change everything, he’d thought at that moment, staring down at her body, mute with shock. Everything.

He Kexin had been a beautiful woman, a fact that had been unchanged by age or imprisonment, but now – now her beauty had been marred, irreversibly marred. The pool of blood around her, the bloody sword at her side…

Lan Qiren had rushed over at once to try to help, not yet realizing she was dead, not yet realizing what must have happened – what she must have done to herself, since there was no one else around. In his memory, he was still there crouched above her, his fingers still pressed to her neck to seek a pulse that wasn’t there, his other hand still cupped under her nose, trying desperately to feel the warmth of her breath on his palm and finding nothing.

Ironically, between the Cloud Recesses’ strict rules on segregating male and female disciples and how young he’d been when he’d been suddenly forced to become an elder, it was probably the most bodily contact Lan Qiren had ever had with a woman. Even Cangse Sanren, who he’d known for only one brief and bright summer, had had enough propriety to avoid unasked-for contact, or at least she did if one put aside her one late-night adventure in shaving off his beard while he was asleep. It was certainly the most contact he’d had with another adult in years, he who had only his nephews and his work and basically no friends. He was surrounded by family, that was true, but he was not close to any of them. Even the cousin he’d liked most as a child, a boy by the name of Lan Yueheng, had since gone out into the world to seek his fortune, or at least to go get more of those dreadful plants he was so fond of.

(He’d written, at first, but at the time Lan Qiren had been dreadfully jealous of his freedom, so he hadn’t responded. He’d instead let himself sink into the muck and mire of sect business, drowning in it, insensate to and rejecting the rest of the world in his bitterness and resentment, and by the time he’d resurfaced and realized he really did need other people, that relationship and all the others like it had weakened, grown distant. And now he had no one at all.)

Touch had long become something Lan Qiren had grown to deeply crave but didn’t know how to ask for. A friend, a lover, even someone who only wanted his body, a thought he’d initially disliked but in the intervening years had grown more open to…he’d thought to himself that he’d welcome anything, really, as long as it could touch him. And then, in some grim parody of his life so far, instead of what he’d really wanted, he’d ended up instead with a lifeless corpse in his arms.

Change, he’d thought, trapped in that dreadful moment, this means that things will change, and he had been afraid.

Not afraid enough.

He hadn’t thought – he hadn’t realized –

No, Lan Qiren couldn’t blame Wangji for having run away in the face of all the things that had changed, all the things that had happened, all the things that were still to come. These days, Lan Qiren found himself yearning to run away as well.

But empathy aside, Wangji was still missing, Wangji still needed to be found. He was not in the Library Pavilion, not even in the Forbidden Section, and so Lan Qiren left to continue the search.

“Have you seen him?” he demanded when he saw several of the disciples he’d sent out looking for Lan Wangji returning, but they all shook their heads in the negative. “What are you doing back here, then?! There are more places to check! It is winter, cold, and Wangji is young and likely not sufficiently dressed, liable to get sick. We must find him at once. He could be anywhere –”

“Qiren.”

A feeling of icy cold ran down Lan Qiren’s spine, a match for the absolute frozen calm of that voice.

It wasn’t because of the winter weather.

He turned and saluted formally. Too formally, really, given that they were inside the Cloud Recesses, alone among family, but he wasn’t stopped or excused from doing it.

He’d known he wouldn’t be.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Qiren said, his head bowed down and his eyes fixed firmly on the ground for as long as he could manage before propriety required he look at who he was speaking with. “I did not see that you were there.”

“And yet here I am,” his brother said. He stepped out of the shadows and into the light, the gleaming Qingheng-jun in all his majesty – he looked perfect as always, and standing there in the gently falling snow he looked like some idealized dream of ink given form in real life. Ten years of complete seclusion seemed to have taken no toll on him, and he was as tall and broad-shouldered and beautiful as he had ever been. “Where else would I be?”

Anywhere, Lan Qiren thought, and tasted the bile of his hatred on his tongue. Anywhere but here.

Back in seclusion where you belong, maybe.

When Lan Qiren had found He Kexin’s body, he had known that it meant that things would change. Foolishly, perhaps, he had thought only in terms of the impact it would have on Xichen and Wangji. He had known that it would crush them. They were good boys, loyal and filial, and they loved their mother deeply; it was for that reason that he had tortured himself visiting her so often, despite his resentment of her. He had not known how to make her loss easier for them.

Xichen was old enough to understand death, at least, but Wangji wasn’t, being only six; Lan Qiren had worried about how he would take it. Lan Qiren knew how delicate his younger nephew was, how stiff and strict…how similar to his rigid, rule-bound shufu, to Lan Qiren’s agonized mix of pride and shame. He had worried about him all the more because of that, knowing how badly he himself would have taken such a thing at that same age.

He hadn’t thought to worry about anything else.

He hadn’t thought…

It had been ten years. Ten years that Lan Qiren had borne the weight of his sect on his shoulders, alone, and only a little over nine since Xichen’s birth. Ten years since he had been summoned home from some sect business he’d been sent on because his brother was too busy being in love to do it, the note in his hand speaking only of disaster. Ten years since his brother had married his beloved lady instead of letting her stand trial for murder. Ten years since his brother had declared that he would be entering seclusion to pay for his sins in marrying her.

Sins which, as Lan Qiren belatedly discovered, his brother considered to be paid off by He Kexin’s death.

Lan Qiren had been in a daze after discovering He Kexin’s body – no matter what he felt about her, she had been a reliable constant in his life, and he hated change – and he had been worried for his nephews, putting that fear before everything else. He had mechanically gone through the expected motions, the sort of thing that would happen with any unexpected death in the Cloud Recesses: the servants with access to the house questioned, though as expected all of them had been attending to duties elsewhere at the time, arrangements made for the body to be moved until the funeral, the house cleaned, a musician appointed to play spiritual songs in honor of the deceased, all the usual. Lan Qiren had done everything he needed to do as sect leader, and everything he had needed to do as the closest adult relative of her family as well.

Well.

The closest available adult relative.

Lan Qiren hadn’t thought twice about reporting the fact of He Kexin’s passing to his brother’s door, that useless practice he had maintained less out of conviction than out of habit. He had felt…sorry, he supposed, that he had had to tell his brother that his wife was dead, that the great love he had sacrificed everything for was gone. But at the same time he hadn’t paid very much attention to it, either. It hadn’t seemed all that important at the time, not in comparison with the agony he knew awaited his nephews when he told them the same news.

Lan Qiren hadn’t thought about what it might mean – for his brother, for his sect, for his nephews.

For him.

After all, with his wife, the reason for his seclusion, dead, there was no reason for Qingheng-jun to continue abstaining from the mortal world. He had come out once more, Lan Qiren’s elder brother, and in so doing he had taken back from Lan Qiren all that was rightfully his.

His sect.

His sons.

“There is no reason to waste other people’s time searching for Wangji,” Lan Qiren’s brother said, voice flat and disinterested. “When he is finished with his temper tantrum, he will come out to face punishment for his defiance.”

Lan Qiren’s nails dug into his palms.

Defiance? He wanted to shout. How can you speak of defiance, of punishment – Wangji is six! He is too young for punishment to be a lesson! At his age, he does not yet know how to trace the connection between his actions and their consequences. He is hurting, as anyone could expect; his mother has just died! To punish him now when what he needs is comfort would be worse than pointless. He would learn nothing from it, nothing but that those who he should be able to trust are willing to hurt him.

Don’t you dare, he wanted to scream. Don’t you dare touch him, don’t you dare…

But it was Lan Qiren, now, who could not dare.

He had raised both boys from infancy himself; he had done everything for them, more than a man of his position strictly should have. He had fed them with goat’s milk when the wetnurse the sect had hired couldn’t manage, he had had changed their dirty clothing, he had tucked them into bed, given them baths, wiped away their tears. He had taught them to speak, taught them to walk, taught them the rules, taught them everything he could – but in the end he was still only their uncle, not their father. He wasn’t even their sect leader, with power enough to stop that which he thought was wrong.

He could do nothing.

Lan Qiren had always believed that he did not love power in its own right. He had always been quite proud of it, even, patting himself on the back with the knowledge that he, unlike so many of his fellow sect leaders, had never sought the position, had never loved it for the power it gave him, had never yearned greedily to increase that power and been willing to make compromises in order to do so. It was only now that all power had been stripped away from him, rendering him absolutely helpless to enact his will and leaving him only his useless words that could change nothing, that Lan Qiren realized how accustomed to power he had become.

It was only now that he realized that power was necessary not only for duty’s sake, for tradition and for the sake of his sect, but to let him protect that which he held dear.

“I do not believe Wangji intended to be defiant,” Lan Qiren said, forcing the hatred and bitterness out of his mouth and trying to sound as humble as he could manage. He was still half-bent in the salute, trapped in the posture because his brother and sect leader had not seen fit to give him leave to stand back up; the humiliation was deliberate, the insult pointed, and it burned more than he might have thought it would, if he had ever thought about it. Lan Qiren had grown too arrogant, these past few years of reporting to his brother’s locked door as if to nobody, and his brother had not forgotten nor forgiven it. “I believe he has merely been overwhelmed by all that has been happening around him and fled in order to master himself. He reacts badly to change, and always has…the failure in teaching him is mine.”

“Yes, it is,” Lan Qiren’s brother agreed, and finally waved his hand – twitched his fingers, more like – to allow Lan Qiren to straighten. “They tell me you have made yourself some reputation as a teacher while I was gone, but I must admit I haven’t seen much evidence of it.”

While I was gone, he called it, as if he’d just ducked out for a quick night-hunt or a casual visit to see friends, rather than forcefully reordered the sect for ten years, stolen away Lan Qiren’s life for ten years, while he indulged himself in his sacrificial penance. While I was gone.

Just hearing it phrased like that made Lan Qiren’s blood boil. The rules said Do not succumb to rage, but Lan Qiren’s temper had always been poor, one of his many failings.

And yet he wondered how anyone could not succumb to rage in the face of such provocation.

“I admit to my failings,” Lan Qiren said again, hoping that his self-abnegation would satisfy his brother’s apparent desire to see him torn down. His brother had never liked Lan Qiren, an ancient hatred that had grown to be mutual in time, but seclusion seemed to have sharpened it into something very near to cruelty – it had only been three days since his brother had exited his seclusion, and Lan Qiren had already accumulated enough punishments that the end of the month would see him reporting to the discipline hall to be whipped like an immature boy. He’d already been obligated to spend one long bitter night kneeling outside in the cold winter wind instead of grieving or working; his brother had even come to watch, as if he’d thought Lan Qiren couldn’t be trusted to actually follow through on the assigned discipline.

He had been smiling.

“Still, as the fault is mine, I worry that Wangji may not realize that he has erred,” Lan Qiren said carefully, trying to strike the balance that would let him protect his nephew from a punishment he did not deserve and would not think to expect. “I am certain that he would make amends if he did. If only he can be found, first…”

His brother’s face did not show any sign of yielding, and Lan Qiren’s anxiety spiked. Didn’t he understand?

“It is snowing, Xiongzhang,” he said, stressing the word. “Wangji is still very young, young enough that a fever could be very dangerous to him, and he is likely not sufficiently dressed for the weather. If he isn’t found, he could linger outside and grow ill. If we could only find him…”

“You can do as you like with your own time,” his brother said, and Lan Qiren nearly lost his breath at the sheer dismissiveness of the statement, at how little his brother seemed to appreciate all that Lan Qiren had done in his absence. As if all of Lan Qiren’s sacrifices for the sect had been merely the misbehavior of an unattended child. “But do not waste that of others.”

That was the best he was going to get, Lan Qiren realized, and gritted his teeth in suppressed anger, wondering why his brother didn’t seem to realize, didn’t seem to care, even though Wangji was his son…but such thoughts were meaningless. His brother had decided, and his brother was sect leader, his word as immovable as any of the rules on the Wall of Discipline.

There was nothing to do but accept it.

So Lan Qiren did, nodding stiffly and saluting his brother once more before he turned to go.

“Once you find my son,” Qingheng-jun said from behind him, and Lan Qiren couldn’t help but wonder if he emphasized the words my son just to remind Lan Qiren that his nephews had never truly belonged to him, “you are to return him to his rooms and then report to my rooms at you shi. It is time to discuss your future.”

Lan Qiren swallowed. “My future?”

Change again, he thought, his stomach clenching in terror. Not again –

Although Lan Qiren didn’t turn around, he could feel his brother stepping forward again, coming closer to him.

“I think you’ve done enough here, Qiren,” his brother murmured into his ear, voice low but cold. Always cold. “Don’t you?”

No.

“Don’t be late.”

Lan Qiren nodded once more, stiff now with terror rather than rage, and left as quickly as he could. It was better not to think about it, he told himself. There wasn’t time to worry about himself right now.

He had to find Wangji.

Only…he still had no idea where his nephew could have gone. The Cloud Recesses were large, and Lan Qiren was only one man; he could only cover so much ground. He’d already checked all the usual places: his rooms, Xichen’s rooms, Lan Qiren’s own rooms, the classroom, the library, the discipline hall, the places he was usually assigned to do chores, the garden he preferred to play in. Lan Qiren knew that Wangji took after him, that he was also a creature of habit, that he preferred to walk the same paths whenever he could. And yet he wasn’t in any of his favorite haunts. Where could he be?

Lan Qiren wished he could at least ask Xichen for his insight – his older nephew could read his younger brother like no one else – but Xichen would be at his lessons now, and Lan Qiren had already been instructed not to interrupt or distract him. Xichen was his brother’s eldest son, his heir, and since Lan Qiren’s teachings had already been found to be inadequate, his brother had decreed that it was necessary for him to be thrown into a punishing schedule meant to help him meet his father’s expectations. Lan Qiren hadn’t seen Xichen for nearly two days by this point, and it was probably the longest period of time they had ever spent apart while they were both in the Cloud Recesses.

He hadn’t been allowed to see him.

Lan Qiren’s brother really was treating him as if Lan Qiren were still some stupid child messing around and causing trouble for everyone, rather than a man of thirty. As if Lan Qiren hadn’t led one of the Great Sects for ten years, managing the elders and tricky internal sect strife on one hand and the complex and subtle play of intersect politics on the other, as if he weren’t the man who’d raised his brother’s children for him, who for ten years had done everything for his brother, even tended to his older brother’s own damned wife –

Wait. He Kexin. Of course.

Today was the day of the month when Lan Qiren normally took his nephews to see their mother.

Lan Qiren had explained to his nephews that they wouldn’t be going to visit her this month, or ever again. He’d tried to be kind about it, but still explicit enough to make clear what had happened.

Wangji…Wangji must not have understood.

He had cried, of course, because Xichen had cried, but he hadn’t understood. Lan Qiren had stayed with them all night, first holding them in his arms and then playing them music meant to help them sleep. At the time, he’d planned to try to slowly coax his younger nephew towards some semblance of understanding. He had meant to repeat himself several times, to explain more, to give them both books or stories that would help them understand and come to terms with what had happened, but then the next morning Qingheng-jun had come out of seclusion and everything had so very suddenly changed…

No matter. Lan Qiren hurried his steps towards He Kexin’s house, and was relieved to see a small figure crouched there in the snow in front of the closed door.

“Wangji,” he called, though there was no response. “Wangji, there you are…”

He went over to where Wangji was stubbornly kneeling, red-nosed and red-cheeked from the wind.

“I’m here to see Mother,” Lan Wangji announced before Lan Qiren could say anything. “I’m not going.”

“Wangji…”

What could Lan Qiren say?

Your mother is dead, and you should mourn her. Your father is alive, and you should mourn that, too.

You have already lost so much, and though you do not know it, you have more yet to lose. Death has already taken your mother away, and your father is going to take me away, too. He has already barred me from Xichen, and he will do the same with you, I know it. I should tell you, prepare you for it, but I can barely bring myself to believe it, so how can I explain it to you? I do not know what my brother has planned for me, nor for you both, but I know that there is nothing I can do to stop him.

I do not know how to tell you.

I do not know how to tell you that I have failed you, Wangji. You and Xichen both. That I am not strong or wise enough to defend you.

I do not know how to tell you that things are going to change, change for the worse, and I will not even be able to be there to help you with it.

I have let you down.

You are still so young, Wangji. You probably will not even remember me after a few years, except maybe to hate me for abandoning you. You will not know that I did not do it voluntarily, only that it happened. Only that I did not stop it from happening.

If only I could stop it.

If only –

But there is nothing I can do.

I am useless, I am hopeless, I am worthless, just the way my brother has always thought me to be.

I am sorry, Wangji. I am so very sorry…

“…Shufu?”

Lan Qiren tried to say something.

It probably would have been something inane like The rules say ‘Do not grieve in excess’ – but all of a sudden he couldn’t get the words out of his mouth, all of them congealing abruptly into a sob he could not suppress. And that was even worse, because once there was one, there was another, and another, and then he was kneeling next to Lan Wangji in the snow with his hands futilely cast over his face to hide his disgrace, sobbing pointlessly like the immature child his brother so obviously thought he was.

“Shufu?” Lan Wangji sounded alarmed, as well he should in the face of such a wretched display by someone who ought to be setting a good example for him. “Shufu, don’t cry! I didn’t mean to upset you – I am sorry –”

“It is not your fault,” Lan Qiren choked out. He didn’t really think it was his own fault, either, not really, since he didn’t think he’d ever done anything to earn his brother’s hatred other than being born, but he blamed himself regardless. He blamed himself for Wangji having run away, he blamed himself for He Kexin having killed herself to escape her endless solitude, and he blamed himself for not being able to do anything to stop his brother from stealing away every source of joy he’d ever managed to spare for himself.

Was this the ultimate price of his dreams, he wondered wildly, the price of his secret resentment? Lan Qiren had never wanted to be a father, never wanted to run a sect, hadn’t wanted to be He Kexin’s caretaker – well, here it was, all his stupid selfish wishes finally fulfilled.

He wasn’t any of those anymore.

He wasn’t anything, anymore. In his brother’s eyes, he was scarcely even the second son of the Lan sect.

“It is not your fault,” Lan Qiren said, tears still spilling down his face as he wept, unable to stop himself. Do not grieve in excess, the rules said, but surely this was not excess. Surely this was exactly as much grief as his stricken heart felt fit for the situation. “It is not your fault. It is important that you know that, Wangji. You must listen to me, listen to your shufu. Know that none of this is your fault.”

“Shufu –”

“Listen to me. It is not you, it is not Xichen. You must both know that. None of this is your fault, none of it will ever have been your fault. It is only that – that things have changed, Wangji. Things have changed. They are never going to go back to the way they were.”

He could feel Wangji’s small hand on his arm, patting him lightly, seeking to comfort him.

But there was no comfort to be had.

“We cannot go back to the way things were,” Lan Qiren said again. “Not for your mother –”

And not for me.

[sputnikan]

I finally finished translating my collection of obikin fanfics based on some quotes from the Song of Songs.

I'm very proud of everything I accomplished in this project and I'm very happy with the translations.

The first part "Enclosed garden, sealed fountain" is set in the Clone Wars, and is about the lengths Obi-Wan is willing to go through for Anakin.

The second part "The orchard and its fruits", set at the end of the war, is about how Anakin breaks all of Obi-Wan's physical and emotional limits.

The third part, which I just published today, "The mountain that was burning in flames", is set during OWK and the mystical union of Darth Vader and Obi-Wan after his transformation.

The quote that sums up this entire collection is the one that gives it its name: "It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away."

[yudrein-aile]

wish to have kishiyu thoughts,,, deeply haunted by Katyu instead