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galedekarios · 1 year ago

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Oh wait now I’m curious what the backstory reasons behind Alton’s physical design are! He’s very handsome and I crave the oc lore.

thank you so much for asking about altonaufein. i really truly do appreciate it a lot! 🖤he's the favourite of my bg3 ocs.

his development and growth as a character is mostly tied to his hair and how he presents himself, so this is what i focused on for my choices throughout the game:

altonaufein was born as the third child but first son to matron ithrana of house hlarahel, a younger brother to his eldest sister nadriina and the second-born iraeae.

house hlarahel of ust natha has produced a long line of powerful clerics in service to lolth so altonaufein, with his natural talent and inlination for both the divine and the art of combat, was trained as a cleric to aid drow scouting and raiding parties:

this is how his hair would have looked then--perhaps even longer as the cc allows us--white hair worn long and open, symbolising lolth's demon webs, her reach and control on her drow, despite altonaufein's dreams of a bright moon hanging in a dark sky he has never seen.

i will put the rest under a cut because a) it's very, very long so sorry in advance and b) because it deals with some very heavy themes so if you aren't comfortable reading, you absolutely do not have to!

(cw assault/rape, cw mind manipulation, cw enslavement, cw drow society in general tbh)

drow society is a matriarchal society, where male drow are considered lesser, and it functions under a particular set of rules:

"The cruelty and injustice of Drow society are utterly familiar because they are constants, from the womb onward. Drow mothers punish and manipulate from the start, and Drow women rule each household. Typically, nobles are divided up into houses which jockey for position in the city, and each noble house is headed by a cleric of great skill. A wise matron mother will have several cleric daughters to ensure that her line and influence continues, but she will watch them carefully. Inheritance is passed through daughters, with children ranked in importance by gender, and then by age. A matron will guard against her eldest daughters and pit all of her children against each other to ensure her own survival." "Drow children are not coddled. They are raised together and sent to schools with high standards of conduct. Drow children are trained to compete with one another and to show no mercy. Some children do not survive the intense childhood games." "The Drow are infamous for their torture practices, as well they should be. Among the elves of the beginning times, they were the first to experiment with the sensation of pain. They have honed torture into science and psychological treatment. Drow parents will punish their children with pain and humiliation in very tactical ways. Drow students are publicly punished in front of their fellow students and class clowns are rare (although pranks for which no one was apprehended are remembered by Drow students as legends of a sort). Drow adults are not all masters of torture, but they have seen enough pain to know how to make others hurt. Not all Drow use physical pain as their modus operandi. A good many are adept at humiliation and terrible mind games. Some slaves are so broken mentally that all they can do is concentrate on the task at hand. Some Drow actually do not like to put forth the effort that torture requires and would rather kill someone than waste their energy. The worst punishments are said to come from those closest to Lolth - the yochlol and the clerics. They are whispered to be divinely inspired."

these are the circumstances that shaped altonaufein as much as it did nadriina and iraeae, who, in the tradition of house hlarahel, are both striving to become powerful priestesses of lolth in their own right, seeking to inherit control of the house from matron mother.

drow house politics are insane and it's all encouraged by lolth. lolth wants to determine who of her followers are worthy enough to be supported by her, so all drow have to pass a test of faith, a trial of lolth.

after altonaufein foolishly (he truly did love--in a way that drow are capable of--his sister iraeae and confided in her visions that spoke not of lolth or a great spider swallowing the world, but of a moon, shining bright silver.

iraeae felt conflicted. she, too, loved her brother in her own way. of course that weakness was what made her realise what she had to do: weed it out. so she told not only nadriina, but her her mother. it was then decided that altonaufein was not simply to die.

they would not further shame their own house like that. instead he would be put through his trial of lolth, to weed out that weakness and corruption within their own ranks. should he die, he'd be a sacrifice to lolth, should he live, he would prove lolth's favour to their house and advance them further in ust natha's society.

altonaufein with that was sentenced to undergo the test of strength. power and resourcefulness, whether or not the subject is strong and clever enough to defeat a powerful foe. the test is only fulfilled by a battle to the death between the test subject and another, stronger person, sometimes a creature.

the fight is usually difficult, and the test subject often has to expend all their resources to survive and vanquish their foe, who must be slain: the more brutal, the longer drawn out the fight, the more you've suffered and the more your foe has suffered, the more it will satisfy lolth.

altonaufein earned his first brutal kill like that. he had just reached maturity.

nadriina had hoped he would die. winning the trial had garnered favour and attention. a strong male could be just as dangerous as a scheming female. she devised a plan with iraeae to ensure that they would not be threatened and, with that, iraeae passed her own trial of lolth: chwidevbrii, or the test of betrayal.

it's a punishment that strikes particularly deep. trust is a distasteful concept to drow, though they understand that sometimes it does happen and is even necessary. to rid themselves of this, to succeed at this test, the drow must betray someone who has garnered her trust or in whom she has placed her trust.

mentors, teachers, leaders, friends, family members. as long as there has been a solid connection of dependence made in the past. the relationship between master and slave or servant does not count; the goddess knows that no betrayal can happen in such a relationship. it is simply a slave. the drow must utterly destroy the other drow in a way that allows her to advance in some manner. the method is not important: blackmail, slander, torture... magic. in the end, the victim must die or be thoroughly disgraced and dominated. usually, the victim is murdered by the drow herself, commits suicide, or is killed as a result of the drow's action.

so what better way to show to her goddess that she is a true drow, that she is worthy, what better way than to serve the house than humiliating and dominating someone who was once a little brother.

drow females are able to take over the mind of a male drow just like that, with a spell, akin to a thrall. all thoughts are gone, all will is gone. your mind is not your own anymore.

iraeae did just that: after he was beaten, whipped, mental and physical defences exhausted, the spell on altonaufein took hold and, as perhaps a final "kindness" in her utter triumph, altonaufein was discarded in ust natha's dark underbelly.

ust natha has a tavern. to entertain both those lusting for blood, for sport, and for more carnal pursuits. altonaufein still remembers szordrin and sondal, the keepers of the tavern. their taunting faces. mind gone, he and others were kept in a cage. he served there for a while. to fight. to please. to be of use. to those who asked. to those who had power or gold. for battle. for pleasure.

he was there, under that spell, until it broke: iraeae dead by her sister's hand. betrayed just like altonaufein had been by her. altonaufein doesn't remember how long it lasted, remembers only parts of it: the many hands, more than hands, the pain. he remembers fighting. other drow. other prisoners. the surface. running. the moon. fever. then nothing for a long time again.

and finally, karl:

karl is an ilmater cleric, a part of a small settlement built around a modest church of ilmater that, unknowingly, is very close to an entrance to the underdark.

during one of his patrols with another of the settlement, karl found altonaufein: delirious with fever, malnourished, ravaged by old wounds that never truly healed, hair tangled.

any other man might have killed the defenseless drow, thinking it to be a ruse, or perhaps to put him out of his misery, but karl is an ilmateri through and through, for better and for worse, and so he shouldered this suffering and brought altonaufein to the temple. he was tasked with caring for him. and watching him.

so karl came to care for the drow: he cleaned and dressed his wounds, sat by him. tried to talk to him, engage him in moments of clarity and despite the obvious language barrier. karl, an ex-soldier and deserter, was forced to fight for his homeland cormyr against sembia. he saw a lot of cruelty during that war. a lot of violence, both in battle and outside of it. in the villages and cities that were torched and conquered and pillaged. he saw a lot then and sees a lot of it now in altonaufein, who survived a different kind of war.

as for altonaufein himself, he tries to settle into that new life, tries to come to terms with what he remembers of his old one... it was incredibly violating. he remembers only snippets. moments. sudden movements and motions, that send his heart racing.

the clearest memory is a hand gripping his hair so tightly, pulling and guiding. it's not anymore, but he still feels it.

he hasn't brushed it or touched it since his rescue, it's a tangled, matted–and it’s also something that hasn’t escaped karl’s notice.

altonaufein goes to cut it with the only blade he could find (stolen and kept on his person from one of the meals karl had shared with him).

(ilmater clerics and priests are good and nice, but they are also no fools who would give a drow access to sharp weaponry. kindness goes only so far, even here, no matter how much karl vouches for altonaufein.)

so altonaufein begins to cut it with a dulled blade and it goes about as badly as you'd imagine: it's hard to do, it hurts, and the strands that he manages to cut are choppy (which is the least of his worries). he still manages to hurt himself simply by the virtue of hard he is trying and how badly his hands are shaking with it.

karl would find him, take one look at him and leave, coming back with honeyed tea to soothe frazzled nerves and a sharper blade, one of his own. he drinks the tea first from the little teapot, pouring himself one cup and another for altonaufein, to show him it's not poisoned or meddled with. he had noticed how skittish altonaufein was with things he hadn't seen being prepared.

they sit there for a while before altonaufein, too, calms enough to drink his cup, and it is only then that karl begins to speak, voice soft but clear.

he takes up the sharp blade, lets it rest on his hands just so, where altonaufein could reach out and take it at any time, and tells him of what could happen: he could leave the blade with altonaufein and he can try again, but karl would prefer it if he could help, clean the cuts and nicks and heal them, and help altonaufein cut his hair.

altonaufein looks at him for a long time, searching his eyes, still holding onto that dull blade as a last defense, but there is no deception in karl, none at all. only that strange kindness that he has come to associate with the human.

it was one of many, many small gestures, things, that karl did for altonaufein that made him trust karl. trust him enough to at first take food and drink from him, later to help fix injuries like this one--and finally, to let him cut his hair.

he turns his back on karl--even though the human might not realise fully how meaningful that truly is--so he can do as he had said he would. and karl does. he keeps his word.

time passes and altonaufein settles into his new life, bit by bit. he helps with that he can at the temple and the settlement: repairing fences, caring for the animals, the harvest, building and repairing things.

he still wears his hair short, but here and there, he allows it to grow just that bit longer than it had been for a long while now:

and it's this way when the settlement is attacked and he is captured on the nautiloid.

on his journey to find a cure, and to find karl, he meets another human, just as kind as the ilmateri. one who knows the goddess behind the light and moon he had dreamed of, prayed to, albeit not knowing just how to, and gives her a name that altonaufein had not known until then: eilistraee, lady silverhair--and a close friend to the man's own goddess, mystra.

this bond between them, beginning with a moment of connection, grows ever closer and brighter.

through them, karl and gale, with them and alongside them, altonaufein begins to heal and helps them heal in return, begins to find his purpose and helps them find theirs:

he is a cleric of eilistraee. he can be more than a tool for bloodshed and violence.

he's not kulg llarzoran ithrana qualla hlarahel (his designation as a male of his house). he's not auflaque (dog) as he was called during his captivity. he is simply altonaufein and that's what he is to gale, to karl and the friends he has made.

settling in waterdeep with them, altonaufein joins the promenade and its leader trelasarra zuind. to help others as he had been helped.

🖤

#i am SO SORRY this got so long #idk where it came from but #there you have it #the alton lore drop #i love my drow son a lot #and why it lowkey hurt me when people made disparaging comments about the hair i picked for him #ch: altonaufein #ch: gale dekarios #ch: karl eifers #otp: a soul that steels my own #otp: battered and wrecked i come to you first #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #meta: mybg3 #bg3 spoilers

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solarmidnight · 9 months ago

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I'm sorry if I'm misinterpreting or just forgot something vital in these books, but do you think Kastor is responsible for Auguste's death?

To be perfectly honest with you, it may be me who's misinterpreting. But I highly doubt that the Regent's control over Kastor, and, as a result, Akielos, started when Kastor had Theomedes poisoned and Damen enslaved. I think this was the end result of years of the Regent's work.

With Laurent years from ascension age, the Regent had a long time to spin his spider's web, placing his pieces on the chessboard and learning how best to control each one of them.

And one of those pieces had to be Kastor, since there's zero reason that Damen, a legitimate son of the king, heir to the throne, would have moved against his own father for power; all he'd have to do is wait for Theomedes to come to his natural end.

The Regent can't exactly go in and have all the Akielon royalty killed; rather than giving the Regent the power, there'll just be another Akielon put on the throne, perhaps a distant cousin or something. Akielos will stay in Akielon hands because there'd be no need to transfer power to Veretian royalty. No, he needed someone very close to the main royal family, someone who bore a lot of resentment at being overlooked and overshadowed, denied what had been, for nine years, his birthright.

Someone like Kastor.

Whilst Kastor did not kill Vere's king, nor did he kill Auguste (thank you, Damen), in my mind Kastor bears some of the guilt because he was allowing the Regent into Akielos's court. He was conspiring against his own country. Perhaps not at first; maybe there was correspondence, maybe there were meetings away from both courts, but Kastor became one of the Regent's little birds.

He would have been talking to the Regent, letting him in on things. Kastor was tricked by both the Regent, and by Jokaste, indicating that he, like Damen, has no sense of trickery and deception. But unlike Damen, who began to learn and adjust, especially after he came to know Laurent who's basically a master of trickery and deception, Kastor did not learn.

Kastor was being played for the fool. The Regent had every intention of taking control of both Vere and Akielos and merging it into one country for him to rule over as king and have the ultimate power he craved.

It would not have been hard to see that Kastor resented Damen, resented Theomedes for overlooking him after nine years of being the crown prince. Someone like the Regent would have seen it. Kastor is an illegitimate child, which, to the Regent, is almost like being born a second son; once the crown prince ascends and has children, there's even more people between you and the throne.

Kastor wanted the throne so badly that someone like the Regent, who bore the same nigh uncontrollable thirst for power, would have seen it. And it left him wide open.

The scene where Kastor and the Regent are sitting side by side at Laurent's trial, and Kastor does not realise (but Damen does, thanks to three books' worth of learning how these mind games are played) that the Regent is controlling the whole room, leaving Kastor with very little political power, was enough to convince me of my theory.

Again, I could be entirely wrong, but these are just the conclusions I've drawn after reading the books a few dozen times over.

#captive prince #kastor of akielos #the regent of vere #damen of akielos #laurent of vere

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jyndor · 5 months ago

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here's something I need people to understand about the hypocrisy of alicent or crispy ass cole, as well as conservative and/or fundie repressed people in general - hypocrisy is not something they give a flying fuck about.

it never has been- its always rules for thee not me, always always always. whenever they don't abide by the ridiculous rules that they hold others to (and I do mean Others - those in some sort of out group) they don't see it as the same as the people they judge. they justify ALL of their actions, and often those justifications for their own rule breaking is fairly reasonable (since their rules are usually bullshit, of course it does make sense for most people to not be able to hold to them).

but see we, people who have been Othered by these institutions like alicent's definitely-not-catholicism, see the hypocrisy clear as day because we already have been victimized by the rules that people like alicent conditionally follow.

this is how patriarchy harms us all - alicent isn't able to live her best queer life and have lots of passionate sapphic sex with the hottest women in the realm because of how she has been raised to serve at the altar of patriarchy.

it is easy for me to have immense sympathy for a character like alicent hightower, a girl whose father basically forced into child marriage with his old man friend in order to gain political power and influence. even if she is jealous of her girlfriend's sexual liberation* (which alicent clearly both reviles and craves) and ultimately falls further into a religious conservatism that I am never gonna be down with, as a queer myself who has only ever been harmed by that christian conservative bullshit.

anyway at the same time, I see that abused girl become a woman with real power because of her refusal to break a system that has done nothing but harm her. because that system ultimately serves her in many ways too.

this goes for rhaenyra, the liberal feminist hillary to alicent's conservative christian phyllis. rhaenyra ultimately doesn't have a liberatory bone in her body if it isn't about her own rights to exist as she is in a patriarchal world and reap the benefits of being at the top of that hierarchy. the closest any noble person in this canon gets to an actual liberatory political theory of power is daenerys (which... lmao - it's still based in her belief in a divine birthright, even if she would want to use that birthright to get as close to being a class traitor as one gets in asoiaf).

and so while she is a compelling and sympathetic character (thanks to olivia, and yes emily as well) she would be my enemy irl, make no mistake about it. (so would rhaenyra ofc I'm not here for girl boss feminism).

and because she's my enemy I know how she works. for example, these freaks irl are always pointing fingers at queer or just regular old non-fundie people trying to live because they've got a bad translation of a religious text that they likely haven't even read, a text which would also condemn these same people for any sexual act that isn't marital PIV. like a blow job. lmao do you think for one second conservative christian/fundie/fundie-adjacent women aren't giving their husbands head??? okay nancy 'throat goat' reagan lol

they genuinely do not see it as the same thing, and they don't care if it's close to the same because They are righteous and saved and justified in their kinky shit. (that is more of a protestant grace over works thing; alicent's faith of the seven is clearly more of the catholic sort, especially given that westeros is akin to pre-reformation europe but I mean its not a one to one comparison).

hypocrisy is not a good weapon to use against anyone. conservative white christians in the us won't hear about trump fucking a sex worker while his wife is pregnant and then giving her hush money and suddenly abandon ship. sure, plenty will lie to themselves about it being fake news but plenty of others legitimately will never give a fuck about that, even if it seems counter to their whole pretense of morality.

they do not give a shit. alicent hightower likely sees herself as a newly widowed woman who did her time and can fuck her hot guard (his being a misogynistic incel likely is not a problem for her because his inceldom is based in a morality she believes in herself - that his oath was broken by some nasty snake bitch seducing him or whatever, but of course when he and alicent fuck it is moral and good sex, no excuse me it is probably ~making love lmfao) until it's time to say a few hail marys, and she's forgiven! except ofc she's not, but it's fine! because she did everything the right way, right???

the hypocrisy is not going to bother her because she can justify her behavior. however the reason these fundies feel the need to justify shit to themselves is because deep down they know they're not actually following the standards they have set for themselves. there must be a good reason for them to break those standards. those standards that must be followed no matter what. it's irrational and brain breaking.

the hypocrisy won't bother a person like that, but the cognitive dissonance? that's another story altogether. that will bring shame and disgust and self-loathing, which may result in them re-evaluating their ideology but also may just make them double down on that ideology.

getting caught up in the team sports of it all seems very contrary to the thesis of this story and frankly all of asoiaf - that this patriarchal hierarchical divine right of kings ass absolute monarchy system is so oppressive and harmful that even those who benefit from it the most are also certain to fall victim to it in time. and that one team may be marginally or even greatly better than another, but ultimately these teams still exist to keep a fundamentally cruel and inhumane system in place.

anyway rhaenyra stans stop saying alicent is a hypocrite for getting her nut with crincel. alicent stans, watch yourselves because some of you seem to forget that alicent is basically a sympathetic phyllis schlafly.

*obligatory rhaenyra was a victim in many ways; her exploration of her sexuality with crispy ass cole was technically consensual (ofc it was messy all around, even for crispy due to the power dynamics, but ultimately she was a teen girl who had literally just been groomed by her uncle, and he was a grown man so... come on folks)

#house of the dragon #hotd spoilers #misogyny #sexism #this fandom is ridiculous lmao #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #btw i enjoy both of them lol theyre the best parts of the show IMO but you wont catch me stanning either of them lol #meta

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warningsine · 4 months ago

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I’ve written several times about the phenomenon of the cable-drama “bad fan”—the loyal viewer, often a guy, who views antiheroes as heroes. The archetypal bad fan shrugs off any notion of moral complexity; he fast-forwards through arguments with the nagging wife and freeze-frames the bloody whackings. It’s a phenomenon that haunts some of the best and most ambitious “dark dramas,” particularly online. Depending on your mood, you could interpret this response in a range of ways: Are the viewers who fantasize about killing Skyler White misogynists, or is there something in “Breaking Bad” that causes this reaction, a drop of ricin in the narrative?

Recently, however, I’ve been thinking about another kind of bad fan—the feminine type.* By this I mean the fans of shows with female protagonists, both comedies and dramas, who crave not bloodshed but empowerment. The topic came up during my conversation at The New Yorker Festival_ _with Mindy Kaling, the creator and star of “The Mindy Project.” As we talked, Kaling made a strong case for one way in which her series has been misunderstood: her idea for Mindy Lahiri, she said, wasn’t a spunky role model like Mary Tyler Moore. She also wasn’t trying to create a flawed comic protagonist with a voice-of-reason quality, in the tradition of Liz Lemon and Leslie Knope. Instead, she was going for the Michael Scott, the Larry David, the Kenny Powers—truly screwed-up bigots and basket cases who were, nonetheless, the rowdy centers of their respective shows.

“That felt more fun to me,” she said. “The Mindy Project” has gotten its share of flack during its three years: for some fans, chiding Mindy Lahiri for her behavior—for being selfish, cruel, narcissistic, politically clueless or conservative, shallowly money-focussed, and otherwise not a role model—seems to be central to watching the show. I’ve read smart analyses from such fans, who are typically women, but other times they operate less like viewers than ombudsmen. As with “Breaking Bad,” it’s possible to see this tension as baked into the show’s genre: “The Mindy Project” is a sitcom about a woman poisoned by rom-coms, but it offers up its own romantic-comedy pleasures. Female viewers, especially, have been trained to expect certain payoffs from romantic comedies, vicarious in nature: the meet-cute, the soul mate, and, in nearly every case, a “Me, too!” identification. Without “Me, too!,” some folks want a refund.

I adore “The Mindy Project,” which, like many sitcoms, took a while to gel but has become a consistently hilarious series with a caustic edge, and a sexual depth missing in shows such as “New Girl.” I also love its main character, who says things like, “I could never repay you and I don’t plan to.” I love it in part because the show, and its creator (like many interesting showrunners, both male and female), tends to be a bit of a shit-stirrer—in its best episodes, “The Mindy Project” has a mischievous tendency to destabilize its viewers, by swinging sweet to sour within a single joke. That comic approach has become common among female comedians on cable television, on shows including “Girls,” “Veep,” “Broad City,” “Inside Amy Schumer,” and “It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia,” but network TV is still a compromise machine, a tumbler that takes spiky gems and smacks them until they’re pebbles. Miraculously, “The Mindy Project” has stayed spiky. As that insidious guidebook “The Rules” used to recommend to wishful single girls, it’s a “creature unlike any other.”

It’s also not the only show haunted by this bad-fan variation. “The Good Wife,” which is among the most ambitious, morally complex dramas on either network or cable television, has always had viewers who mistook it for a “You go, girl!” fantasy. To these viewers (and to a few recappers, male and female), Alicia Florrick is a role model for “having it all.” When she takes moral shortcuts, these fans get outraged and confused. The same is true of “Scandal,” a very different kind of show, but one that also centers around a high-powered, wine-swilling, morally sketchy heroine. On fan boards, a subset of viewers gripes that Olivia Pope is an adulterous basket case and a hypocrite. (These fans often prefer early Season 1, when Olivia wore the white hat and it was easier to see her affair as true love.) A similar discussion rages about “Homeland” ’s Carrie Mathison, a mentally ill C.I.A. agent who nearly drowned her baby in this season’s first episode, an incident that some online fans (again, both male and female) felt made it impossible to root for her—an interpretation grounded in the idea that we must root for her, rather than merely feel for her.

For me, the canary in the bad-fan coal mine is still “Sex and the City,” a show that to this day inspires fans to complain that its heroine was no damn good. Carrie was selfish and a bad friend and needy and shallow. She had an affair! She didn’t deserve Aidan. She had the nerve to ask her friends for a loan. What was she thinking with that dirndl? Like “The Mindy Project,” the show was an allergic response to rom-coms and sitcoms, just as “The Sopranos” was an allergic response to mob stories and “The Office” was an allergic response to reality TV. For some viewers, the idea that her flaws were there on purpose, that they were the whole point, remains hard to swallow. But “relatability” is a trap—it’s a cage for artistic ambition. When it comes to role models, as Kaling herself suggested, we may simply be looking for love in the wrong places: instead of looking to the show, we should look to the showrunner.

*Yes, I know it’s tremendously rude to call someone a bad fan for watching a show the “wrong” way. Just assume I mean it in a thoughtful, conversation-starting sort of way.

#and she nails it. like i said tgw is disguised as an empowerment procedural but isn't.

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godandmonsters1996 · 1 year ago

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SwanQueen fanfic

"She will declare war, Regina," Emma's voice dripped with danger and seriousness, compelling Regina to finally turn and face her. The warmth of Regina's breath brushed against Emma's skin, momentarily evoking memories of their loving marriage—waking up to passionate kisses, finding solace in each other's arms. Home. But the fleeting visions quickly dissipated.

"The only reason she hasn't done it yet is because I pleaded with her to let me talk to you," Emma explained, closing the distance between them with purposeful steps. "I asked for this opportunity because of Liam.”

Liam. the last thing that still connects them. The last innocent soul caught in our spiteful game.

Liam, their beautiful son—the thought ignited a flame of anger within Regina. How dare Emma manipulate their pure child for her own ends?

"Don't you dare use Liam against me," Regina snapped, her voice almost a bark. "It's despicable, even for you."

"Why don't you just give him to them? Our kingdom is in shambles," Emma suggested, her words laced with resignation. "Our people are starving, and our economy is in ruins."

Regina exploded, unleashing her pent-up frustration. "Your kingdom is a mess! Your people are suffering, while mine thiriving,” she retorted. "Your subjects label me as evil, yet they yearn to cross our borders."

Emma sighed, realizing the truth in Regina's words. The Helin kingdom was indeed a chaotic wreck, and the last thing they needed was a war. She struggled to recall a time when their realm flourished, vaguely remembering documents from her grandfather's era when prosperity existed. However, for years now, the economy had crumbled, hunger plagued the populace, and orphaned children roamed the streets.

"I won't allow Eveylin to wield such power when she can't even provide for her own people," Regina asserted, her determination unwavering.

"And we're supposed to trust you with this kind of power?" Emma asked, Emmaoyance lacing her words. She despised the intricacies of politics, but she had to make this one gesture—for her mother, for what remained of their kingdom. She was the only one Regina would talk to.

"Yes," Regina shrugged, offering a nonchalant response that grated on Emma's nerves. She clenched her teeth, resisting the urge to snap back. "Speaking of Liam's upcoming birthday next month," Regina continued, smoothly shifting the conversation. That was their way—moving on to the next topic when things became too complicated, too painful to address. Sometimes Emma wondered if that was the true reason behind their breakup, burying too many shadows beneath the carpet.

"Eveylin wants the celebration in her palace. She wants Liam to be publicly recognized as a Helin," Emma stated, knowing it would ignite yet another argument. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the ensuing clash.

"He is my only heir, Emma! Eveylin has you as an heir, but I only have Liam," Regina retorted. Emma attempted to reason, desperation tainting her voice, "He is my son too. I want him to succeed me. Is that too much to ask?"

"First, you need to rule," Regina smirked. "Your mother doesn't fancy dying, dear. Trust me, I've tried multiple times."

"I hate you!" Emma's words were laced with venom, tears welling in her eyes and her hands trembling with anger she couldn't contain.

"Oh, please," Regina snarled. "Don't act like you don't know the history between your mother and me." Leaning closer, she whispered into Emma's ear, her warm breath teasing the blonde's earlobe. "You knew it when you kissed me for the first time. You knew it when you lay beneath me, craving more. You knew it when you screamed my name over and over again. And you knew it when you married me."

Emma forcefully pushed Regina away. "You're playing a dangerously twisted game," her voice emerged raw and low, leaving them both uncertain of which game she was referring to.

"I'm not backing down," Regina stated firmly, retrieving drinks for both of them. She handed Emma a glass of apple cider, their fingers brushing briefly—an electrifying sensation they both tried to ignore. "You can inform Eveylin that if she wishes to wage war against me, she better be well-prepared. I won't let her intimidate me with hollow threats. If she wants a war, she'll get one."

"Fine," Emma sighed, sinking onto a large cushion. "But we still need to discuss Liam."

"There's nothing to discuss," Regina replied, taking a sip of her drink as she settled across from Emma. Her composed demeanor and soothing tone only served to irritate the blonde, who rolled her eyes in response.

"Well, I suppose we'll have that conversation another time," Emma conceded.

"I guess we will," Regina smirked and waved her hand. A portal opened on the side of the room, and Emma smiled gratefully. "I wouldn't let you endure a two-day journey," Regina added, rolling her eyes.

"Don't act like you've never done it!"

#swan queen #swanqueen #godandmonsters1996 #sqfanfic #swen #emma x regina

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gerudospiriit · 1 year ago

Text

[Maybe controversial thoughts ahoy? Just a general thought I've been stewing on now that I've been done with TotK for a minute now.]

I think the reason I have trouble outright saying I love the story of BotW/TotK and even SS to a degree is because I feel like they've made the story too black and white. And yes, I know that Zelda games have always been the fight of "good vs evil" but...any chance for any kind of nuance within that gets completely blanketed into basically this person is bad and this one is good and there is no further implication or exploration into it. And maybe this is just me getting old because this is my complaint with other series, too. But I crave even just a little bit of a peek into the gray areas they're presenting us with, but we just never get it. Instead, we're basically just spoon-fed the idea that the "good guys" can do no wrong and the "bad guys" are fully unjustified in their actions because the good guys are peerless with no background on any of it, even if there is perfect set up for SOMETHING.

Like one example is one I discussed with a friend last night about apparently the Rauru hate going around. And let me preface this with I don't hate Rauru. There's not enough context and information for me to hate Rauru for the reasons the haters are pointing to. He's fine. But here's sort of my takeaway from that discussion: you can't write what apparently happened between Hyrule and the Gerudo as a black and white narrative of good vs evil because it's very likely a political matter which is very much ALWAYS more gray and complicated. While I'm not ruling out the idea of Ganondorf just being Ganondorf and throwing a hissy fit, I'm willing to bet there are WAY more political implications to it than that. It's likely a very gray, diplomatic matter where both sides had their reasoning and grievances for what they did. Like it's suggested Rauru tries to get the Gerudo on board a few times. Which maybe was innocent enough, but might have looked like him trying to rob them of their sovereignty to the Gerudo, and if he went to them more than once after they already refused, of course that would be irritating. But like...it's literally about perspective. In the eyes of the Gerudo, Rauru and this new country probably looked evil. To Rauru and co., the Gerudo looked evil, especially after they retaliated to what they saw as reasonable attempts to I assume unify the country. Both sides felt they were correct in their actions. But because of the perspective we're seeing the memories from (even though I don't think that can be argued because, if these are Zelda's memories, how do we get the ones like the one where Ganondorf takes note of the Secret Stones which is in itself goofy but I've mentioned that before), Ganondorf and the Gerudo are painted as evil. And not JUST because of that since, as I mentioned, that makes no sense with the premise of the memories, he's just SHOWN to be evil from the get go. Or to at least have some unsavory ambitions concerning some stones he should have no knowledge of anyway.

And to the same effect, they go through some backbreaking efforts to make sure the "good guys" can't be questioned on their own gray morality or decisions. We get no context outside of maybe how the Geruro react (maybe) to the Zonai descending from the sky to become joint rulers of the land. We're lead to believe everyone was just okay with this arrangement and Rauru and Sonia are well-loved as monarchs. Which okay fine but it feels very questionable and outlandish, especially when the Gerudo are at least apparently not okay with it. Even with Zelda, there isn't a bad word said about her, even when she's running around telling people to fight monsters in their underwear, insisting they don't research a specific ruin, and generally wreaking havoc among the citizens of Hyrule (yes i know that isnt her but the point is thr characters don't). She is portrayed as an absolutely perfect human even before the upheaval with all the tidbits you get about her doings around Hyrule and rebuilding. Which is great, don't get me wrong. I'm glad to see she has matured and was very invested in rebuilding the country. I have nothing against Zelda as a character. I'm speaking to the implications of the writing as it once again glosses over any gray area she might have (which they didn't do in botw BTW and that was SO GOOD to see her just...be human) and making her just....too perfect right alongside the rest of Hyrule's monarchy portrayed in this game. And I understand we're dealing in a lot of gods and god-like characters, but, even though they're LIGHTLY suggested to be flawed, it really gets glossed over, muddled, or just not addressed. And I think this is very purposeful to ensure that the narrative they want to share is maintained, even if there are some pretty glaring inconsistencies at time when you look through the cracks that are there.

Tl;dr: basically, I feel like there is a lot of gray area stuff that gets made completely black and white because od how the writers portrayed certain characters, how they chose to frame certain scenes, and the overall inconsistency of how they handle story elements just makes the story less interesting. It's fine. And they definitely did better in this game with story overall. But removing all the potential nuance and going hard on a black and white story is just meh to me.]

#[ ☀ ˢᵖⁱʳⁱᵗˢ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵇᵉʸᵒⁿᵈ ;; ᵒᵒᶜ ]

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glacialswordsman · 2 months ago

Note

(prompt)

WHY DID YOU FOLLOW THE BLOG -> I saw you on my feed thanks to Vee and a Zhongli blog (I think it was a multi?), and went "oh, their Kaeya looks cool! I should check them out!" Though, considering your rules, I decided not to try and follow you back then to respect your boundaries.

... What wasn't expected was you following me and also our first convo abt it (I thought you may have missed it but I was mistaken), sooo I followed you back. It's only polite (and also because NOW I have more reasons to stalk my feed LMFAO)

WHAT MADE YOU STAY? -> Like I said, it's your ver. of Kae that made me stay. I think initially it's just me feeling bad for literally thinking abt unfollowing you at some point because "oh that would be really rude and they seem really cool..."

Though, when we started talking abt AlbeKae and just how their dynamic works (+ the potential downfall with them as Teyvat 'resets' and different AUs/verses) made me really enjoy talking to you a lot. Your reactions made me laugh and when I feel really upset, I always find myself looking @ our dms and snickering while going "man, Jamey's gonna kick my ASS when they find out I'm working on something painful."

It used to be just because I was obligated to, but now it's because I genuinely like your company and it would honestly suck ass to not stick around. It also helped me with getting out of my own comfort zone in musing Albedo (esp now haha), and it brings me joy to think of our verse/s (and also misery to myself because I keep forgetting to reply! And it will haunt me! And also I am craving them to fucking KISS if my ass will REPLY-- ok anyway) when... things aren't going so great.

But yeah, 10/10 never regretted interacting w/ you when you followed me lmao. I will kiss both ur Kae and Aether though (and maybe Cloud Retainer, pspspsps)

ooOUGOGUGGHHHHHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAA NAVINA :’(

THIS IS SO.................!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this made me tear up so bad when i first read this!!! stinky smelly, i care you!!! i'm glad we got to talking regardless of initial thoughts of obligation, because you truly are a wonderful person! i thoroughly enjoy talking to you and plotting things out even if you LIKE HURTING ME /lh

you're so creative and passionate with what you do, your writing is phenomenal and i enjoy seeing all of the work you've made! it's clear to me that you enjoy what you do, and i'm happy to be able to partake in that, too!

my yaya and aether are always up for some kissies, and who knows, maybe yunyun wouldnt mind kissies either!!! 😤

#☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ behind the scenes. ⊰ ooc ⊱#☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⸺ fanmail. ⊰ answered asks ⊱#citrinitxs

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c0rpsedemon · 1 year ago

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hey can you imagine if the 3rd period had tumblr? it would've been crazyyyyy

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🌲 daughterofwhite 🔁

🟨 lucifeniaconfessions Follow

i feel so so guilty so much of the time.... i destroyed elphegort, i killed michaela and i tormented the people i was supposed to rule and protect... but most of all he took the fall for it... there is nothing i can do to make amends but feel guilty and hope that in our next life we can be reunited and i can be good. i really am trying though, i chased away a bird that was tampering with the sapling the other day, but that doesn't even begin to fix the fact that her blood is still on my hands... sometimes i still send him asks on here and wait for an answer... oh god i miss him so much...

🌲 daughterofwhite

DM me

62K notes

🐙 seth-remade76

Staff terminated me again for no good reason this time. I'm @seth-remade75 if it wasn't clear.

7 notes

🧀 arte-mis 🔁

◻️ am-i-the-asshole-official Follow

🕶 anonymous asked: WIBTA for poisoning my pregnant girlfriend?

When I (29M) was young my parents set me up with an arranged marriage from a girl my age from a neighboring kingdom. When we first met I was a shitty kid and was kinda mean to her about her weight at the time but slowly began to develop feelings for her, until ultimately the engagement was broken off due to her disturbing behavior.

I didn't hear anything about her for years until I was in my 20s, she'd regained her family's lost political power and was funneling a lot of resources into widening her culinary exploits, so I decided to learn to cook.

Eventually, last year I was kidnapped and learned that she'd lost her mind, and the only solution was to remove a specific item from her possession, I agreed to help and assumed the identity of a famous chef, and she hired me. I was disgusted by the things she asked me to cook and her servants treated me poorly, like they knew I was suspicious, but I got used to it and was happy to have reunited with her, and found out that the real reason the servants hated me was because I looked like their dad.

Eventually one thing led to another, she discovered my true identity and you can probably guess what happened next. Shortly afterwards, we were visited by the military higher ups of her kingdom and one of the servants killed one of their messengers, to which she reacted by raising an undead army to wipe them out, and told me she planned to eat everything in the world. I tried to escape but was caught and forbidden from ever leaving the castle.

I have an heirloom from one of my ancestors which I believe may be the only thing that could kill her, I plan to grind up what's left of it and mix it into a meal for the both of us so we can die together and the world can be saved from her. WIBTA?

◻️ am-i-the-asshole-official:

What are these acronyms?

🐔 a-pollo Follow

kill yourself

🧀 arte-mis

kill yourself

235 notes

👨‍💻 usecitizen2 🔁

👩‍💻 usecitizen Follow

come on you guys have gottt to stop pinkwashing Gallerian Marlon's actions... yeah he's one of the most famous gay men out there but he is NOT one of us. you all saw his ruling on the Scherzer trial, the rich only care about their own.

👨‍💻 usecitizen2

It's especially upsetting to see considering how progressive he was at the start of his career. A lot of people were too young at the time to remember, but his opposition to witch trials and his exposure and conviction of Loki Freezis were massive steps forward at the time. It really is a shame how everything shifted after his daughter died, now he only cares about the money.

56K notes

💤 giftsleep 🔁

💙 aesblog Follow

someday my prince will come

#aes

120 notes

✨ othertwin

is anyone else kinda worried about the way @/themis8 has been posting recently? i've reported her blog to staff a few times but i don't think it's enough. i really think she's going to hurt herself or others one of these days.

#allen.txt

4 notes

🍷 evilfoodeater Follow

Pregnancy cravings are crazyyyy. What do you Mean I want to eat my boyfriend lol.

🍷 evilfoodeater Follow

Arte and Pollo are looking kinda edible right now...

🐔 a-pollo Follow

🧀 arte-mis

7 notes

🎙 rinchanarchive

Rin Chan at Milanais Theater, September 6 606

#rin chan #september 606 #milanais theater

687 notes

✨ othertwin

🕶 anonymous asked: why is your url othertwin when i see you around enbizaka and you're an only child?

✨ othertwin: don't worry about it

#allen.txt

18 notes

🍷 evilfoodeater Follow

Pregnancy cravings are crazyyyy. What do you Mean I want to eat my boyfriend lol.

🐔 a-pollo Follow

do it

🧀 arte-mis

do it

7 notes

🌲 daughterofwhite 🔁

🔷 kylesart Follow

🕶 anonymous asked: do you have receipts on the @/rinthenun allegations??? she's so nice it's hard to believe she'd do any of that

🔷 kylesart: tl;dr, she's just @/princessriliane rebranded, long version under the cut

Keep Reading

🌲 daughterofwhite

First of all, your statements regarding Michaela are blatantly untrue, she was a lesbian and your attempts to rewrite that after her death are upsetting to say the least. Second of all, the green hunting happened a very long time ago and there's no reason for you to be dragging old trauma back up. Third of all, Rin has dedicated her life to making up for the harm she's caused in the past and, as a loved one of one of the victims, I feel like it's cruel to deny her a second chance after all the improvements she's made.

579 notes

✨ drapersdaughter

anyone else ever feel like they're waiting for someone they've never met before

#rin.txt

0 notes

🐙 seth-remade76 🔁

🔫 themis8 Follow

what if i killed myself

🐙 seth-remade76

don't

1 note

✨ othertwin

🕶 anonymous asked: is your name allen or ren???

✨ othertwin: don't worry about it

#allen.txt

14 notes

🔑 karchess 🔁

👗 tiredprincess Follow

so ungrateful to be chosen for the harem and to try and reject him over it. do you not know how many girls would kill to be in your shoes?????

🔑 karchess

You dukefuckers never fail to reach new lows.

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melrosing · 1 year ago

Note

You might be right that Arya is just repeating what Ned said, but there's no reason to dismiss it the way you're doing.

I'm dismissing it because the line doesn't really scream 'Arya would like a permanent position' - it's a kid saying 'do I have the same freedom you're affording my brother?' It doesn't suggest any interest in those roles or permanent roles, just a freedom to do as she likes. There's no link here saying 'Arya would like to govern'. It doesn't say she wouldn't like to either, and it doesn't say she'd like to travel instead - it just says she doesn't want to be some lord's lady.

So why is it that when it comes to traveling Arya doesn't need to verbalize it but when it comes to having a stable role she has to say it and even when she explicitly does say it doesn't count for you?

Because 1, she doesn't explicitly say it. If Ned had said 'you could be a traffic warden or a baker or an adventurer' and Arya had parroted that right back, I wouldn't use that as evidence for my argument because again, it's not about Arya wanting specifically what Ned mentioned but the freedom that Bran has to choose.

2, I don't think she'd need to verbalise a desire for a ruling role, same as I don't expect Sansa to straight up say 'I'd like to be LoW'. I don't think she has to verbalise a desire for adventure or lack of it. But I can infer that Arya loves nature, loves seeing new things, loves learning new languages, loves meeting new people, and comparably seems to have no particular political arc (whereas Sansa, comparably, does) or indeed a desire to have one. So it seems natural to assume that, if Arya's given the choice (and I think she will be), she'll pursue what she enjoys - again, I really feel that that freedom's a big theme for Arya, and that that's what her conversation with Ned is really about, too.

I could also say that we can see in page that Arya craves being with the people she loves, when she was Cat of the canals I think that what she loved about that role was not so much being somewhere else, but the sense of stability and having a group of people to interact with.

I've never really seen Arya as a solo-backpacker who says goodbye to Winterfell and departs indefinitely? I don't see travelling on her own terms as an inherent unstable and solitary life. She's always preferred travelling in a group and quickly makes close bonds. Ultimately the Starks aren't going to be living together at Winterfell post-series (I assume - I imagine Bran and Jon at minimum will end up more permanently elsewhere [though I know you disagree on Bran] and I can't see her choosing to spend the rest of her life living alongside Sansa), so Arya having a group she can travel with (which I think would include Gendry) whilst still visiting her family inbetween - makes sense to me.

She tried to make the best out of a crappy situation, that's not the same as enjoying being on that ship. Again, we have explicit evidence that she would prefer to go back home: "I want to go north, to the Wall. Here, I can pay." She gave him the purse. "The Night's Watch has a castle on the sea." Her home was gone, her parents dead, and all her brothers slain but Jon Snow on the Wall. That was where she had wanted to go.

I mean of course she wanted to be with Jon rather than head to Braavos? Even if she'd said in the first line of her first POV 'My number one dream is to live in Braavos' I'd think she was practically sociopathic if she wouldn't prefer, having lost her whole family, to be with Jon instead. Reuniting with her siblings is always going to be Arya's number one priority, but that can't just be her sole life's purpose, and that doesn't mean that remaining in Winterfell forever, governing it or otherwise (even when some or most her siblings may not be there anymore) is the only possible closure for that arc.

Nymeria was not a traveller, she made one single travel. ONE. If that was all it took to parallel her Arya already did that when she went to Braavos. What I don't understand is why everyone ignores that Nymeria settled in one place and that she was actually a ruler and a war commander.

I mean, as I say I think this is being too literal, but in any case Nymeria's voyage was LONG and she didn't just have one stop? But if we're wondering why everyone remembers Nymeria for her travels, I think it's GRRM to blame for that - because Ten Thousand Ships is her thing, even though we know it was followed by a period of settling and political marriages etc. But again, we can't be literal because I strongly doubt Arya is going to take the people of the North and land them somewhere else and marry whoever appropriate to affirm their links to the land, so I really am largely taking the 'travelling' motif from this.

I guess it's a point in my favour that Arya never expressed any desire to explore more of Essos.

I mean, Arya's not really expressed many explicit desires besides to be with her loved ones and to learn to fight. And I don't think either of us feel like the latter encompasses her future, and for the former - she will be. But that doesn't necessarily mean all of them living under the same roof forever.

You're making assumptions about Arya not wanting positions of authority based of what she displayed so far but you assume Sansa would want them based on what Sansa COUL be in the future.

I mean, it's like this: I love Brienne, and I think Brienne would be make a great Evenstar on Tarth. And I even kind of like that idea. But if I'm real about it, she doesn't have a political arc, and she's a character that seems to prefer flexibility rather than remaining in one place all the time. I wouldn't say she particularly likes adventure, but I also can't really see her as someone who is happy to settle in her ancestral home for years at a time when she could be pursuing a greater purpose.

So even though she's the first in line to inherit the seat, and she never says she doesn't want to fulfil her role as her father's heir, and would probably be good at it, I think her story is more tied up with knighthood, and she's more likely to remain in a role where she has the freedom to pursue her purpose.

So that's what I'm doing with Sansa and Arya. I'm thinking 'what do their arcs seem to gesture to, what does closure look like for them, what best aligns with the skills we've watched them learn', etc. You're welcome to disagree but Arya having the greatest flexibility possible to go where she likes and do what she will is what rings true for me above all else, and yes, it would be important that she's not alone in that.

Another double standard, you're demeaning Arya's skills in favour of Sansa's when in reality all of them are needed to rule. First, Arya has shown in the house of black and white that she's extremely disciplined and can apply herself to learn things like lenguages or poisonss even if she doesn't prticularly enjoy it. And second, Sansa is better with sigils and diplomacy and family trees but Arya is better than Sansa at math, obtaining information, knowing the staff and observational skills.

I think I've said before that I agree they both have the raw attributes for this role? Just that I can see Arya preferring freedom to explore on her own terms and pursue practical skills, because as you seem to agree, she seems to prefer them even whilst she's adept at maths and languages.

Not to metion that getting out in the world amongst people is important for a ruler according to Ned

Arya's great with people. Sansa is also good with people - she's certainly more prepared for dealings with other nobles and court, whereas I think Arya's comparably stronger in her openness with smallfolk and her firsthand experience of what it's like to live without. That's quite a unique thing about Arya as a highborn character - make of it what you will I guess?

And what would be the point of Arya if she just decided to go away? What would be the point of making her learn skills that would be extremely useful for politics like reading/manipulating people or spionage?

But Arya's skillset is diverse as hell and hugely adaptable, what do you mean what would be the point if she weren't specifically in a governing role? Sansa's arc otoh is about politics and power - she was always being set up for a role at court, but was under-educated because it was assumed that her power would ultimately derive from her husband's and her role within his household. In actuality, it's about finding that she's a player too, and reclaiming her agency. Again, GRRM hasn't told me that Sansa will be LoW, but that seems to me a satisfying end to her story.

I'm not saying Arya's trayectory is to be a ruler, but I personally see nothing at all that suggest that is Sansa's trajectory either.

okay! I guess I just predict plot points in a different way to how you do.

If the kingdoms at the end go all independent. Who ends up king in the north? I assume Sansa is queen in the vale with Harold hardying but is bran really ok for king in the north? Will it go to Rickon?

talked about this a little before but basically I don't really see the seven kingdoms each becoming independent: I think whatever becomes of the Targaryen legacy, Aegon's ice & fire dream (or whatever it was called lol) was clear that there was strength in unity and I think that echoes throughout asoiaf generally.

I think it's likely Sansa will govern the North (I agree that her arc in preparing her for that role is incomplete, but at least she has that arc where compared to Rickon). Arya's a charismatic character and a strong leader besides, you could certainly say she'd be as good at governing as Sansa. but I just don't really feel like a governing role resonates in her story regardless, so that does leave Sansa (who I personally really doubt will just marry Harold Hardyng and settle down in the Vale for all of time)

and I fully buy into the Bran as a fisher king theory - I don't think he'll govern exactly but will become a figurehead of westeros, uniting the people and the land. doubt he'll be based in King's Landing as that's likely to be a pile of ash and in any case was always very much part of the political plot, divorced from the supernatural and the struggles of the rest of Westeros. you constantly get a sense of KL as a corrupted seat where the monarchs and their court are entirely removed from the smallfolk on their very doorstep, so I don't see it having a place in Bran's reign, whatever that ends up looking like

#long post #sansa stark #arya stark

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spockiguess · 3 years ago

Text

Come and See Pt. 2 || Riddlebat

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Smut

Pairing: Edward Nashton x Bruce Wayne

Notes: I’m gonna be straight honest with y’all, by the time I was finishing this fic, I wanted to rip my hair out because of how long it was taking. I have like four more parts in store, but holy shit, I am not going to be writing any riddlebat for like the next couple of weeks.

Also, this was my first time writing aftercare and sort of fluff? Like, it’s fluff at the end if you really squint and tilt your head to the side. Anyway, I’m going to be writing a Louis Ives (Louisa) fic that’s gonna be super fluffy and shit because I crave it fr. Oh, also, I’ll probably be making an Eli Sunday or Joby fic soon, but idk yet.

P.S. If this isn’t as good of quality as my previous fic, it’s because I only edited it once and couldn’t find the will to read over ten pages, so if there are any mistakes, message me. Thanks, much love, xxoo

Perched upon a menacing gargoyle was The Bat, the Dark Knight, Vengeance, a force of justice that took many names but stood unwavering in its convictions, until tonight, however.

Rain battered against the hard metal of Bruce’s suit, echoing in the caves of his ears, almost drowning out the never-ending noise of Gotham. People walked below him, entirely unaware of his presence as they left the Iceberg Lounge.

Usually, that would be Bruce’s reason for stalking this part of town so late at night, to catch criminals in the act, protect people caught up in the Iceberg Lounge's messy politics, and enact vengeance.

Tonight, though, Bruce had a different mission, and he was staring at it through a musty window caked with mold and mildew. Bruce’s heart hammered, threatening to rise in his throat and cause these confusing emotions to spill out of him onto the pot-hole-filled street below.

Deep down, Bruce knew this was wrong. Bruce knew that if he were to open that window and cross that threshold, act on what he set out to do tonight, he’d never recover. He would’ve permanently shifted his morals and turned a cheek to violence and chaos because of his own perverted desires, but, oddly enough, this excited Bruce.

For some reason, ever since he was a kid, he always loved to do wrong, in a reasonable capacity, of course. Bruce could never imagine murdering someone or selling drugs, nothing illegal either, but something scandalous.

Bruce remembers the first time he did something like that; he went to some shady club on the outskirts of Gotham clad in ragged jeans and a black hoodie, ready for action. All Bruce wanted that night was someone to play with, and he got exactly that in the then Gotham Treasurer’s son, Adam Banks.

Adam Banks was a notorious ladies' man, having slept with almost every young debutante in the grimy city of Gotham. Still, Bruce had heard rumors of Adam Banks’s closeted sexuality and how he paraded around with these girls to appease his staunchly conservative father, Al Banks.

When they had hooked up later that night and Bruce watched as Adam hastily threw his clothes on and wagged a warning finger at Bruce, he felt satisfied for the first time in his life. Bruce had always followed the rules to a T, and who would it hurt if he broke them just this once, right?

Bruce Wayne, the face of everything Gotham stood for, and Adam Banks, Gotham’s go-to bachelor hooking up in some seedy nightclub, high on God knows what? Oh, the horror.

Tonight was different from some ultimately harmless fling, though. Bruce was considering sleeping with one of Gotham’s most dangerous terrorists that no one knew the true identity of, sharing a bed with someone who had killed countless elites, although Bruce could care less about the well-being of most of The Riddler’s victims. If he were to do this and have the Gotham PD question him on the Riddler’s identity in the future, he could lie about not knowing it and feel that familiar guilt in his gut, or he could reveal it and lead to a whole shitstorm of possibilities.

This line of thinking was killing his boner, so Bruce steeled himself before grabbing his grappling hook and sinking its claws into the bricks of Nashton’s complex.

Edward Nashton laid on his rumpled bed, pumping his cock and moaning the Batman’s name into his yellowed pillow, rocking his hips in time with his hand. Precum leaked from the head of Edward’s cock, coating his hand and dick in a slick that made the glide that much smoother.

Something clatters from outside Edward’s bedroom, leaving him frozen and waiting on the bed, straining his ears and listening for any more noise.

A deep rumble sounds out through the small apartment, “Nashton.” Edward perks up, knowing that gruff cadence anywhere. He can’t help the gush of pre that spills out of him before he clambers up and out of bed, tugging a pair of pants and sliding his glasses on.

This meeting was the moment Edward had been waiting for, ever since he first laid his eyes on the Bat. He remembers the day so vividly.

Batman was fresh, and people were almost sure he wasn’t to be trusted, but Edward knew better. He watched news broadcasts with a feverish intensity, jerking off to the videos and pictures of the Dark Knight in action, watching this almost biblical force wipe out waves of common filth that polluted the city.

Edward knew that Batman could help him–would help him. He wouldn’t toss Edward aside as everyone else has. The Bat would hear Edward’s plight, and they would join forces to help rid the city of the toxicity it seemed to be drowning in.

The night Edward saw him in person, he was walking home, groceries in hand, and as he turned the corner, there he was, The Batman. Batman was pummeling a group of poor thugs with animalistic grunts and near-deadly punches when Edward caught sight. Everything changed. Edward wasn’t alone anymore; he had Batman; he had someone fighting his fight, too.

When Edward opens the door, all he’s met with is his usual messy surroundings. Sloppy white question marks, countless papers littering the floor, and the dim green light emanating from his kitchen, to say Edward was disappointed is an understatement.

“And to think I got all excited.” Edward met one of his peeling walls with a crushing thud, feeling a solid brace against his neck and a large hand already trapping both of his own.

Arousal flooded Edward’s body, and a healthy dose of surprise as he concluded the Bat had really come to see him. Of course, Batman wouldn’t just leave himself exposed in the middle of his apartment, out in the open and for everyone to see; Edward was stupid to think that.

“Oh, there you are.” Edward giggled before the brace against the back of his neck pushed harder, barely allowing any air to pass through his throat.

Edward breathlessly asked, “I’m assuming you saw my tape?” Batman grunted out an affirmation, leaning in closer, nuzzling into Nashton’s soft hair.

Edward’s erection pressed painfully hard against the wall and strained further at the knowledge that Batman had watched his tape, something he put so much love and consideration into, a proper love letter.

Silence eerily drifted in the stale air, “Are you gonna arrest me–”

“You are an exception. This is an exception.” Batman pulled off Edward, leaving him to drop to the floor and suck in a breath to ward away the lightheaded feeling that had begun to consume him.

Nashton smiled, looking up at the Bat, “You don’t know how special that makes me feel.” He giggled again, abruptly stopping as Batman turned around with a swing of his cape, masking himself in darkness as he stalked the small living space.

Edward’s body was tense and alight with an emotion he hadn’t felt in ages, and he loved it. He loved the rush Batman provided– the unease he instilled with a solemn stare that penetrated the deepest parts of your soul and the force he exerted in every step, punch, and kick.

“So, did you like it? Did you like seeing me all spread out for you? I’ll admit, it was exhilarating knowing you’d watch it, even if you hated every second of it. You have to make sure, don’t you?” The Bat looked at the mousy man from over his shoulder, with no emotion on his face.

Edward was determined to get a rise out of Batman through any means necessary, so he got on all fours and crawled over to the looming figure, arching his back the entire way.

Once he approached the Bat, he looked up at him through long lashes, trying his best to look as innocent as possible while he traced his hand up the rough fabric of Batman’s pants.

“What’s with the silent treatment, Bats? Having second thoughts?” Batman flung Edward’s bedroom door open, a cocky look on his face as he sauntered into the mess of dirty clothes and unintelligible scrawling.

Batman’s utter silence put Edward on edge, if he were being honest. He couldn’t tell what his next move was or get a read on what might be going through his head. Usually, Edward could read a person like an open book, having learned to do so after years of abuse and mistreatment. Eventually, you see the little, almost imperceptible signs.

Batman’s heavy steps echoed in the mostly empty room as Edward rushed to get up, embarrassed at his ignored advance.

“God, you’re fucking filthy, Nashton.” The harsh words sent a tingle down Edward’s spine, and finally, the Bat spoke.

Edward tried to sneak up on him, but Batman caught him before he even stepped into the man’s bubble. Batman’s hand closed around his throat, squeezing just enough to make the edges of his vision go dark.

“But you love it.” Edward giggled again as Batman threw him onto the unmade bed. Batman stepped in front of the large window at the end of it, silhouetted by the neon lights of Gotham.

“Maybe.” Batman inched closer, “That little homemade video was fucking disgusting.” Another inch, “Where’d you learn to be such a whore?”

Edward answered honestly, “Cam Girls. They’re really helpful if you tip enough.” Batman rolled his eyes, his guard dropping by the minute.

“Did they teach you how to shut up?” Batman grabbed Edward’s ankles, yanking him down the length of the bed until his crotch perfectly aligned with Batman’s. Nashton lolled his head back, loving the friction against his cock.

“The opposite, really. They told me to be as loud as possible.” Edward grinned menacingly, leaning up and snaking his arm around Batman’s neck.

“You’re lucky you aren’t butt-fucking ugly, Nashton.” Nashton’s heart fluttered.

“So you think I’m cute?” Batman gave a noncommittal shrug as he pulled Edward’s shirt off, running his hands across the plush skin, tweaking Edward’s nipples.

Nashton moaned, he had always been sensitive, and by the looks of it, Batman had just figured that out, pinching his pink nipples harder, twisting and tugging.

The coarse fabric of Batman’s gloves gave an intoxicating feeling of pain that mixed with his pleasure, and Edward rutted his hips into Batman’s in hopes to relieve some of the tension, causing Batman to press his arm into Edward’s soft hips and ground him to the bed.

Batman gave a wicked smile, “Jesus, you really want this, don’t you, Ed?” Edward squirmed at the nickname, feeling his plump cheeks redden and the tips of his ears heat up. Edward nodded, biting his lip and whining as Batman continued to toy with his nipples, using the other hand to keep him firmly in place.

Batman leaned in close to Edward’s ear, mere centimeters away, “I wanna hear you beg for it, Eddy.”

Nashton’s brain almost exploded as he struggled to keep his composure, “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Edward continued to ramble, just to get back at the Bat, “You think just because, hah, just because I sent you that tape, that I’d get down on my knees and beg?”

“Weren’t you just on all fours, basically rutting like a bitch in heat against my leg?” Edward could hear the snarky grin in his voice and that hot shame he felt earlier came rushing back.

“Nothing to say to that? Shocked.” Batman took him by the neck again, shoving him against the bed, and palmed Edward’s aching cock a little too hard, leaving him to whine high in his throat and arch off of the bed.

Finally, Edward was able to form a complete thought and shove the words past his lips, “You act like this isn’t affecting you, Batman, but I know it is. I know you jerked off to my tape, watching me fuck that dildo, wishing it was you.”

He leaned up, staring into the Bat’s eyes, challenging him to take it further when he said, “You’re disgusting, Bats, just like me.” Edward laughed before Batman practically ripped his pants off and exposed him to the chilly air of his bedroom.

In a flash, Batman’s dick was out, long and thick as it rested against Edward’s belly, smearing precum against his sparse pubes. Edward couldn’t help but drool; it was so much better than he imagined.

Nashton could feel the heat radiating off it in intense waves, sinking into his skin. He recalled all those nights, including this one, where he pleasured himself to the thought of Batman’s cock and all the possible ways he’d take it. He’d do anything for it, for the Bat.

His thoughts were interrupted when a sharp coldness spread across his asshole, and finally, being pulled from his haze, he saw that Batman had pushed his legs back until they nearly touched his stomach and was coating Edward’s entrance in lube. He also noticed that Batman had taken his glove off, and knowing that the man under the cowl was touching him, skin to skin, made Edward fill with euphoric joy.

Edward keened at the frosty feeling, but the cold quickly washed away with their combined heat. Edward melted into the touch, relishing in the Bat’s uncharacteristic tenderness, feeling the way his long finger sunk into him, prodding at him tentatively.

Under his breath, the Bat muttered, “Fuck, you’re tight.” These little phrases he’d catch the Bat say assured Edward that the attraction was mutual. Batman didn’t want to admit it, but he thought the Riddler was cute. No one had ever felt that way about Edward before, and Edward’s obsessed devotion deepened. Batman and Edward were supposed to be together; he knew it, the Bat knew it, it was hard to ignore, honestly.

All of those lonely nights, clutching bedsheets and weeping a pillow, longing for the touch of another person, were now put to rest. Edward’s wish was granted. Consciously, Edward knew this line of thinking was dangerous because this was an exception. The Bat was only here for one night to quell those pesky urges before they got out of hand.

Even then, Edward thought, he ought to enjoy this night for what it is and backlog every frame for those lonely nights that were sure to come again. The nuns always told Edward to never to look a gift horse in the mouth, and this was one of those times.

So, he sunk into the soft material of his blankets and sheets, basking in Batman’s attention, feeling like a cat sprawled under the sun's warmth shining through a window. Edward watched Batman, watched Batman study the way his finger plunged into Edward and the slight struggle it was to pull it back out.

Suddenly, another finger entered Edward, and the two digits honed in on his prostate, massaging hard circles into the bundle of nerves. Edward yelled, shocked mainly by the stimulation, and Batman clasped Edward’s mouth shut.

“You are loud.” Batman quietly huffed a laugh, and Edward wasn’t sure if he could fall any more in love with the man currently fingering his ass.

Edward pulled the hand away, “You love it, though. Knowing you’re the one causing it.” Batman blushed and averted his eyes, and Edward cheered inwardly at finally catching the Bat off guard.

Batman wouldn’t let this victory last long, however, as he shoved a third finger in, pounding into Edward’s hole, stretching him so thoroughly that Edward reveled in the slight burn.

High whines and pathetic moans were the only noises that came out of Edward, alongside utterances of please and more. Batman was happy to oblige, pushing Edward’s legs even farther and getting the perfect angle for hitting Edward’s prostate every time he thrust his fingers in.

Bruce quickly decided that Edward was relaxed enough, slicking his cock in the lube and hissing at the low temperature before sliding it in, watching how Edward’s mouth formed an O shape while his eyes rolled in the back of his head.

It was hard for Bruce to keep upright, shocked by the all-consuming heat and constriction of Edward’s hole and how it wrapped around him perfectly. It was wet, sloppy, and disgusting to any sane person, but Bruce loved it. He loved the erotic noises of his balls slapping against Edward’s ass and the gushy noises as it pushed further in with every thrust.

Bruce leaned his masked head against Edward’s, their eyes locking as Bruce began to set a brutal pace, ramming into Edward that left the man under him screaming for more. Edward’s enthusiasm made Bruce hornier, the desperation in his eyes and the slobber dripping from his mouth. Bruce made a mental note to put that mouth to good use later.

“Please, please, don’t stop, hah. I can feel you so–” Edward moaned, grappling for purchase against Bruce’s suit, but his fingers slipped against the smooth armor, “I can feel you so deep.”

Edward trailed one of his hands down his stomach, just above his pubic bone, feeling the slight movement that shuddered through his body every time Bruce moved. It was sick, Bruce’s cock pushing so far into him that he could feel it in his stomach, but Edward loved being so full.

Seeing this almost made Bruce break, and Bruce wouldn’t let himself cum first, so he took Edward’s red cock in his ungloved hand, spreading the precum over the head and base.

The only thing Edward could do now was babble incoherent gibberish, physically shaking from the stimulation and feeling himself get closer to that peak.

His orgasm tore through him rapidly, causing Edward to unconsciously tighten around Bruce, making the larger man double over as he shoved his face into the crook of Edward’s neck.

The two men came together, with Edward’s cum landing on his and Bruce’s stomach while Bruce came deep in Edward’s ass, some of it leaking past his cock and dripping onto the mattress below.

Edward moaned as Bruce growled like a feral animal, bucking his hips to get the last bits of cum out, causing shocks of overstimulation to ripple through Edward’s body, nearing the precipice of pain.

After a couple of moments, Bruce collected himself, his breathing still heavy, when he separated and pulled out of Edward, hissing as he did so.

Edward was satiated, completely dazed as his eyes drifted off into space, looking thoroughly fucked. Edward giggled as he adjusted his glasses, but his glee was cut short when he saw the Bat already put away and heading for the door.

Nashton scrambled to his knees, leaning to grab Bruce’s arm, “Hey, where’re you going?” Edward looked like a kicked puppy, his eyes wide and already started to glaze over.

Bruce couldn’t help the rush of guilt that quickly settled like a hard lump in his stomach. Even though Edward Nashton, the Riddler, was one of the most dangerous men in Gotham right now, his face was uncannily innocent, with round cheeks and big eyes that ate at Bruce’s resolve.

It was quiet; the only thing leaving Bruce’s mouth was a mixture of uhms and uhs. Still, Edward tried pulling Bruce back, and Bruce was too distracted to notice his feet moving in that direction.

Bruce was about to pull back when Edward murmured, “You don’t have to leave this minute, right?”

When Bruce didn’t answer, still having that dumbfounded look on his face, Edward started to ramble, “I know you said this was an exception, but, y’know,” Edward pulled Bruce closer until he hit the edge of the bed, “It’d be nice if you stayed a little longer. That’s all I ask.”

Readily, Bruce’s willpower diminished, especially after hearing how soft and fragile Edward sounded.

With a grunt and rolling of the eyes, Bruce reasoned, “I’ll stay the night, but you have to tell me everything you know about Gotham’s undercity.”

Edward’s face lit up as he wrapped his skinny arms around Bruce’s neck, “You make me sound like a petulant child.”

Bruce gave Edward a look, so Edward caved with a defeated sigh, “Fine. Yes. I’ll tell you everything I know about Gotham’s undercity.”

“Thank you.” Bruce parted from Edward, heading for the door again.

“Wait, I thought we had a deal?”

Bruce snickered, “Can I go to the bathroom at least?” Edward deflated, humiliated once again at his clingy tendencies. His head hung as he nodded sheepishly, turning bright red at Bruce’s teasing laughter.

Edward had settled into bed, too lazy to get up and clean himself off but smart enough to not get under the sheets and completely dirty the sheets. He watched the buzzing neon sign that hung right outside his window and coated his room in an almost ethereal glow.

His bedroom door lurched open, and from behind it came Bruce, de-suited and human-looking. He wore a makeshift face cover that resembled a ski mask with a black hoodie and jeans.

Bruce was still big, but now that Edward could see him outside the suit, he noticed the barely-there change in height. Now, Edward had at least a couple of inches on the man. It was not enough to ever ensure Edward won in a hand-to-hand fight with the Bat, but it still made a sick joy flow through his veins as he eyed the dark man.

“You don’t have to stare.” Bruce threw a water bottle at Edward as he approached the bed, carrying a damp cloth in his other hand.

Edward picked the bottle up, waving it at Bruce, “For me? You’re too sweet, Batsy.”

“Blugh, don’t call me that.” Bruce sat on the bed, already starting to swipe at Edward’s stomach and clean off the half-dried residue.

Although Edward tried his best to come off aloof, he couldn’t help but avert his gaze, too overwhelmed by the subtle show of care. He had never envisioned this side of Batman, a kinder side that would have to be there since he never killed any of his victims. Sure, he brutalized them, but they’d be up and walking again after a couple of weeks.

Bruce was an ever-confounding puzzle that intrigued Edward the more he tried to sort the pieces out, and if there was one thing about Edward, he loved puzzles.

Soon, Bruce had finished cleaning Edward off and pulled the sheets over his body, snatching some away. Edward watched the rise and fall of Bruce’s chest intently as he flung his arm over his eyes and shifted to get more comfortable.

The urge to snatch Bruce’s disguise off was great, but Edward decided to enact some self-control he had forgone recently, deciding the consequences would be too great if he were to do that now. And, a small part of Edward didn’t want to break the fragile trust Bruce had just bestowed upon him. Many people hadn’t afforded Edward that same level of faith, and this was the man he was supposed to be enemies with, or at least, that’s what the media thinks.

Secretly, Edward was grateful for the trust Bruce had given him tonight and the vulnerability he exposed. This was the first time in his life anyone had ever treated him with some semblance of decency, and Edward would be downright selfish to take advantage.

If Edward were smart, maybe he’d be able to get Bruce to do this again, get Bruce to reveal his identity to him, without the cat and mouse chase. No matter how much Edward found the hunt exciting, a part of him longed for human connection, the same as everyone else.

So, Edward snuggled closer to Bruce, wrapping his arm around him and shoving his head into the crevice between his shoulder blades. Bruce smiled to himself, already coming to terms with his sudden attraction to the lunatic cuddling into him.

Bruce thought he might be able to change Edward, too. It was his mother who instilled the idea of second chances into his head from an early age, saying that even some of the worst people you meet could change if given a chance.

As he drifted off to sleep, he thought he’d be willing to give Edward that second chance, even if it meant it might bite him in the ass later on.

#riddlebat #bruce wayne #battinson #the batman #the batman 2022 #the riddler #riddler #edward nashton #edward nygma #paul dano #the batman fanfic #the riddler fanfic #smut #bruce wayne x edward nashton #edward nashton x bruce wayne

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missskzbiased · 3 years ago

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The Things We Don’t Tell

Summary: You were sure your life was written and directed to fit a sketchy Rom-Com and nobody could convince you otherwise. First, your boss was too hot to be true, and burning with desire didn’t even begin to explain the tingling sensations he left on you. Second, your coworker (a.k.a. Ex-About-to-be-FWB) insisted in turning your life into a living hell, which wasn’t the exact kind of hotness you were into. And if having these two hot men around you every single day of your life wasn’t enough to prove it, maybe the threat of your slutty secret identity about to be busted would be… But you couldn’t let this happen.

WC: 7,5 K

Genre: Smut, Humor (?)

AUs: Office, Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin X Fem!Reader X Bang Chan

(Not really a love triangle as Hyunjin is the Lead. However, Reader wants to Bang Chan)

Rebloggable Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Tag List

Warnings: Language, Thigh riding, Public space (Office), Exhibitionism, Possessiveness, Pet Name (Baby girl), Sir Kink

[If I forgot anything, please let me know! I’m kinda sleepy right now]

Notes: There will be at least one more chapter but I won’t do a tag list post for now, only if someone wants it, cuz I’m too lazy to think about doing it right now. This fic is an attempt to experiment with some writing style things that I’ve been wanting to try. I don’t think it worked, tho SUHAHUSAUHSUHA But that’s life

- I’ll quite possibly change the title in the future-

///

You are a superhero.

Okay! To be honest, you may be exaggerating a little bit ─ a tiny harmless little bit ─ but that was how you felt every single day of your life, alright? You had this glorious and mysterious side of yours that you hid from everyone else in the world… That mask that you couldn’t let come to the ground and would fight for dear life to protect… That side to your persona that no one was allowed to meet… The fierce, bold, and dark aspects of your soul that—

“Y/N! I want those papers on my table!”

“Yes, sir!” You shrieked in an embarrassing (not even slightly bold) way.

— That you couldn’t show at your work.

Yeah… So maybe no one actually thought of you as a superhero, but you really believed someone should start to. Was there something that different between your life and those low-budget TV shows people seem to enjoy so much? You didn’t think so.

To be fair, sometimes you felt like someone wrote a questionable script and poorly directed your life to fit you as the leading lady of a sketchy rom-com. As if they just focused on checking out every point on a bullet list made up with rules for a successful superhero office drama that wasn’t even that good…

… And speaking of which…

Rule Number One: The stern (maybe kinda attractive) boss!

If you had to define Bang Chan with a couple of adjectives, you would choose undeniably beautiful ─ extremely professional of you because the right words to describe him were fucking hot ─ and committed. Fortunately, it wasn’t an “I have someone waiting for me at home and a bunch of kids I must put to sleep” kind of commitment, which would destroy your hopes of having this man one day. Unfortunately, it was an “I’m better than the header and gonna run this company by tomorrow night” kind of commitment, which destroys your hopes of a peaceful day at work.

Now, it’s not like you don’t want to do your job! It’s just that you didn’t sign up to be Bang Chan’s perfect little toy ─ definitely not the better words to describe it ─ and you didn’t expect to be joined by the hips ─ really? ─ with him or any of your coworkers. The thing is that Bang Chan wants to be on top ─ someone has to stop you ─ and he believes the only way to get there is to work as a team and be as perfect as one can be. In other words, Bang Chan wants absolutely everything and everyone to be neat, tight, and ready to be used ─ again… Not the better way to put your thoughts into words ─, but this just wasn’t who you were.

It also wasn’t the point right now.

The point right now should be the fact that Bang Chan was striding to his office looking like he owned the whole damn place… If this was a movie, the camera would be focusing on his expensive, black leather shoes before scanning all the way up to his waist in slow motion. The scene would zoom in on his fine ass only to go a little bit up and catch the shiny, black belt wrapping around his figure. The outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination, but you had a hell of a productive mind… You could think of a few things you shouldn’t really be thinking about right now.

Bang Chan didn’t seem to understand he was at work either.

He rolled his sleeve up in a sexy motion that should be illegal. It isn’t. You can tell by the way there are no cops bursting inside the building and arresting this gorgeous son of a bitch.

The lack of any authorities to stop this atrocious moment had you lowering your gaze to your desk ─ a vain attempt to ignore the way his forearms flexed as he gestured and ordered people around. If you were a little bit less professional, you would have some ideas of how he could do it in bed. With you. But you weren’t some kind of creepy perv who would be fantasizing about riding your own boss from dusk till dawn.

Not at all.

“Do you need me, Sir?” His secretary asks politely.

A question that you would love to ask him too… In a totally and strictly professional way, of course.

Rule Number Two: The (extremely unnecessary) nemesis!

The shiver running down your spine could mean only one thing: Hwang Hyunjin ─ your obnoxious coworker ─ was standing right behind you, just like a bloody damn ghost. There was no need to turn around. You knew he had his mocking eyes glued on Bang Chan’s figure, and you could feel the air shifting as he tilted his head in a silent sneer before leaning on your desk.

You refused to turn around and acknowledge his presence; painfully aware that he would flash a wide grin while looking at you with a knowing glint in his eyes. You wouldn’t give him the taste of seeing in your face that he was right; that you were staring at your boss as if you were a starving vulture. So you did the only thing you could do in this situation: You started to work. The sheets scattered over your desk wouldn’t walk by themselves to Bang Chan’s room, right?

And neither would you if it depended on Hyunjin.

The attempts to swipe the papers in your direction and gather everything you needed ─ to finally get rid of Hyunjin ─ proved to be vain as his hand took root on the desk. You pursed your lips in annoyance while glancing at his prominent knuckles and slender fingers; wondering if he would be so collected if he knew you wanted to crunch them. Probably not. But he gets off so fucking much on upsetting you that he might just want to take the risk anyway.

“What do you want, asshole?” You hissed; stopping your motions before turning around to stare blankly at him.

The face of an angel was the most accurate way to describe the sight in front of you. Plump, pink lips molded into a sweet smile and dark brown eyes morphed into cute crescents. None of those features fit his true self, though. Underneath the angelic façade, there was a demon called Hwang Hyunjin ─ who was resting his free hand on your shoulder for no reason besides driving you crazy.

It would be easier if he was just a pretty face, but Hyunjin had a good body too. The guy looked just like a model ─ slim, tall, and classy ─, and even though only his collarbones peeked out from down his shirt, you knew that there was much more than the eyes could see.

Well, you never saw it, but you had felt it.

As far as you could remember, each curve on Hyunjin’s abs was craft by God himself. The way his chest was built for you to caress would be forever craved on your mind. You might never forget how soft his lips were in contrast to his lap… How his thighs flexed just right when you pulled his hair… How reactive he was… How his moans sounded… And how he put everything to waste.

“Oh, nothing” He shrugged. As usual, his voice was just like sweet, hot honey; still, you could wipe the poison dripping down his chin, “I was just wondering if you had enough time to do your job while fucking your boss inside your head” He clarified sarcastically, cracking you a smile.

Sometimes you regretted not putting his mouth to good use… He really needed to learn how to shut up for a while and stop being so… Unbearable. The silence he met had him scoffing; body leaning even closer to the point his face was practically hovering over yours ─ smugness plastered all over it. You held his gaze to confront him; breathe mingling with his in a heated mix that matched the anger under your eyes.

Was he licking his lips as he stared at yours? Oh boy… He definitely wanted to get laid. It was your time to scoff as the frown on your lips turned into a smirk; eyes twinkling mischievously as you looked into his in a silent teasing. As if sensing that he was in trouble, Hyunjin tilted his head to look even more obnoxious than he was; face coming closer to yours to defy your newfound confidence.

“You know what? If you stared at him any longer, I think his balls might have fallen off…” He whispered in a tone loud enough for just you to hear “Unless he saw the way you were looking at him… Then I guess his dick would go straight up” He assured you with a ‘friendly’ pat on your shoulder as he finally let go of your papers and straightened his back.

“Are you saying it from experience?” You sneered; grimacing at him.

“Are you telling me that you want me to fuck you too?” He retorted gibingly; not even thinking twice about it.

“No” You tilted your head, trying to stay composed, “I’m reminding you that you couldn’t even kiss me without getting a boner… Just like a teenage boy” He arched a brow at your statement; pursing his lips as he hummed in wonder “I’m surprised you never came in your pants like the pathetic thing you are” He laughed; poking his cheek with his tongue before squeezing your shoulder in a silent warning.

“I must have been quite a sight if you can remember it so vividly” You pretended not to notice the way he sniggered, pushing away the urge to punch his face.

Nemesis was just a classy way to call him a pain in the ass.

Rule Number Three: The (plain and uninteresting) secret identity!

It would be impossible to miss the moment Hyunjin’s devilish smirk morphed into a bright, friendly smile. The snarky comment on the tip of your tongue was swallowed back in a bit; grimace dissolving into a wide grin as if you weren’t about to throw your fists at him. He giggled as his arms spread open before snaking around your body to pull you into a tight hug; holding you close and rocking your body side to side as a soft huff fell from your lips.

If you didn’t know any better, your knee would be buried between his legs.

“Way to go, Y/N!” He chirped, loosening his grip to take a better look at your face; eyes smiling as if the both of you were the bestest of friends in the entire world, “You’re awesome! I’m so proud… I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you as my teammate” He pursed his lips; dimples showing as he offered you nothing but affection in his gaze.

You did know better, though, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out who was standing behind your back as you opened your mouth to answer him: “There’s no one I’d rather be with!” You reassured Hyunjin in a sweet, mirthful tone; tilting your head to return the fondness in his look in an act worthy of an Oscar “We’re a team, you know? You can’t get rid of me so easily” He laughed wholeheartedly at that; ruffling your hair before leaning closer to you again, resuming the hug.

“We’ll see about that” He whispered in your ear, making you scoff.

“What are you gonna do? Cry to Daddy so you won’t work with me anymore?” You hissed back; breaking away from his hug with a tight grin before turning around to meet Chan’s gaze.

The surprise plastered over your face was millimetrically calculated; just like the way you pretended to be flustered as you stared into your boss’ eyes to see the pride shining on them. You brought the papers closer to your chest in what was meant to be an innocent, coy way ─ a technique mastered over the months you worked for him ─, and Chan seemed to fall for it as he giggled in delight. The poor guy had no clue all of this was as fake as your camaraderie towards Hyunjin, and he wasn’t about to discover it anytime soon if it depended on you.

Luckily, it did! You had taken some acting classes; just enough for your next words to be naturally convincing: “I’m so sorry, Sir! We’re just so happy that –” The words were deliberately drawled to give him enough time to interrupt you. Just like you knew he would. And it was a good thing that he did because you had no idea of how you were supposed to finish that sentence anyway.

You were a good actress, not a professional improviser.

“Don’t mention it” He cut you off giggly; detaching himself from the doorframe he leaned on as he watched the friendly scene taking place.

The amount of cuteness this man could deliver in his smile wasn’t fair, and it didn’t match the sensuality a simple gesture of his overflowed with, enchanting you. You gulped down as he gave both of you a silent order to follow him into his room, wondering if the duality he had in the office was remotely similar to what he could do in bed ─ a thought that shouldn’t be having a place in your mind right now.

Hyunjin seemed to pick up on it pretty quickly too, and as soon as Chan turned around to head to his office, he bumped his shoulder onto yours. The obnoxious action was followed by your elbow diving into his ribs; a retaliation that took you less than a second and, luckily, Chan ─ or any of your coworkers ─ didn’t seem to notice. Neither of you gave away your silent quarrel as Hyunjin closed the door behind him, smiling at you when Chan finally took his seat.

“It’s good to see that you guys have such chemistry” He confessed, and you had to suppress a scoff when you looked into his eyes. He had no idea… The chemistry between you two was enough to make you want to blow each other, “You know what I always say, right?” He boasted on a sing-song; much more at ease than he seemed to be earlier.

You weren’t about to put that on the line, though.

“You can’t have teamwork if you don’t have a team!” You warbled in unison.

“That’s the spirit!” Chan gurgled, heading to his desk in a visibly good mood.

What was going on? He wouldn’t be so happy just because you and Hyunjin were being friendly… Were you missing something? He didn’t seem in such a peaceful state of mind when he came in… It had to be something that happened after that. Perhaps he got some good news from his secretary? Or maybe… You narrowed your eyes as you caught a glimpse of Hyunjin’s hands fidgeting in front of him; his foot tapping the ground rapidly but quietly before moving slightly to step on your toe.

Or maybe Hyunjin had something to do with it…

“As I said in the email, Sir, I happened to hear some stuff around and… KQ managed to get an exclusive with Han Jisung” The sentence sounded just like a normal introduction to a report, but you knew it wasn’t. Hyunjin’s eyes darted to meet yours, glinting with anxiety and despair. He was informing you of what was going on, not Chan, “And as we all know, Jisung is a rising producer star, which is bound to raise their sales and might get in the way of ours…” He continued, swallowing dryly and widening his eyes ever so slightly.

He was definitely trying to warn you of something.

“Yes, I read the e-mail, Hyunjin” Chan agreed sternly; smile disappearing as his fingers intertwined to serve as a support for his chin. He looked classy and incredibly sexy, but your mind couldn’t afford to focus on it right now. You had to figure out what the hell Hyunjin suggested to Chan before blowing everything up, “You also said that Y/N might have the solution for this…” Oh, so that was it, you thought when Chan arched his brow; eyes connecting to yours.

And now what?

“So?” He encouraged you, detaching his chin from his hands so he could rest them on his desk “I’m waiting” He smiled gently; a closed-mouth smile that was supposed to calm your nerves, even though you could see how tumultuous his gaze was right now.

It was practically a silent threat.

In a normal situation, the predatory way he was looking at you ─ resembling a wolf when you were nothing but a sheep under his radar ─ would get you… Thinking.

Your job wouldn’t be at stake in a normal situation, though.

The pressure on your toes increased; the subtle way Hyunjin found to snap you out of your mind, despite your silence hanging in there for just a few seconds. It was obvious that he was freaking out just as much as you were, and you couldn’t help but blame him for this. Couldn’t he have told you about it earlier? What the hell was going on inside his mind?! Instead of taunting you about wanting to fuck Bang Chan, he should have warned you about that shit!

That’s not the time for this, Y/N.

The muscles on your face tensed as you tried to not give away everything going through your mind; lips twisting in a tight smile as you looked at Hyunjin: “Yeah, he was right” You answered calmly, even though your stomach was settled on becoming an Olympic athlete right now, “As I was telling him before coming here, Sir, I have someone in mind…” The relief washed over Hyunjin’s face; a genuine smile adorning his features as he withheld a sigh, “I happen to know I.N, and I think I can get us an exclusive” You confessed, shifting your gaze from Hyunjin to Chan.

“The writer?” He blurted out, astonishment plastered all over his face.

“Yeah… They’re a friend of mine…” You trailed off, embarrassed to say it out loud “They’re in the top trending now since their novel will become a drama and…” You cleared your throat, lowering your head to avoid his gaze. There was just so much of acting you could handle for a day, “I mean- It’s… Adult stuff, right? But they never—”

“I know! That’s perfect!” He beamed, getting up from his chair to walk your way “They’ve never been seen! Nobody knows anything about them, Y/N” He laughed ─ he genuinely laughed ─ while clasping his hands together “Han Jisung is good, but I.N is better! This is hot news… FrontPage… How come you never told me about that?” He chuckled, placing his hand on your shoulder “Rest assured that when I get my promotion, I’m gonna have you right here in this room” He promised you in such a serious tone that a shiver ran down your spine.

Rule Number Four: The (kinda horny) true self!

There was not a single soul in the office as you made your way down the hall; eyes focused on the mesmerizing view outside. The sky was colored in purple shades, so deep that you would have mistaken them for black if it weren’t for the dazzling, sleepless city and its dozens of skyscrapers lighting everything up. Not even the full moon would be able to compete with such a beautiful brilliance, but it wouldn’t be necessary either as your gaze was abruptly torn away from the night.

The darkness surrounding you didn’t allow your brain to connect the dots immediately, and you couldn’t help but wonder what happened when you bumped into something. The surface was much softer than a wall, yet firm enough to have you wincing for the impact; eyes snapping to meet the unlucky bastard that stayed until so late. The moonlight kissed his skin just enough for you to recognize the sharp features of your boss; clenched jaw revealing popping veins that distracted you for a fraction of a second.

Your eyes trailed the path from his jaw to his neck, and you couldn’t help but wonder how it tasted like; if you could savor it like the sins you wanted to commit with him. The closeness didn’t work in your favor, and the hint of his scent intoxicated your senses as you connected your gazes. Something must have given you off ─ maybe your hesitation, maybe the lust glinting in your eyes ─ because the next second, Cristopher had his hand placed on your lower back.

The warm sensation grew to a burning feeling as his eyes darkened while diving into yours; his stern, cold gaze contrasting to the feeling of his touch and sending a shiver down your spine. Could he have noticed the way your legs trembled as his grip tightened around you? The look on his face was indecipherable, and the intensity of his gaze made you feel too exposed and vulnerable to keep looking for an answer, so you averted your eyes away from him.

“Weren’t you supposed to come as soon as you got his answer?” The way his voice made its way to your senses had the embarrassment washing over you. The huskiness in his tone made you gulp down ─ throat dry from thirsting over him ─ and the calmness in his sentence alarmed you as it didn’t match the disapproval in his eyes “It’s so late that there is no one else here anymore” He added nonchalantly; mixed signals getting you confused to what he meant by it.

Was it just a way to scold you or was it an invitation?

“I’m sorry, Sir” Despite not having anyone around, you whispered the words as if you could be caught at any moment now, “It took me longer than expected, but we—”

“We?” His eyes were sharp enough to cut you off but the real reason why you couldn’t manage to finish your thoughts was the way he pulled your body impossibly closer to his “Were you with him this whole time?” He hissed right into your ear, letting his hot breath fan over your cold, sensitive skin in a silent threat.

“Working” You corrected, even though he didn’t say anything.

“Working” He hummed in agreement; hand going to tuck your hair behind your ear “As in how we work late at night?” He sneered, manhandling you to press your back against the cold surface of the glass wall that separated his office from the rest of the place “Or is it as in how he wants to work you on his desk?” He scoffed; soft huff almost as degrading as the way he held your cheeks with one hand and guided your eyes to his.

“Neither” You guaranteed breathlessly; voice quivering in excitement.

“Are you going to pretend that you didn’t notice his looks?” He narrowed his eyes at you; his knee making its way to the gap between yours before slowly rising to your thighs, “That you don’t know how much he wants to fuck you?” He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, “You better not, ‘cause I know you love it” He warned as he kicked your legs apart.

“He could never fuck me as you do” There was such seriousness in your tone that it had him chuckling, and he nodded in approval before burying his nose in your neck, “I-I’m yours only, Sir… I know my place” You promised quietly, trying not to give away how aroused his jealousy made you feel.

“Yeah…” His raspy laughter tickled your skin, and you muffled a whine as he grazed his teeth over your neck teasingly “But you like being reminded of it, don’t you?” He taunted, taking in your scent in a way that made you feel too small and helpless. He groaned as soon as you let a whimper fall from your lips, and you couldn’t help but struggle to stay still while knowing what was about to come, “Do I have to spell it for you, baby girl?” He snickered before sucking on the tender spot of your skin that he knew too well at this point.

“N-No” Somewhere inside your head, you acknowledged that your reaction was insanely humiliating. He just needed a couple of words spoken in a sultry tone and you couldn’t even form a proper sentence. That was the power he had on you. And you loved it. “Only yours” The rushed tone made him smirk against your neck, stopping his path of kisses for a second to look into your eyes “Sir” You panted; returning his gaze with just as much intensity as he had on his.

“Claim your place” His order was so tantalizing that you didn’t even blink before you finally let your knees give away, losing the support of your legs to earn the support of his thigh, “That’s right… You do remember your place” Somehow, this sounded like the best praise he could ever offer you, even under his amused tone, “But you have been such a bad girl lately…” He pouted as he caressed your cheek; hand stopping to grab your chin gently “And I don’t like bad girls… You know that, right?” He let his thumb reach for your lower lip, fiercely staring at it before grazing his finger on your teeth.

Your answer was as silent as his request; tongue welcoming his thumb before you sucked on his digit. He hummed in appreciation, pushing it inside your mouth as you looked at him with big doe eyes to show a coyness that wasn’t really there within you. The action was followed by a swirl around the tip of his finger; as if to leave in his mouth the taste of what he was missing and prompt him to give you what you really wanted: Him.

If he picked up on your plans, he showed it by giving like for like.

He didn’t say a word as he pressed his thigh against your heat; leaning closer to let his breath fan over your neck once more. He stood like that for what could have been seconds, maybe minutes, but nonetheless time enough for his warmth to creep into your senses. He was like a poison to you; the intoxicating presence clouding your better judgment and destroying any will you had to have him losing control. You didn’t even mind the way he scoffed as you started to grind his leg; brows twisting to shout out a needy plea for release.

“That’s a good girl” He approved, catching your earlobe between his teeth. The moan that fell from your lips was muffled by his finger and he didn’t seem to appreciate it, “I don’t hear you, baby girl” He complained, moving on to your jaw with a path of open-mouthed kisses that weren’t enough to distract you from his other hand “There’s no one here… Be loud for me” He allured you as his hand found its way under your shirt.

The temptation was great… Scream his name as he fucked you senseless in the office... No risk of being caught… Just you, and him, and your dirty little secret…

Your thoughts were all around the place, and you had no hopes of grasping them back as his cold hand brushed your side, contrasting to the warmth under your clothes. The way he touched you made shivers run down your spine; his slow, delicate motion enhancing your senses to every single second of his caresses. You held your breath when his finger finally managed to reach its destination; grazing over your nipple to have you succumbing to his wishes.

You fought it as you could, but you were never much of a fighter.

It was too easy for him to have you under his control, and he knew it. You could tell it by the way he chuckled as soon as you gave away how lost you were at this point. The moan that left your lips came all the way up from your chest, sounding crystal clear in the room as you let your mouth fall agape. Sucking on his finger and following his orders were the last concern you would have for this moment. The only thing worthy of your attention right now was the fact that you couldn’t get as much friction as you needed, and you had to do something about it.

So you grind on his leg for dear life.

“You’re so needy” The mockery didn’t have much effect on your mind anymore, so you just kept sliding up and down his thigh as if that was the only thing that could keep you going “You’re not even listening to me, are you?” He huffed in disbelief; thumb leaving your mouth so he could cup your face “That’s all you can understand, right?” He taunted, pinching your nipple to get your attention again, “Are you still there, baby girl?” He leaned closer to whisper in your ear.

“F-Fuck me” Was the only answer he would get.

“Manners” He warned; licking the sweet spot next to your jaw.

“Fuck me, Sir” You corrected yourself; wrapping your arms around his shoulders to look for some support as you practically bounced on his leg, “Please, fuck me, Sir” You repeated, forehead resting on the crook of his neck as you clawed his back, trying to bring him as close as possible to you.

“Louder” He demanded, and you didn’t need to look at his face to know that he was grinning, “Louder…” He instructed in a tone so low that you could barely hear him over the rustling sounds of fabric against fabric. Your breath hitched as his hand gently caressed your hair; moving some strands away from your face to take a better look at you. However, he didn’t get to see your teary eyes, “Come on, baby… Look at me” He asked in a tantalizing tone, alluring you to try and meet his gaze.

There wasn’t much you could see through your hooded eyes; vision too blurry for you to grasp what was going on inside his mind. You could tell he enjoyed it, though. He always did. That moment when he could pinpoint you had given up on your control, that you weren’t yourself anymore and would be willing to do whatever he asked… He lived for it, for that rebellious flame of self-control extinguishing from your eyes.

For who you become when lust overcomes you.

The grip on his hair wasn’t unexpected, and Cristopher offered you a small, wicked smile before you connected your lips. The kiss was messy and hurried; tongues exploring every corner they could find while your hands were occupied on getting rid of your clothes. Neither of you cared about anything else but feeling each other’s bodies as you ripped your shirts. The cold breeze hitting your bare skin wasn’t enough to cool down the heat consuming you, but it was enough to have you squirming and whining.

“Beautiful” Was the only thing he said before pushing your back against the glass and adjusting his grip to take your nipple between his teeth. The groan that escaped your lips was almost animalistic, prompting him to answer with a grunt of his own as he sucked on your skin. The vibrations ran from your flesh to your core, enticing another moan that seemed to fall into deaf ears, “Louder, baby… I want him to hear you…” He pleaded, letting go of your breast just to grope it and give you a kitten lick on the next second “To know who made you like this…” He added before sucking on it again.

Perhaps it was the fact that he thrust on you, just to tease your senses and make you thirstier. Perhaps it was the fact you had to support yourself on just one leg as he pushed his hips against yours and you tried to seek for your balance by involving his leg with yours. Perhaps it was his hand sliding to meet your clothed core; finger pressing against your clit to add a delicious, needed stimulus for your orgasm.

Perhaps it was the words that slipped through his lips.

“W-What did you say?” You panted; hips faltering as you tried to keep riding him, but steading their pace as his finger circled your clit to goad you “M-Mhm… S-Sir” You cried; hand burying in his hair to pull it and translate the utter bliss waving down your body. The string of mewls and urgent pleas spilled from you like a chant, getting him more eager than before, “P-Please” You whined, even though you weren’t sure what you were asking for.

“Hold it” He ordered; straightening his back to look right into your eyes, but failing as yours rolled back to your head. His hand made its way to squeeze your cheeks, forcing you to look at him with a soft shake to catch your attention “Look at me” It sounded like a warning; stern enough for you to try your best to focus on him, “You’ll only cum when he walks right through that door… Do you understand?” He searched for any signs of stubbornness in your eyes, but his smile showed he didn’t found any.

“W-Who?” You managed to ask; body trembling as you tried to hold every single string inside your mind in place, even though each one of them was ready to snap and unravel the crashing pleasure that was building up.

“Why does it matter?” He scoffed, quickening his pace as the unmistakable ring of the elevator sounded on the room “You love being seen, don’t you?” He chuckled, watching as your body shook violently and your knees started to give away to the sensations running down your body.

“Y-Yes, Sir” You could bet your voice echoed inside the building, and Christopher seemed to agree with you as he grinned in approval.

“So look at your guest, baby… And scream my name” He instructed, pushing your face to the side. The doors opened slowly, revealing the lights inside the small cubicle right in front of your eyes “Let him know who you belong to” He whispered in your ear; hand pushing your underwear aside so his finger could come in contact with your core.

The mysterious figure detached from the corners of the metallic walls to finally reveal himself. You met his eyes for a half of a second; enough time for you to recognize the one who worked with you every single day of your life. For the past few years. Someone who would be your partner for years to come, and who would witness and engrave your face in your most vulnerable moment.

You came hard; probably the most overwhelming orgasm you had ever had in your life. It was impossible to hold back your voice, and you couldn’t help but howl his name; legs shaking and body collapsing into your boss’ arms. You squirmed and whimpered as you tried to recompose yourself; letting him help you ride you out of your orgasm and occupying yourself by staring into your coworker’s shocked eyes.

“Thank you, Sir…” You breathed out, gripping his arms for dear life while the shame sank into your soul.

Rule Number Five: The (grateful and satisfied) fans!

And… Post.

Oh, well… You did it. Again. There was something about displaying your deepest fantasies for anyone to see that was kinda thrilling to you. Your heart raced inside your chest just like a drum ─ well, if a goddamn drummer decided to do a solo but was too offbeat, to begin with ─ and you couldn’t help but stare blankly at the page without a clue of what to do now. It was out there… Why didn’t anyone say anything yet? Was it that bad? Should you delete it?

Well… People have to read it before commenting, you know?

Yeah, right… You just posted it.

Chill.

You licked your lips before biting them; feeling the rush that was posting about your boss online when no one else knew about it. If you were being honest, the best part of this wasn’t having the chance to live your fantasies throughout your writing. No. The best part was knowing that only you knew the true identity of Christopher… Or what you really wanted to do to him while he walked down the hallway. The best part was that no one would ever figure out that you were the author of the bestselling novel of the moment… That this steamy romance between boss and employee was nothing but your rawest desire.

Who would think that the boring, shy girl from the office would be a smut writer? Who would think that you would have a horny, interesting secret identity? No one else but you.

And this was priceless.

Or maybe… It was priceless.

As far as you knew, every single thing you cherished about being a secretive horny bitch could go down the drain tomorrow. It would be all fine if it was just a… Well, actually everything would suck. How would you look at Chan’s face if he knew you were writing about having sex with your boss while he was your boss? What would you do if they decided to fire you because of it? What would you do with your life from now on?!

Don’t panic, Y/N.

You had everything under control… Tomorrow morning you would be going to Jeongin’s house and interview him as if he were you. No one would ever suspect you after that. You would save your ass, Hyunjin’s ass, and Chan’s ass. And that was it. The perfect plan. Nothing to worry about. Just trust Jeongin to follow your script and make sure everything would go as planned.

Flawless. Totally safe. Perfect.

That’s right…

You just need to take a deep breath and rela—

The sudden sound caught you off guard; eyes focusing on the screen once again so you could understand what was going on. All of your worries vanished away as soon as you saw the notification on the top of it; announcing that you had just got a message from a fan.

Finally!

The weasel icon was so familiar that you chuckled while opening the message; a smile plastering over your face as you let your eyes wander around the words. There was nothing more fulfilling to your writer ass than seeing the way Weasel always had something to say about your story. Sometimes, he’d give you some feedback on your style. Other times, he’d freak out about how much he wanted to “try those things out”, as he usually said. There were also times when he’d just get excited over the characters and their conflicts, which always got you laughing.

It was fun to talk to Weasel.

He was just as mysterious as you… There was no name to his face, and also no face to his icon, but both of you were friends anyway. He had been keeping up with your stuff from such an early stage that it felt natural to have him around and getting his feedback. It was so comfortable, that you didn’t even mind when he slid in your DMs, embarrassed to let anyone else know that your smut made him… Feel things. There was no need to elaborate on what he did about those feelings or those things. But it was kinda hot to know he enjoyed himself throughout your fantasies.

His fantasies.

Well… For the number of times that you used them to write your stories, it was some sort of shared fantasies by now. As a matter of fact, you never intended to make Christopher a jealous character but Weasel made the idea seem too hot for you to ignore. Sometimes, he’d open up about that girl from his work that he really liked and how jealous he was of the guy she liked and then… Well, it felt… Interesting.

The thought of being desirable to the point a guy would want to claim you as his like this? Not that Weasel did it. He actually just mentioned that he hoped she was into this as a kink. You couldn’t help but picture the way he would touch her in such a greedy way… The possessiveness blinding him for a second… The grip tightening… The mean words and the humiliation… Oh, the sweet humiliation that would crush you as he whispered how much you would cum for him… How he was the only one who could make you like that… How he would ask you to say his name… To tell him that you were his…

You could drink holy water and still be shaking just by picturing it.

“That was such a good chapter… I didn’t expect you to use her friend like that. I thought it was a given that she’d end up with Chris” You read out loud, chuckling when he reached for your DMs to talk to you “Will we get a threesome or something, miss? 😏” He joked on the next line and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at this “I’m waiting for it”

“You’re just a horny bitch, aren’t you?” You typed, smirking as you stared at his messages “No spoilers for you, though, baby boy… You’ll have to wait like everybody else” Teasing him was always funny, and he never failed to amuse you.

“I’m not the one writing porn online” He pointed out, and before he could write anything else you shot him.

“Yeah but you’re the one getting off to it” You retorted, getting a whole set of gasping and shocked emotes that had you laughing.

“I have no words to express how offended I am” You chortled, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Alright, Drama Llama” Why was it so fun to mock him? You wished you could actually meet him offline and banter like this in real life “To fill your horny ass, I might write a dom!reader next time… I was thinking about torturing the 2nd lead a bit”

“First of all… I don’t think I want my ass filled, thank you for offering tho” Why was he like this? “And I was just joking” You frowned at that, confused by what he meant “Don’t you think that a threesome doesn’t go along with the characters? Her friend likes her a lot and Christopher is just a kinky son of a bitch… I thought he’d just show him that she was his and be an ass as usual”

“What do you have against Chris, dude?” You rolled your eyes, although he wouldn’t be able to see it, “He’s way better than her friend! At least, he does something about her”

“I have the 2nd male lead syndrome! You know that!” You chortled, very aware of this, “And isn’t that the perfect opportunity for him to do something about it?! I mean… I don’t want to be nosey but having a threesome is way out of character for them” He pointed out, and you had to admit he was right.

“No, you’re not nosey…” You sighed; shoulders dropping for a second “It’s just that I’m upset about something that happened at work today and you know that projecting my problems on those characters is my thing” You pursed your lips, staring at the keyboard for a few seconds before deciding to continue “Besides, I’m about to spend an entire day with a guy that kinda inspired the 2nd lead and… I don’t really want to think about a sex scene with him, you know?” You confessed.

“But thinking about torturing and having a threesome with him is easy” He mocked you.

“That’s because that threesome would never happen” You sent it before you could think about what you had just written.

“Ooohhhh!” Holy shit… The amount of emotes he had just dumped on that chat couldn’t be a good sign, “So having sex with this guy is something you want?! And that could happen?! ” Great, now you would have a Drama Llama-Weasel trying to get some juicy gossip about your inexistent sex life… WORSE! Your sex life with your nemesis! “Why don’t you go for it? I’m sure he’s into you if he’s anything like his character” Poor thing… He had no idea.

“Shut up, it’s not like that” You brushed it off.

“If you say so” You could almost hear him snickering, even though you didn’t know how his voice sounded like “I’ll just have you regretting this for the rest of the night” You snorted, shaking your head in disbelief. He was unbearable! “I have work early tomorrow but I’m gonna come back with questions, Miss… Wait for me”

“What I meant is that it’d be easier to happen than having a threesome, not that I want it to happen, moron” You defended yourself but he didn’t even get to read it as he logged off right away.

Great… He would never let you live it down.

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Rebloggable Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Tag List

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jingyismom · 3 years ago

Text

Time for more sex-cursed Lan Wangji!

a messy, self-indulgent spree imported from twt and lightly edited

explicit, wangxian, 9k, canon divergence fix-it

mild dubcon because of the nature of sex curses (but like, they do their best to communicate around it), and cw for brief thoughts of self harm, no other warnings

This curse's origin is mysterious, perhaps politically guided. Someone is trying to throttle Gusu Lan's alliance prospects by removing Lan Wangji's stellar marriageability after Sunshot. It works, after a fashion.

Wei Wuxian is in the Burial Mounds, farming and hardening his heart as the resentment worsens his health, subsisting on memories of Lan Wangji's single visit.

Lan Wangji is at home in Gusu, pining away while they rebuild the Cloud Recesses.

One day, he begins to burn up with unexplained fever.

The healers examine him quickly and thoroughly and determine first that he's been cursed. This is not entirely shocking, but it of course angers the entire sect. Next they test for the curse's nature. It turns out to be a very classic, very coarse type of love curse.

The afflicted will burn up, losing all their sense and senses, and eventually die, if their body's “needs” are not satisfied by the one it craves most.

The healers are disgusted. Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren are outraged. But Lan Wangji becomes very calm at the news.

Before, he felt anxiety. The urgent desperation of a dying man waiting to be told how to live.

Now he is just waiting to die.

For you see, the choice between throwing himself at another human being—no matter who they may be—and meeting death with dignity, is an easy one.

Everyone else privy to this information disagrees. The argument that follows is short, but heated:

"Well, Wangji?" Lan Qiren begins once the initial furor has died down. "How do you wish to...go about this?"

Lan Wangji, over-warm and aching, looks up at him from the examination bed. Gusu Lan funeral rites are ancient and immutable. He does not understand the question.

Lan Qiren purses his lips and glances around. "We must find the person first," he prompts.

Ah. The person responsible. Yes, Lan Wangji does have business with them before he dies. He stands, only swaying slightly. "I am well enough to exact justice. Let us cast the rebound."

Lan Xichen steps forward then, and gently pushes him back to sitting. "It has been cast. However, justice can wait. Your health must come first."

Lan Wangji looks between his uncle, his brother, and the one doctor allowed to be present. Surely they would not be joking at a time like this.

"I do not understand," he says.

The three exchange a look. "Breaking the curse must be our priority," says Lan Xichen.

Lan Wangji is not sure he heard correctly. But it would be cruel to give him unfounded hope. "I was unaware there was another way."

"...There is not," says Lan Xichen, his gentleness unfailing.

Lan Wangji experiences a moment of deep confusion before the horror sets in.

"You cannot mean this," he says through his shock. "Surely you cannot mean to cast aside so many disciplines at the whim of a base villain."

"The disciplines are a guide," Lan Qiren says, hands behind his back, looking into the distance, "to ensure a life well-lived. They are not meant to inspire martyrdom."

Lan Wangji's mouth falls open. He stares at his uncle, mute with betrayal. He has never heard of any such leeway before, not in regards to disciplines of such a serious nature.

"You can understand, can't you?" Lan Xichen says. "That no rule is more important than your life.”

Lan Wangji disagrees vehemently. "I would not buy my life with such behavior."

Lan Qiren huffs in irritation. "We may perform a marriage in haste, if you wish."

Lan Wangji balks at him. That his uncle should speak so flippantly of...such a thing. It is unimaginable. And besides, forcing a marriage on Wei—on anyone in this way is surely only adding insult to heinous injury.

"I refuse," he says.

Lan Xichen exchanges a look with the doctor, and sits beside him. "Perhaps the other person should be allowed part of that choice."

Ridiculous. "There is no such person." Preventing this course of action is worth one lie, Lan Wangji reasons.

"With respect, Hanguang-jun, if that were true, the curse would not have been able to take hold," says the doctor.

The use of his title feels uncomfortably ironic from a woman who helped deliver him at birth. He glares at her. She smiles tiredly in return.

"Wangji," Lan Xichen says. His tone is beginning to grate on Lan Wangji's raw nerves. "You will at least try, won't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him in disbelief, in anger, in righteous indignation.

"Never," he says.

A hand slaps his shoulder. "Apologies," says the doctor, and the world goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to dark wood beams dappled by lacy sunlight, and a faint smell of char in the air. His head is heavy, his limbs full of lead. He swallows around the dry thickness in his throat.

"Water," comes a familiar voice.

With effort, Lan Wangji sits up. His stomach is roiling, his mind fogged from the coma and the curse both. The doctor, crouching beside him in the carriage, offers him a bowl of water.

He takes it, and asks, "What have you done?"

She sighs.

"My duty," she says, "with the help of your brother."

She draws back the curtain at the carriage entrance, revealing a sea of black, twisted trees and gray tumbled walls.

Lan Wangji's blood freezes in his veins. He just barely stops himself from asking how they knew.

"Why," he asks instead, a much safer question.

She considers him. "Your brother said if he was wrong, he would beg forgiveness afterward. But it couldn't hurt to have an expert in resentment and curses look at you anyway."

A stab of sick embarrassment makes Lan Wangji’s stomach clench.

Has he been so obvious? Is he such a lovesick fool that anyone with eyes can see his shame?

The doctor pats his shoulder gruffly and he flinches, expecting more needles.

"Ah he's your brother, he's bound to know things you don't want him to," she says. "Come on. Out you get."

He allows her to tug him out of the carriage and onto solid ground. The air is stifling with resentment, but he is glad to be free of his bonds. Now he can look for his chance to get away.

There are six Lan disciples flanking them. He eyes them warily, wondering what they know. When the doctor pulls him out of earshot, and pitches her voice low, he is satisfied that they have not been fully informed.

"Your family and I agreed to give you a chance first," she says. "You have 24 hours to take care of this yourself. After that, I will personally tell Wei-gongzi of your brother's message. I have been assured he will not jeopardize your well-being if fully-informed."

Lan Wangji gapes at her. He does not know what he expected to happen, but it was not this...this...mercenary attempt at...forcing...

The curse has weakened him such that he cannot fly his sword. He can hardly walk in a straight line, let alone run. He has very little recourse now that everyone in his life has gone absolutely mad. His heart is racing with the adrenaline of upheaval, of fear, of impending death.

He wrenches his arm from her grasp and stalks off of the road, into the brush. She calls after him, but he does not mean to escape. He cannot manage that alone. Instead, he sits. He takes a deep breath. He sinks into meditation.

"Hanguang-jun," she calls. She approaches, hands on her hips. She sighs. "Well, if it's like that, then there's nothing stopping me from telling him right now."

She turns, and Lan Wangji feels a lurch of helplessness, when a new voice rings clear through the fog.

"Tell what to whom?"

Lan Wangji's eyes snap open. Wei Wuxian is standing on the other side of the carriage, the child A-Yuan in his arms, eyeing the Lan delegation with suspicion. Wen Ning is with him, and the Lan disciples shift nervously just looking at him, but Wei Wuxian sets A-Yuan in his arms, and he leaps away up the mountain.

"Might I assume this little party has come for me?" Wei Wuxian goes on, twirling his flute. His eyes are shrewd and cold, similar to the way they had looked when he had first returned during the war.

At the sight of him, at the sound of his voice, the curse...reacts.

A horrid, uncomfortable shiver of need runs through Lan Wangji's body alongside his own simple relief and joy at seeing Wei Wuxian again, looking relatively well. He fights it, keeping still among the weeds, hoping against hope to go unnoticed.

"Yiling Laozu," the doctor greets him with a deep bow. "We have indeed come to humbly beg your aid."

"I see," he says. "And what will you give me in return?"

The doctor hesitates, clearly discomfited by the context Wei Wuxian is currently unaware of. "We may...discuss that. Once we have informed you of the details."

Wei Wuxian hums, considering. Cold. Detached. "And if I am disinclined to—"

He breaks off. The doctor has moved so that she and Lan Wangji are both in Wei Wuxian's line of sight. Lan Wangji closes his eyes rather than see the moment of recognition, rather than feel the weight of Wei Wuxian's eyes on him, like this.

"Lan Zhan?"

Lan Wangji clamps his jaw shut. It is a struggle not simply to crawl to him.

The renewed ice in Wei Wuxian's voice when next he speaks makes Lan Wangji aware of the warmth with which he had said his name. His curls his shaking hands into fists on his knees.

"What have you done to him?"

The doctor sighs. "We have done nothing. He has been cursed, which is why we brought him here. If you—"

"Daifu," Lan Wangji interrupts, his voice thin.

She stops speaking.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes, but does not look at Wei Wuxian, not yet. If he is careful, and uses his remaining strength correctly, he can perhaps...perhaps guide the situation. Toward escape. With Wei Wuxian's help.

He may have to lie to him. He hopes he will be forgiven, all things considered.

Lan Wangji stands slowly, carefully, considering each movement so as not to reveal the state he is in.

"I will speak with him," he says to the doctor.

She eyes him. "24 hours," she says.

He does not acknowledge this. He thinks they both know it will not come to that, though his idea differs greatly from hers. He judges, from the time they have allotted and his own weakness, that he has perhaps a day and a half, total, to wait them out. Doable, if he is careful and intelligent about it.

He can manage.

He walks over to Wei Wuxian, careful to keep two arm's lengths between them. This close is already too close: a fine, constant tremor has made a home in all of his tightly-locked muscles. He feels the moment his fever begins to rise further. The sides of his throat hurt, the interiors of his ears. He wonders if his hearing will go first, or his eyes.

"Allow me to explain," he says to him.

"Of course," Wei Wuxian answers.

He sounds strange. Cold, still. Lan Wangji wants to look at him, and almost slips, but manages to stop himself. He follows him up the hill, past the wards, through the resentment that clings to them both, now. He keeps his careful distance, following behind.

"What happened?" Wei Wuxian asks, as they walk.

"A curse," Lan Wangji says carefully. "Origin unknown. The rebound has been cast. I did not wish to burden you with this, but they are...they will not listen to reason. Wei Ying, if you would but help me, I would deal with this on my own."

"Oh?"

"I...wish to seek justice. They will not allow it. But you understand. If there is another path off the mountain, if you would show me the way past them, I could—"

Wei Wuxian stops dead, and Lan Wangji, with his eyes in the ground, runs into him.

For a blazing, agonizing moment, he is touching Wei Wuxian, clinging to him, every element in his body sighing and crying out at once in satisfaction, in the torturous need for more.

He tears himself away, stumbling back, almost falling. Wei Wuxian reaches out as if to catch him, but falters.

"Lan Zhan, you can hardly stand," he says, alarmed, "and you want to go and fight someone?"

Lan Wangji draws himself up taller again, trying hard to stop his shaking. He cannot look at him. He cannot look. He is already dying, now, just from not looking. "It is my right."

"...It is..." Wei Wuxian says at length, watching him closely. "And it still will be once you're well again. Your doctors really couldn't tell what type of curse it is?"

Lan Wangji says nothing, trying to think past the way every inch of his skin feels as if it is burning clean off. The pain of it screams through him, worse than anything he has ever felt. Wei Wuxian is still speaking, but it is hard to make sense of it. When Wei Wuxian begins walking again, slowly, it is all he can do to both follow and stay away from him. This, here, now, is worse than death. If it lasts, he certainly will not be sane when the end finally comes. He lets go of any thoughts of a dignified death.

Fortunately, by the time they reach the cool dark of the cave Wei Wuxian calls home, the pain has subsided to a distant roar. Unfortunately, he hoped never to reach this point. He tries his only play again, unable to think of any new tactic.

"Please show me the way off the mountain," he says without preamble.

Wei Wuxian is quiet for a beat. "You really don't want my help that much?"

Lan Wangji is so confused by this question, and then struck by the irony of it, that he almost begins to laugh. A shivery, jittery feeling fills his chest, and he leans against the nearest solid surface. He wishes he were wearing a loose outer layer over his blue travel robes, the better to hide his shaking. He does not know how to respond.

"You haven't so much as looked at me once since you got here," Wei Wuxian goes on, digging through strange pots and objects on a table, "so I get it. But you'll have to forgive me if I disregard your objection to the kind of work I do, when it comes to your life."

"My life, my life," Lan Wangji mocks, accidentally out loud. Why is everyone suddenly so obsessed with his life? He was ready to give it freely in the war, but chance let him keep it. What difference does giving it now in the name of keeping himself clean of shame make? Why will nobody allow him this choice?

"What shame?" Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji buckles at the realization that he has said all of this out loud. He goes to the floor, to his knees.

"Nothing," he says. "The shame of not having warded off such a simple attack."

"Lan Zhan...you want to die because you didn't defend against a curse you didn't know was coming?"

Lan Wangji lapses into silence. He has said too much already. He does not know how to get out of this. He can only...he can only stay quiet. Refuse to speak or move.

"Lan Zhan...I feel like I'm missing something here. I only want to help.”

Lan Wangji grits his teeth and stares hard at the floor in front of him. He has rarely ever felt so trapped, so utterly helpless. The extended, full-body pain is dulling his mind by the moment. The hems of Wei Wuxian's robes come into view, and it takes everything in him not to fall forward into him, to plead, to beg. His breath is hitching at random intervals now, his heart tripping as it prepares to fail entirely.

There is a soft gust of air, and an odd prickling sensation across his face.

"Now let's see—oh," Wei Wuxian says. "I...oh."

Lan Wangji wilts at his stilted, awkward tone. He knows now, surely. Can see him truly.

"So that's why you want to leave, and why they won't let you. They want me to find another way to break it, to stop you from...ah."

Lan Wangji sorts through the words, trying to comprehend them.

"Sorry," Wei Wuxian goes on. "I...it's unbreakable, otherwise. A very old, airtight spell. You...will Gusu Lan start a war with me if I do just let you go...ah, handle this the old-fashioned way?"

Comprehension dawns. And with it, a way out.

Lan Wangji rushes to agree. "They—" He cuts off. Will they? If they think Wei Wuxian has willingly let him die, rather than...

He takes a breath. Another. Forces his mind past the endless litany of pleas for relief.

"Show me the way " he says, his words breathless and short, "and then tell Lan-daifu what you have done. And why. But give me time to. Get away. And you will be safe."

Wei Wuxian pauses. "How...ah. How far—how much time?"

Lan Wangji tries hard to come up with an answer for that. His progress will be slow. But he need only find a place to hide.

"Half a day," he hazards.

Wei Wuxian seems to vacillate. "Are you sure you can make it on your own?"

Lan Wangji wants to rage. To weep. To curse himself to the heavens for being so depraved toward so endlessly kind a man. His heart hurts, even as his body strains toward him.

This lie may be the worst he will ever tell.

"I will be fine,” he says.

"Alright." Wei Wuxian sounds unconvinced. "I trust you."

Lan Wangji nearly convulses, holding back a sob. How will he ever be forgiven?

He cannot think of it. Only this, only what comes next. Only keeping Wei Wuxian safe from this mess.

"Lan Zhan?"

"Mn," he manages.

"Would you look at me, now? I haven't...used any demonic cultivation on you. It's safe, I promise I won't. I just. Can't we say goodbye properly?"

Lan Wangji has not moved from the floor. He does not move. He should try. A parting gift. Just one look.

But if he is going to leave. If he is going to succeed. He cannot.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says again, frustrated now.

Lan Wangji does not look. He is so close to freedom from the horrible pull, from the way his very veins are trying to tear themselves free to wrap around Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian steps forward, and Lan Wangji's breath leaves him all at once. Suddenly, there are fingers beneath his jaw, kind but firm, tilting his chin up. He has no choice but to look.

(Inspired by this art.)

Wei Wuxian is there. Tall and strong and perfect, tiredness mixed with something bittersweet on his lovely face. Lan Wangji's entire being melts toward him, a deep, sharp tug from inside his bones, a mindless, helpless, straining need that pushes a low, wanting sound from his throat.

Wei Wuxian snatches his hand away and backs up half a step, staring at him.

"Sorry," he says, blank. Confused. "I thought it was...I didn't realize...sorry."

Lan Wangji, now that he has looked, cannot look away. He has overbalanced without Wei Wuxian's support, fallen forward onto his hands, but he cannot stop looking at him. He will look at him, and keep looking; he prays Wei Wuxian is the last thing he sees before he dies.

The most shameful part of this is that none of it is the curse twisting his thoughts. None of this is. All the curse is doing is making the way he always feels impossible to ignore.

"Wei Ying," his voice implores. He does not mean it to.

Wei Wuxian takes another step back and looks down at the bowl of powder in his hand, confused. "I was certain it was that curse," he says to himself. "If I was wrong, then maybe I could break it..."

Lan Wangji tries to scrape his composure back together. He tries. He tries. His fingers scrape on the rough stone floor. He does not reach out for him. That is something.

Wei Wuxian looks at him again, then hastily away. Lan Wangji does not ever want to know what it is he sees.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, as Lan Wangji shakes, and shakes. "Where...where were you trying to go? I thought you...I thought you were, ah, thinking of a certain someone."

Lan Wangji's arms are weak. They are going to give out. He cannot answer him.

"I'm confused, and I...may have made a mistake," Wei Wuxian goes on, still backing away slowly, "but I just want to help. Can you tell me what was happening before, and what's happening now?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head, and the motion shatters his fragile balance. He falls, and curls tightly around himself in the dirt.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian says, suddenly close.

Lan Wangji sees his hand reach out, then pause, and he can't stop himself from taking hold of it, just to be touching him. His body screams for it, and he gasps raggedly at the contact.

Wei Wuxian wrenches his arm free. Lan Wangji wishes he were dead.

"Fuck," Wei Wuxian mutters to himself. "I...I'm sorry. I made this so much worse, I..."

"No," Lan Wangji rasps. He cannot hear Wei Wuxian berate himself thus. His dignity has now died, and he himself will soon follow. This is all that matters. "Not your fault."

Wei Wuxian huffs, crouching beside him. "It is...at least partially my fault, at this point, I'm pretty sure. You wouldn't be...reacting. Like this. If it weren't. Is...can I...do a few more tests? To check what I got wrong, and maybe—"

"You were not wrong."

He does not mean to say it.

His need to reassure has overridden his sense, and his mind is too slow now to piece together what it will mean before it leaves his mouth. The regret once it does is instantaneous. He tries to curl himself yet smaller in the dirt.

Wei Wuxian is silent. Lan Wangji cannot stop making small, pitiful, pained sounds in the back of his throat. Everything hurts. Everything.

"I don't understand," Wei Wuxian says quietly.

Lan Wangji lies shivering on the floor, arms locked around himself to prevent any more untoward behavior. He cannot take it back. He cannot try to explain. There is nothing he could say, regardless.

"Lan Zhan...but you..."

He can hear Wei Wuxian thinking, but it only registers in the far back of his mind. The rest of his consciousness is taken up by pain, and by ruthless restraint.

"You wanted to leave to get away from me," Wei Wuxian says, finally.

Lan Wangji does not answer. He wishes he had his sword. He would use it now to end this.

Wei Wuxian begins to back away again, and Lan Wangji’s body moves without his permission. He grips the skirt of Wei Wuxian’s robes in his fist and drags himself closer, pressing his cheek to Wei Wuxian's knee.

Shameful. Wanton. The small part of himself that is still aware berates the action. But he cannot let go. He cannot move away. The only part of him that is not howling with pain is the side of his face pressed to coarse fabric.

"Lan Zhan, you…," Wei Wuxian is trying to gently pry Lan Wangji's fingers from his hem. "You wanted to leave, remember? You don't want...you don't."

"Want," Lan Wangji croaks, pressing closer. "Wanted to spare you."

"Ah, Lan Zhan...I...I'm still not sure it's that specific curse, it could...there could be other..."

"It is," Lan Wangji says, half-crawling up Wei Wuxian's leg. He wants to stop himself. It is impossible.

"Lan Zhan...you...you shouldn't—"

"Stop me," Lan Wangji pleads, nuzzling against Wei Wuxian's thigh, "Wei Ying, I can't...please. Stop me."

There is a long near-silence filled with harsh breaths, in which Lan Wangji is almost certain he imagines the light touch of fingers brushing his mussed hair back from his forehead. Then Wei Wuxian speaks.

"No," he says. "You'll die, if I do. Lan Zhan. I won't let that happen."

He touches Lan Wangji's face. Lan Wangji whimpers into him.

He knows this will break the fragile repairs they have made to their friendship. He will likely never see him again, at least not on good terms. The thought makes him feel ill. He should protest. Refuse. Flee. He can do exactly none of these things. He reaches for Wei Wuxian's wrist, to hold his hand to his face, but Wei Wuxian flinches away.

"You can't...Lan Zhan. I'm going to help you," he says, "but you have to...you can't...you can't touch me."

Lan Wangji feels another tight clench of shame. He nods against his leg. He understands: he knows any small part of this is too much to ask, let alone bearing his unwelcome, curse-fevered grasping.

"Okay," says Wei Wuxian. He slides his fingers beneath Lan Wangji’s chin again, tipping his face up.

He looks so uncertain. So beautiful in the dim light. Lan Wangji wants to weep with it.

"Lan Zhan, I know it doesn't count for much like this, but you have to tell me. You have to tell me what you need."

Lan Wangji turns his head, pressing his face between Wei Wuxian's thigh and stomach, trying to reach into him, to feel more of him, to stop hurting just enough to think. It does not work.

"You," he breathes, into the scent of earth, and stringent soap, and Wei Wuxian.

A harsh, uneven breath ghosts across his hair, and Wei Wuxian's hands grip his shoulders. He thinks he is about to be pushed away again, but instead Wei Wuxian pulls him up, pulls him close, folds him into his embrace.

Lan Wangji sobs into his shoulder, trying at once to get closer and to hold himself apart, instinct demanding, even now, that he try to conceal his obvious, disgraceful hardness. His muscles quake under the strain of doing both and neither, and Wei Wuxian smooths one hand down his back, pressing him close, pressing them flush. Lan Wangji chokes back a shocked sound.

"Shh," Wei Wuxian soothes. "It's alright."

It is not alright. It is the end of the thing Lan Wangji holds most dear.

But he does not have it in him to argue. He is shifting against him, his overheated body begging for touch, indeed for ravishment. He is mindless with it. The pain is not subsiding but slipping sideways into something more, something different, something necessary.

He is on his knees on hard stone, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this: sweetly, hazily, with and without hope. But never like this. Never sick with remorse, with need, dying and demanding and defiling. His deepest desire twisted into a nightmare.

He whimpers again, his lips finding the soft coolness of Wei Wuxian's throat. Wei Wuxian jerks away again, and Lan Wangji fists his hands tighter at his sides, trying, trying not to overstep again.

"I—sorry," he gasps out. He will never be able to apologize enough. But he will try.

"Don't apologize," says Wei Wuxian. "I—"

He cuts himself off. Lan Wangji does not have enough sense to wonder why. In the same moment, one of his thighs gives under the strain, and he falls against him heavily. They tip over, to the floor, and he reaches out on instinct to brace them both. When he is again conscious of himself, Wei Wuxian is lying on top of him, breathing hard, both of Lan Wangji's wrists pinned to the floor in one hand. Lan Wangji arches against him inadvertently, and turns his face into his own bicep.

"Sorry, I...so sorry," he pants, his hips flexing, searching for friction. "I have...no control...”

"I know," Wei Wuxian says, "I know, I shouldn't have..." he swallows hard. "I'm going to keep you like this. Can I?"

Lan Wangji nods frantically, his eyes shut tight. He does not care. Anything that he can do to make this any less invasive for Wei Wuxian, he will do.

Wei Wuxian pulls away then, his hold still firm on Lan Wangji's wrists. Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stop moving, to stop searching for touch, to stop making such a disgusting spectacle of himself, but to no avail. What feels like centuries later, he hears the telltale sounds of talisman activation. He is too far gone in his pain to look up, to see what they are. He simply lies there, pinned and writhing, his breath catching in his throat. The sounds it makes are small, pitiful, desperate.

Just like him.

Eventually, Wei Wuxian leans back over him, a considering look in his eye. His hand hovers at Lan Wangjis belt.

"I—should I..."

"Yes," pleads Lan Wangji.

He needs Wei Wuxian's skin on his skin. He does not know how discerning the curse is about what happens now, but it feels as if he will die without it. Wei Wuxian takes what looks like a fortifying breath and unties the belt. Lan Wangji, unable to help, instead hinders the process with his ceaseless movement. But Wei Wuxian manages it with deft hands, and immediately unties each layer of robes in quick succession until Lan Wangji’s chest and stomach are bare.

The cool air of the cave does not soothe his burning. It burns like ice instead. Lan Wangji shivers, an ugly whine escaping him.

"What," Wei Wuxian asks, pausing, "what is it?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head. He will bear it. He will not make demands.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, "you need to talk to me, I...I don't want to make this even worse, or, or draw it out longer."

Something small and dark crumples in Lan Wangji's chest. He does not want that either. He will need to speak. To ask.

"Hurts," he says, rough and thick.

"Where?"

"...Not...not touching me."

Wei Wuxian makes a distressed noise and lays both his palms flat over Lan Wangji's ribs. Lan Wangji groans, pressing up into them.

"Please," he whispers, helpless. "Please."

"Oh, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian murmurs, something sad like regret. He leans closer and slides one hand down. Lan Wangji shudders under him. "I'm just going to..."

Lan Wangji nods again, holding his breath to stop the whines from escaping the back of his throat.

Wei Wuxian unties Lan Wangji's trousers and slips his hand inside. Clever fingers wrap hesitantly around him, and he bucks up into them with an obscene moan. It is minor relief from the most consuming pain he has ever felt, and it is simultaneously the most intense pleasure he has ever experienced. All of these sensations, coexisting in his fallible human body, feel likely to rip him apart.

"Wei Ying," he moans again, when Wei Wuxian moves his hand.

He gasps for air, his body twisting into it, his whole being searching for Wei Wuxian. He makes another piteous sound, the torment of it all overwhelming. Wei Wuxian leans down against him then, his own robes open, pressing them skin to skin.

Lan Wangji sobs. It is something. It is something. The pain abates somewhat, and he sighs, turning toward him, his mouth brushing Wei Wuxian's hair. He has the wherewithal now to fight the urge to kiss his head properly, his face, anything he can reach. He holds himself still beneath him instead. And Wei Wuxian touches him, and touches him. The incomprehensible pleasure builds, and builds, until Lan Wangji cannot breathe. But it does not break.

Something almost like soft lips brushes his throat.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says into his ear, "this, is this...will this be enough?"

The pleasure is just another kind of pain, now. Lan Wangji shakes his head as sweat rolls off of him, as he tries and fails to get enough air to speak.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. "What, then?"

Lan Wangji's body knows what it needs. But he does not want to tell.

"Come on, Lan Zhan, after all this? Don't get shy on me now."

He misses the joking tone he is aiming for, but the pure, unmistakable Wei Wuxian-ness of the tease sends a surge of genuine desire through Lan Wangji. He wraps his legs around Wei Wuxian's hips and pulls him down. Wei Wuxian breathes in sharply.

"You just...you want...but only..."

"Please," says Lan Wangji, barely voiced. "In—" he cannot say it. "Please."

"Ah," Wei Wuxian whispers, into his skin. "If—are you sure?"

Lan Wangji whines. He wishes he were not so very sure. He wishes he were not asking Wei Wuxian to do something so intimate, so extreme. He wishes Wei Wuxian had let him die before it ever came to this.

"Alright Lan Zhan, just hold—hold on," he says, and is gone.

Lan Wangji clamps his mouth shut on a scream as the agony slams back into him, worse even than before.

Not soon enough, Wei Wuxian returns to divest him of his boots, socks and trousers. Lan Wangji fights him without meaning to, trying to keep his knees curled up to his chest, trying to minimize the hurt. Wei Wuxian is briskly patient, handling him with aching care he does not deserve.

And then he is upon him, chest and stomach, hips and thighs, smooth and hard and exquisite. Lan Wangji almost forgets the pain in the rush of gratitude, of solace. Their robes trail off them both, gathering dust as they move together in halting fits and starts.

"Don't let me hurt you, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian grits out, a strong hand lifting one of Lan Wangji's thighs by the back of the knee.

It is nonsense. He could not hurt Lan Wangji any more than this. And Lan Wangji could not stop him now if he did.

But the kindness. Even in this. Tears prick at Lan Wangji's eyes. He will miss him. He will miss all of Wei Wuxian with all of himself. He will never stop missing him. He will never move past this regret as long as he lives. How could he? Every breath he draws will be by the grace of Wei Wuxian.

Suddenly there is slick pressure against him, against his most private of places, and he gasps, loud and wretched. Wei Wuxian exhales, uneven and deep, and pushes in, in, in. Slowly. So slowly. Lan Wangji bites down hard on his lip to keep from begging for it. His arms are pinned, as are his hips, Wei Wuxian holding him steady, holding him still. Lan Wangji loses all sense. There is only the weight of Wei Wuxian, the full, stinging press of him, the searing pain, the devastating euphoria of being this close, and yet so very far in every way that counts.

Ages pass before Wei Wuxian is fully seated inside him. By then Lan Wangji's breaths are wet and shallow; scraping, desolate things. He does not know any longer what hurts and what feels good. It is all one and the same. He only knows he needs more, in some primal, wordless way.

He asks with the arch of his back, the squeeze of his thighs. He tries, somehow, to keep quiet, but fails more often than not.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says tightly, "try to relax, I'm going to move. Tell me if it...if it's right."

Lan Wangji manages a loose nod, though he barely understands.

And Wei Wuxian moves. He rolls his hips against him, shifting inside of him, and Lan Wangji groans. Each deep, short thrust pushes air from his lungs, and he lacks the strength to catch it again. It is beyond pleasure. It is ecstatic. To have Wei Wuxian around him, inside him, panting above him. A deep, villainous part of him wants it never to end. The rest of him howls for release.

He is dripping now, steadily, onto his own stomach. He can feel it pooling on his belly, unpleasantly cool. He whimpers between desperate, panting breaths, beyond words.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, breath shivering across Lan Wangji's collarbone, "I can't...can't keep this up, you feel too—" his breath catches, and he pauses. "I'm going to finish. You need to come."

Dimly, distantly, the idea that Wei Wuxian should derive pleasure from this, no matter how perfunctory, gives Lan Wangji a perverse sort of satisfaction. It snuffs out like a candle at the nebulous thought that perhaps in another world, they could have had this for real.

In this world, the fact remains that this has gone on far too long. But Lan Wangji can do nothing about it. He meets Wei Wuxian's thrusts, leans into the pleasure, tries to gain the momentum to go over the edge. He should be able to. It should be easy. He has been so hard for so long, has been given more now than in his absolute wildest and wettest of dreams, and yet he hovers, scant inches away.

Wei Wuxian loses patience, his head dropping to Lan Wangji's shoulder. He grunts softly and fists Lan Wangji's wet cock, quick and merciless. Lan Wangji cries out, shuddering violently with the extended, expansive stimulation, worked both inside and out, helplessly, utterly unmade by Wei Wuxian's touch.

And still he does not crest. He is sobbing steadily now, ugly and jagged, and Wei Wuxian kisses his shoulder, his throat, his cheek.

"Were we wrong?" He asks, breathless. "Lan Zhan please, tell—show me, I...I can't...you...I can't lose you. Lan Zhan?"

Exhausted, Lan Wangji turns his tearstained face toward him, blindly seeking. Perhaps they were all wrong. Perhaps he will die now, like this. And perhaps it is selfish of him, but having heard those words, he finds his regret to be less than it should be. Everything, everything hurts. But Wei Wuxian will miss him, too. Of course he will. They are zhiji. This, miraculously, will not erase that. It is more than he deserves. Wei Wuxian has always been more than he deserves.

Lan Wangji heaves, and writhes, and cries.

Wei Wuxian kisses him. Soft, gloriously cool lips on his.

An odd, fleeting, hollow feeling.

The dam breaks. The pain goes suddenly quiet. Roaring to fullness in its absence is the killing swell of such a long-delayed climax. It is possible that he calls Wei Wuxian's name. It is impossible to know.

The world, again, goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to gray light and distant birdsong. A sharp edge is digging into his shoulder. He shifts, then goes still at the deep ache in his entire body.

He remembers.

"Hanguang-jun should drink this," says a brisk voice to his right.

Wen Qing sits there, watching him. His heart skips a beat and he looks down. But he is fully clothed once more.

Her smile is wry as she holds a cup out to him. Laboriously, he sits up to take it. It is bitter, but familiar. A restorative. He thanks her formally.

She shakes her head. "No need.” She turns to go.

"Wen-guniang," Lan Wangji says. She pauses. "How long has it been gone?"

She turns to stare at him. He knows she knows what he means.

"How? When?"

She looks away. "You'll have to ask him."

The pang of loss he felt upon waking with Wei Wuxian gone speaks for him. "Will he let me?"

He lies on the slab of rock that serves as Wei Wuxian's bed for too long. It is difficult to tell the passage of time in the Burial Mounds, but it seems slightly brighter than it had...before. He reasons that it could well be the next morning. He wonders if Wei Wuxian slept beside him, then tosses the thought away as gross indulgence. He wonders instead, as he has many times since his last visit, if Wei Wuxian sleeps at all.

First, his excuse to tarry is meditation. He works at it, simultaneously restoring his drained core and healing himself, until the discomfort fades from his every movement to just a specific few.

Once that is done, he has no reason to be idle. But the voice in his head, Wei Wuxian's blisteringly cold one that had called him his proper name all those months ago, keeps him in place. He hears it saying all manner of things in response to seeing him now.

"What more could you possibly want of me?" Wei Wuxian sneers in his mind. And he would be right to do so.

But Lan Wangji does not intend to ask anything of him ever again.

And there is the other thing. The fact that his robes should be uncomfortable, filthy, but they have been cleaned, dried, and arranged back onto his body properly. Comfortably. Almost as if—

He dares not imagine. But at the very least it does not speak of utter contempt.

So he rises. He follows the path Wen Qing told him of. And he does something foolish. He hopes.

After no short while of walking, he comes to a slightly darker, more silent corner of deadened forest. He rounds a bend and sees Wei Wuxian crouched a little ways off, and then hears high, lilting notes as if through water. The energies are strange here, and Wei Wuxian is speaking to with them in their own language.

Lan Wangji approaches until he sees Wei Wuxian go still. He says nothing. Wei Wuxian drops his flute from his lips.

"Are you well?" He asks without rising or turning.

"I am."

Wei Wuxian nods. "Your people are waiting for you."

It is a dismissal. Lan Wangji recognizes this. But he will impose just a little bit longer.

"Your core," he says. Wei Wuxian stands abruptly, still facing away, gripping Chenqing. "Can it be replaced?"

Wei Wuxian whirls to face him, anger and fear warring with the questions on his face.

Lan Wangji has other questions, too. But they do not matter. He is intelligent enough to piece together the cold, empty space where Wei Wuxian's core should be, the tired guilt on Wen Qing's face, and...

"Your scar," he says, dropping his gaze to the scorched earth.

He should not know of it. But he does, now, and he also owes a greater debt than he can ever repay. Wei Wuxian does not respond. How dearly Lan Wangji wants to see his expression. But he will not infringe on any more of his privacy.

The wind howls. He waits.

"You won't tell anybody," Wei Wuxian says uncertainly.

Lan Wangji stiffens. "I will not."

"Nobody told you?"

"Nobody.”

Wei Wuxian pauses, momentarily satisfied.

"You're not going to ask how? Or when?"

Lan Wangji would like to. He would like to know everything of Wei Wuxian, even his sorrow, his pain. But he is not entitled to those things. There is only one point that matters.

"Can it be replaced? Can the procedure be reversed?"

Wei Wuxian sighs. Lan Wangji can tell he does not wish to speak of this.

"So single-minded, Lan Zhan," he scolds, then shakes his head. "The chance of success would be small; the chance of finding a donor, much smaller."

But this is all Lan Wangji hoped to hear. It is enough. He goes to his knees, arms circled in front of his chest.

"Allow me," he says.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian darts forward, trying to pull Lan Wangji up from the ground. Eventually he gives up and goes to his knees in front of him, pushing at his arms. "Lan Zhan, stop this," he says, panicked. "Don't be stupid, stop—Lan Zhan, you can't be serious."

"Please allow me," Lan Wangji repeats, eyes downcast.

"Stop this!" Wei Wuxian shouts. "It can't be done, and I wouldn't take it from you anyway!"

Lan Wangji flinches bodily. He had not considered...but yes. Everything in him is sullied. He bends at the waist, bowing further.

"Apologies for the offense," he says, then snaps his mouth shut. His voice is too obviously strained.

"Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian says, still alarmed.

Lan Wangji needs to leave. He has already overstayed. But he...he has not tried hard enough.

"This debt is too great to repay in one lifetime," he says. "Please inform this one of what he may do to begin."

Wei Wuxian sags, dragging one of Lan Wangji's wrists with him. "Lan Zhan, there is no debt between us."

Lan Wangji only just stops himself from glancing up. He does not understand.

"I owe you my life and more," he says. "You took great pains to save me, even as the situation proved me unworthy of it. I owe—"

"You owe me nothing," Wei Wuxian insists, shaking Lan Wangji's arm. "There were no great pains. Nobody is unworthy. Well...you aren't."

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to protest, but Wei Wuxian speaks over him.

"People have...desires, Lan Zhan. There's nothing unworthy about it."

"But you—"

"Stop," he says. He sounds so, so tired. "If you hadn't been...dying. If we—" He stops. "Just keep my secret," he says, and lets go of his wrist. "And live well."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes. The thought of going back to his home, his life, after this, had not yet occurred to him. It sinks him from his knees to the ground. How can he do this? How can he leave him this way?

"Wei Ying," he pleads. "I must...I must do something. I cannot...I..."

"Why, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asks, not unkindly. "You have responsibilities. People to protect, just like me. Live well, and count things even between us. Why not?"

Lan Wangji’s chest caves in. He does not make the sound clawing up his throat.

"You...truly, you must know why," he says. "After... you must know. I would not leave you in need. I could not."

"Ah, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says sadly. He shuffles forward. Lan Wangji startles at the feel of fingertips on his cheek. "You're too good. But all I need is," he huffs, "political asylum for me and 40 friends? It's not your burden."

Suddenly yet slowly, like the first burst of sunrise, an idea reveals itself on the horizon of Lan Wangji’s mind. It is unorthodox. And likely unwelcome. But it is all he has.

"My uncle made a suggestion," he says. "When my affliction became known. It is true that he did not know what it would mean, but I would hold him to it. If it is not...hateful, to you."

"I don't know what you mean," Wei Wuxian says warily.

Lan Wangji steels himself. "You are perceived as the head of a sect. A proper alliance could protect your people, and Gusu Lan is in need of hands for rebuilding. The person who cast this curse upon me has given the perfect excuse, and made themselves scapegoat. If you would...I would not ask anything of you, if you agreed. It would be a marriage in name only, as you wish it."

Wei Wuxian's silence turns to spluttering. "M—Lan Zh—marriage?? What—how—"

"If the idea is odious, I will not mention it again. But as I said. My uncle suggested it. And under the circumstances, he cannot refuse."

"Your—he—Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, look at me. Look at me, please."

Lan Wangji looks at him. His eyes are wide. Disbelieving. Concerned.

"Your uncle would qi deviate if you even hinted at such a thing," he says. "Gusu Lan is in a precarious enough position, you don't need...I have nothing to offer in return." He pats his lower stomach, empty of spiritual energy, emphatically. “Nothing. Don't be ridiculous."

"It is not ridiculous," Lan Wangji argues, certain now that he is right. "You can offer more protection for us, and we can offer legitimacy. The person who cast this curse can be seen to have forced our hands. Has—has forced our hands."

He stops himself. He should not push this. Wei Wuxian is looking at him as if he does not know him.

"You don't want to marry me, Lan Zhan."

This gives Lan Wangji pause. It is a confusing objection, to say the least. He stares, trying to comprehend. He clears his throat. Takes a breath.

"If you are under the impression..." he stops. Drops his eyes once more. "...that the...impetus of the curse. Is the whole of the way I—”

"Demonic cultivation," Wei Wuxian interrupts. "It would be unhealthy. For you. And your elders! They wouldn't let me, not if I were...attached to your sect. To you.”

A fair concern, and one Lan Wangji has been turning over in his own mind as well. "Is this your only objection?"

Wei Wuxian casts about. "Ah..."

Lan Wangji takes one last plunge. "The elders can be reasoned with, compromises can be made. I am not concerned for my health: being near you could never be harmful to me." He hears himself, then, and amends, "Though you need not. Be near me. That is not a condition."

"You would defend this?" Wei Wuxian asks, bemused.

"Defend what?"

"My cultivation path. You..."

Lan Wangji resists a sigh. "I understand the reason, now. And I believe...if you did not object. We could work toward making it safe, without stripping you of what your hard work has created."

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says. He reaches out, then stops.

Lan Wangji stares at his hand, hovering between them. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his eyes, in his tongue.

"Wei Ying."

"You would let me, though?"

His tone is gently mocking. His head is cocked to the side, the edge of a smile playing across his lips. It knocks the breath from Lan Wangji's chest.

"Let you?" He asks, dazed.

"Be near you."

Lan Wangji's heart stops. It is a moment before he can respond.

"I would. Always."

Wei Wuxian takes his hand, and sighs. "You don't owe me this," he says again.

"I do," Lan Wangji counters, off-kilter. "I owe you. And I want to. I would want to, even if—"

He loosens his tight grip on Wei Wuxian's hand. He is saying too much, taking too much, being too much. He settles himself. Finds the words that matter.

"It would be a thing happily given, with no strings attached, should you wish it."

Wei Wuxian laughs strangely. "Lan Zhan, you really..." He shakes his head. "I'd marry you in an instant, you know," says.

Lan Wangji's neck hurts from the speed with which he looks up at him. Hope, warm and liquid, blooms through his limbs.

"But I can't make this decision on my own," Wei Wuxian goes on. "It's not just my life. We have to talk it over with everyone."

"Yes," Lan Wangji says, surprised, and eager now that he sees the possibility of success. Of doing something of use.

"Alright," says Wei Wuxian, a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. "I can't promise...but it...it could work."

"It will," Lan Wangji says, certain that the strength of his conviction alone will carry them through if need be.

He feels strange and dreamlike, confused but heartened by the turn in this conversation. That Wei Wuxian can stand the sight of him, let alone wish to ally with him personally, seems too wonderful to be true. Another Wei Wuxian hallmark.

"But Lan Zhan, no more talk of strings," Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Wangji sobers and nods. It is unseemly. Of course their understanding must be a tacit one, now.

But his hand is suddenly in both of Wei Wuxian's.

"You need to stop feeling guilty," Wei Wuxian says, looking down at it. "If I were your husband...if I were. We could try all that again, but without the impending doom. We could try it again any way we like, any time—all the time—and we'd—"

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji interrupts, strangled. His heart is in his throat. He cannot comprehend what he is hearing. His ears, his face, are on fire.

Wei Wuxian smiles down at their hands, one part shy, one part mischief. "I think we could get really good at it, if we had the chance, don't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him. "You..."

"Mn," says Wei Wuxian, meeting his eyes.

He shines so bright, even without any core to speak of. He takes Lan Wangji's breath away.

"I take it back," Wei Wuxian says, his voice suddenly urgent. "I like strings. Mine is that if this happens, I want to be your real husband. In name, in practice, in bed, and in your heart. Because you would be, in mine."

Lan Wangji's voice sticks in his throat. He feels...he feels unreal. He does not know what to do, to say. Perhaps they never broke the curse at all and he has simply gone mad. But Wei Wuxian's fingers stroking his palm, the root-knotted dirt beneath his shins, are real. He sways, unbalanced.

Wei Wuxian reaches out. Catches him. Folds him into his arms for a second time. Lan Wangji's breath shudders out of him.

He is on his knees, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this many ways. But never has it been so real, so full of hope. He wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian in turn, buries his face in his shoulder.

Wei Wuxian huffs. "Jiang Cheng is going to be so angry."

Lan Wangji comes back down to earth. It is true he had not thought of this. He makes to pull away. "How should—"

Wei Wuxian clutches him tighter. "I don't care," he says, "I don't care, we can manage him." He pauses, then speaks more softly. "Maybe...I could see shijie's wedding after all. Or—no. It's too soon, I—"

"Yes," says Lan Wangji. "You will. We will go together."

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and lets it out into Lan Wangji's hair.

"Together," he says.

It takes several serious, and at times uncomfortable, discussions, but in the end, Gusu Lan’s Second Jade is indeed thoroughly removed from the marriage pool of the great sects. The curse caster is found and punished. And everybody else lives happily ever after.

The end.

-----

(Thank you for coming on this wildly self-indulgent journey, I hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like to read some actually nicely-polished, fleshed-out fics by me—including another sex-cursed LWJ—check out my AO3.)

#my fic #mdzsnet #the untamed fanfic #theuntameddaily #bottom lan wangji #that tag just...has to go there bc i know people actually find things through it #on tumblr??? you ask #yes my friends evidently #anyway here's...this #angst that morphs suddenly into the MOST indulgent of fix-its #does it have a consistent tone??? is it Good??? who knows. unimportant #is it not enough to simply tweet 9 thousand words in 3 days and then yeet it at your tumblr followers too #this isn't FOR a literary award....it's for melodrmatic wangxian Feels and nothing else #i hope you enjoy it!!!! <3

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