#but also i have larger feelings about the shifting mound as a whole like. not listening to you until the very end

[tinygameroom]

I just got the Wounded Wild and I. Am inconsolable. I'm so fucking sorry love of my life I'm so sorry!! Fuck!!

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 21, part one

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Reunions

All together in The Unclean Realm, The Yunmeng trio find a spot inside where they can sit down and have a proper Yanli-Wuxian reunion, while Jiang Cheng sits across the table watching them. 

For years Jiang Cheng has been rejecting Wei Wuxian's free and easy affection; now Yanli might be the only person Wei Wuxian offers to hug until Wen Yuan comes into his life.

Jiang Cheng is really going through it. He'll do nearly anything for Yanli--except, uh, stay in the goddamn inn with her when she's sick and the Wens are hunting them--and what makes her happiest is Wei Wuxian. He's brought them together, and so he's happy, even though he's excluded from their dynamic. This absolutely fucking kills me.

Here Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian are sweetly pledging to always keep the trio together and put each other first. Neither of them will keep this promise. 

Wei Wuxian will leave first, to take the Wens to the Burial Mounds. Jiang Yanli will leave second, staying in Lanling at Jin Zixuan's request instead of accompanying Jiang Cheng to retrieve Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng will be the last to let go.

(more after the cut)

Nie Huaisang comes literally running in, filled with joy at Wei Wuxian's return. When he goes to pat his shoulder Wei Wuxian flinches away.

I feel like something important is happening in this rapid sequence of glances and expressions between Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang. NHS is startled, and WWX realizes he's shown something about himself that he didn't want to show. He glances at Jiang Cheng and back at NHS before laughing and covering his slip with a squeeze of NHS’s hand.

NHS switches from shocked to cheerful just as quickly, helping with the coverup. It’s like they have a quick mutual agreement, rooted in their history of shared shenanigans, to not point out that something is wrong.

Meanwhile, Lan Wangji is wandering around the grounds, having feelings. At this point it's presumably been at least a couple of weeks since their breakup fight. 

He sees Wei Wuxian sitting contemplating his flute, and as he sees him he goes from sort of neutrally apprehensive to full on angry judging, complete with sword clenching. 

Part of this may be that his feelings are hurt over their fight, but the larger issue is his distress over Wei Wuxian's apparent heretical cultivation.  That, at any rate, is what's on his mind when he's selecting music, later in the episode, and when he's selecting flashbacks. 

Party Time

Later, the Nies host an excruciating party to celebrate Wei Wuxian's slaughter of Wen Chao return. Jiang Yanli is sharing a table with Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng is sharing a table with his crippling social anxiety. 

Everyone starts grilling Wei Wuxian about his sword, because that's suddenly all anybody cares about even though Jiang Yanli, Nie Huaisang, Meng Yao, and probably plenty of other people don't carry swords most of the time.

Wei Wuxian says "after the Wens caught me, Wen Zhuliu crushed my core, so I can't use my sword any more, too bad so sad, can we change the subject?" And everyone is very understanding and admires his resiliency. HA HA HA HA HA. Of course he doesn't opt for that simple lie, but instead mopes audibly without saying anything.

Nie Huasiang tries to change the subject by asking how he killed Wen Chao. Apparently "I had a sexy ghost mostly flay him" isn't good party chat, though, so neither Wei Wuxian nor Jiang Cheng opts to tell the story. 

Everyone lapses into awkward silence, all the more noticeable because there are no dancers, musicians, or entertainers of any kind at this event. OP has gone to audit-kickoff meetings that were more fun than cultivator banquets.

Moment of Clarity

While the awkwardness builds, we hear the sounds of the Song of Clarity. Lan Wangji is skipping the party, which is part of why Wei Wuxian is so mopey. But instead of sitting and stewing in his anger, Lan Wangji has shifted gears, and is starting to work on his "save Wei Wuxian's soul" plan.

This isn't the God-botherer version of soul saving, however. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian disagree about correct practice, but they both are still practitioners within the same spiritual system, and the majority of their beliefs are closely aligned.

Lan Wangji has powerful magic at his disposal, and now he's taking a step back from his plan of forcing persuading Wei Wuxian to give up heterodoxy, and instead he's preparing to use his magic to offset the consequences of Wei Wuxian's choice.

He still isn't ready to accept that choice, but he's working on it. This is a big moment for Lan Wangji's relationship with Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji is a deeply, deeply uncompromising person, as well as being super bossy, and he’s taking his first steps toward supporting Wei Wuxian’s free agency. 

Wei Wuxian leaves the party in the middle of Yao's toast, saying "I have to see you and your lover all over my tumblr dashboard but I am NOT going to listen to you talk!" He takes his wine to go roam around near Lan Wangji's quarters to pine and feel conflicted.  Lan Wangji has thoughtfully set up a projection scrim to catch his shadow and make the pining easier.

Jiang Cheng comes looking for Wei Wuxian, partly to reprimand him for rudeness and partly to see what the hell is wrong with him. Jiang Cheng is trying very hard to be pleasant. He's bad at it, but he's trying.

Wei Wuxian is trying to be unpleasant and he's pretty good at it. He won't say why he isn't using his sword. He’s obviously super fucking depressed about it, calling his former self childish for liking to spar, and only smiling once during the whole exchange.

He finally tells Jiang Cheng that he will always want to do the opposite of what Jiang Cheng tells him.  Jiang Cheng lets this go with an eyeroll.

(Point Break Quote Alert)

But actually this is a sign of trouble, right here in River City, with a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for abandoning the Jiang Clan. Wei Wuxian has just told Jiang Cheng he has no intention of obeying him; not just about the sword, but in general. That's no way for a disciple to talk. 

OP has nothing to say about this gif. OP watches gif over and over and over and over

Wei Wuxian ends the conversation by tapping Jiang Cheng's chest with his flute and then walking away. The (still nameless) flute has no problem with this - does it, like Subian, recognize Jiang Cheng as an extension of Wei Wuxian?

The next day, Wei Wuxian is chilling in his room, looking ungodly sexy in his bold slashed robe, holy frack. I mean, he is sex-on-toast at all times, but the cut of his post-burial-mounds combo is particularly heart-stopping when he decides to stick a knee or two out. 

He's meditating and flashing back to being in the burial mounds, where he was also meditating. I admire his ability to fractally meditate about meditating. 

Chenqing

He didn't put a sock on the doorknob, so Jiang Yanli comes in and startles him. He brandishes his flute at her before calming down. The flute definitely does not see her as an extension of Wei Wuxian, because when she touches it, it smokes and then knocks her out of the frame so fast it's comical.

Did they put her in a jerk vest for that shot?

Wei Wuxian hides the flute from her, freaked out by its behavior. She, however, is unfazed, and gives him the first & only affirmation he's gotten about his new cultivation path, and says the flute is "like Mother's Zidian."  She kind of walks him through the whole "first class spiritual tool" concept, beaming with approval and telling him he must name the flute.  

Jiang Yanli is hardcore Jiang Clan, seriously. Freedom and impossibility. You survived 3 months of mystery trauma and now you're all fucked up? We'll roll with it. You have a demon flute now? Rock on. You're going to use necromancy to beat the other clans in a group hunt? Gold star for you.

He names the flute Chenqing, which @hunxi-guilai​ translates and explains in depth over here.

Bichen

Lan Wangji has finished practicing the Song of Clarity, and regardless of whether it's had an effect on Wei Wuxian, he himself seems much calmer. 

As Wei Wuxian contemplates Chenqing, Lan Wangji contemplates Bichen and remembers Wei Wuxian's assertions about resentful energy way back in Gusu summer school. 

This time when he grips his sword, it's loosely, as if he's made some progress with his anger.

Soup

Jiang Yanli sits Wei Wuxian down for some soup, and talks to him about what's going on with him, saying he's changed. He insists he's fine and works very hard to be convincing.

She's not convinced but says she won't press him, and then abruptly shifts tone and works very hard to act like everything is fine. She leaves, taking a lot of soup with her, and Wei Wuxian remarks that it's unfair she is giving so much to Jiang Cheng. But of course, some of it is secretly for Jin Zixuan.

Everything isn't fine, as Wei Wuxian scream-meditates with resentful energy just rolling off of him. He's got some of the dark energy stored in the Yin sword in his bag of holding, but I get the impression that a lot of it is just stored in his body.

Club Ruohan

At some point in the episode we stop in to check on Wen Ruohan. He and his wind machine are mad that Wen Chao is dead. 

Meanwhile, his interpretive dances with the Yin iron now turn his puppets into...Klingons? Sure, why not. 

Literal Stand-Up Meeting 

Jiang Cheng needs Wei Wuxian at games night a meeting and comes running to Jiang Yanli to find him. He is freaking out and she tells him to chill. 

No matter what fuckery is going on in the world, Jiang Yanli is going to find herself a nice little outdoor table and she is going to sit her ass down and have some tea and civilized lady activity. Queen.

This shot of the meeting is composed so nicely. The blocking (placement of actors) in this scene encapsulates the familial dynamics, and I’ll talk about that as soon as I finish admiring Jiang Cheng’s proportions. 

Here we have four clans represented by four family pairs around the game war table. The Jin cousins, despite their differing personalities, are side by side, matchy-matchy, in lockstep. Jin Zixuan lets Jin Zixun do the talking for him, so maintains his own rep as a reasonable guy.  

The Nie brothers are even closer together, also in matching greys, Nie Huaisang giving all of his attention to his brother/clan leader. You can see his careful watching of his brother's temper...not fearful for himself, but fearful for Mingjue.

The Lan brothers have a growing distance between them; they are in different colors (which is pretty usual for them), and Lan Wangji is standing well away from his brother and the rest of the group. Partly this is his personality, but it's also symbolic of his growing distance from his brother and other proper cultivators. He's carrying WWX-related secrets, and he's wrestling with what he's learned.  

While Nie Huaisang is looking at Mingjue, Lan Xichen is turning around to see what's up with his own volatile sibling.

Lastly you have Jiang Cheng, alone in the room, with his shidi nowhere to be found, and seriously feeling the heat because of his isolation. 

He's alone in his purple, but the color value (lightness/darkness) of his robes exactly matches Xichen's. 

And Xichen, bless him, makes a point of speaking to him respectfully as a fellow clan leader, gives him a path out of the "where is your brother" conversation, and is just generally his kind and helpful self with Jiang Cheng.

Next: Awkwardness Increases!

[sabraeal]

House of Stone (Preview)

The fourth and final fic of the Holiday Rare Pair series...or is it? The vote originally selected a full chapter of this fic, but unfortunately...there’s a prequel fic I have to write to really nail down what I want to do. There’s no Zihal in this preview, just some HINTS...and so post-bingo (maybe even post-obiyukiweek?) I’ll be writing an ACTUAL Zihal fic. But until then...enjoy this little sneak peek of a fic series that should be upcoming next year...

In the annals of the kingdom’s histories, before they become the North’s warden, it is said the House of Bergatt once served as its kings; a long uninterrupted line from Dai the Iron-Handed to Kenzo Bent-Knee. Zen would never doubt the words of the court historians-- not where his tutors could hear, at least-- but Tomo classified dolphins as fish, and Kohi was notoriously beneath the thumb of the Wisteria king of his age, and by extension, his Bergatt wife. A little embellishment went a long way over a few centuries.

But he believes every word of it now.

Tariga glares at the boat with such icy derision, Zen half expects the rail to rime over, no matter how humid the sea air. “I don’t understand. Yuris has to have a port. It’s a major part of our trading routes outside the continent.”

“It does.” It sits in the distance, a gentle mound bristling with trees, hunched on the horizon. Kihal told him that from the air it looked like a bird nested in sleep, but on the map it’s just another craggy oval, larger than the others in its chain. “But that’s on the other side of the island.”

“Then why aren’t we going there?” The row boat rattles on the winch, and Tariga’s face blanches a shade whiter, like the snows of Wilant themselves. “It’s better to dock than leave the ship anchored out at sea, isn’t it? The crew would probably appreciate--”

“The crew will be heading back to the port city as soon as we’re off.” By the new shade of pale Tariga discovers, this is not the sort of assurance he’d been hoping for. “The port is on Brecker’s side of the island. Who I’d like to avoid, otherwise he’ll have to invite us to dinner.”

Tariga casts him a dubious glance. “Would that be so terrible?”

“No,” Zen allows, “but then we’d have to go.”

It’s the sort of joke that, in his humble opinion. merits at least a chuckle. Obi might have delivered the line with more aplomb, a little more colorful sarcasm, but his timing was at least solid. At least worth more than the crickets it gets. And it certainly didn’t earn the wide-eyed wariness Tariga aims at him now, as if--

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Mitsuhide says, so mild, from just above his shoulder. “But I was under the impression that Izana asked you specifically to dine with the viscount while we were here. As a courtesy.”

“Ah...” Mitsuhide might never get really, truly angry, but the weight of his disappointment has smothered better men than him. “Yes, he did. But he didn’t say we had to do it right away...”

Even with nearly a decade of service, it will never cease to surprise him how easily his aide can move. A head taller than nearly any man besides his brother and twice as wide in the shoulders, Mitsuhide still springs to his side with a cat’s grace, catching his shoulder before he can slink away.

“But you won’t forget, I hope?” His hand might as well be a yoke for how heavy it sits on him. “Zen?”

“Ah...” If he doesn’t look at him, then there’s no possible way Mitsuhide can see him sweat. “Of course. I would never disappoint my esteemed brother. I just think...it’s better to meet with the Yuris first. You know, for...diplomacy.”

Tariga’s mouth bent into a stubborn frown. “Protocol dictates that you are to introduce yourself formally to the lord of a land before taking up residence.”

If Obi were here, he’d have some choice remarks to make about that. I wouldn’t expect you to know about that one, your grace, he’d probably say, all limbs and sly smiles, considering how easily your brother forgot that little bit of politesse.

He would have had to scold him of course-- one didn’t spout truths with such blithe impunity in the company of lords-- but that would at least save him the trouble of these impromptu etiquette lessons.

“And since you’re the prince royal,” Tariga continues, warming to the subject, “wouldn’t it would be rude if the viscount didn’t also offer to house you and your--?”

“Right, but this is different.” He’s not quite sure how, but surely he’ll be able to invent a reason between the start of his next sentence and the end of it. “The Yuris are a, ah, sovereign tribe, who provide a vital service to the crown, and they would take it as a personal insult if we were to meet with Brecker before coming to greet them.”

Tariga’s pale brows draw tight over his nose. “Sovereign tribe? I thought Yuris as a whole was beneath the viscount, not foreign allies...?”

Mitsuhide’s dark eyes pin him with the sort of look that says, now how do you plan to get out of this one? Zen bites his cheeks to keep from scowling back. Of all the things he’d like Kiki to answer for, leaving him with a suddenly pedantic and intently rules-abiding aide would be at the top.

“Semi-sovereign,” he corrects. “They handle themselves on the whole, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the interests of Clarines.”

His aide shifts, the sternness in his expression turning to the fainest ghost of humor. “I don’t think many of the Yuris would appreciate the insinuation they owed anything to the viscount besides what he earns.”

Tariga, guileless, asks, “And that would be...?”

“Why don’t you ask them when you get there?” Zen suggests. He could use the entertainment after the last few months cooped up in Wilant. “I’m sure the chieftain’s granddaughter would be happy to give her opinion.”

It is a herculean effort not to grin, especially under Mitsuhide’s warning gaze. He keeps it down to a twitch of his lips, easily buried beneath his hand. Kihal would certainly have a long list of ideas, starting with a swift kick in the posterior and possibly ending with being tossed out his own tower, this time not sea-side.

“And all this,” Tariga says after a long moment, “is why we have to go ashore in...these?”

The wind knocks the row boat against the ship’s side, earning a dubious glare from Tariga, the sort that only a lord born land-locked and frozen could.

“Yes.” Zen gives it a pat for good measure, biting back a grin as his aide’s knees quiver. “Don’t worry, you’ll love it.”

No matter how many times he makes he trip to Yuris, Zen can never remember how long the actually crossing takes. In his memory, they are hanging from the ship’s deck one moment, Yuris a hunched, jade shell in the distance, and the next they are at the dock, the tribesmen clapping them on the back. But in truth, well--

“Two hours,” Tariga reports to him as they arrive, salt-soaked and pink, at the dock. “We’ve been rowing for two hours.”

“The crew has,” Mitsuhide corrects, so gentle. “It’s not a short trip.”

“No,” Tariga agrees, “just long enough to boil us for dinner.”

Ah, and that had been another thing he’d forgotten-- as nice as the sun felt on the ship’s deck, wind ruffling through his hair, on the open waters it was no better than a mirror, reflecting the heat a thousand ways. When the wind wound to a lull, cooking seemed an apt description for what occurred in the confines of their vessel.

Zen leaned back in his seat, letting his fingers trail in the bay. The water is clear this close the the islands, like looking through glass.

“Do you see them?” he asks, smiling down at the colorful shapes swimming below. “All those fish, off on their own business, not even aware we’re here. A whole world beneath our feet, and not an inch of it explored by man.”

His newest aide tilts, just slightly, head turning to gaze out mildly across the water. It is the only concession he makes before saying, “Were you bringing that to some point?”

Zen’s mouth twitches; he hides it in the crook of his arm. “It feels like freedom, doesn’t it?”

Tariga sits quietly as the boat bumps the pier, mouth pressed to a thin, white line.

“I’m not sure how to break this to you, Highness,” Tariga says finally, trembling wretchedly in his seat. “I know you believed I would enjoy this excursion, but--” his mouth wrinkles with displeasure-- “I do not love it.”

“But it’s an adventure.” Zen gives him a wide grin. “More fun than sitting up in that old, drafty castle in the middle of the winter snows, at least.”

Tariga lets out a sniff. “I think that perhaps you and I do not see eye to eye on what makes a good time.”

“Oh.” He casts a long glance back at Mitsuhide, who is making a valiant effort to stay sober and stalwart even as his mouth twitches. “I think you’ll come around.”

[folderolsfollies]

sangyao arranged marriage fic (arranged by Nie Huaisang)

summary: Before Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli’s marriage and after Wei Wuxian’s flight to the burial mounds, Jin Guangyao is rapidly gaining power, which a strong marriage alliance would cement. Jin Guangyao likes taking care of people. Nie Huaisang wants to be a trophy husband. If you ignore literally everyone else in their lives, they’re a perfect couple. (Basically I saw this post and then this post and then I blacked out thinking about playing games with power dynamics.)

word count: 2.5k rating: t

Part 1

“San-ge! San-ge!” Nie Huaisang shouts, skidding through the halls of the Unclean Realm. He has to go farther than he thought before he sees the ridiculous black official’s hat bobbing along, one of the disciples had only informed him that Jin Guangyao was there when he was practically out of the door, since for some bizarre reason, Jin Guangyao has made the trek all the way over to Qinghe and didn’t even bother telling him.

When he reaches the other man, he flings his arms around his neck.

“Second Young M-ah, Nie Huaisang...”, says Jin Guangyao warningly, but his eyes are bright and laughing, and he doesn’t step away until Nie Huaisang releases him. His eyes are darting around the halls, but the halls are deserted. Nie Huaisang had made sure to intercept him in a quiet spot.

“Why don’t you just call me A-Sang,” Nie Huaisang says mischievously, “After all, we’re brothers now!”

Jin Guangyao gaze dims and he looks down. “I wouldn’t dare take the liberty, not in your brother’s home,” he murmurs, chin tucked in, eyes firmly planted on the floor. And now that won’t do one bit.

Nie Huaisang points at him with his fan, playfully. “Oh, Da-ge, he just shouts. If he gives you any trouble, just come to me! I’ll protect you,” he says, and grins, remembering the way that Meng Yao would scold him for missing practice and then say, well Young Master, I’ll protect you this time, but don’t do it again!, the both of them knowing that he would never listen unless it suited him.

Jin Guangyao is looking up again and grinning now, and he says, “And how does Nie Huaisang propose to protect me? With his saber?” He’s openly laughing at Nie Huaisang, and it fills Huaisang with a helpless, giddy fondness. Little Meng Yao, who flinches like a kicked dog at every low-level disciple, always with that polite strained smile, gets so vicious when he’s around Nie Huaisang. He’s like a bird with a broken wing. Nie Huaisang wants to tape him up and let him fly.

But the trick with trapping a wild animal is that you can’t let them know that you see them, or it gives the game away. “I was thinking I’d cry until he forgave us, actually” he says, and does a massively fake pout for emphasis. “Now that I’m your little brother, you’ll have to get wise to all my tricks.”

Jin Guangyao smiles, a quick little glimmer like a fish gleaming brightly from deep within murky water. Jin Guangyao has a whole repertoire of smiles, smiles of appeasement and anger and reproach, but this to gain this one is a particular treasure, and Nie Huaisang will say a staggering amount of nonsense if he can see it again. “Not much of a trick, if you announce that it’s one when you’re doing it.”

Nie Huaisang looks at him, and pitches his voice as serious as Lan Qiren 2,000 rules deep into a lecture at the Cloud Recesses, “Ah, you see, my devoted pupil, the real trick is to lull your target into a false sense of security. Then they’ll never see your real schemes coming.” He taps his finger on the side of his nose, like his friend Wei Wuxian constantly does, and hopes that it reads the same on his delicate features as it does on Wei Wuxian’s handsome ones.

It must work well enough, because Jin Guangyao’s quick-fish smile is back, and his posture is relaxed enough for Nie Huaisang to drag him through the halls with only cursory protests about how he really must be going back to Lanling, he has important work to do, his father would never-

“Ugh, your father,” Nie Huaisang says, carelessly, and feels Jin Guangyao stiffen under his arms.

Before Jin Guangyao can say anything to ruin the pleasantness of the moment, Nie Huaisang says quickly, “Ugh, sorry, I’m stupid! You know I wasn’t old enough to really know my father until his last days, and by then he was, well, unwell,” he finishes delicately. Nie Mingjue probably wouldn’t like him using his father’s last moments like this, as a bait, but Nie Huaisang kicks the brief stab of guilt merrily to the side. Frankly, this is the least that his father could do for him, he feels. The last three months of his life really were not ideal. (Hiding in his locked room, Mingjue’s hand briefly clasping his before he leaves the room to face him, the noise of someone screaming - well. All in the past now.)

As he suspected, Jin Guangyao has softened at the mention of Nie Huaisang’s Tragic Past, which is exactly as he had wanted it to go. “You’re not stupid, young master, family is sometimes difficult,” he says politely. There’s an opening there, if he wants to push it- with the way that Madam Jin and Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao all deliberately look past each other when they’re trapped in a room together, it’s truly stupid how the larger cultivator world can’t seem to see that there’s something fishy going on there - Nie Huaisang thinks, and then lets it go.

“Ah,” he says, and schools his features to look carefully brave for a second, “but let’s talk about happier things! I’ve done some remodelling on the aviary, you should come and see the new birds.” It’s also usually deserted and with clear sight-lines in all directions, which are two things which automatically relax Jin Guangyao.

The truly nice thing about Jin Guangyao is that Nie Huaisang can manhandle him all that he likes, because if Jin Guangyao truly has better things to do, he’ll be all Yes, Nie-er-gongzi, and, you’re very wise, Nie-er-gongzi, and melt away the moment Nie Huaisang isn’t looking, so Nie Huaisang feels no compunction regarding linking their arms together and tugging him towards the aviary.

Nie Huaisang makes the trip up and down the aviary’s spiral staircase all the time, but if he still takes the opportunity to lean against Meng Yao when they reach the top, to place one hand on his forearm, huffing a little to show how laborious of a trip it was, well, who’s hurt by it? It’s good to make a show of uselessness sometimes. Meng Yao certainly doesn’t say anything. He’s wearing golden silk robes with squares of bright, shining gold inlaid in the fabric, and the smooth portions are an interesting textural contrast to the rougher raw silk. Nie Huaisang pets it gently, to feel the texture shift under his palms, smooth, rough, rough, smooth. His mind feels pleasantly empty, narrowed down to just the sensation of cloth and the harsh rustle of fabric.

Meng Yao’s mouth is smiling, which doesn’t mean anything, but his eyes are wide and confused. His gaze is fixed on Nie Huaisang’s hands, where their two sleeves are twined together like grafted tree roots. A long moment passes before Meng Yao pulls away, and carefully smooths out the creases that Nie Huaisang has made in the fabric. He doesn’t say anything at all.

For no reason, Nie Huaisang feels his cheeks heating up, feels like blurting out an apology, and he rushes into the aviary ahead of him, speaking a little too fast and loud.

He darts among his birds, showing him which ones have laid new eggs and which ones he’s bought recently, and all the new plants that he’s brought in to simulate Gusu’s mountainous environment for his new black bulbul. Nie Huaisang doubts that Jin Guangyao spends more than a quarter shichen thinking about birds when he’s away from the Unclean Realm, and that probably on what to serve at a feast, but he still remembers exactly how it was the last time he came, and comments cleverly on the new arrangements. Sometimes Nie Huaisang misses Meng Yao so abruptly he can’t breathe, misses that serious, attentive face, the way that he took him not too seriously, but just seriously enough.

He has a fantasy where Meng Yao just told him about the guard that had treated him so badly that it had led to his banishment. Would have Huaisang killed the man for him? Well, probably not. But there are ways to disgrace a man, banish him without lifting a finger. Huaisang lies in bed at night and thinks about all those ways. Although it doesn’t matter anyway, clever Meng Yao has landed on his feet, hasn’t he?

When he thinks that, he’s filled with a sense of disquiet. Meng Yao was Nie first - well, Nie before Jin, at least, and he hopes that he hasn’t forgotten that.  “Come, braid my hair,” he says suddenly, plopping down on a chair, and Meng Yao doesn’t raise an eye at the sudden change of topic. “I can’t reach the back properly and nobody does it as well as you.” By nobody, he’s means Da-ge, and they both know it, but he won’t breach their fragile bubble of happiness by mentioning him if Meng Yao won’t.

“Nie Huaisang, you’re too hard on yourself,” Meng Yao says, smiling and patient, “you braid beautifully,” but he’s already reaching for the comb that Huaisang is handing to him, lining behind Nie Huaisang. The gesture is familiar, the room is familiar, the murmurations of the birds through the trees are familiar. Nie Huaisang’s skin tingles in anticipation. He can feel the phantom weight of fingertips scratching along his scalp, teasing into straightness every errant whorl of hair. The way that his unbound hair would hang along his waist, the looseness and lightness of it.

Meng Yao, standing behind him, drags a thumb around the circlet holding his hair up, in between the heavy loops of braids and the hair underneath. The sensation is too dull, fleeting. “Your hair looks fine, Huaisang,” Meng Yao says quietly, his cool breath tickling Huaisang’s ear.

Huaisang twists around quickly so they’re facing each other, and it’s ungraceful. Nie Huaisang remembers - in the past - when he’d turn to talk to Meng Yao, it was like Meng Yao had somehow created a Huaisang shaped bubble that he could just slot into. Something has changed, in the last two years, and the shape of space between them is all wrong. Jin Guangyao’s eyes are pointed in the wrong direction, and Nie Huaisang’s face is too close.

He shuffles backwards a little, angles his face a little, and it’s still not the same, but now he can breathe. His usual tricks won’t work. Jin Guangyao won’t believe that he’s bad at it, and he can no longer threaten him with Da-ge. Well, there’s another tactic he hasn’t tried.

“Please, Jin-er-gongzi?” He says, looking down. It feels strange to address him so formally, to someone who’s worn the Nie family braids and who wears Huaisang’s hairpiece in his hair, but it also feels right. Smart, elegant, deadly - Mingjue may have always seen him as a delicate servant boy, but Nie Huaisang always saw him as a prince.

Eyes still focused on the floor, he chances a quick glance upwards. Jin Guangyao’s smile has frozen. He doesn’t know what game they’re playing.

He straightens. “I’ll start calling you that more,” he says decisively, scheme forgotten, “It’ll be helpful to you. I’ll get Da-ge on board too.”

Meng Yao gapes at him for a moment before he smooths it over, glint of a fish in the river before its lost again to the murky depths, and Nie Huaisang hadn’t known he could make that expression at all. “Jin-er-gongzi,” he says experimentally, to see if he can draw it out again, but Jin Guangyao has his smiling face firmly in place again.

“It’ll take more than that to earn my place,” Jin Guangyao says, and underneath his pleasant tone it sounds bitter, like the taste of ink under Nie Huaisang’s tongue. It sounds real.

Nie Huaisang drops his closed fan, and when he catches it by the head, it’s open in his hand. He flutters it, and opens his mouth to see what would come out. “A marriage would help with that, surely,” he says.

“I will have faith in what the elders decide, when that time comes, which of course would be after my elder brother weds,” Jin Guangyao says demurely, which they both know is a crock of shit; the elders all defer to Jin Guangshan, and what that man knows about marriage or women - and it would have to be a woman, with Jin Guangshan - in general could fit on the back of a talisman paper, if the paper was very small and the handwriting very large.

“Hm, yes, Da-ge is never interested in marriage, which is great! Because then nobody ever bothers me about it,” Huaisang says instead, and doesn’t add that it’s likely because the prospect of him creating more little Nie Huaisang’s is most likely terrifying to all involved.

Nie Huaisang has always seen the workings of his mind like a vast and subtle river, which overflows its banks and deposits thoughts to him, not fully under his own control. So he’s not fully sure what motivates him to continue, “And you know Da-ge’s so protective, I’d need someone who would protect me, just like you used to do.”

“You have to learn to stand up for yourself, Nie Huaisang,” Meng Yao says, and his large eyes are softly distant, like he’s listening to a thought, “there won’t always be someone to rescue you.”

I miss you- Come home, Nie Huaisang thinks, and the thought is sharp enough to feel like pain. “I’ll try, Jin-gongzi,” he says instead politely, “although you know about my weak cultivation.”

Another nice thing about Meng Yao is, when Nie Huaisang complains about his weakness, Meng Yao never argues against him or says that he would magically get better if he tried a little harder, worked a little more, he points out Nie Huaisang’s skill at art and astrology and Taoist magic. His tone is indulgent, parental. “In that sort of conflict, it’s not always your cultivation skill that counts,” he says, low and warm, like he’s imparting a lesson.

“I know, I know” says Nie Huaisang, who does know, who has been watching Meng Yao stammer and apologize and look deeply horrified at small misdeeds since before he realized what that sort of coquettishness implied. Whenever Nie Huaisang tries to imitate it, it comes out a child’s whine. Not a princess in need of rescuing, but a small dog that can be indulged or kicked aside.

“I must be going,” Meng Yao says, finally. “I am needed back at Lanling.” There’s a tone of finality in his voice.

Nie Huaisang is filled with a sudden, ridiculous desire, but he’s found that the consequences of indulging them have never been terrible. Not for him. He leans forward into the space between the two of them.

When he thumbs off Jin Guangyao’s ridiculous hat, there’s a circlet of Nie braids coiled like a serpent on the top of his head.

Nie Huaisang smiles. “I’ll see you soon.” he says.

[missyasf]

The Caretaker

| 1 |

↳ Summary: You’ve lived your whole life on your own, relying on no one but yourself to keep this child safe, you’re whole world is about to come to a complete change however when a bounty hunter enters your lives with no more then stoic silence and an insistence his name is the Mandalorian- whatever that is. You don’t know where you’re going, but you know it’s going to be a long trip.

↳ Pairing: Mandalorian/Reader,

↳ Genre: Action, slowburn(?), fluff, mild angst, future smut? We’ll see as the plot advances.

Word Count: 6.7k

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It was quiet for a moment as the man assessed you and the child, and without a single word towards you he turned around and began walking, pausing for a moment by the door as if noticing you hadn’t followed behind, “Are you going to just sit there?”

Hesitantly, you uncoiled yourself out of the small cell, your legs gladly letting blood flow back in them and your body thankful to not be cramped anymore. You weren’t sure if following this man was a good idea, but quite frankly you had been with the Nikto for close to a month and anywhere at this point was better than here.

He began walking again, not even bothering to look back to make sure you were following, as if knowing you wouldn’t dare try anything. You couldn’t help but silently agree, you had noticed both the rifle and blaster along with plenty of other utilities along with armored body. He almost seemed a cut above a regular mercenary yet you couldn’t place why.

Clearing your throat as you shifted the child against your chest you spoke, “Where are you taking us?” You tried to sound demanding, but your throat was dry and the only water that had been given to you all morning went straight to the child as you didn’t want him dehydrated, rather than intimidating though you sounded more pitiful than anything. The scorching dry heat of the sun causing you to squint as you attempted to keep up with his fast pace.

You had expected a long introduction, or at least a name to refer to him as, yet none came from the man as if simply ignoring your words, was he still going to kill you? Was this a sick game? You had many questions, struggling to get up the sand hill you let out a breath in exasperation, “Do you at least have a name?”

“I’m the Mandolorian.” He rasped with a breath, not looking back at your struggling figure as you tried to keep the child close to your chest, finally making it up the hill as you inhaled deeply, how far would you have to walk? You hadn’t been able to properly walk for quite some time meaning your stamina was embarrassingly low.

“Well that’s nice, but it’s not a name.” He seemed almost expectant until you said that, causing him to turn around, as if silently judging you for a reason you weren’t sure of. You had again; expected him to say something and yet he said nothing at all before turning around, “Is that something I’m supposed to know? I don’t understand.” Your lips tugged into a small pout, properly situating the child back against you as you trailed behind the man who claimed to be the Mandolorian, whatever that was.

Rather then answer your question he glanced behind his shoulder briefly, looking between you and the child before asking, “What’s its name?”

Glancing down at the child you hummed, you’d otherwise be offended to not have been asked your own first but you could understand the allure the child often attracted, this man, no exception, “He doesn’t have one. I’m just his caretaker until I find his family. I’m Y/n, in case you were wondering.” You added dryly.

Yet again, the child was most definitely the cutest of you three, his big doe eyes innocent and on a day full of energy he was a mischievous little thing, and of course the large almost puppy like ears were all the more endearing. He was about the size of one as well, far smaller and more delicate than a human infant.

The man however, said nothing more and you had quickly found out he was a man with little to say, often quiet and you couldn’t tell if he was really listening or if he was just ignoring your blabbering. Were you being annoying? You gnawed on your lip as you trailed behind him, the canyon providing enough coverage from the dry heat that had sweat beading down your neck. Hopefully if he was kind enough he’d let the child have some water, you couldn’t help but worry about the poor little one being dehydrated.

The child however, didn’t appear distressed about the situation in the least, happily clinging to you as he peered out up ahead at his surroundings, little gaze occasionally flitting to the desert lizards that crawled beneath you.

You nearly crashed into the Mandalorian as he abruptly came to a stop and you hadn’t been paying as close attention as you should have been, his gaze snapping around as if he noticed a new presence, worry bubbling in your stomach as you huddled the child against you, a coo bubbling from it’s lips as it played with a strand of your hair, “What is it?” your words were quiet, and had you not been standing so close to him he wouldn’t have heard.

His hand kept slid to his holster, “Stay clos-” He couldn’t finish his sentence however as you both were parted from one another, an unfamiliar person yet you could guess was also a bounty hunter, jumping out causing a gasp from your lips as you landed hard against the ground.

You could barely register the sharp points of his spear flying down into the direct path of you and the child as you quickly rolled to the side, a muffled whine of discomfort escaping the child as you heard the force of the spear land into the ground beside you.

And just as quickly it was raised again, the Mandalorian however had quickly caught his attention, sparring with the bounty hunter as you quickly scrambled away, your back flat against the rock surface as you bundled the child against you. Your only thought to make sure it was safe, it wasn’t as if you could help anyways, you had raised yourself to be on the run, you hadn’t fought a day in your life.

You could help but watch in awe, however, he was swift and constantly aware of his surroundings, no wonder he wasn’t even concerned about keeping you cuffed when he immediately whirled around to the second bounty hunter that jumped out in surprise. And then a third had quickly joined yet even 3 to 1 he held his own, not once faltering for long. The child was just as in awe as you, cooing in curiosity as you both watched him take down two of the bounty hunters effortlessly and (literally) disintegrate the last which had tried to run.

Lowering his weapon he seemed to notice something that caused a sigh from his lips, walking over he carefully placed the rifle back on his back before extending a hand to you, “Are you okay?” His voice was rasped, as if just as dehydrated as you, and maybe a little out of breath but you supposed that was given.

You weren’t as cautious anymore but you still couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive as you took a hold of his much larger and stronger gripped hand, “I feel like I should be the one asking you that question…” You murmured, noticing his shielded gaze linger on the child before he began walking once more, “But yes, I’m fine, so is the child. Maybe a little mad at me for rolling on him but he’ll live.” And with that the child cooed in agreement, no longer fussy at you.

The sun had begun setting and that’s when you noticed the slight wince when the Mandalorian moved his arm, the large thick gash making you wrinkle your nose, blood wasn’t oozing out but it was still bleeding, “You’re hurt.” You observed softly.

He looked over his shoulder, stoically answering, “I’m fine.” trudging on once more as if the pain wasn’t something to be even slightly concerned about. But even without knowing him you couldn’t help but feel a little concerned, having an open wound couldn’t have been pleasant especially unattended. Your eyes glanced between him and the wound before biting against your lip, “How far away is your ship? It’s going to be dark soon and I don’t know how well commuting at night will be.”

The Mandalorian didn’t say anything for a full minute before pausing, sighing as you both exited the large canyon’s confined space, gaze scoping out the flat sand as he finally spoke, “Let’s set up camp.”

Camp was not what you thought it would be, but somehow, seeing as all he carried was his million weapons, you weren’t surprised he had scouted for a nice, somewhat flat sand plane, a few mounds giving you coverage from whatever he thought lurked in the desert. The desert’s cold was initially welcomed before it became cold, a twinge of a shiver running through you as you set down the child in your lap, rubbing your arms.

Taking note, the Mandalorian had set down a heat lamp between you both you rubbed your hands before placing them close to the lamp, the warmth didn’t compare but you’d rather be cold then hot. It was a nice change of pace being in the cold desert air compared to the stuffy encampment.

The filtered wince and buzz took you out of your thoughts, feeling a little relieved to see the Mandolorian was atleast attempting to tend to his wound...well you wouldn’t dub cauterizing his wound tending but it was better than nothing and leaving it open to a possible infection. Glancing at him wearily you couldn’t help but feel a little pity at another groan escaping him, pausing for a second before attempting to continue.

“Do you need help?” You asked quietly, shuffled in your seat as the child looked up at you and then towards the bounty hunter. The Mandalorian however only looked at you once before back at his arm, wincing once more as he continued, “I’m fine.”

You couldn’t help but curl a brow at his curt words, you had watched this man fight off three well trained bounty hunters and he presumably took out a whole base of mercenaries on his own with the help of one android, he was clearly a dangerous person, yet you still couldn’t stop the snark from escaping you, “Is that all you can say? You’re going to burn yourself if you don’t do it properly.”

Setting the child down you crawled over, not even thinking twice as you plucked torch from his hand. You couldn’t see his face, but judging by his quiet reaction, he was most definitely done with your snarkiness.

He said nothing however, only carefully observing as you gently pressed a hand against the thick fabric of his arm, the cut wasn’t too deep but it was fairly long and he had been nicked just beneath his pauldron, a well aimed blow from his opponent. Carefully you began cauterizing it once more, you could feel him jolt and tense beneath you though his reaction wasn’t near as violent as others in his position would be, it was clear he was used too this.

You had moved down towards the left of the wound, sealing it up as that was where he had left off, you had been close to finishing when a grabby little green set of hands had reached up immediately making you both look at the tiny child with an ironic yet adorably focused look, sighing you shook your head before setting the torch down, “What do you think you’re doing Jaa?”

The child bubbled a coo making a small smile place on your lips as you sat back down, placing the little weasel in your lap, internally worried if you kept your back on him any longer he’d toddle off into a sinkhole. He really couldn’t be trusted on his own. The Mandalorian seemed satisfied enough with your work on his arm and turned his attention to his armor. Taking a breath in contentment you laid down, pulling off your cloak with a shiver before wrapping it around the child for extra warmth.

The child continued to wiggle around as if trying to get a peep at the Mandalorian who paid you both no mind and continued sorting his armor as you kept it snuggled to your chest. Hopefully this man didn’t mind all the attention and mischief this little bundle of trouble brought along for the ride.

You were still sleepy, the sand wasn’t all too comfortable, in all honesty. But it got the job done and thankfully when you woke up the child was still snuggled against you though halfway turned.

It was just the beginning of sunrise when you set off again and the walk had mainly been quiet, by the time anything eventful happened it was close to midday, the Mandalorian paused before instantly pulling the rifle off his back, “Get down.”

Your heartrate spiked as you did as told, assuming the worst. What your vision was met with when you got down next to him was a familiar crawling fortress and the infamous brown hooded little shits that plagued every desert planet: Jawa’s, and lots of them festering like little parasites on a pile of dung.

You could only assume the pile of scrap was once the Mandalorians ship. What you didn’t expect was a loud shot to ring out causing you to jump, the Jawa’s did as well too when they watched their friend vaporize into nothing more than the air they breathed. But the Mandalorian didn’t stop there as he continued reloading his rifle aiming for the ones that were attempting to carry the last of the scrap they got from his ship until everyone had managed to escape inside the ship.

What you didn’t expect was the bounty hunter to be on his feet so fast as the ship began driving away, fumbling you attempted to follow after him as you rasped loudly, “We can’t chase a whole ship!”

He ignored you as he shot into it’s engine though not doing as much damage he would have liked, he sprinted ahead before yelling behind, “Stay here!” You could only part your lips several times as you watched him chase after the ship, this man was truly an idiot. You watched as he lunged out, grabbing a hold of the moving ship. But he was a skilled idiot to say the least.

The ship was getting farther away and you couldn’t help but wince at all the debri- presumably ship parts they threw at him.

He was even nearly crushed by a rock wall in the process though narrowly dodging it. You glanced at the child who in turn looked at you as well while cooing. Sighing you began trudging towards the ship that wheeled away. You could attempt an escape right now, but you were also dully aware of how dry your throat was and how lightheaded you were beginning to feel. He wasn’t a good bet, but you needed to stay alive if you wanted to care for the child.

Therefore this Mandalorian was your only option as of now.

This could go either two ways, the first being you find him somewhere along this canon unconscious- or potentially dead, or two he’ll meet you half away from however far this ship had went with all of his ships parts (hopefully) in tact.

Wiping the sweat from your brow you ignored the few Jawa’s you came across, that was a good sign at least, hopefully he had took the ship so you wouldn’t have to walk back. You weren’t a complainer but your head was becoming too light to walk straight and your throat felt like the sand beneath you. Your hopes had begun to dull when you saw a much bigger body ahead than what could be considered a Jawa, you only sighed as you facepalmed at the body of the Mandalorian in front of you. You would’ve been jumping for joy if he was dead in any other circumstances besides these.

But you could hardly walk on your own and he was your only ticket to water. You carefully kneeled down, setting the child down as you checked his pulse before sighing in relief, he must have either been paralysed or knocked unconscious during his fall. Maybe both.

Taking a seat you took a deep breath as you harshly blinked.

Why did it feel like you were swaying?

You could hear a wince beside you as you noticed the bounty hunter must have woken from his short unconscious state, groaning he sat up as he sharply looked ahead to find the ship long gone, sighing he glanced over to you and then the child that sat between you both, “I told you to stay back.”

“And here I thought you’d be glad to know I didn’t take the opportunity to run away.” You replied dryly as he stood up, attempting to stand up yourself only to sway once more, the bounty hunter taking a step towards you as if anticipating your fell that had yet to come.

“What’s wrong?” It was his first instinct, your eyes were dilated and you looked hazy, as if you were swaying on a cloud nine that was nowhere near this hellscape of Arvala-7, indignantly you took a careful step back, ignoring your lightheadedness as you replied hotly, “I’m fine.” You bent down, pausing for a second to keep your balance before plucking the child up.

The Mandalorian was silent for a moment before trudging forward, deciding to not question your obvious state. Maybe he was just as tired and simply not in the mood, or maybe he just didn’t care.

You weren’t sure, and honestly your mind was too fogged to care at this point.

The walk seemed to last a lot longer going back to the ship then it did getting here, or maybe you had lost track of time? You weren’t sure, you were happy to finally see the ship insight and even happier to sit on the walk ramp while the bounty hunter went to assess the damage.

Rubbing your eyes you squinted once more, swallow nothing but dryness as you heard the loud steps against the metal, “Come on, there’s someone who can help.”

You were half tempted to ask if you could just lay down, but given you weren’t sure what you were to this man you decided to not risk if, standing up though this time nearly falling, your vision was spotting and you could hardly keep your feet in a straight line. For once you were thankful he had picked up the child.

Because if you had it would’ve been an unpleasant situation as you smashed against the sand vision blurred into nothing but an unconscious void.

….

Your mind was distraught with confusion and your eyes felt heavy and hard too open, where were you? What had happened? You had a hard time retracing your memory as you coiled into yourself. You were brought back to the plane of reality however at the unfortunately familiar helmet that peered over you, “You should’ve told me you were dehydrated. When was the last time you had anything to drink?”

This was the loudest you heard his voice, he wasn’t yelling but he was always so quiet and without much to say, you would’ve assumed he had been worried if this wasn’t a bounty hunter who, you couldn’t say for sure but you’d take a guess in assuming you were his prisoner.

“I think that’s the longest I’ve heard you speak.” You could hear the exasperated sigh through his helmet making a tired smile pull on your lips, a chuckle attempting to escape you as you wheezed, “Day and a half? Maybe two? Jaa needed it more than me.”

Sitting up you rubbed your eyes only before a half a second later realizing the child was not against the safety of your chest, pupils dilated you sat up straighter eyes glancing around you as quick as you could, “He’s fine.” It was all the Mandalorian said before leaning down to hand you a pouch of, presumably water or some other liquid.

Just as he said those words you took a breath in relief at the sight of the child who had been chasing around one of the desert frogs on this…? You furrowed your brows as you unscrewed the cap, glancing around at the farm you appeared to be on. You couldn’t help but briefly close your eyes as the cool liquid water slid down your throat refreshingly, “Where are we?”

“Somewhere we can get help.” Was all he answered making you furrow your brows, clacking your tongue as you looked between him and the hand he held down for you, carefully he pulled you up, your head was still fairly light but you directed to drink the rest of the water in the pouch: slowly.

This was not direction from the Mandalorian, but the man who had shortly after introduced himself as Kuiil.

“We’re going to trade with the Jawa’s, or at least try too.” The Mandalorian grunted, not sounding very sold on the idea as you were briefed on the next step to take. Jawa’s were rarely fair in how they traded but it was admittedly a better idea than being stuck on Arvala-7 and hoping for someone to let you travel on their ship.

You gave a shrug altogether, “It could be worse, I mean at least they didn’t steal the whole thing….” Your eyes peered down at the ground as you scanned for the child only for your lips to part at what you found instead. The child having successfully caught his frog only to have it halfway down his mouth, “Spit that out; now!”

The younglings mouth quivered before dropping, as if pouting as the frog slid out and slapped against the ground before hurriedly hopping for it’s life, a noise that you could only assume was a fussy whine as you tutted walking over as you picked the child up, “You are such a little troublemaker.”

You couldn’t stop the small smile tugging on your lips as it’s ears perked down, as if still not happy with you for making it drop it’s snack, “Well you said we’d be leaving now, we shouldn’t waste anymore time.”

The speeder was no longer working in terms of driving but you were thankful Kuiil had tied it to his blurrg to be pulled along, your feet were absolutely aching and yet with another nightfall you couldn’t help but notice the darkening clouds that began to form.

“You’re it’s caretaker, yes?” Your gaze shot up to Kuiil who sat ahead on top of his blurrg, the ride had been otherwise quiet for the past few hours yet you couldn’t help but notice his stare linger occasionally when you’d murmur soft words to the child who had been playing in the back of the speeder.

Shifting you sat the child down where he could continue playing with the old netting as you sat up on the edge of the speeder, “Of sorts. I’ve taken care of the child since I was one myself,” You explained softly, peering out over the canyon of endless sand and out where the darkening clouds continued to form, “It’s just been us ever since.”

Pressing your lips together you had thought of going into more detail but you decided against it, most were naturally curious, but never enough to want anymore background than what you had just divulged.

Yet, you could feel the gaze of the Mandalorian on you, making your eyes flit to his helmet that had been briefly turned. You couldn’t help but feel unnerved sometimes by his void stare, unsure of who was truly beneath that helmet as he turned to face the front of the speeder once more, rifle in his lap as if he was on lookout.

A streak of lightning flashed across the sky, catching the child’s attention as it cooed in excitement, peering over the speeder before a loud rumble of thunder met your ears causing it to cry out, falling back down to the floorboard before toddling as fast as his little legs could take him too you.

You couldn’t stop the affectionate laugh as you hummed, the child wrapping his little arms around your shin before you picked him up, sitting down on the floorboard as you bundled him up in his out clothes, “Clearly it’s bedtime for someone.” It bubbled another whine at the loud rumble of thunder, the clouds looking near black as the sun set.

It was going to be a long night and you were going to be utterly soaked in the morning.

The crawling fortress may have looked intimidating to some, but to you, it looked like a rusted pile of junk that was a miracle provided it was still moving. You hadn’t paid too much attention, choosing to open the pouch of water you had manoeuvred open to catch the rainwater, letting the child happily drink from it before sleepily tugging against the fabric of your cloak.

Bringing the pouch up to your lips for a drink as well you couldn’t stop the smile from pulling on your lips at the sight of the Jawa, at first happy to see Kuiil until they had gotten a good look at what was behind him.

The Mandalorian was still sat, unmoving from his same spot for the past ten hours, rifle still in his lap and even though you couldn’t see his face, you had the vague impression he was itching to use it. The Jawa’s were practically scattering and you could hear their frantic chatter even from here, some clinging to others while some ran back into the fortress. You had even saw one up ahead from the others draw his blaster- though you were fairly certain it was for deactivating droids.

“They really don’t like you for some reason.” Kuiil observed, almost curious as to why, though all you could think of was yesterday morning being made to duck down while the Mandalorian went to town on recollecting what few parts was left of his ship.

As if sharing the same thought as you he replied nonpulsed, “Well I did disintegrate a few of them...” You couldn’t stop the silent snort from escaping your lips, you knew it wasn’t his intention to be funny, but it was hard to not laugh at his tone, as if this was an often occurrence. You wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

You clacked your tongue as you shuffled up from your seat on the floorboard, sitting back up against the edge of the speeder as you spoke up, “That’s not counting all the bodies I walked past to find you. I doubt they were happy about that either.”

“Well this all could have been avoided if they left my ship alone.” You pinched the bridge of your nose at the Mandalorian’s reply, not at all regretting his violent actions and if anything, most likely feeling justified.

You couldn’t help but notice all the Jawa’s that peered out from the fortress, more gathering outside as if ready to blast the Mandalorian back to the space of the outer rim and you supposed on a more, condensed level, you could understand. Had he just went to Kuiil to begin with instead of killing an eighth of their fortresses population they’d be a little more inclined to give him an easier time.

“You need to drop your rifle.” You couldn’t help but silently agree with Kuiil, feeling more and more uneasy at all the Jawa’s, they were small but you had learned early on to never overestimate someone’s size.

“I’m a Mandalorian, weapons are a part of my religion.” He wasn’t having any of it though, you could even see his grip on his rifle tighten as if anticipating one of the Jawa to strike out despite their constant chatter, maybe even hoping for it.

“Then you’re not getting your parts back.” Kuiil turned around as he replied, looking between you and the child and then back to the Mandalorian who only sighed exasperated, something you could only imagine he must have did often. Setting his rifle down as he stood up, turning around to face you as he spoke, “Stay here.”

You set the child down on the empty supply case as his little hands curled around the edge of the speeder, looking excited at the sight of the Jawa’s though you weren’t sure why, “Alright.” You weren’t going to question why though you didn’t see the harm. Jawa’s were thieving snakes but they were about as defenseless as the child, unless provoked.

Watching in curiosity you sat on the edge, letting your feet hang down as you pulled the cloak off which you had let hang to dry from the desert rain early that morning, wrapping it back around yourself as they sat down, “Hopefully they can peacefully trade everything and we can leave soon.”

The child glanced at you innocently, cooing as if in agreement as you turned back to the deal only to jump at the sight of the Mandalorian attempting to turn half the Jawa’s into a burnt early breakfast as Kuiil tried to get him to stop.

So much for peacefully…

Your attention however was drawn to the two Jawa’s who had approached your speeder, both chattering as their beady little red eyes glowed. Your expression coiled a little as your eyes flickered to the blaster the Mandalorian had dropped at the front of the speeder before asking, “Can I help you?” You glanced at them ungratefully at their lack of personal space, one attempting to poke at the child as you briskly picked him up in spite of protective instinct.

As if this was what they were discussing you could see the Mandalorian do a one-eighty as he twisted around, “Get away from them!” His temper flaring making the Jawa’s near you jump as they fumbled away from you and the child, admittedly for good reason after he almost burned half their friends.

You were grateful some progress had been made regardless, what you didn’t expect was being told you were going with them in the crawling fortress to the...egg? You hadn’t said anything but your expression made the Mandalorian throw up his hands, as if not knowing what that was supposed to mean either and at this point not caring.

The space was built for Jawa’s meaning it was a tight squeeze, for him at least. It was snug for you but you weren’t nearly as tall as him and the child could probably pass for a young Jawa, fitting in perfectly. The trip was fairly short though you were grateful for it, as the Mandalorian looked like he was on his last straw with these little devils.

“Let’s get this over with.” He sighed stepping down from ramp as you frowned, shifting the child against you as you glanced at his figure which paused, turning to look at you silently as if waiting for you to follow.

Your lips twisted into a frown however as you glanced at him, “This can’t be safe for the little one.” You could understand him wanting you to come as reassurance you wouldn’t run off, though at this point you had thought it was silently established you didn’t necessarily have a choice.

“You think it’ll be safer here?” The Mandalorian said it like a question of judgement though which made your brows press together, glancing back at all the Jawa’s before sighing, rubbing your forehead as you stepped down the ramp. He wasn’t wrong, Kuiil was here yes, but he wouldn’t look after the child like you would and Jawa’s were a sneaking sort.

Clacking your tongue you stopped in line with him as you gestured your hand, “Lead the way Mandalorian,” He had begun walking again as you hummed, following along the grove path as you glanced ahead and back towards him, “That’s a long name, doesn’t even sound like one. You don’t expect me to call you that the entire time, right?” The Mandalorian, just like you expected didn’t reply, only walking towards the path ahead that lead to this, egg, that the Jawa must have really prized for them to send you off on this hunt, “Mmm what about Mando? That’s a little easier on the tongue, what do you think Jaa?”

The child gave an enthusiastic coo though directed more at the bounce you gave him then at your words, still, you couldn’t help but smile at it’s own, eyes bright while peering up at you and grabbing at your hair, softly tugging on it before laying it’s head back against you, “You said it didn’t have a name.”

You glanced over to Mando, tilting your head in confusion for a moment before glancing back down at the child letting another smile pull on your lips as you answered, “He doesn’t, it’s just a nickname in my native tongue. Jaa still means Child.”

“Where did you find it?” Maybe you were taking it the wrong way, but you couldn’t help but feel like this was his first attempt at small talk with you since you had begun travelling with him in this short trip. Or maybe, he was really just as drawn to the child as you were, you couldn’t tell.

Glancing at the child who wiggled in your arms to peer ahead you pressed your lips together, debating if you should say, was he just curious? Was this for something else?

If there was one thing you weren’t certain of, it was the Mandalorians intentions with you and the child, “Akiva, my home planet. I was eight, maybe? I had ventured off from my tribes village when I found this one. I didn’t know I’d never see them again.” You glanced towards the ground, face growing somber before you continued, “But, I think it was meant to be. Me and this one, I feel like we’re connected somehow.”

You wouldn’t have been able to explain it even if you had the chance, the child let out a small whine at the large hole of a cave. Even you dimmed a little at the gross sight, filled with mud and overall an unpleasant sight, “You have to go in there...?” You felt a little pity, you wouldn’t lie.

Taking an overall view of his weaponry he replied, “I’ll be back in a few minutes, stay out here for now and stay back.” You weren’t sure of his reasoning but you stepped a few feet back as he entered into the cave. Whatever this thing was, you could only hope the egg was worth it.

Mando pulled out his blaster, taking one last moment to look at the opening before walking inside, he had been skilled enough to stay alive this long, you didn’t have a doubt he’d be successful inside.

You had began to pace to keep the child occupied, cooing softly as his little three fingers weaved into your hair. Your hearing was the first to catch the sound of the blaster, firing a few rounds off as you sighed in relief, only to tense again at the loud roar echoing…that didn’t sound good…

Your lips parted into a large gap at the sight of Mando nearly flying out as if the cave had spat him back out, landing in the mud with a groan, struggling to get up as the mother of the egg presumably exited the cave looking thoroughly pissed off.

This wasn’t going to be as easy as you had hoped. You could almost feel the nervous sweat break against the back of your neck as you took a few more steps back from the massive Mudhorn that growled.

As if sensing the danger the child clung to you tighter with a whine, burying into the fabric of your cloak as you securely held him. The chances weren’t looking good suddenly as Mando had struggled with unjamming his rifle that was undoubtedly clogged with mud, only to be bucked and thrown back once more making you involuntarily wince, that had to hurt.

The cry that had escaped the child though had you frozen in place as the Mudhorn turned to you, oh, oh shit. Taking a step back you swallowed thickly as it fully turned to you before taking off into a sprint, running at you full speed as you hurriedly ran to the side. The mud beneath you wet and slippery causing you to fall with a yelp, narrowly missing the large ram you heard against the wall.

The child was crying beneath you, bundled as best as you could as you struggled to put him into the bowled edge of the canyon, somewhere as safe as you could hope as you noticed the mudhorn aimed back on you. The child was almost vehement in not letting you go, terrified and crying with shrilled whimpers as you fumbled away from his little figure that reached out for you.

You could hardly register when the mudhorn had rammed into you, sending you up into the air before crashing back into the ground, mud forced beneath your fingers and you were positive the taste of dirt in your mouth was due to being face first into the slop.

Your mind was fuzzy when you struggled to stand up, watching Mando being thrown off towards the caves entrance once more in an attempt to use his cable cord on it, it was worth a short you supposed.

Your legs were too weak as you collapsed onto them, hands digging into the mud in frustration as you watched Mando being sent back towards the child once more, this time he looked near out of it having been sent on his back one too many times. You didn’t think you’d die to a pissed off mudhorn because of a bounty hunter but, life certainly was strange, wasn’t it?

You had expected to watch the life crushed from the Mandalorian but even with your hazy vision your lips parted at the sight before you, the mudhorn roaring and snarling while in attempt to run at him yet it couldn’t move anywhere, as if stuck in place. And slowly, ever so slowly, it had began to raise in midair. You had thought you were just seeing things before but...your gaze fell to the child, it’s eyes closed as if heavily focused, little hand outstretched.

You really weren’t alone...

Falling back against your bottom you jumped at the sound of its feet crashing onto the ground, a loud snarl escaping it and looking as if it were about to use it’s horn to send the Mandalorian back once more. Outstretching your arms in desperation, you were so close to finishing this! You felt as if your heart was nearly lurched from your chest, the blood in your veins rushing as the mudhorn was sent flying back towards it’s cave, slamming against the wall with a loud wail, collapsing just as you did.

Your head instantly throbbing as you struggling to sit back up.

The Mandalorian had stood almost stunned, looking between you and the child. Struggling to stand up your gaze went to the child and as if on instinct you both had noticed it had fall back collapsed. Worry stringing through you as you ignored the flush of pain through your whole body and the sudden heaviness of your limbs. Was he okay? You couldn’t help but worry for the worst.

You were nearly shoulder to shoulder with him as you pulled the child into your arms, hand brushing over it’s little head to check on him as your lips quivered slightly, “What was that? That...thing you both did.”

You knew what Mando was talking about, feeling slightly self conscious you only glanced at the canyon before finally meeting his eyes, uncertainty filling you as you pressed your lips together, you had dealt with odd occurrences like this since you were a child. And you had never met anyone like you, not until this child came into your life, you didn’t know what it meant. But you knew you belong with this little one.

“I don’t know.” You couldn’t provide him an answer, as you didn’t know yourself. All you did know was this little child had the same power as you, and it made you feel a little less lonely, less like a freak. When you had first discovered it that was when you realized this was meant to be, you were meant to care for this child.

Note: Thank u all so much for the lovely feedback I honestly didn’t expect this to get as many notes as it did 🥺 I hope u guys liked this chapter bc mama reader and baby yoda make me soft :(

Taglist: @green-nightlight @ginger-swag-rapunzel @applefandango @thatguythatsshy @nowheredreamer @theocatkov @thenormreedus @justamythicaldream @imlesbianthoughtyouweremexican

(Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

[senaar-ika]

Masterpiece (Charlie Barber)

And for my first fic I present you: getting nasty in an art museum with our classy dom Charlie! I’ve been thinking about this since I first saw Marriage Story since it’s set in NYC and that’s also the home of some wonderful museums with private corners -wink wink- Of course seeing as it’s my degree, I can’t help but use this idea to also teach you sexy reader a little bit about art history too so apologies if the set up is a bit long. This is actually the first time I’ve written a full length smutty fic, so I really hope you enjoy! 

Warnings: it’s smut, it’s a little kinky, it’s in public, it’s fingering, some elegant filthy whispering, Charlie is a dom, sub reader

“I’d like to conclude our tour with this piece here.” You step backwards and gesture toward the statue in the corner next to you, in true tour guide fashion. “We call this one a seated muse, mainly because it’s a partially nude woman.” A few soft chuckles from your group. “Although we don’t know who exactly crafted her, we do know where exactly she came from. Like many of the other statues we’ve seen today, this is a Roman copy of an ancient Greek sculpture. We think that this muse was part of a larger group of statues depicting a mythical musical contest.” 

You gave this speech at least ten times a week, but you never got tired of it. The statues in this gallery had become like old friends to you as you spent your days telling their stories to eager listeners. Some days you even found yourself just sitting and admiring them, content to be among the spirits of a long ago world. 

“The muses were considered the epitome of natural beauty and the craftsmen that carved these statues took great pains to capture that beauty.” You pause, letting that hang in the room. “Now I’m afraid that’s all I have for you today, but I’ll be in the gallery for a bit longer so feel free to come and ask me any questions that might arise. Of course I can’t guarantee I’ll have an answer, since our lovely muses are so often shrouded in mystery, but hey, I’d love to have a chat. Thank you!” You smile to yourself, pleased to have completed yet another tour, as the group gives you a short round of applause. 

When no one steps forward with questions, you turn fully to the statue as the group disperses, taking a few moments to enjoy her. You’re so caught up in the muse in fact, that the soft voice in your ear startles you. 

“Do you always speak so dramatically or is that just for the tourists?” Charlie bites back a laugh as your face dissolves from surprise to feigned annoyance. 

“Do you always have to sneak up on me when I’m at work?” You retort, rolling your eyes as he places a soft kiss on your cheek. “Wait, were you on the whole tour?” 

This time Charlie can’t stop his laugh as he shakes his head. “Just the last few statues.” He loves how absorbed you could become in your work. And he loves watching you guide wide eyed tourists around the hall of sculptures as you pour your knowledge out to them. 

You nod and turn back to the muse, tilting to your head as you examine her. “What do you think of her?” 

Charlie steps in closer behind you, practically enveloping you against his tall form. He wraps his arms around your middle and leans his head down onto your left shoulder.

“She reminds me of you.” He says quietly. His breath is warm in your ear and the rumble of his soft baritone makes you weak in the knees.

“Really? We look nothing alike!” You try to turn around so you can get Charlie’s damned voice out of your ear, but he tightens his grip on you, sliding his hands down so that one rests on each of your hip bones. 

“You’re not twins, no, but you called her the epitome of natural beauty.” You inadvertently lick your lips as Charlie presses a long slow kiss to the side of your neck. “If that’s not you, then I don’t know what is, babygirl.” 

You inhale sharply to keep from moaning at one of your favorite pet names he has for you. This is so unprofessional, you’re technically on the clock right now. But that had never stopped Charlie before. As you cast your eyes around the gallery, praying silently that none of your coworkers are nearby, you lean fully into Charlie’s body. He’s strong and solid behind you, and you can already feel his quickly hardening length against your ass. You feel wetness start to pool between your legs. 

“They used to worship statues like this right?” Charlie asks at a normal volume, straightening up but still keeping you close to him. For a moment, all you can do is nod because he has brought his hands up to trace lightly along your shoulders and the feeling gives you shivers.

“Sure, many ancient humans used to view sculptures as vessels for the divine.” Speaking about art tends to come naturally to you, but right now you feel your heart pounding in two places. Charlie’s hands are still dancing along your shoulders, gracing over your collarbones. Two can play at this game. You shift subtly.

 Charlie hums slightly at the feel of your ass rubbing against him. His hands trail down from your shoulders along your curves, landing back at your hips. His voice is deadly in your ear, “I’d like to worship your body like a statue.”

You fight back another moan at his words, trying to concentrate on the art in front of you instead of how near to your pelvis his hands are drifting. If anyone were to look closely at you two for more than a second they’d be able to see. You thank whatever fates exist in the universe that you’d chosen today to wear a wrap skirt. Charlie’s hand slips easily through the layered fabric and he rests it on your sex. You pull your blazer around you to further obscure the absolute obscenity you know is about to occur.

“I wish I could take you right here. In front of this statue. You belong here. You’re a work of art.” Charlie breathes into your ear, his whole palm covering your mound in a possessive sort of way. “Touch every inch of your beautiful body while you look at hers. You’re my little masterpiece.”

A sigh escapes your lips and you try to rub against him to create a little friction. To ease your need just a tiny bit. Damn his way with words. 

“Oh, you’d like that?” He teases, “Yeah, beautiful little whore would love for me to touch her right where anybody could see. Well it’s your lucky day, babygirl.” 

And that’s as much warning as you get. In one swift move, Charlie slides your panties to the side and slips a single finger between your folds. You cough in an attempt to stifle the pathetic little mewl that you let out. 

“You’re so wet already, beautiful.” Charlie coos, slowly beginning to pump his finger in and out of you. 

“You have that effect on me.” You gasp as Charlie crooks his finger and stops moving. “Sir.” You add, hoping that’s what he was waiting for. 

It is. He hums in acknowledgement and eases another finger into you. God his hands are so big, just two fingers feels like he’s stretching you. His other hand is delicately trailing the curves of your body, from your hips to your shoulders and back again. You lean as close as you can to his form and slowly reach an arm behind you toward his slacks. His hand moves from your shoulder to your wrist in an instant. 

“Oh no, no, no, beautiful,” He whispers, guiding your arm back to your side. His fingers still pushing in and out of your wetness. “I just want you like this.” He lowers his voice even more to make sure only you hear, “I just want to worship your pretty little cunt like the work of art that it is.” 

That’s it. You melt fully into his touch, feeling your knees start to shake. A quiet “Fuck, Charlie.” slips from your throat as you try to keep yourself upright. The muse is blurring in and out of focus. 

“That’s right, beautiful,” Charlie’s thumb grazes your clit and you bite your lip, your eyes rolling back into your head. “Ah-ah, keep those eyes open, beautiful, we wouldn’t want anyone to get suspicious. Just keep looking at this gorgeous statue.” Somehow you manage to pry your eyelids apart and bring the sculpture back into your field of vision. “That’s a good girl.”

Charlie’s fingers are pumping into you even faster now, and his thumb is lavishing your clit with attention. You can’t believe you’re doing this. You could be fired. You both could probably be arrested. The thought fills you with a dangerous little thrill and you feel yourself smile. Only Charlie could do this to you. 

“Enjoying this, beautiful?” He nips at your earlobe. “I certainly am.”

“Yes, sir, I love your fingers in me.” You murmur almost lazily. “Thank -fuck- thank you, sir.” 

Charlie lets himself smile, since you can’t see his face. You’re sex-drunk over him and he loves it. You can’t even talk about your art while he’s doing this to you. Now that’s an accomplishment. Having you wrapped around his finger, literally. “You’re very welcome, beautiful.” 

You feel yourself clench at his words. You’re getting close, and he knows it. His fingers are plunging deep into you while his thumb vigorously strokes your swollen nub. 

“Ch-Charlie?” Your breathing is coming at faster intervals and you hope you can get your words out. 

“Yes, beautiful?” He’s supporting most of your body weight now with you leaning back into him. 

“Fuck I’m gonna - can I - fuck - please.” Between trying to keep quiet and focusing your gaze straight ahead, you can’t quite form the sentence that he usually requires of you. Charlie’s hot breath tickles your ear as he chuckles slightly. 

“Cum, beautiful,” he purrs, “cum for me now.” 

And you do. You practically explode on his fingers. You clamp a hand over your mouth as you lean your full weight into his hulking form. He shushes you gently, swaying both your bodies a bit to disguise the fact that you’re spasming through your orgasm. To someone standing behind, the two of you might simply be romantically slow dancing. You pant behind your hand, attempting to catch your breath. Your vision is spotty as Charlie eases his fingers out of you and shifts your panties back in place. In an incredibly smooth motion, he wipes his hand on the inside of your skirt as he brings it out. Then there’s a kiss on your cheek, a soft “Come home quick tonight, beautiful.” And he’s striding across the sculpture hall away from you. As if nothing happened. 

---

It’s only when you’re sipping your afternoon coffee in the break room that it hits you. Shit. Shit shit shit shit. 

You forgot to thank him before he left. 

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Winter Solstice Gift for arisprite

I hope you find something to enjoy in this, @arisprite :)

Read On AO3

*****

This Piece of You

The forest was dark around him, but Wei Wuxian had walked the path often enough that he was confident of finding his way back.

The fruit wine dulled his senses and made his strides loose and careless. At the edge of his awareness he could feel the spirits of the Burial Mounds like a lingering tension in the air, more restless in the night than the day. Enough to know that they would come if he called, and that they would not bother him if he didn’t.

He came to the end of the clear path, to the wards that marked the boundary of the modest haven they had carved out for themselves, and continued past. The path was narrower here, overgrown and in some places nonexistent. He weaved languidly between close-set trunks, the occasional low hanging branch catching at his hair like it wanted to draw him close and hold him there. He brushed them away, and they let him go.

He walked, and his mind swam with thoughts.

He thought of his sister in fine red robes he would never see, and the sting in his side from his brother’s blade. He thought of Wen Ning, pale as death, and Wen Qing’s happy tears, and the indulgent smile she had given him before heading to her bed. He thought of Yuan, the cling of his small hand, his smile as he pulled himself into Lan Zhan’s lap - and Lan Zhan, he thought of Lan Zhan, and he ached.

Only the occasional sliver of moonlight managed to penetrate the thick canopy, and much of the time he made his way by touch and instinct alone. It didn’t matter; he had no destination in mind. He had simply wanted to walk, to be away, just for a while, even as exhaustion and alcohol had dragged at his limbs.

He stumbled, his foot catching on the uneven ground. He caught himself, tree bark rough against his palm.

He thought about duty, and justice, and the kindness of the people he had sworn to protect, and their gratefulness. He thought of the slow, suffocating feeling he dared not name for fear it would overwhelm him. He thought of lakes crammed with lotus leaves, and a table littered with peanut shells and half-drunk cups of liquor, and the crisp air of a mountainside where he and Lan Zhan had - where Lan Zhan —

A rustle of movement ahead of him stopped him in his tracks. It was too regular to be the whisper of the wind through leaves. Anywhere other than the Burial Mounds it might have been an animal of some kind, but none larger than the occasional bird or rodent deigned to live here. As he listened it became louder, and finally coalesced into something recognisable. Footsteps.

He considered hiding, but then, what could truly be a threat to him here? He planted his feet more firmly, his balance swaying only slightly, and pulled Chenqing from his belt.

A breeze shifted the branches above him, scattering moonlight onto the path ahead. It caught on something pale, shifting in the darkness: a figure, familiar to him even at a distance, even in the low light.

He lowered his hand, Chenqing dangling loosely from his fingers, and stared.

Lan Zhan strode towards him, unhurried but purposeful. If he was a hallucination created by Wei Wuxian’s desperate mind he was an eerily accurate one, but it was more likely than Lan Zhan actually being here. Only hours earlier Wei Wuxian had watched him go, and known in his heart that he would likely never see him again - that there was no reason for him to return.

Lan Zhan continued towards him at the same steady pace, and Wei Wuxian realised, belatedly, that in the dark he must not have seen him, though he stood on the path unobscured. He should go to him, or call out, but he found himself frozen where he was, staring dumbly, until they were only a handful of strides apart - when Lan Zhan stopped abruptly, his whole body going tense with surprise, his gaze locked on Wei Wuxian’s.

Wei Wuxian briefly forgot how to breathe.

“Wei Ying?”

His head felt thick and hazy, his thoughts clamouring for attention then slipping away before he could focus on them. Lan Zhan was dressed as he had been earlier in the day - had he gone all the way back to town before returning? What reason could be so urgent that it could not wait until the morning? What reason could be so urgent as to make him come at all?

A shock of concern, suddenly. Had something happened? Was he - no, he looked well, not even a little fatigued, despite the late hour and having apparently made at least some of the journey on foot. He looked wonderful in fact, real and solid and close enough to touch.

His voice returned to him in a rush. “What are you doing here?”

Lan Zhan looked at him for a long, breathless moment. Even with the wash of moonlight it was too dark to read his expression properly, but it seemed clear that if he had an answer, he was struggling to find the words to express it. When he lowered his gaze there was an uncertainty about it, perhaps a hint of sheepishness. He took something he had been holding in his left hand, along with his sword, and held it up with his right.

It took a few seconds for Wei Wuxian, squinting at it through the gloom, to recognise what it was: a thin wooden stick with the shape of a rabbit sitting at one end, the back legs hinged so they moved when shaken. It was one of several toys Lan Zhan had bought earlier that afternoon. He gave a confused laugh. “I don’t…”

“I found it,” said Lan Zhan. He definitely looked uncertain now, but the hand holding the toy didn’t waver. “When I returned to my room. It was in my bag. I must have put it away and forgotten.”

Wei Wuxian laughed again, but it sounded sickly even to himself. Of course. Of course. For a blissful, hopeless moment in between his question and Lan Zhan’s answer he had imagined - well, it didn’t matter. “This is why you came all this way, in the middle of the night?”

With Wei Wuxian having made no move to take the toy, Lan Zhan lowered his arm. “I am due to leave tomorrow.”

“Right.” It shouldn’t have stung the way it did. It shouldn’t have made any difference at all. “You know you shouldn’t have bothered. You bought him so many, he probably wouldn’t have noticed this one was gone.”

“Even so.”

“Aren’t there any children at Cloud Recesses who could have had it?” He felt off-kilter as he spoke, as if the effects of the wine, previously faded, were flooding back to full strength. “Surely even Lan children play with toys.”

An emotion too quick to parse flickered across Lan Zhan’s face. There was a tight pause as he considered his response. “Yes,” he said finally. “But I bought it for him.”

They looked at each other for what felt like too long.

Wei Wuxian’s reactions were sluggish and his self-control weak, but then, Lan Zhan wasn’t breaking eye contact either.

His mind felt crowded again, too many thoughts, moving too fast. “It’s so late,” he said, without really deciding to. “It’s - it’s dangerous to be here so late.”

It was true. For anyone, even someone as powerful as Lan Zhan, to be in this part of the forest alone so late at night was to put oneself at the mercy of the spirits who resided there. They might not attack as such, but they could disorientate, confuse, weaken. A journey that could be taken safely during the day became an entirely different matter in the dark.

Lan Zhan blinked. “You are here.”

“It’s not dangerous for me.” He saw Lan Zhan preparing a response and spoke again quickly before he could give it. “You can’t go back alone.”

This was also true. He couldn’t in good conscience allow it. He could walk with him to the safer road, maybe even further than that, as far as Lan Zhan would let him. They could talk, or not, if Lan Zhan preferred it, it would be enough just to be with him. They could say goodbye properly, again, like friends. He could watch him walk away until he could no longer see him. Or…

“It would be quicker to come back with me, than go back into town.”

Wei Wuxian half expected an argument. Lan Zhan had already refused once, and must know that if he had insisted on heading back to his lodgings, Wei Wuxian would have gone with him.

Yet Lan Zhan nodded without hesitation.

*

Instinctively he had reached for Lan Zhan’s wrist. It had felt good, a visceral confirmation that Lan Zhan was truly there; the way Lan Zhan did not resist, allowing himself to be led along the path. How many times had they done this? How many times had he pulled Lan Zhan along with him, and how many times had Lan Zhan followed, maybe with a little resistance at first, but always staying with him in the end?

He held on for longer than he needed, buoyed by the excuse of the darkness and the rough path. It was only when they reached the wards, and the clearer path beyond, that he reluctantly let go.

“What was your plan, really, Lan Zhan?” He glanced at him, before returning his eyes to the path. “Break the wards, sneak in, wake me in my bed?”

Lan Zhan kept his eyes forward. “I would not expect you to be asleep at this time.”

“Ah, I see.” It was funny, really, the idea of Lan Zhan doing something so spontaneous, so positively reckless, but it didn’t make him feel like laughing. Instead he pictured himself waking to the sight of Lan Zhan at his side, and the thought hurt. He pushed it aside. “You should have stayed, before.”

Lan Zhan didn’t answer. Wei Wuxian, prompted by his silence, turned to look him. He was still staring straight ahead, apparently focused intently on picking his way through the winding path.

“Wen Ning had prepared a feast. They hung lanterns - well, you’ll see when we get there. There was wine.” He watched Lan Zhan duck deftly under a grasping branch. “Though I suppose you wouldn’t care for that.”

As if on cue, the warm glow of the lanterns became visible up ahead, twinkling through the trees.

“Almost welcoming, isn’t it?” He turned to look at Lan Zhan and was overwhelmed, once again, by the sight of him, clear now in the lantern light. It hardly felt real that he was there at all, and perhaps that was why he felt able to reach for him again. There was no excuse for it now the way ahead was well lit, and there was certainly no excuse for him to take Lan Zhan’s hand instead of his wrist, clasping their fingers together. Wei Wuxian found himself grinning, elated at his own audacity.

He led Lan Zhan inside, lighting candles as he went. When they reached the space which could modestly be called his room, he stopped and turned to him.

Lan Zhan looked out of place. It was more stark now than it had been during the day, when Wei Wuxian had played the proud host, covering any shame he felt at his circumstances with stubborn bluster, daring Lan Zhan to pity him. Now, though they stood together almost exactly as they had only hours earlier, he felt exposed. Exhausted, worse for drink, wearing the rough clothes he had walked and run and sweated in for a full day.

And Lan Zhan - Lan Zhan was radiant.

His cheer left him all at once, and he dropped Lan Zhan’s hand.

Instead he reached over and plucked the toy from Lan Zhan’s other hand, more for something to do than for any other reason. He recalled Yuan had not favoured it as much as some of the other toys, which would explain how it got missed. It had been ridiculous, really, the amount Lan Zhan had bought. But it had been sweet, too.

“I’m sorry for what I said before.” He gave the toy an experimental shake, making the rabbit run. “I know Yuan will be pleased to have it back.”

He glanced at Lan Zhan, catching a hint of a smile.

“He asked when you would visit again, you know. Maybe you - I think he would like it, if you gave it to him yourself. He always wakes up early - not as early as you, but - if you stayed. Just until then.”

Lan Zhan swallowed visibly. “Wei Ying, I…”

“I know, I know.” He turned and walked purposefully away to place the toy on an empty ledge near the bed. “You need to leave early tomorrow. I understand, forget I said anything.”

He waited for a response for as long as he could bear. When none came, he took a second to gather himself before turning round. “You must be tired.” He waved awkwardly towards the bed. “It doesn’t look much, but it’s actually quite comfortable.”

Lan Zhan didn’t look tired, as such, but there was that uncertainty in his posture again. His held his right arm a little stiffly by his side, as if unsure what to do with it now Wei Wuxian was no longer holding his hand. His eyes followed Wei Wuxian’s gesture before returning to his face. “I will not take your bed.”

Wei Wuxian should have expected it, he supposed, but it still caught him off guard. “Of course you will,” he said after a beat. “You’re my guest.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“Oh I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I can take a spare blanket on the floor. Or…there’s where Wen Ning— ”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian huffed. “Will you insist on making me a poor host, Lan Zhan?”

It came out more sharply than intended, and while Lan Zhan didn’t quite flinch, his expression tightened in a way that indicated the words had hit their mark.

Wei Wuxian felt suddenly very tired. He turned to the bed - a simple, narrow frame pushed up against the wall. It was in no way designed to accommodate more than one person. He shrugged again, and said lightly, “I suppose we’ll have to share, then.”

As much as Lan Zhan tolerated his touches in small doses, Wei Wuxian knew this would be a step too far. He would relent, Wei Wuxian would spend one uncomfortable night on the ground - far from his first - and it would be worth it.

“Alright.”

“What?”

“I agree.”

Ridiculously, Wei Wuxian felt his face flush. “Okay. Fine. You settle however you like, in that case. I can sleep any way, I don’t mind. How about I go nearest the wall? That way if you’re uncomfortable - I know you don’t like…” The way Lan Zhan was watching him, something in his expression, made him stumble over the words. “What I mean is, you won’t be…hemmed in.”

Lan Zhan seemed to change his mind several times before settling on a quiet, “Thank you.” Then without ceremony, he carefully placed Bichen against the wall and began unfastening the sash at his waist.

There was nowhere for him to put his clothes, Wei Wuxian thought suddenly. He tended to simply bundle his own at the foot of the bed, on those nights he bothered to properly undress at all. But Lan Zhan’s robes were beautiful, he would want to fold them neatly somewhere, where they wouldn’t get covered in dirt or candlewax or…

“Wei Ying.”

“Hm?”

Lan Zhan had removed the sash, which he had indeed folded and placed on the ground beside his sword. His hands hesitated on his outer robe. He made eye contact, briefly, then glanced away. “Are you…”

“Oh. Right, yes.” Wei Wuxian flashed him a smile he didn’t quite feel, and began to undress. A flicker of memory. A different cave. A different time.

If they had found themselves sharing a bed back then, or even a year ago, would it have felt like this? It would have been as unexpected. It would, he was sure, have caused the same spark of excitement. But there was a weight to it now that would not have been present before. An illicitness. Lan Zhan should not be here. Wei Wuxian should not get to have the honour of his company, let alone his touch.

Lan Zhan did not strip to his underclothes, stopping once he was down to a plain white inner robe and ensuring each removed item was folded and placed perfectly atop the pile. He seemed intently focused on doing so, his face turned away from Wei Wuxian to complete the task. Lastly he removed his hair ornaments, until only a single hair tie and the ribbon across his forehead remained.

When Lan Zhan finally turned round, Wei Wuxian was struck by the intimacy of it. He looked - not younger, exactly, but softer, bare in a way Wei Wuxian did not recall ever seeing him before. Even on those rare occasions when they had shared rooms, they had always allowed each other a certain level of respectful privacy. If Wei Wuxian had ever glanced Lan Zhan in a less than put together state, it had been accidental or a necessity.

This was the first time, he realised, that Lan Zhan was not only allowing it, but offering it.

The process of getting into the bed was fraught. He insisted Lan Zhan lie down first, then once he was settled, slid himself in the space between him and the wall. Even with Lan Zhan clearly making an effort to allow him as much room as he could, neither of them were small men and there could be no way for them to avoid being pressed up against each other.

He tried not to look at Lan Zhan as he arranged himself in the small space, but he caught a glance of him regardless: lying stiffly on his back, arms tucked close to his body, eyes resolutely downcast, and the faintest, barely there blush across his cheeks.

He turned to face the wall, tucking and untucking the blanket around himself, until Lan Zhan very quietly said his name in a way that he understood as a polite but firm request for him to lie still.

He tried to remember the last time he had shared a bed with another person. He recalled, vaguely, a couple of occasions when he and Jiang Cheng had still shared a room - his brother, scared from a nightmare, wordlessly shoving Wei Wuxian over until there was room for him under the covers, never mentioning it the following day. He remembered how it was to be squashed together with another person, not comfortable, exactly, but comforting.

There was the ache again, that hollowness he tried to ignore, flaring at the thought. When he had first noticed it he had pictured it where his golden core had been, as if he was cold there because that piece of him had been scooped out. But in truth, the feeling was more recent than that. Since he had left Lotus Pier. Since Jiang Cheng had put the wound in his side.

The Wens were so good, and they worked hard, all of them, to make this home. He could not claim to be uncared for. There was always Wen Qing’s hand on his shoulder, Yuan’s small arms wrapped tight round his thigh.

He thought of Jiang Cheng, arms crossed grumpily but leaning into his embrace anyway. He thought of his sister’s hand smoothing down his hair.

Then he closed his eyes and could only think of Lan Zhan: the outside of his arm pressed between Wei Wuxian’s shoulder blades. His quiet breaths, shallower and faster than they should be at rest. The warmth of him.

He slipped into sleep by degrees.

*

He dreamed of fractured things, flickering images, fleeting emotions. Lotus Pier, the courtyards washed red. Cloud Recesses in flames. Bodies hanging from gates, not daring to look closer to discover their faces. Wen Qing, pale and tight-lipped, tearing out the very heart of him. The forest closing in, skeletal branches reaching for Wen Ning, roots dragging Yuan beneath the soil. Corpses clawing their way out of the earth and turning to him, expectant.

You cannot protect them without us.

Don’t you want to protect them?

Wei Wuxian.

You need us.

You need…

“Wei Ying.”

It was a whisper, so quiet he thought he might have imagined it. He listened in case it came again, but he heard only a heartbeat, steady against his ear.

His head lay not on the pillow, but on something firmer, warmer. Silk-soft fabric against his cheek. A touch, light against his hair, the weight of an arm across his waist, keeping him in place. If it was a dream - if it was a dream, he —

He opened his eyes and saw his own hand a short distance from his face, resting against Lan Zhan’s chest, fingers curled into the neckline of his robe. He should probably feel awkward, but he did not. He felt loose with sleep, calm even with the vestiges of the nightmares lingering in his consciousness.

He felt, for the first time in many, many months, safe.

Still, he must have shifted without realising, or his breathing changed, because after a moment Lan Zhan’s hold on him loosened and the hand on his hair moved away.

Reluctantly, he lifted his head. Dizziness rushed at him and he squeezed his eyes shut against it until he had shifted back far enough to lay on the pillow.

Lan Zhan remained on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Sharing the pillow like this, he was close enough to see the flutter of Lan Zhan’s eyelashes. Close enough that when he felt a tickle along the bridge of his nose, he could not be sure whether the cause was Lan Zhan’s hair or his own. Like this, it would take hardly any movement at all for Wei Wuxian to press his lips to Lan Zhan’s cheek, or nuzzle against his neck.

As soon as the thought formed, he struggled to think of anything else.

“Lan Zhan...” His voice cracked, and he could taste the residue of wine on his tongue.

“You kicked me.”

It was such an absurd thing for him to say it dragged a dry chuckle from Wei Wuxian’s throat. “I kicked you?”

“While you slept.” His chest rose with a deep breath, and it was only then that Wei Wuxian realised he still had his fingers gripped loosely in his robe. “I tried to wake you, but…”

Wei Wuxian stared at his own hand, unable to look away. Lan Zhan’s skin was so warm against his knuckles.

“I could not. It was the only thing I could think to do. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be.” He smiled, forcing lightness into his voice. “I was the one being a terrible bedmate. I had no idea that was something I did.”

Minutes passed, and Lan Zhan did not answer. Wei Wuxian wondered if they could go back to sleep like this, if Lan Zhan would allow it, their faces a breath apart and Wei Wuxian holding on to him like an anchor.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s gaze remained on the ceiling, and there was a pinched tension faintly visible around his jaw. “What did you dream of?”

It was only then that his sleep-slow brain caught up with the implications of what Lan Zhan had told him. What must he have looked like, kicking out in his sleep hard enough to wake the person next to him, but not waking himself despite that person’s efforts? What ugly state must he have been in, that the only way Lan Zhan - of all people - could think to calm him was by effectively holding him down?

Embarrassment bubbled up inside him - embarrassment, and that familiar defensive defiance that had told him to push Lan Zhan away time and time again. If he had listened to it earlier when they were still in the forest, if he hadn’t been so weak, he could have saved them both this discomfort.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan was looking at him now, his head turned on the pillow to meet his gaze.

“Nothing. I mean, I don’t remember.” There was concern in Lan Zhan’s eyes and Wei Wuxian hated it, and craved it. “Just a nightmare. You must have them too.”

Lan Zhan frowned and glanced away.

If only he would start talking about calming music again, Wei Wuxian thought. About the dangers of using resentful energy. If Lan Zhan would only judge him, he would have something to fight against.

But Lan Zhan said nothing, a worried line between his brows, looking like everything Wei Wuxian wanted and couldn’t have. He walked through a forest of graves in the dark to come to Wei Wuxian’s home. He slept beside him without disgust or fear. He let him touch - he let him keep touching.

“Lan Zhan.” He swallowed, and it did nothing to relieve the sudden lump in his throat. “Did you really come back because of the toy?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze snapped back to his.

Then without warning he was turning, shifting gracefully onto his side to face Wei Wuxian, a mirror of his position. Wei Wuxian’s hand slid from his chest but now they were touching in so many other places - his toes brushing Lan Zhan’s ankle, Lan Zhan’s knees up against his - and their faces were so close they could see nothing but each other. There was still concern in Lan Zhan’s expression, but there was heat too, and a fear that matched Wei Wuxian’s own, and a bravery that Wei Wuxian did not possess.

He only caught a glimpse of this, before Lan Zhan slid closer and brought their mouths together.

It was almost chaste at first, a stillness that came from Wei Wuxian’s surprise, and possibly from Lan Zhan’s as well. It was the sense that Lan Zhan might be moving away, a slight lessening of pressure, that spurred Wei Wuxian to action. He moved without thought, his hand returning to the front of Lan Zhan’s robes, clutching fervently at the material before skirting higher to slip fingers between the collar of the robe and the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He gripped him there, hot skin and taut muscle beneath his palm.

They kissed, and the feel of it thrummed through every part of him. Lan Zhan’s hand was on his arm before moving up, up until he was cradling his jaw. Lan Zhan’s mouth was soft and persistent, and he was trembling - Wei Wuxian could feel it everywhere they touched, and hear it in the breaths that slipped free in those brief moments that their lips parted.

He felt the sting of tears behind his eyelids, an overflow of emotion that he could not control. He pushed through it; the alternative was to stop, and that would be worse.

Eventually they slowed, their grip on each other loosening. Wei Wuxian was the one to separate them, tilting his head so their mouths were apart, but their foreheads rested together. He could feel the metal of Lan Zhan’s ribbon pressing on his skin.

“I did find it.” Lan Zhan’s voice was low, a hint of hoarseness that made Wei Wuxian’s heart skip. “When I was back in my rooms. I did want to return it.”

Wei Wuxian inclined his head in a small nod. His nose brushed against Lan Zhan’s, a barely-there touch, and he had to resist the urge to kiss him again.

“I was not going to. But I - I could not stop thinking about what you said. You told me you had no choice. And I realised - that I do.” He stroked his fingers tentatively along Wei Wuxian’s cheek before resting there, then pulled back to look at him. “So I chose.”

For all Wei Wuxian searched his gaze, he could find no doubt there, not a shred of uncertainty. Lan Zhan looked at him unwaveringly, stubborn, his fingers gentle on Wei Wuxian’s face.

He wanted to laugh, at Lan Zhan’s foolishness. He wanted to cry, at his earnestness.

In the end he did neither. In the end, he let Lan Zhan kiss him again. And finally, for a little while, his thoughts were filled with only this.

[last-of-the-jaded]

After having willingly given the last month of my life over to MDZS and it’s Live Action counterpart I wanted to compile a list of my favorite aspects of both (including spoilers). Both the original Chinese Novel and it’s stunning 2019 Summer Release counterpart are breathtaking in different manners, but if you are looking for a quick recommendation, I do recommend going for the drama first as it will simplify the further consumption of content if you decide you want to partake in more.

What I love about THE UNTAMED:

The symbolism of the cliff at Nightless City, and how that entire scene marks a clear shift in Wuxian’s mental state as well as the overarching story. Similarly, how in the end it is Wuxian who throws himself off that precipice to sure death. This detail provides a direct comparison between his mental state at this moments and Cheng’s after his core was squashed, while also touching on an unique level of disparity and regret that is unrealized in the novel at this point (considering how this isn’t how Wuxian dies in the written version)

Xiao Zhan and Wang Yibo. I’ve made posts about this already so I’ll spare you another essay (Here and Here)

Jiang Cheng’s entire character arc. Seeing him fully fleshed out, utilized, and properly human within the drama made it hard for me to swallow how shallow he often felt on paper, especially in the early chapters. I get that this is partially due to the youth sequences in the book being written completely from Wuxian’s POV, but for me there is something incredibly human and genuine just lacking from the version of Cheng on paper that stood out so gorgeously for me in terms of his drama counterpart. Wang Zhou Cheng did an amazing job bringing out his raw emotion and anger on screen, lines were delivered in a manner that truly solidified this characters growth and vulnerability to me. For such a new actor within his field he did a brilliant job, and is the reason I have so many damn emotions concerning Jiang Cheng’s character arc. (I have a million analysis pieces typed up on my blog if that interests you)

The sequential order for the flashbacks was incredibly easy to consume. It helped to keep events and motivations clear. I understand why the book was able to skip around in a more winding mysterious manner, but from a drama standpoint I massively appreciated being able to consume the events leading up to Wuxian’s demise in consecutive order. The first few episodes were initially extremely confusing to me as a new watcher, and it’s only when the flashbacks hit that the plot-line solidified as well.

The female leads! Yanli, Qing, and Mianmian having larger roles and development was absolutely a plus. Everyone had the same intentions and feel as they did in the original, just more fully fleshed out since they were given time to interact within the world. As a bonus note seeing Madam Yu and hearing her bullshit on screen, said out-loud in the bitchy tone her actress gave her, made her 10X worse and from an antagonist perspective I massively appreciate that they were able to make me despise her so damn much.

Everyone important to the past storyline being involved in the Gusulan Study Sessions under Lan Qiren. This was a simple and effective manner of introducing everyone and having characters feel involved and interactive from the get-go. I was honestly a little disappointed that not everyone was included when I went on to read the novel.

Ning and Wuxian’s interactions early on. Their dynamic in the show was given life, and felt genuine in how it shifted over the course of Wuxian’s trails and misfortune. I love how they included Ning in the early on portions of the series, especially the Caiyi Town waterborn abyss debacle where Wuxian saved his life. It just added more layers to an already intriguing dynamic that plays a massive role overall.

The wolf torture scene. This added a whole new layer to Wuxian’s fear of dogs, while still completing its job of giving Ning and Wuxian a reason to interact and grow. Not to mention the example of Wen Sect Torture Tactics really added to the inhumanity of the sect while sparking our main character’s growth and self-sacrificing nature.

The symbolism behind Yanli’s and Cheng’s dreams. These dream sequences give a glimpse into the heads of two complex character’s and honestly added so much background motivation to their storylines. I loved these details and how much analysis us all as viewers can put into them.

The rain scene. Wuxian telling Wangji he would prefer to die by his hands. The first tears watchers see from an incredibly strong and willful young man who has always appeared stoic. (I cannot express to you enough how sad I was that this scene didn’t take place in the novel)

Wuxian’s mask. I understand logistically why they had to do this from a filming perspective (I mean if you have someone as good looking and Xiao Zhan, damnit you are going to let him look like him as much as you can) but I honestly really enjoyed the smaller details they included to make it work plot-wise. I also appreciate how it was designed as a prop considering it actually altered Wuxian’s features in a manner that made him harder to recognize due to its bulky and carved nature.

The secret underground cave in Cloud Recess under the bathing pool. The whole meeting between Wangxian and the female sect leader. I enjoyed this detail and how they expanded upon it when it came to the burning of their sect home and the survival of their people.

Wangxian’s relationship. Their subtle, trusting, gentle way of showing love. On an additional note I appreciate how it never once felt like I needed to discuss consent with the characters (coughNOVELcough) because everything between them was healthy and playful.

The soundtrack, costuming, and bts. I understand that this was a low budget production (compared to the majority of traditional dramas) and honestly I appreciate what we were given taking that into account. They stayed true to the essence and message of the story. I love the manner in which the costumes became a part of the characters and everyone had a clear style. The soundtrack flowed amazingly well with the scene and tone shifts (this is disregarding how fake their instrument playing looked because I’m still not over how off the finger movements appeared at points). The behind the scenes content on its own could win an award - it made completing the show a million times more satisfying because I do believe that the people working on set had fun (somehow even while filming during the hottest time of the year)

The name of the drama. When you reach that moment when you understand why it is called such - it’s a tale of the rise and fall of Wuxian.

The ending scene. I know it’s not the ‘stereotypical happy ending’ fans wanted, but it perfectly fit the tone and message of the piece as a whole. I love the ending. It felt right.

What I love about MDZS (NOVEL):

The Yi City Arc. It’s worth reading for this part alone. Motivations, logic, and everything just hit so much harder. I do appreciate what the drama gave us, but like, once you’ve tasted this version it’s really hard to go back.

Empathy. In general seeing Wuxian use empathy within the novel just works so much smoother. His little anecdotes and analysis while in stasis reliving ghost’s lives gives it a realism that it’s lacking on camera.

Second Siege of the Burial Mounds. The way the novel sets up this part and actually makes it feel scary with hoard mentality makes it work so much better. It feels like there is a weight to this moment. The waves of corpses are terrifying, and the exhaustion of fighting for hours gives it a level of humanity that makes what Wuxian and Wangji selflessly do stand out even more. Not to mention, the leftovers of the Wen Sect fucked me up. I bawled. This is another detail that I would legitimately read the entire novel over for just to experience.

Wuxian being fucking terrifying at points. Playing with demonic energy and losing control is supposed to be scary. In the novel it honestly felt that way. Seeing him slowly get worse was heartbreaking. Watching how people’s opinions on him skewed, and how he dealt with looks, pressure, and weight on his shoulders, took this arc to a whole new level. The way demons and ghosts flocked to and around him in public added a level of horror that was unsettling and necessary.

Wuxian actually losing control. In the drama they added another flute player to sort of work around Wuxian having to accept the result of his failure. In the novel, there is no such thing -  and I love it. It’s another dowsing to the pain and suffering Wuxian has to accept and learn to overcome.  It makes him coming back a decade later - to live and achieve and get revenge - feel different.

Action scenes and gore. If something is called “The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation” you expect some blood, and damn do I appreciate that the author made stuff have impact. I wish the drama had a bigger budget so they could have done the wounds and cgi more justice.

Wangji rescuing Wuxian after the first raid on yiling, and choosing to suffer together, hated by the world, rather than lose the love of his life. I love the use of the cliff in the drama, especially the imagery of Wangji trying to hold Wei Ying up before ultimately falling, but the route the author took in the novel is so much fucking worse. Like I cannot even imagine the pain Wangji went through.

Lan Xichen opening Wuxian’s oblivious eyes. Best brother ever. This entire scene, leading up to the final battle, is like downing a shot and waiting for it to hit. It deserves a standing ovation.

The details in the Xuanyu of Slaughter cave sequence. Every little tell that Wangji gave - he really did fall in love young.

Mingjue’s corpse. The separated limbs, angry spirit, holding bags, and everything made sense because of description.

Wangji explaining how he got the brand mark over his heart. All of his scars. Fuck. There’s inferring, and then there is having it described to you from the person directly and feeling as your own heart dies.

Lan Zhan’s insane arm strength. This is a detail that deserves recognition.

Wuxian’s inner analysis of Nei Huaisang at the end. This was fully formed and actually had some payoff.

The clear comparisons between Mengyao’s fate and what happened to Wuxian himself. Once again you can infer in the drama, but having it clearly implied in the book hits different because when someone becomes a public pariah it’s easier to go with the public outcry than try and defend them. “Nobody knew with more clarity than Wei WuXian that nobody would care and nobody would believe”

Ning protecting Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng in a manner directly parallel to how he killed the people they cared for.

Jin Ling’s realization about being unable to hate anyone in the end. You feel for this kid. You want to see him grow up well.

The beginning set up chapter. Hearing what happened in the past vaguely through spreading rumors and small talk without seeing it for yourself adds a level of intrigue. It has greater mystery than just seeing the scene play-out and cutting away.

Everything making sense in general with no plot holes. It’s one of those things where in television no matter how well you do, you can’t possibly include all the needed details. With the drama you have to infer a lot, and sometimes you will get it wrong. In the novel it really is just much easier to make sense of. This also included the pacing as well. Timeskips make sense.

Kissing. Smut. Damn, it’s so nice to have actual payoff for the slow burn.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

012: “I can’t stop thinking about you.” Intrulogical? - theo-lord-of-love-and-rage ( bc I can't ask from side blogs and that makes me a sad panda )

Blush For Lunch

Summary: Logan finds a new diner that he decides to become a regular at, not necessarily just because the food is good

Warnings: food mention

Ships: Remus x Logan, Intrulogical

WC: 1,420

A chaotic man with an immaculately cared for mustache was the first thought in Logan's head as he watched the waiter waltz between and around the tables of the cramped diner. Somehow keeping two trays balanced on each hand and a third on the left shoulder while he stood on his tiptoes and twirled around a stray bag, hair flopping messily into his eyes as he did so. He was mesmerizing, as cliche as that might be and Logan blushed as he ducked his head back down, hoping no one caught his staring.

Burying his face in the menu instead he searched for something simple and quick to eat as he worked through the stack of papers he had brought to grade. Being a teacher was a rewarding pursuit but the endless stream of paperwork was definitely something he could stand to do without. His shoes shifted and squeaked on the clean floors, making him appreciate the diner even more considering how many floors his shoes had stuck to rather than slid on. The menu had a variety of simple yet delicious sounding choices as well that the smells wafting around only exaggerated. Hopefully this would be a nice place to lunch at more often.

"Are you ready to order?"

A nasally but pleasant voice brought him out of his thoughts, bringing him face to face with the whirlwind if a waiter. His dark green eyes gleamed in the low light and Logan found himself speechless for all the vocabulary he drilled into his students.

"I uh-eyes."

For all his previous praise of the floor Logan found himself swearing at it profusely at the nerve of it not opening up and swallowing him whole. His face heated up as the waiter blinked and then laughed outright, plucking the menu from his hands. "Coming right up!"

Before Logan could even begin to guess what was happening the other was off with a swish of his hips, leaving him to wonder what exactly was going to end up on his plate. Fiddling with his tie he glanced around nervously as his face began to cool, thanking the stars no one had noticed the exchange.

Within a few minutes a plate was set in front of him with two larger mounds of what looked like fried rice with cartoonish pupils and irises drawn on them in some kind of sauce. The waiter beamed at him as he looked up in question, gesturing to the dish.

"Meat stuffed fried rice balls with hot sauce eyes drawn on!" He tilted his head to the side and frowned in thought. "In hindsight it's more akin to putting googly eyes on testicles but it's close enough."

By the time Logan had managed to process the comment the waiter was gone, back to darting in between tables. Idly he poked at the food in front of him while laughing quietly at the strange mans antics. Actually tasting it however made him appreciate whoever it was even more, as the hot sauce made the dish burst with flavor. Watching from the corner of his eye while the other served patrons made him smile into his plate, ungraded papers completely forgotten. He'd definitely be coming back here.

---

"You're back."

Logan snapped his gaze up from his work to meet the waiter's gaze, eyes twinkling from lights or amusement he couldn't say. Blushing slightly and adjusting his glasses Logan nodded.

"So? What'll it be this time?" The man gestured to the menu and Logan refused to admit he loved the others black glittery nail polish even if it was chipping. Carefully avoiding his gaze he handed the menu over and cleared his throat.

"I was hoping...you'd pick again? Usually I despise surprises but it was quite pleasant yesterday."

The server grinned wide. "Not gonna give me something to go off this time?"

Logan faltered for a moment. That smile...

Grinning even wider he took the menu and twirled away. "Won't be mine but I'm good at improvision!"

Logan gaped as he realized he must have actually said that outloud, once again turning him into a stuttering mess that quickly buried itself back into the paperwork with renewed vigor. Don't think about him, don't think about him, don't think, don't think-

Groaning he shoved the papers away and dragged a slow hand under his glasses. He hadn't had a feeling like this since...he actually couldn't remember. Everything that random waiter did was just another point on the growing list of reasons Logan was beginning to deduce meant he had feelings for the other. Even though that was impossible since they had only met twice and the other was only serving him food since it was his job but he would much rather be given his number than whatever it was he was going to bring out. Would it be inappropriate to write his number on the receipt? Did people still do that?

Looking up as a plate was set in front of him he was met with a wink and another dazzling, if slightly manic, smile before he was left alone, his heart beating painfully against his chest as he once again tried and failed to contain a blush. He looked down to be met with a stereotypical smiling meal of eggs and bacon...with tomatoes cut like fangs placed under the bacon and the yokes poked and smeared with what appeared to be a dot of ketchup in each to represent the eyes. It was as ghastly as it was amusing and Logan was happy to find it was just as delicious as the meal previous.

----

The rest of the week passed in a blur of failed flirting on Logan's part and delicious meals on the servers. He caught himself thinking about his next lunch more often than not, wondering of the white streak in the others hair was dyed or hereditary, if he had more piercings besides his ears and the one he had seen in his eyebrow, how it was possible for jeans that tight to be comfortable.

Saturday brought a hint of nerves as he wasn't sure if the man he had grown infatuated with would even be working but his shoulders noticeably relaxed when he caught sight of his smile getting closer, already carrying a dish to his table. In just a week a tradition seemed to have started where Logan wasn't even handed a menu anymore, some sort of oddly decorated meal already ready when his allotted time for lunch came around.

"Wasn't sure you'd be here today but I'm glad you came."

"I- wait why- what?" Logan stuttered through his half question as the waiter disappeared around the tables without answering, leaving him gaping embarrassingly before snapping his mouth shut and turning towards his lunch. His brow furrowed as he realized it was alphabet soup with the letters arranged in suspiciously straight lines that upon closer inspection spelled out numbers with a question at the end.

Call me?

He spent an undetermined amount of time simply staring at the bowl, leaving a rather gross congealed mass in place of the previously steaming lunch. Taking out his phone slowly he typed out the number, panicking slightly as he thought of what to say before settling on his curiousity.

???: Why soup?

???: Why not nilf?

???: I don't know what that is.

???: I don't know your name so that's what I've been calling you.

???: My name is Logan but that doesn't answer my question.

???: I'll tell you when you're older Nerdy Wolverine. Or I could tell you over a proper dinner rather than a lunch rush meal? I get off at 7. Name's Remus btw.

Logan's mouth quirked at the nickname even as his face heated impossibly brighter at the dinner proposal. Feeling bold he texted back quickly.

Logan: I'll admit I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since I started coming here, so dinner sounds lovely.

Burying his face in his hands he did his best to contain the awkward embarrassment he felt. Why had he said that? He was going to come off creepy and weird and he was certain that wasnt how you secured a date and-

He peaked out from his fingers as his phone buzzed. Tentatively he opened the text.

Remus: Glad the feeling's mutual!

"Wanna meet up outside the restaurant tonight then?"

Logan looked up at the familiar face, eyes shining with mirth as he leaned forward. He offered a smile of his own and nodded.

"I'd like that."

This work is also available on AO3!

[short-stories-club]

anonymous

It happened in November, on a cold Thanksgiving night. I hurried home in the rain and peered over that familiar but unwelcoming meadow that leads directly into the narrow strip of concrete which we called our driveway. The dirt road was wet and muddy, and my toes grew cold and damp through my thin shoes. Tonight was a frigid evening, one that makes your finger tips and extremities numb to the point where one’s dexterity is limited. I cut across the road and hiked atop the mound. My house peaked out at me slowly as I trekked over the hill whilst I quickly caught a glance at the driveway. I noticed that the unsightly old automobile was parked out front; beat up with the scratched paint like it always had. I wasn’t mistaken; he was here tonight, that vile creature I so hated to call my Father.

Aside from the surprise visitor, nothing was different or out of the norm about our landscape; grey, stiff and dead trees still filled the majority of space within the front yard with leaves scattered throughout from yesterday’s windy weather.  The property’s countenance remained consistent year around, and my mother never wanted to repair or fix the exterior of the home although it definitely needed it. This lack of upkeep with the property disturbed me, as it constantly reminded me of my Mother; she always put off her own problems at the expense of others. The ironic part of this situation was that we didn’t own a doormat, and I always joked that she likened herself to one so we didn’t need it.

I got inside and neatly put my shoes aside; I was relieved to finally dry my feet. Peering onto the wall next to my closet, I gazed upon one of my Mother’s favorite family photos. I looked into the quaint picture and studied my sister’s countenance. She was always so positive and full of life. The image jogged my memory; reminiscing on my childhood, I thought back about when father left. I was only 12 years old when this happened, and he left for another woman to top it all off. This was just 5 years after my older sister passed away in a car accident, and I often wondered if Father leaving was ultimately due to her death. He could have felt responsible since he was driving her that day. My older sister was father’s little dream girl; he favored her, undoubtedly, which is why I grew so close to mother and distanced myself from him growing up. Desperate I was as a child, I even hoped that her passing might make draw the two of us closer, but I learned early that having faith in him wasn’t a fruitful endeavor. Nonetheless, he sporadically visited throughout my teen years whenever he felt stimulated to do so. My grip tightened when I analyzed the portrait further; I glanced towards the still image of my father. I don’t remember specifically when I began to disdain my father, I always hated how he hurt mother, but the hatred grew deep as I got into high school. I disrespected my mother for so being so readily available for his presence, but she was a broken woman who couldn’t be fixed. She was truly so kind, forgiving and thoughtful when it came to others, yet self-negligence was her specialty.

“Hey, Damien!” my father yelled from the dinner table. I peered around the corner; he looked thinner and drunker than I remembered. “I haven’t seen you in a good year, why don’t you sit down at the dinner table and entertain some sweet conversation with your old man?” I stood there silent as I glanced at mother, who smiled faintly with her back to me as she stirred the soup. After a good couple seconds I replied “Why are you here? Did you tell mom you were coming?” He looked down, and took a deep breath and stood up. “You aren’t going to give me a warm welcome then, ha? Well… listen he-“My mother quickly interrupted him: “He called me to tell me something important before he came, some big news… he also wanted to tell you in person.” Her attempt to calm the mood was a success; I gazed at him ever so confused. What else did he do besides piss his days away with that whore he claimed? I was glad he left. My mother had been spared for the last 5 years from any beatings, and I was planning on it keeping it that way permanently. “What the hell are you talking about? What’s going on?” I couldn’t read him. I never really could anyway, but this time he unusually more timid. He abode almost bore a sense of grief. “Its crazy son... you’ve sure grown a ton. You’re probably taller than me now…”  His countenance softened as he sat back down, receiving my mother’s soup at the table. I was indeed taller than him now. I’d grown almost 4 inches this year. Quickly brushing the complement aside, I retained my composure and sat opposite him at the dinner table while my own bowl of soup was graciously donated. “Well you see Damien… I wanted to come see you in person to apologize… for how I’ve treated you and, well…your mother over the last few years. You see, uh, Cindy and I aren’t really seeing each other no more, and uh... Well, I’ve been diagnosed with cancer, it’s the shitty kind too... and I wanted to see you both and tell you in person I don’t have much more than a couple months left...”

I was stunned. My chest hurt and throbbed in disbelief. My mother started to tear up and went back to the sink. I couldn’t believe this outcome. How dare he? I hadn’t seen him in almost 2 years and he shows up to tell me this? Conversely, the idea of my father passing away hurt too; a deep part of me always wished things would have worked out for the better. My Father appeared the least big distracted and fully embraced the moment with us.  Nevertheless, my soul erupted with rage as the perception of the gesture was spoiled because of how he had been in the past. So many nights I wished our family hadn’t fallen apart, and that things could be reconciled someway, and this couldn’t simply serve as justification for all of the vile behavior our family witnessed because of his sins. I noticed the blank expression on both of my parent’s faces as they gazed upon me, wondering what I was going to do, or say next.

“You’re a coward...” I said with my head down. I didn’t want my expression to be noticed. “You had your whole life to live this out, yet you chose violence, selfishness, and addiction.” I struggled to articulate myself, careful not to be reckless with my words. He sat there wide eyed. I never saw a submissive countenance overcome the massive, burly figure of my father like this before. I had his full attention and it made me feel powerful. I continued “I couldn’t give two fucks… To me you aren’t a Father figure … you’re nothing but a vagabond who aimlessly moves around in life…also I won’t simply forget the multiple nights of bruising and violence I witnessed at your hand!” A violent passion overwhelmed me. I was upset; I was trying to hold back tears as well. I couldn’t convey the part of myself, of which was so deeply embedded, that wanted affection and acknowledgement from him. He deserved to be punished. There were so many emotions present at the tip of my tongue and I couldn’t find the lexicon to display it verbally. Physically, I was on the brink of violently writhing; Nonetheless, I couldn’t let this wretch see how badly he destroyed my psyche over the many years which comprised my childhood. I chose to conceal myself and put on a façade; I exemplified rage which was an attempt to obscure the ability of my father to apprehend my true countenance, which was one of sorrow and grief. I needed to finally become a man and confront my Father on his many shortcomings.

After a couple of chilling seconds, my father stood up and stared deep into my soul with a gaze that pierced through my proverbial barriers. I really pissed him off with those words. Perhaps he was calling my bluff; he was always able to intimidate me with relative ease, but this time I didn’t want to back down. I stood straight up, facing him with my shoulders square and fists clenched. After all, I was physically much larger now. It really didn’t surprise me that the sweet act lasted only for a moment. Being affectionate was like pulling teeth to him.

He seemed excited as he began walking slowly towards me with a look I’ve never quite seen before. This startled my mother, whom began running at him and took hold of his shoulder with haste; “Stop it! Don’t take another-“My Father abruptly froze as he aggressively grabbed my mother’s wrist. He always despised my mother for trying to alter his temperament. His blood shot eyes began to enlarge as he stiffened his body and took a different countenance immediately. He erupted, and exclaimed for her not to touch him as he swung his right palm with a mighty force towards her soft, delicate face. The sound was deafening as she slammed against the chair, ultimately breaking it, and crashed onto the pale floor. The raw, unhinged scene of violence that I just witnessed triggered me to new heights of dysfunctional behavior. I hadn’t seen this level of violence from my father; did he mean to kill us? I was surprised to new heights of confusion and fear, so I began to panic. Preemptive of his next move, I white-knuckled my dinner fork and swiftly thrust it into the upper region of his figure with all 180 pounds of my strength. I was careless of how much damage this could potentially cause him.

It wasn’t until a moment later I realized I landed a good shot on him. My weapon landed right below his throat area, above his collarbone. Time stood still; he immediately began fondling the sharp object stuck in his throat with desperation, which was about a couple of inches deep into his neck. He trembled, and appeared stunned. With his hands on the silverware, his eyes shifted momentarily, at the ceiling, then back at me. He seemed possessed if only I hadn’t noticed the expression in his eyes; all of his other bodily extremities were so preoccupied with the newly found hunk of metal sticking out of his throat that his eyes were the last physical vessel through which bore his true and utter terror. Those ugly pupils bled with such vile expressions as they bounced around the room, in and out of focus, trying to find a solution to the predicament which beheld him.

He bluntly pulled the fork out and began coughing, which sounded gargled and distorted. His body language regained familiarity, yet he curled inward as he was maimed and defenseless. My heart was beating; I was scared yet curious; I accomplished this with my own physical willpower. I stood still in awe taking the moment in. I could still smell the delicious aroma of soup in the air.

I came back to my senses as he was screaming some sort of expletives, though they were difficult to discern. I stepped forward towards him and grabbed his dinner fork, of which was conveniently located near his bowl of soup. I knew I had to finish what I started. It was too late to choose grace at this point. I grasped the second weapon with all my might, and began stabbing him profusely. I cared only to stab him in his upper regions; above his chest area and below his forehead. His screams were in rhythm with my thrusting motions; beads of blood drenched my hand and decorated the furniture around me. I could feel his body convulsing with each blow, yet his endurance slowed as consecutive attacks ensued. He was half alive; his arms kept reaching out at me like tentacles of which aimlessly attempted to defend against the impending offense, yet they weakened with each and every passing second. I stabbed him for all the times he wasn’t there for me, for all the nights he hit mom, and I even stabbed him because of the fact I couldn’t admit I had deep feelings for him.

It took me a while until I realized what I had accomplished; perhaps a good 5 minutes had passed by until my adrenaline faded. I was truly an abhorrent monster. My mother and father both lay unconscious, but my Mother’s heart still beat. I escaped my own body; I knew I was a monster at some level of intellect, yet I felt absolutely nothing. My body was void of all human emotion. I stood up, drenched in blood, and gazed upon at the disaster I created.

I walked to the kitchen, and did the only thing left I knew to do. I grabbed the sharpest knife above the microwave, and slit my wrists. I fell to the earth, beholding both of my parents at my feet. The heat of the moment captured me. I lacked the post processing that a normal brain, under normal circumstances, possessed. The pain in my wrists slightly brought me back to the earthly plains. The smell of the soup was now masked by the musky smell of blood and sweat. I threw up, and began to feel overwhelmingly dizzy. My senses faded, the room looked grey and lacked color. My head felt heavy and I kept drifting in and out of darkness for what seemed to be an eternity.

The contrasting moments between murdering my father, and the resulting, utter silence that ensued after the fact was almost comical. This was it? No standing ovation? Perhaps God will think otherwise when I proceed into the afterlife. It was at this moment I realized I had been weeping for God knows how long, my eyes were cold and wet; they drained the last remaining life juices from my soul. I took my last breathe as I proclaimed to myself that I had done a good deed, bringing justice to my Father.

The door slammed opened, and the firefighters and police crowded into the small, beat up home. Moments turned into hours as yellow tape stretched around the crime scene. “Looks like a case of domestic violence if you ask me, then he took the easy way out.” The officer exclaimed, as he gestured towards the teenager sprawled out on the kitchen floor. He stepped aside as a very tall man with a trench coat walked inside. “Indeed, looks like a perfectly normal family function gone wrong.” The policeman quickly replied, “Where is the girl?” The detective smirked, and turned his head to focus on the officer. “What do you mean?” He replied, “Well, look” He pulled a picture off of the wall from near the closet and gave it to the large man. “Ah… I see.” He gazed into the photograph and studied each face that made up the solemn family of four. He noticed the how her expression was bright, excited and full of passion. “It’s odd she didn’t join her own family on Thanksgiving Day.” The detective wasn’t fazed. “I was briefed during the trip out here; she passed away years ago in a car accident. Seems like nothing really worked out for this family. Sad ending, really… how’s the Mother holding up?” Both men glanced into the kitchen where the forensic group was hard at work trying to gather as much information as possible. “She is awake finally, although in a great deal of shock. She hasn’t spoken at all and she is as white as a ghost.” The detective grimaced as he handed the photograph back to the officer. He walked into the crime scene, quickly studying each body that lie there. “At least one made it out alive. We should take her back to the hospital, freshen her up. Hopefully by next week we can figure out what the hell happened here.” The officer set the photo back into its proper location near the closet door. “Of course… that’s a good idea.” He made some cryptic calls over his intercom and stepped outside.

The detective’s attention was intrigued by the expression on the boy’s face in the kitchen. He stepped carefully over the tape and into the heart of the scene. “How long has he been dead?” He motioned to one of the able bodied young men nearby. “I’d say a good couple of hours now sir.” He replied abruptly. The detective stared into the boy’s eyes which to his surprise were still opened; he noticed some tears streaming down his pale face. “It’s almost like his soul is crying out, trying to tell us he was innocent.” The worker stopped, chuckled, and slightly nodded. The detective continued, “We’ll figure out one way or the other; cases like these often have a lot of back story.” The detective took his gloves off and wiped the tears away from the boy’s cheek whilst brushing his eyes shut with the palm of his hand. “Rest in peace, kiddo.”

[thecatwhogrins]

Brought Back (Part 2) Obiyukiweek19 (Day 3: Gluttony)

Part two of the Necromancer AU :)

Warning! Mentions of abuse and death.

Obi sat on his bad with a sigh, a glass of whatever alcohol he had found in his cabinet and wiped a hand over his face, trying to dispel the last remnants of sleeps from his mind.

Instead, when he closed his eyes, he remembered Shirayuki.

He remembered her wide eyes full of fear but also curiosity. When she had softly touched him, he had shivered. Hard. It had been so long since he had felt the touch of someone who was alive and breathing. He decided he would keep that feeling like a token to remember that the real world existed, that beyond the calls of the dead and the pain of the living and the bruises caused by human hands, there also existed good people.

His phone rang, pulling him out of his reverie. He answered, his voice slightly muffled, the pain in his jaw too painful to ignore. As soon as he heard who was on the other side, his day went from bad to worse.

*

Shirayuki ended her shift, sighing heavily as she took off her equipment, snapping her gloves off. Despite the several coffees she had downed during the day, her whole body still felt heavy with weariness. Yuzuri and Shirayuki were mortuary assistants, they worked with the coroners or medical examiners. It wasn’t an easy job, but she did it well and the pay wasn’t bad.

The body they had just examined was part of an unusually violent homicide case. She wasn’t sure about the details yet, but it seemed to be part of something larger. Yuzuri was worried they might have a serial killer on the loose. Garack, while not voicing it out loud, seemed to think the same. This wasn’t uncommon in a big city like Tokyo, but the thought of it sent shivers down Shirayuki’s back. Suddenly last night’s encounter seemed even less safe.

Her mind wandered off to Obi, wondering if he managed to get back to his apartment without encountering the other man. Yuzuri would probably have a field day admonishing her about the dangers she could have been exposed to once she’d hear about the encounter.

“I’ll be right back, going catch us some lunch. What do you want?” asked Yuzuri, smiling as she headed out the door of the break room. The break room was near the morgue itself, but other staff members of the hospital used it as well. Doctors and nurses were milling around, drinking coffee and eating lunch.

“Just the usual, please. Thank you, Yuzuri,” Shirayuki smiled at her friend.

“Gotchu!” she winked and left.

Shirayuki looked down at her paperwork, absorbed by what she was seeing. The corpse she had just helped examine belonged to a female, probably in her twenties and had had its hands cut off and the face had also been badly mutilated, probably to avoid identification. The strangest detail of this homicide was the fact that the rest of the body had been treated with utmost care, almost reverentially. This was important, as the other bodies concerned in the investigation had also been in the same state. What were they dealing with?

Shirayuki’s mind was reeling when suddenly she noticed someone walking in the hallway.

It was Obi.

His face didn’t look much better compared to yesterday, purple and yellow blotches blooming all over like dark flowers. His gait still indicated that he was in pain and his hair wasn’t brushed. His eyes held a wild determined look as he strode forward. Shirayuki found herself standing up unwillingly as she followed him. He was heading… straight towards the morgue.

No one was there at this hour. She followed from a distance, cautious.

Why was he here?

*

Obi entered the morgue, hoping no one had seen him. He locked the door, as he wasn’t in the mood for interruptions. What he was about to do was risky and demanded his full attention. Fortunately, this was not his first rodeo.

He searched the tags, looking for the name, Shizuka Atsushi. Having found it, he carefully pulled the metallic stretcher out, revealing the corpse. Obi swallowed heavily, closed his eyes and started invoking. His whole body ached with the effort as the voices screamed in his ears.

The corpse trembled, fingers twitching slightly, as though a newfound breath of life had entered it. But it was unnatural life, a factice, twisted version that crawled throughout the long-dead corpse. The body started sitting up, jerkily, like an obscene puppet being pulled up by its strings. The other voices quieted down and the only one that Obi could now hear was loud and clear and it said:

“Oh my God!”

Obi looked up, startled, as the woman from last night, Shirayuki, stood by the door, mouth agape in horror.

His fragile concentration snapped like a twig and he lost control, the corpse started jerking, the spirit inside trying to break free. Obi brought his eyes back to the corpse, trying to regain control, but he could see the redhead ready to bolt.

He dropped everything and ran to stop her from alerting the whole building. His hip crashed into the side of the stretcher, cursing and in pain, he managed to grab her wrist. Before he could open his mouth, she crouched, used his weight against him and flipped him over her shoulder. He landed on the cold linoleum floor, wheezing, air knocked out of him.

The silence was resounding in the small room as Obi tried to regain his breath and Shirayuki her composure. She turned around once more to alert someone, but he finally managed to talk.

“I swear I wasn’t doing whatever you think I was doing,” he managed to wheeze.

“So, you’re telling you were not about to steal the corpse? I don’t see any other reason why you’d be here. Unless…” A true look of disgust and horror manifested on her face and Obi wished he could die. Telling the truth seemed almost worse than whatever she was imagining.

As he was about to try explaining himself, the corpse started moving again and Shirayuki let out a string of profanities so long, Obi would have laughed in other circumstances. It started to try getting off the stretcher, its stiff limbs and handless arms shambling with dull thuds.

Obi scrambled off the floor and asked a petrified Shirayuki to hold still while he released the spirit. She probably hadn’t even heard him as her whole body was frozen in shock. When she had entered the room and seen the body move, she had thought it had been Obi trying to prop it up. But, clearly, this wasn’t the case anymore. Her mind was reeling, trying to understand and make sense of what she was seeing but she couldn’t.

The corpse stopped jerking and settled back down. Obi heaved a sigh and looked at Shirayuki who still stood frozen. He tentatively touched her shoulder, as he was afraid she’d throw him over shoulder again. Instead, she flinched and cowered from his touch. He couldn’t blame her.

“Did that corpse just…” she couldn’t make herself say the words that were on the tip of her tongue.

Obi was at a loss. Even if he told her the truth, she’d never accept it. This went beyond what the human mind could comprehend. Some days, even he had a hard time understanding his powers.

His curse.

He cursed mentally at himself, at how careless he had been. She was probably going to call the police, and this meant he wouldn’t be able to get the information he needed. Which meant he wouldn’t get payed. Which meant no booze.

Shirayuki was staring at him again, the same expression she had last night was once again on her face, a mix of fear and curiosity.

“You’d better explain this,” she said, almost too calmly.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I did,” he whispered.

“Try me.”

*

The first time Obi brought a corpse back to life, he had been seven years old. He was playing in the backyard where nothing grew, except for a few weeds and was kicking around rocks, singing to himself the theme of Kamen Raider to cover the sounds of fighting back at the house. The new foster parents were much like the ones before, using him to get perks from the government. He had learned that adults were like insatiable pigs, always searching for more and always taking. He was nursing his sore cheek, and the other bruises were sure to show up soon.

In the dirt, a white pebble stuck out, like a growing plant. Obi kneeled by it, observing the strange protuberance. It was a gloomy day, the sun was hidden and the wind was patrolling the city. On the street, a dog barked, and Obi suddenly wished he had a companion with him to play with.

The wind whistled, then roared. At Obi’s feet, the white pebble started moving on its own, and what he once thought was a pebble turned out to be a bone. Other bones joined, clattering, in a mound at Obi’s feet until there sat a pile of them. The started to form themselves into a small form, like a mouse or a gerbil. The small creature had probably died there and decomposed a while ago, the bones were bleached white, no muscle or meat in sight. The revenant clattered and rattled, threatening to dissolve if it moved too much.

Obi marveled at this but a sense of fear also grew in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t allowed to have a pet in the house, what would he do with his new friend?

He snapped back to reality when a rough hand slapped the back of his head.

“What are you doing here, boy?” the voice was harsh, the smell of alcohol harsher.

Whatever the man was about to say was swallowed by a terrified scream of horror and a string of profanities .

The mouse became a pile of bones once more.

Obi didn’t see the sun for three days.

The day he summoned a spirit for the first time was also the first time he learned he was a monster.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Darts

All she wanted was a damn cheeseburger.

Healthy food had been abandoned for the mouthwatering greasy goodness of cow on bun with bacon and cheese, lettuce and tomato, pickles and more pickles … it would have been sinful had she been paying any kind of attention but instead, she hovered over the body, semi-messy stitches in the Y-incision betraying her thoughts, needle half through skin as she swallowed hard and hoped she hadn’t drooled on Mr. Edmund Rossiter.

She was fucked up and she knew it … wasn’t afraid to admit it … wouldn’t tell anyone but Mulder about it … needed to find a blasted burger right Goddamned now …

Tuesday. Well, she was pretty sure it was Tuesday, maybe Wednesday but who honestly knew what the hell damned day it was at this point but she remembered a McDonald’s wrapper and Mulder saying something about extra mayo … ketchup?

Fuck, she needed a cheeseburger.

Turning around, she nearly cried when she saw the tech there, sheepishly holding another folder, another gurney in the hall behind him, a sad little offered granola bar or possibly a Snickers in his other hand.

She might have to kill him and cook him over the Bunsen burner.

Might.

&&&&&&&&&&

It had been a crappy Mounds bar but she accepted it without growling at the shrinking lab minion, knowing he hadn’t killed these people and messenger status made him safe both inside the lab and outside in the real world.

A world where they ate cheeseburgers.

&&&&&&&&&&

Glory came to her in the form of a pink Post-it stating that when she was done, she should come to the bar across the street, Harley’s? Marley’s? … she needed to have a word with him about hurried penmanship at some point in the future but right now … bar.

A bar would have food?

It damn well better.

&&&&&&&&&&

She smelled the place before she crossed the street.

Heaven with a side of fries.

A car nearly took her out because she crossed the street without looking but after a quick middle finger and a shrug, she made it through the door.

She’d feel bad about the hand gesture later.

Because she’d spotted him.

A half-empty beer glass in front of him along with what might be cheesesticks with a generous side of marinara and Ranch. She’d propose with a future, 20 minutes from now onion ring if he offered to share his wares.

Without pretense of a ‘hello’, she sat, he signaled the waitress and told her flat out, “you look like you need at least three beers and a fucking cheeseburger.”

Tears nearly nearly nearly filled her eyes when he shoved the deep-fried appetizer towards her. Taking one, “they’re cold.”

“You sew too slow and do you really care?”

Inhaling two more, she finally sloughed off her coat, stuffing it in the corner of the booth, “at the moment, I’d eat the pee mints by the bathroom.”

His eyebrows raised, “really? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that hard up.”

Dropping back against the booth, she wiggled, “I am also nearly ready to take off this bra and these stupid shoes.”

Eyebrows back up for an encore, but speech impaired by the suddenly appearing waitress, “finally ready to order?”

Mulder shook his head so minutely only Scully would ever notice and withdrawing the claws because of irritatingly rude woman with messy ponytail, she rattled off her order, Mulder seeing her swallow as she finished saying ‘extra pickles’.

Once ponytail disappeared carrying both their precious food orders and liquor requests, “you should, maybe, finish the cheesesticks before you kill somebody.”

She ate.

&&&&&&&&

The food quieted her irritation with the world, allowing her to finally notice his tight jaw muscles, three beers not having done much to quell his anger at the case they’d had thrown at them, one they had no business working in the first place.

She really didn’t want to rehash the details of anything either of them had done that day, instead slipping her shoes off and propping her feet up on the bench across from her, one foot curving around each of his thighs in a friendly type gesture of ‘if we stay in this booth, the world can’t get us’.

They sat comfortably silent with each other while a new waitress cleared their table, replenished for the fourth or fifth time at this point, their drinks, Mulder going between staring into amber liquid and staring at her, finger ringing the rim of the glass until they left alone again.

She couldn’t make out what he was thinking and swiping a line of condensation from her own mug, she took a shot in the dark, “I’m thinking we probably shouldn’t be driving at this point.”

Flat delivery of one who wanted more but was over the age of 25, “probably not.”

Wiggling her toes against him, “I saw a pool table back there and a dart board. I can stuff myself back in my shoes and we can go see what kind of damage we can do?”

“Are you some kind of pool shark or dart savant who’s going to chew me up and spit me out, make me feel belittled and cranky?”

She went with a middle of the road answer as she moved to find her shoes, “possibly.”

He didn’t smile but at least she saw some tension leave his forehead, “can’t say you didn’t warn me.”

So …

Scully had absolutely no idea how to throw a dart … like … at all. Nearly poked a larger gentleman in the eye when one throw went wild while another lodged itself, swear to God, in the ceiling, “how the hell did you do that?”

“Apparently my sharpshooter skills are limited to the SigSauer kind.”

This comment elicited approving looks from several around them, both men and women, and while Scully went to collect her wayward darts, one of the men sidled up to Mulder, nodding in Scully’s direction, “she yours?”

Now, normally, he would correct such a wild accusation but instead, he gave the man a lopsided lip curl and an adorable head tilt/shoulder half-shrug that she would never witness, answering with ‘sort of’ and heading towards his partner, taking the outheld darts from her as if they were weapons of the deadly variety, “why don’t we put these away and go get one last beer before we head back?”

“I was just getting warmed up.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you were.” Taking her by the elbow a little tighter than normal, warm palm on rounded point, “my treat.”

“Then, Mr. Mulder, I will take two.”

&&&&&&&&&

The hotel was luckily only three blocks over and one down with a pleasantly friendly walk in between, Scully toying with Mulder’s fingers every few steps, Mulder walking close enough to give her easy access, “well, we drank but I still remember we have to work in the morning.”

“Apparently, we did it wrong.”

“That’s what we get for sticking to the clear beer. Two Guinness would have had me forgetting your name along with a whole lot of other things.”

He nearly turned her around to go get a few glasses of the magic stuff but he declined, feet only missing one step before falling back into pattern, “can I tell you something?”

“Of course.” Her fingers found his, squeezing thumb for a precious moment before going back to search, find, drop, repeat, “you should know that by now.”

He began his own finger finding, pretending badly that he was just brushing against her with uncommon frequency, “so one of the guys back there, after the Sig comment, asked if you were mine.”

This shifted into highly interesting very quickly, “and?”

Giving her a smile, he found her fingers solidly this time, “come one, we’ve got a few more blocks.”

“No you don’t.” Pulling him sideways, she stepped up on the low cement wall bordering the sidewalk, balancing precariously above some scrawny half-dead bushes, a little higher than eye level, “what did you tell him?”

She got to see a version of his lopsided lip curl, head tilting, adorable half shoulder shrug, “I may have said ‘sort of’.”

Not answering, she simply studied the man in front of her, tilting her own head and looking even more adorable then she smiled, lip closed and reaching for his shoulders, turned him around, proceeding to climb up his back, arms wrapped around neck, thighs hugging sides, “take me home, Mulder.”

He did but before he’d gone a block, he looked back at her, lips brushing cheek, “how come you didn’t hit me for my answer?”

Smiling again, “’cause I sort of agree.”

Hands under her ass holding her up, he dwelled for a moment, “you’re sort of mine?”

“Only if you’re sort of mine back. It’s only fair.”

Another half a block, “next time, I think we should order the Guinness and try our best to do that forgetting thing.”

Because she could, she pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, “next time.”

“I’ll even buy you another cheeseburger.”

Fifteen steps, “Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry.”

[sinnerspalace]

What an Experience 2

Anime: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure (Mista x Reader)

Warnings: No smut in this chapter

Summary: Giorno enacts his plan. I also just want to remind you guys this is an AU, so some things might not be accurate :)

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 (final)

Reminder: Don’t like it? Don’t read it.

Chapter 2: The Swap

The greenhouse was hot and humid. It smelt like damp soil with a hint of sweetness from the strawberries growing inside. The sun glared at the plants, its power amplified by the glass. The strawberries were red and ready to be harvested. Giorno laid a briefcase out in front of him. It was a special, reinforced case that was very much needed for the arrow that sat inside. Giorno smirked at the memory of Polnareff’s stunned face when he had heard what business Giorno had with the arrow. The older man had initially refused but after much persuasion and some bribery, Giorno had managed to coax the arrow out of Polnareff’s guard. Giorno picked the arrow up.

If [Y/N] didn’t want to talk to Mista, then the only other way Mista could learn was if someone else told him, or if he found out himself. And, well, Giorno was sworn to secrecy so only the latter option was left.

Giorno chuckled to himself, he didn’t even know if his plan was going to work. Gold Experience’s Requiem had a completely different power to Chariot Requiem’s. But there was a lot he still didn’t know about the arrow - maybe the stand user’s intention before wielding the arrow could change your power. When Chariot was stabbed by the arrow, Polnareff had said he was thinking about keeping the arrow away from Diavolo.

With the arrow in his hand, Giorno exhaled slowly. Oh, the things he did for his friends. As he heard slow foot steps approaching him and the cock of a gun, Giorno screwed his eyes shut, materialised Gold Experience and stabbed his stand with a clear goal in his mind.

Mista could feel the disturbingly quiet atmosphere radiating from the park and you were relieved you weren’t the only one who felt on the edge. Even when Mista drew his gun, Sex Pistols remained quiet, as if shattering the silence would cause a great disaster.

“Stay close to me.” Mista whispered over his shoulder. You didn’t stray even a single step from him. Mista scanned the area, checking corners with precision, not a movement going to waste. His stance was low, like a cat prepared to leap at a moment’s notice. When the garden area showed no signs of suspicious activity, the two of you crept your way to the greenhouse. 

Two steps into the hot and wet climate, Mista held a hand up. “I heard someone breathing, it was around this corner.” He pointed his gun to the left where a few shelves stood, with coriander stacked along them. You followed his gaze and swore you saw something move. It was blonde and kneeling on the ground. You gasped quietly, relieved that the shower of water from the sprinklers was enough to mask your slight inhale. Mista cocked the gun slowly.

You never got to see what it was. There was a sudden wave of dizziness that knocked you off your feet. Before you even hit the ground, your eyes had already closed. 

...

When you opened your eyes, you automatically let out a sigh of relief. You were at home, comfortable and warm, with the familiar scent of Mista surrounding you. Everything had just been a dream. Rubbing your eyes, you sat up. You felt... bigger. Confused, you frowned and when you turned your head, you let out a shrill screech that sounded far too low pitched to be your own voice. 

Either way, it couldn’t be, because you were staring right at yourself, sleeping soundly in the sheets next to you.

“Wha-?” You saw your body shift and slowly wake up with horror. Your body shook the sleep out of their head and rubbed their eyes too. When your body finally focused on the you, they shrieked too.

“Why is there another me?” Your body yelped.

“What do you mean, another me, other me?” You shot back, equally spooked. You looked down at yourself and realised you were wearing different, familiar clothes. Oh god, no wonder the familiar scent of Mista was surrounding you. 

You were Mista.

“Mista? Is that you in my body?”

“[Y/N]?” Your body replied, looking awfully scared. You nodded and Mista relaxed with relief. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, I just woke up and I was you.”

You watched your own face frown and body sit cross legged with your hand on your chin in a thinking pose. 

“It must have been that stand user at the greenhouse Giorno was talking about.” Mista uttered. “They must’ve swapped our minds.”

“Then we have to go find them and defeat them, don’t we?” Mista looked up and nodded.

“Yeah... But first....”

“First?” you repeated after him, leaning forward.

“First,” Mista replied with all seriousness, “I’ve got to play with these.” Mista brought his hands up to your breasts, cupping them to massage your mounds.

“Mista!!” You tried to grab him but he ducked out of your reach. He laughed and flung off his shirt, revealing the black bra you had worn the day before. “Stop that!!” Mista slipped out of the bra, pulling it over his head, obviously because he didn’t know how to unhook it quickly. He brought his hand up and pinched your nipples.

“Ow!” He exclaimed. You grabbed his hands and pulled them away from fondling your breasts any further.

“That’s not how you do it, idiot! You have to be more gentle!” You scolded him, bringing your now larger hands to palm his mounds. You rubbed in slow motions.

“Oh... Oh. That... feels good.” Mista moaned as you placed a finger on the nipple of your mounds and drew circular motions. 

“Don’t pinch it hard, it hurts; especially when you haven’t warmed yourself up yet. You have to be gentle, like this.”

“So this whole time it hurt for you?” Mista looked into your eyes, pleasure infused so clearly in his eyes he couldn’t express how guilty he felt for hurting you. You could tell he wasn’t happy with the discovery.

“Not really, it was alright.” You lied. Mista grabbed your wrist. His hands were so much smaller than the ones you had now and it felt weird.

“Don’t lie to me, you should have told me.” You could see pain flickering in his eyes and you felt a stab of regret for not telling him earlier. 

“I know, but I didn’t want to hurt you.” You swallowed, trying to soothe him.

“What else?” Mista’s voice sounded unstable, “What else have I been doing wrong?” Mista asked. You couldn’t reply him. If you suddenly just launched into a long list of all the things he could improve on, he definitely would be even more hurt than he was now. The long list would only indicate you didn’t trust him and make him feel incompetent.

At your silence, Mista sighed, “If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to find out myself.” Mista stood up and in one fluid motion, slid his pants and underwear off, exposing your privates. He fell back onto the bed and spread your legs.

“I’m going to touch myself - or, your body - until I make you- I mean, me, cum.”

[themalicealyce]

Sarcasm and Puns: Chapter Six

Summary:  You're an introverted person, have been all of your life but it wasn't as if you were shy, you were just content to have your only friends be your brother and your roommate. Though when your brother's young daughter makes friends with the human ambassador of monsters you open up to the idea of having a larger group of friends.

Rating: M

Frisk helped Toriel set the large dining room table, filling it up with the amount of food you’d only ever seen served on a single table at Thanksgiving dinners on tv. Dinner consisted of the most delicious looking roast and a wide array of mouth-watering sides that had to be made by Toriel. There was also a towering mound of slightly over-cooked spaghetti that was clearly contributed by Papyrus and Undyne. You carefully loaded your plate with a little bit of everything, trying to ride the line between politely trying everything and not looking ravenous. Though, it all smelled so good it was hard not to shovel the food down like you were starved.

The table quickly became crowded as everyone sat around it. You of course sat next to your big brother, it was always easier for you to socialize with him beside you as a buffer. He wasn’t really being the greatest help at the moment though, as he was fighting an uphill battle to keep Morrigan from making a mess as she and Frisk couldn’t stop playing and talking even as they ate. Alphys sat on your other side with Undyne next to her. It soon became obvious to you that the two were an item as Undyne sat close to the shy yellow lizard with a protective arm slung around her shoulders. This seemed to both calm and fluster Alphys simultaneously, in an adorable way. Another thing that quickly became clear to you was that beyond just exuding motherly and regal traits, Toriel was kind of a dork. You meant that in the best kind of way, you really did. She was quick with a joke, even if they were usually silly puns. Toriel also gushed easily about her students, their quirks and achievements, but no kid more so than her own daughter, Frisk. Papyrus jovially joined in the conversation, but ignored the majority of the feast in front of him, instead piling his plate high with his own pasta creation.

It was really easy to sit silently and just get lost listening to the group talk. They seemed to have such a history and comradery that it thrummed pleasantly in the room. Ironically, you let it wash over you to the point that you weren’t really listening to the words, just the tone. That is probably why when you looked up from playing with your food, you were taken aback to see Papyrus was watching you. He wasn’t staring at you so you don’t think you missed a question directed at you, rather he was failing to sneak glances at you. Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to figure out why. Glancing down, you found you had absent-mindedly twirled a bite of spaghetti onto your fork. You raised it questioningly, watching for his reaction.

Papyrus’s eyes, or eye sockets widened eagerly. You were greatly amused, and intensely curious about how he did that with a skull. His bone appeared rigid upon first sight, or at least a solid and inflexible material like bone; however, he moved with fluidity in his limbs and his skull was malleable, easily contorting into expressions. You had to pull yourself away from the thoughts. You were too prone to day dreaming about things you found curious and you feared you would zone out again if you allowed yourself.

You turned your attention back down at your fork and gave it a dubious look. From the fire that had occurred in the kitchen to the others’ mistrust in his and Undyne’s cooking, to the point where almost no one else had put any of it on their own plates, you were concerned about your safety. Glancing back up at Papyrus, however, was enough to make you shrug and commit to your fate. His eyes were wide and hopeful, but something about the tension around his jaw seemed forced. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but it was like he knew it had turned out poorly in the past.

Either way, you ate the spaghetti. Your nose scrunched up for a moment because it was somewhere between over-cooked mush and that crunch that store-bought noodles get when they are under-cooked. It was a bit of an understatement to say it wasn’t the best you’ve ever eaten, but honestly it wasn’t the worst you’ve ever eaten either. Years of college, hotplates, and kids not knowing how to cook without their parents have kind of desensitized you to poorly cooked pasta and rice. It was edible, and the sauce was flavored so overwhelmingly it distracted you from the actual texture of the noodles. You shrugged and nodded, giving Papyrus a thumbs up, going back for another bite.

He squealed in delight and happily watched you finish off the spaghetti on your plate with no signs of disgust. You smiled back, glad to see his features lose their tense edge and instead beam with pride.

“So,” Undyne interrupted your thoughts, turning you back to the main conversation to find her brandishing her knife, pointing it at Gabriel. “you take care of that rugrat by yourself?” she pried.

Immediately your whole body stiffened. You felt like you were shutting down, everything becoming too much to handle. You looked down at your hands to find them griping your utensils so tightly your knuckles were turning white. You turned then to your brother, watching the pain flash darkly across his face as well. His usual playful expression dropped for just moment before it came back as a forced facsimile. You hated this conversation as well as the horrible pit in your stomach and the pain in your chest that accompanied it. It felt like your heart was being torn apart, but it was more central in your chest, pumping the feeling through your entire body.

You suddenly became very aware that all noise had been sucked out of the room. It was deathly silent and the tension in the room felt like a thick physical presence closing in around you. You could feel all of their eyes on you and Gabriel, their gazes making your skin crawl and itch. You knew the looks weren’t judgmental, they were in various states of concern and curiousity, but it didn’t change the weight they held. Morrigan had gone just as silent, her head tilted to the side and eyes heavily on her father. She hardly knew more than any given stranger at the table.

“Yeah, it’s just me and my little Morri.” Gabriel broke the spell that held everyone speechless, ruffling Morrigan’s hair while smiling, but you knew it was strained. “Of course, my baby sister is always around to help.” He added, turning to smile at you, though his eyes were pleading, begging you for your cooperation. He did not want to talk about it especially not here or now.

“How would you even function without me?” You agreed, forcing as much cheer into the statement as you could, even as you were still fuming with bitter anger and sorrow. That place in your chest now radiating with a stabbing agony that you forced down with practiced control, willing yourself not to break. You were fine; you didn’t care; you could take care of yourself. You chanted that in your head until you forced yourself to believe it again and the pain was nothing more than a familiar dull ache.

The tension still stuck in the air, but everyone seemed to sense it was a touchy subject and avoided poking at the elephant in the room. Papyrus seemed the happiest to play along like everything was fine, immediately jumping back into conversation like there was never an awkward pause. “INDEED! It is always a pleasure to find a sibling almost as great as THE GREAT PAPYRUS! My lazybones brother will too be woefully lost without me.” He agreed with you sitting up straighter in his chair posturing proudly the best he could from his seated position. “Oh, you have a brother?” You asked, eager to quickly shift the conversation away from yourself. Though, honestly, you were also genuinely curious, or maybe just nosy.

You wondered why he wasn’t here. You weren’t oblivious enough to think that everyone they have ever known would be crammed around the table for dinner, but still with how close this group seemed, it felt odd that someone as close as a sibling would be left out. You wondered if he was shy, or maybe distrustful of humans. You couldn’t bring yourself to blame him for either. You weren’t a social butterfly yourself, and even though you knew the city was pretty accepting you still feel ill every time you think of some of the things you’ve heard. You couldn’t even watch the news. Even with the bits you grabbed from channel surfing there always seemed to be a piece about stomach-churning hate or violence. It was senseless.

You were pretty sure you were getting too lost in your own circle of thoughts because you jumped when you heard Papyrus’s emphatic voice. “Oh yes! He is actually working right now!” Papyrus answered jovially before leaning in a bit as if to share some conspiratorial information. “Though he is probably slacking off.” Papyrus scolded his absent sibling in playful, brotherly way.

The tension in the air had nearly evaporated at the new conversation, and you were thankful. Papyrus also seemed pleased at the change in mood, using the opportunity to regale everyone with stories of his heroics. Toriel used the opportunity to disappear into the kitchen as Frisk and Morrigan hung happily to his every word.

“-AND OF COURSE, THE DAY WAS MIRACULOUSLY SAVED BY MY EXPERT HUMAN HUNTING SKILLS! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WAS AN INVAULABLE ASSET TO THE ROYAL GUARD, WHO WOULD HAVE BEEN WOEFULLY LOST WITHOUT MY HEORIC SACRIFICE!” Papyrus was out of his chair now, gesturing and playing to his audience. You were sure you saw Frisk roll her eyes even as she smiled and clapped for him, and Morrigan was totally sold, cheering excitedly.

Undyne scoffed loudly unable to hold back her corrections to his hyperbolic story. “You were never in the Royal Guard!” Undyne argued, slamming a hand onto the table causing it to shift under her force.

“THAT WAS THE SACRAFICE! I WAS IN TRAINING AND DUE TO MY EFFORTS, THERE WAS NO LONGER EVEN A ROYAL GUARD! I AGREE IT WAS A TRAGIC TURN OF EVENTS!” Papyrus agreed shifting her criticism to a non-issue easily.

Undyne huffed, slumping back into her seat, resigned to not argue the issue further.

“What happened to the Royal Guard?” Morrigan asked with a confused pout.

“Didn’t really need it much in an official sense after the barrier broke.” Undyne shrugged.

“Yeah that was, uh, the thing that let the monsters on to the surface, right? There was some kid or something that broke the… magic seal thing?” You half stated, half asked, racking your brain for all the information you could recall on the specifics of the event. You were a senior in college when it happened and your normal, almost nonexistent level of paying attention dropped to basically nothing when you had finals and graduation on the mind. You kind of just accepted the news on monsters with a sleep deprived coffee addled nod and moved on.

At your rambling Undyne leaned forward in her seat, once more filled with energy. Her mouth curling into a smirk showing off her long, sharp teeth as if you were prey in her sights. “Some kid, huh?” She asked in a tone that oozed predatory confidence.

“I mean, I think that’s right.” You said, shrinking back from her gaze.

Undyne cracked at your answer, “Yeah it was, she’s now the Ambassador for monsters, and you’re having dinner in her house!” She got out between wheezing laughter.

In that moment you could immediately tell that your entire face flushed what must have been an embarrassing shade of red. You let your head fall forward defeatedly onto the table to cover your shame.

“UNYDNE I DON’T BELIEVE HUMANS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE THAT COLOR! WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU BROKE THE HUMAN!” Papyrus cried out hysterically. You refused to look up even as he made a series of confused and concerned noises as no one would answer him. Your brother had joined in with Undyne’s laughter, Toriel was still out of the room, and from what you could make out, Alphys was trying to quietly scold Undyne, but sounded just as flustered as you at the moment.

You were in the process of trying to let the moment die before you could will yourself to face them again, but you weren’t given the chance. You were scooped up into incredibly strong, sturdy arms and smushed against a chest. Given the fact that you face was now buried in a soft sweater thinly protecting you from rigid bone, you knew it was Papyrus. He had grown too worried to wait for an answer any longer and was now making whimpering noises above you and bouncing as he cradled you like someone would a baby. “MISS DREEMURR UNDYNE BROKE THE HUMAN!” He called out into the house between sobs.

You tried to mumble against Papyrus, but you couldn’t really form unmuffled words. He wasn’t suffocating you and despite holding you tightly he was surprisingly gentle. You were still burning up, now not only from your heated blush, but now also from being trapped in a sweater. You could hear their laughter grow louder at his actions and realization dawned on you. Gabriel. He’s enjoying this because he knew! He knew, and he didn’t tell you, he set you up for failure. You swore to take sweet revenge if you were ever freed from this hug. You subconsciously nuzzled further into Papyrus’s protective embrace as you contemplated your vengeance. Somewhat suddenly you were ripped from your cocoon and held out at arm’s length from Papyrus as he inspected your face with a careful, worried expression. Your feet dangled uselessly as he effortlessly held you up closer to his eye line. He seemed tearful, even though it shouldn’t have been possible for him to cry. Though really all that you knew about science told you it shouldn’t be possible for him to exist in the first place, so you stopped questioning it.

“Please tell me you’re not broken, Human.” Papyrus requested in the gentlest voice you heard him use so far.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me, really.” You agreed, finding yourself giving him a small, if shaky reassuring smile.

“Promise?” He asked, unsure.

“I promise.” You nodded.

Toriel came back into the dining room with a tray in either hand, seemingly unaffected by the chaos around her. She gracefully placed them down on the table and walked around to where you and Papyrus were. “What’s the matter dear?” She asked Papyrus.

“THE HUMAN WENT RED AND LIMP!” He responded louder than he was with you turning you around in his arms and pushing you out to Toriel for inspection. Toriel gave you a simple once over and smiled at you with gentle eyes. “You can set her down, she will feel better after some butterscotch cinnamon pie.” Toriel concluded, easing Papyrus’s worry.

He did so, resettling you in your chair, causing Undyne to snicker again. Immediately at the sound, Toriel whipped her head to the blue monster levelling her with a stern glare. “I think you should apologize Undyne.” Toriel’s voice never hardened but in combination with the death stare, it was chilling. Apparently, it was also effective, causing Undyne to gulp as Toriel hefted a large slice of sweet smelling pie onto a plate seating it in front of you.

“Yeah, fine, whatever.” Undyne grumbled defensively as you happily took a few bites of the delicious dessert. It tasted very sweet and rich, as though it should be very heavy and creamy. Strangely though it was light and almost dissolved in your mouth, coating it with the taste.

As you ate, stress you had stored in your shoulders and neck was slipping away. Slowly, even the dull ache in your chest, and your worry from embarrassment softly faded.

“I’m sorry, ok?” Undyne spat out with her arms crossed. “I was just having fun.”

You waved off her apology. “I was being dumb and sensitive, don’t worry about it.” You really did want everyone to stop worrying about. That kept the attention on you and made you look like you couldn't take care of yourself.

“LOOK PUNK I’M TRYING TO APOLOGIZE!” Undyne growled, earning a raised eyebrow from Toriel.

“I accept your apology, but really I’m fine.” You smiled. “Trust me I’m used to it,” You glared at Gabriel to emphasize your point. He smirked in response. “and honestly I was being stupid I would probably laugh at me too.” You shrugged.

This seemed to soothe Undyne who nodded in agreement before ignoring you in favor of dessert.

[cedarmoons]

Do you mind doing another nsfw fic of Nadia x Ziah where Ziah is dominate? Thank you 😊

happy birthday nadi 💋✌⚢ 

a fool for your beauty

Nadia is wearing pearls today—a long rope of them, wound around her neck in three loops, the end of the necklace resting against her sternum. That itself would not be remarkable, if Ziah was not picturing Nadia wearing her pearls and only her pearls.

“You have been quiet, my dear,” Nadia says, still reading old trading treatises that predated the plague, that predated the rest of the world’s abandonment of Vesuvia. Since the Masquerade and the whole Lucio mess, she has put all of her effort into reforming Vesuvia to meet her vision—a university built over the Coliseum, housing for the new orphans who’d lost their parents in the second wave of the plague, relief for the poor, rebuilding the flooded district. She has let nothing distract her from this goal.

Ziah wonders if she could be successful.

She says nothing, slowly crossing her legs at the knee, letting her sheer silk slip slide up her thigh, revealing smooth skin. Nadia looks up at her silence, but her gaze catches on Ziah’s legs. Her expression clears into tranquility, and very calmly she sets aside the treatise she’s reading.

“Oh,” Ziah says, her voice low and husky, “don’t get up on my account.”

Nadia arches an eyebrow. Ziah stands up, slowly, mouth suddenly dry. She crosses the carpeted study on bare feet, watching Nadia’s eyes lid, watches Nadia push her chair back in anticipation. When she reaches Nadia, she straddles her lap, running her hands down the delicate lace sleeves that cover Nadia’s arms to the wrists.

The texture helps ground her. The heat of Nadia’s skin, when she leans forward and kisses her collar, helps remind her that this world is real. That she is not a thing, however lovingly crafted from magic and memory; that she is real, and loved, and in love.

Nadia’s hands settle on her hips, and she shifts, spreading her legs and pushing Ziah to the side, trying to get her to straddle one leg. Ziah stops her, gripping Nadia’s lace-clothed wrists, her nose pressed between two strings of pearls to brush against the skin of Nadia’s throat.

“No,” she says.

“No?” Nadia asks. She already sounds breathless. “Whatever do you mean? Do you not want…?”

Ziah sits back, gently putting Nadia’s hands on the armrests and holding them there. Nadia’s eyes are wide with surprise, her scarlet irises darkened to crimson, her pupils already dilated. “What I want is you out of this dress,” Ziah confesses, voice low, “and wearing only your pearls. And then…”

Nadia’s eyes lid. Her smirk is slow, lazy, and the way she lifts her chin—almost a challenge. It makes Ziah’s breath catch. “And then?” she purrs, her lips brushing against Ziah’s with the words, each syllable a kiss. Ziah’s heart pounds, and she squeezes Nadia’s wrists, pulling back.

“You’ll find out,” she says, sliding off of Nadia’s lap and pressing against her desk, “if you go get naked.”

Nadia’s smile widens. She looks amused more than anything—she rises with an elegant poise that makes Ziah’s mouth go dry. But like this, barefoot, she is still shorter than Ziah, and Ziah stays tall, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. Nadia’s smile gentles, and she takes Ziah’s hand in hers, kissing her knuckles while holding her gaze.

Ziah follows her into the bedroom, where Nadia disappears behind her divider. There’s another fireplace here, also lit, also with two luxurious armchairs facing the hearth. She turns the one nearest to the divider and settles in, pulls the porcelain bowl full of peaches and grapes into her lap.

It makes her think of that day in Lucio’s suite, splayed over the bed, Nadia and Asra alternating feeding her grapes and chocolate and strawberries. A little over a month ago, and yet it seems a lifetime. She has changed so much since then, since Asra had taken her to the Lazaret three days later and broken her concept of herself down to its foundation stones.

She is so lost in her own thoughts that, though she is staring at the space beside the divider, she does not even hear Nadia calling her until Nadia steps out beside it, a worried frown marring her beautiful face. She is wearing stockings and black lace panties and the lace undershirt she’d worn under her dress—and that sight alone is enough to make Ziah reconsider her only pearls stance. 

“Ziah.”

Ziah blinks back into herself. “Yes?”

Nadia’s frown softens into a worried look. “Are you all right?”

Ziah looks at the grapes and peaches in her lap. “I am sorry,” she says. “I… feel distant, suddenly. Adrift. It came on suddenly.”

Soft fingertips press against her chin, lifting it up. Nadia leans down, kissing her briefly. Ziah closes her eyes, letting herself float in the sensation of Nadia’s lips against hers, the calming scent of jasmine filling her nose. “Then allow me to bring you back to shore,” she says. She wedges the bowl of fruit between Ziah’s thigh and the armrest of the chair. Then she kisses Ziah again, again, again, until Ziah is arching up and her fingers are tangled in Nadia’s hair and Nadia’s hands are tugging at the ribbon that keeps her sheer robe together—

“Wait,” Ziah gasps, breaking the kiss. Nadia stills at once, and Ziah closes her eyes, breathing through her nose. She focuses on the here and now—Nadia’s hair in her hand, Nadia’s hands warm on her stomach, Nadia’s breath smelling of wine and fruit fanning across her cheek, Nadia’s heart beating out of sync with her own.

She lets Nadia’s presence bring her back to shore, lets Nadia’s touch anchor her in her own skin. She is not a thing, a hollow approximation of a dead woman; she is here, she is real, she is loved, and she is in love. 

And she wants to see Nadia wearing nothing but her pearls and black stockings.

Ziah opens her eyes to see Nadia staring at her, a slight crease between her brows. “Remember what I told you,” Nadia says. Her cheeks color, but she does not look away. “I need you here, Ziah. With me. Please.”

“I’m here,” Ziah promises, taking Nadia’s hands in her own and kissing both of her palms. She grins, feeling her face flush. “Now go get naked. And—you can keep the stockings.”

Nadia laughs, pulling away and giving her a look that sends a shiver of heat down her spine. “Duly noted,” she says, and disappears behind the divider once again. Ziah eats a couple grapes and waits, pressing her legs together, though that does not ease the ache that is pulsing slowly between her legs.

When Nadia emerges once again, it is only in her stockings and her pearls, the strings resting low between her breasts. She leans against the divider, bracing herself on one arm, using her other hand to slowly draw it up her hip—wide, generous, smooth save a few beautiful stretch marks—and toward the center of her body. Ziah follows the trailing of her fingers until Nadia rests them against the delicate curve of her collar, barely noticeable under brown skin pimpled despite the heat.

Ziah cannot speak. Her breath comes slowly, through barely parted lips. She looks at Nadia, and then lowers her gaze, leisurely taking in the sight before her. The heavy weight of her breasts, low on her chest, the left slightly larger than the right; the half-moon circle of wine-red hair that kisses the underside of her navel, travels down in a sparse trail to the dark curls that shield her mound from Ziah’s gaze.

She feels herself grow wetter and bites her lip, crossed thighs squeezing together. Her throat is very dry, and she finds she can’t swallow; she can only stare and marvel.

“Do I please you?” Nadia asks, lowly, still amused.

“Fuck, Nadi,” Ziah rasps. “Yeah. Always.”

Nadia’s eyes lid, and she slowly pushes herself away from the divider, sensual, languid. She walks toward Ziah, but Ziah shakes her head, and Nadia stops, arching an eyebrow. 

“Slowly,” Ziah clarifies. “I want to look at you. Fuck.” She clenches her thighs together and lifts her hips against that sweet pressure, raising her hand—once gripping the armrest tight, fingertips white against plush fabric—and biting down on her knuckle.

Nadia stops a few feet away from her and lowers herself to her knees, holding Ziah’s gaze all the while. Her breasts sway gently with the movement, so entrancing Ziah cannot look away from them. Nadia clears her throat and, face flaming, Ziah meets her crimson gaze again, shifting to press her back fully against the chair. Her hand goes to the fruit and she picks up a grape, so purple it is almost red, rolling it between her fingers. Nadia watches, and Ziah sees the slender column of her throat move as she swallows.

“I think,” Ziah says, “feeding each other is our thing.”

Nadia looks back to her. “Is that so?” she asks, and Ziah smirks.

“Well,” she says, “there was dessert in this room, and then with Asra in Lucio’s suite…”

As she speaks, she watches Nadia approach her on her hands and knees, hips swaying. There is nothing demure about her movement. Ziah watches her and feels like a prey animal caught in a panther’s sights, which sets a tight ball of anticipation low in her stomach. 

“And then our dream,” Ziah says, cheeks flaming at that memory. Nadia’s sultry smile widens.

Finally, Nadia stops and sits on her heels, so close to Ziah her breasts press against Ziah’s calf. When she lifts her hands toward Ziah’s crossed knees, Ziah reaches out. Nadia stills at her touch, crimson eyes lifting to her, almost pleading. The touch of Nadia’s skin against her bare leg is enough to send a shiver down her spine, enough to make her even more aware of the wetness between her legs.

She wonders if Nadia is so wet; she wonders what Nadia will look like, sitting where she sits now, her legs thrown over the armchairs, open and exposed and beautiful.

Ziah holds up the grape. “Now this.”

Nadia laughs, smile splitting brilliant across her face. Ziah laughs with her, leaning forward, resting the tip of the grape against Nadia’s lower lip. She is lovesick, lovedrunk, real and loved and in love. Nadia bites into the fruit, juice wetting the tip of Ziah’s finger—holding her gaze, Nadia swallows the rest of the grape and licks the wetness from Ziah’s skin.

“Definitely our thing,” Ziah breathes, shifting in her chair, heat prickling under her skin. Nadia laughs, nipping at her fingertip, sucking it into her mouth and curling her tongue around its pad. Ziah breathes a curse and Nadia smiles.

“I believe you are right,” she says. Ziah drags her wet finger down Nadia’s cheek, leaving a stripe behind. The gleam on her cheek is fascinating. Nadia moves closer, resting her head atop Ziah’s lower knee, looking up at her and resting her cheek against Ziah’s leg. “Now, my love, will you let me taste you?”

“Is that what you want?”

Nadia smiles, slow and sure. “Yes.”

Ziah reaches out, running her fingers through long hair—shaded wine-red at the top, shifting to plum, then brightening to lavender. Her hair is a marvel, just like the rest of her. “Why should I?” she asks, playfully, looking back at Nadia with a smile she hopes mirrors Nadia’s own: smirking and confident and enough to make her shiver.

Nadia does not shiver. But she does turn her head, humming into the tender skin beside and above Ziah’s knees, nose brushing against the hairs growing there. She breathes deeply and closes her eyes, breath warm against Ziah’s thigh. “Hm. Because… it will please you?” She laughs, low and husky, the sound sending thrills down Ziah’s spine. Her next words are murmured but audible. “It has never failed before.”

Ziah feels her face heat, and she swallows, running her hand through Nadia’s hair again, enjoying the feel of the silky strands between her fingers. “Hmm,” she says, pretending to consider. Normally she would not hesitate—Nadia is skilled, and more than once Ziah has fallen apart under nothing more than the curl of her tongue and the pressure of her lips. Her greatest pleasure is giving pleasure to others.

But she has been working all day—all week, unrelated to the separate birthday celebration her sisters are planning—and Ziah wants… 

She wants Nadia to give up that careful control that is present even now, and let her take care of her. She wants to make Nadia forget about trade treaties and alliances and rebuilding the city; she wants Nadia breathless and sensitive and gasping and—

What had she said to Asra?

I want you flat on your back, tender, open… and mine.

That is how she wants Nadia. Tender, open, hers.

She sits up, lowering the bowl of fruit to the ground by Nadia’s knees, dusted in fine red hairs. She lowers herself as well, sliding slowly from the overstuffed chair to kneel on the plush carpet. She drapes her arms over Nadia’s shoulders, leaning in to press her lips to hers. Nadia responds at once, lips firm and forceful against hers, and her hands move to knead Ziah’s flesh, the roundness of her hips and her belly.

Ziah pulls back, swallowing, gaze flickering from Nadia’s lips to her gaze. “No,” she says. “Hands behind your back.”

“Ziah,” Nadia complains, but she obeys. Ziah leans back on her heels, running her hands down Nadia’s throat, her collars, her chest; she palms Nadia’s breasts, thumbing her dark brown nipples until they peak under her touch. Nadia squirms, arching her chest, pushing her breasts into the touch.

Ziah pinches them both, hard, and Nadia gasps, shuddering. Ziah smiles. “You’ve been so busy, Nadi,” she says. “You haven’t taken a break in forever. Give yourself to me. Let me take care of you.”

Nadia watches her through half-lidded eyes. After a moment, Ziah leans forward and kisses her, letting all of her desire and eagerness and love rise up and bleed out between her lips. Nadia moans when she pinches her nipples again, rolling them between her fingers and thumbs, and when Ziah licks at her lower lip she tastes grapes and wine.

She breaks the kiss, and Nadia is left kneeling before her, panting, wide-eyed.

“Let me take care of you,” she murmurs again, turning her head, pressing kisses up her jaw. She moves her hands, lifting one to tangle her fingers in Nadia’s pearls, lowering the other to rest on Nadia’s wide thigh. 

Nadia collects herself; Ziah watches her straighten her back, square her shoulders, smooth her expression. “Very well,” Nadia says. Ziah moves her hand on her thigh, curving it inward, sliding it up soft skin. Nadia sighs and shifts, spreading her legs.

“Nope,” Ziah says, cheerfully. “Not here. Up on the chair.”

Nadia laughs. “You are in a mood tonight,” she notes, climbing up into the chair. Ziah catches sight of her bare ass and looks askance, biting down on her knuckle again. 

“Uh,” she squeaks. “Yeah? I guess so? Why, do you not like it?” 

Nadia’s laugh is shorter this time, but huskier, fully aware of the effect she’s had on Ziah. Ziah takes a deep breath to compose herself and turns around, only to see Nadia staring down at her, hands resting on the armrests. “I did not say that,” she says.

After a moment, Ziah takes another breath and moves forward, her hands resting on Nadia’s knees, then curving under them to lift them up and rest them over the armrests. She leans forward, kissing the folded lines that have creased Nadia’s stomach, and leans back, smiling up at her.

Nadia reaches out, her pearls swaying between her breasts, catching the light. When she touches Ziah’s cheek, Ziah inhales sharply, turning her head into the touch and nuzzling at her fingertips. Then Nadia sits back, flush against the chair, and tucks her hands under her knees, looking at Ziah with an expression that makes Ziah’s mind blank. Her cheeks are flushed in the firelight.

“I am yours,” she says.

Ziah smiles and runs her hands up Nadia’s legs, enjoying the feel of the black stockings under her palms. Leaning forward, she grips Nadia’s inner thighs, running her thumbs over the stretch marks there, and inhales deeply, nose against Nadia’s wet curls. Then she opens her mouth, lips brushing against lips, and parts Nadia’s folds with one slow lick.

Nadia tastes of the sea; she tastes of home.

Ziah enjoys her—licking slow and deliberate, long swipes from her entrance (dipping her tongue inside, sipping from the source) to her clit, swollen and flushed and already out of its hood. Nadia does not enjoy fingers, so Ziah uses her hands to keep Nadia’s legs spread, uses her fingers to trace aimless patterns into soft skin while she pulls gasps and moans from Nadia’s throat.

Ziah closes her lips around Nadia’s clit, sucking gently. Nadia’s hips jerk toward her, almost off the chair, and she lifts her eyes to see Nadia’s head thrown to the side, some of her hair tangling with her pearls, firelight from the hearth dancing over her skin.

Ziah flattens her tongue against the clit, then she dips her chin, passing her tongue over her in long, broad, messy strokes from her entrance to her clit. Nadia’s hand wrenches free from where it had been held down and clasps the top of Ziah’s head, tangling in blue threads, fingers tightening against her scalp.

Ziah stops at once, pillowing her cheek on Nadia’s thigh, and grins when Nadia whines and looks down at her. “Did I say you could do that?” Ziah asks, kissing her inner thigh.

Nadia’s eyes darken, and she smiles—the sort of smile she gives when she is faced with a challenge, a challenge she is determined to conquer. “You did not,” she says. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“Hmm. Perhaps. If you behave.”

“I will do my very best,” Nadia replies, very dryly. Ziah snorts, burying her chuckles into Nadia’s leg, still slung over the armrest. Her skin is very soft. Ziah nuzzles her thigh, then begins to kiss her way back to Nadia’s cunt.

She is slow, deliberate in all her movements, listening to the music of Nadia’s body to deny her—when she gasps at a hard suck, Ziah kisses gently; when her hips lift and press against Ziah’s mouth, she pulls away; when Ziah licks and sucks her clit roughly, sloppily, and makes her moan, Ziah gentles her touch When Nadia’s breath hitches high in her throat and she goes still, legs trembling with finite tremors, Ziah pulls away entirely, leaving Nadia twitching and red-faced and breathing hard.

“Cruel,” Nadia gasps, after Ziah has denied her for the third time. “You are—ah—cruel, my love.”

Ziah licks her lips, smirking up at Nadia, unable to resist her smugness. Nadia’s eyes narrow playfully, and her hand twitches from its prison under her knee before Ziah arches an eyebrow and she stills, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her nipples are tight peaks. Ziah lifts herself up to suck on one, pressing her thumb against Nadia’s clit and rubbing in hard circles that make Nadia jerk.

“Ah,” Nadia breathes out, lifting her hips. Ziah braces her other hand on her thigh, feeling the constant tremors that run under her skin, and moves on to lavish attention on her other nipple. Nadia moans, chest arching into her touch, hips rolling up in a constant wave, seeking more pressure from her thumb. “Ah, Ziah—yes, right there, right—”

She stiffens, her whole body shaking, and Ziah pulls away for the fourth time. Nadia’s cry of loss is automatic, whining; her head thumps against the unrelenting back of the chair. Ziah watches the muscles in her stomach jump as she bucks against the air in a fruitless search for release. She is left panting and tense in her chair, eyes closed, throat jerking as she swallows over and over. 

Ziah folds her hands under her chin and grins. “You’re so beautiful,” she purrs. She wipes at her chin with the back of her wrist, enjoying the gleam on her skin that results from it. “And delicious.”

“Are you going to tease me all night?” Nadia finally asks, breathless, eyes still closed. The tension bleeds out of her, and she relaxes once again into the chair, muscles going slack. Ziah rests her head on Nadia’s thigh and lifts her hand, rolling her nipple between her fingers, making Nadia moan and swallow hard.

“No,” Ziah asks, lowering her hand. “I’m just waiting for you to ask nicely.”

Nadia’s eyes open to slits and she stares down at her. “Please, Ziah?”

“Please what?”

Nadia swallows, eyes dark. “Please… I would like to come for you. Please let me come for you.”

Ziah can’t stop her shiver at the request, so softly phrased, so sweetly spoken. She smiles up at Nadia, who returns it, if a bit more hesitantly. “Of course,” Ziah says, and draws Nadia’s legs down from their perch over the armrests. Nadia winces, and Ziah sends a wave of healing magic to soothe over-stretched muscles. “Okay?” she asks, glancing back up.

“I am well,” Nadia says, and brushes Ziah’s hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ears. “I want you.”

Ziah smiles, lifting herself up—Nadia bends over and meets her halfway, kissing her fiercely, breaking it only to gasp as Ziah’s hands grab her hips and tug her to the very edge of the seat. Ziah kisses the inside of Nadia’s knees, then lift them to rest them over her shoulders.

Nadia clutches at the armrests, and Ziah lifts Nadia’s legs and gets to work. The denials have kept her twitching, sensitive; it does not take long at all—Ziah’s finger rubbing her clit as she presses kisses over her labiaand occasionally uses her fingers and tongue in tandem—before Nadia comes with her hands buried in Ziah’s hair, her cunt clenching around Ziah’s tongue, her whole body pulsing in time with her release.

Ziah smiles and keeps going, guiding Nadia into a second and third orgasm, until Nadia begs her to stop with a voice gone hoarse from shouts and moans and all other sorts of delicious noises Ziah will never grow tired of. Then, and only then, does Ziah pull away from her, a thin string of saliva connecting her mouth to the lips of Nadia’s sex.

Nadia has sunk into the plush chair, head tilted back toward the heavens, her hair catching a gradient of reds and purples in the firelight. “Are you with me, Nadi?” Ziah asks, standing and leaning over her. Nadia’s gaze is distant, unfocused, but soon enough she blinks and her eyes move to Ziah’s face.

“A moment,” she requests, voice hoarse. She swallows, clears her throat.

“Want some wine, or water?”

“Wine,” she says. Ziah pads over to a pitcher and two goblets left on an end table. She’s still fully dressed—at least compared to Nadia, clad only in pearls and nylons. Her mouth dries at that thought and she pours herself a glass for good measure.

She perches herself on the armrest and gives Nadia her glass of wine, which she downs in seconds, delicately patting at the corner of her mouth with her fingertips. Ziah laughs, leaning down to press a kiss to her brow, shining with sweat. “That good?” she teases.

Nadia smirks, giving her a look from the corner of her eye. “It was acceptable,” she admits, her smirk widening. “I suppose.”

Ziah, laughing harder, presses her hand over her heart in mock woundedness. Nadia reaches out, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her into her lap. Ziah goes willingly, tucking her face against Nadia’s neck, fingers hooking under her pearls.

“You were very good,” Nadia purrs, taking the goblet from her, pressing it to her lips. Ziah shivers and opens her mouth, swallowing two mouthfuls before Nadia pulls it away and kisses her. Nadia’s arm wraps around her back and she leans sideways, resting the goblet on the floor before returning her attention to kissing her breathless.

Her other hand slides between Ziah’s thighs and Ziah moans into the kiss. Nadia pulls away, but moves her head, lips brushing against the shell of Ziah’s ear. Ziah shudders, eyes slipping shut.

“Now, my love,” Nadia says, “how would you like to be rewarded?”

[whatisitcalledagain]

Road Trip

Chloe had the passenger-side window fully opened. The wind danced and played happily with her loose curls; now a strawberry blonde— Beca would point out—ever since Chloe had begun spending so much time out in the sun.

It had been nearly four years since the USO Tour and the two women had actively pursued their respective careers. Beca, a professional music producer living in LA, was on the rise, listed on Forbes 30 Under 30 list to watch while Chloe was in the last year of veterinarian school. The older woman had been traveling across the country working on her practicum at dude ranches for the humane handling of steers and horses.

Currently, Beca and her were on a ten and a half hour road to Trinity Center, a popular ranching region in Northern California. Beca slouched in the driver's seat, city slicker attire replaced with a tank top, unbuttoned flannel shirt, and faded skinny jeans. Her hair was tamed with French-braided pigtails, thanks to her counterpart riding shotgun. Chloe wore a pair of cut off sweats, a loose cotton T-shirt, and sports bra; a rest from her typical jean clad cowboy attire, hat included—which Beca had not been able to get over.

They were six hours in, having stopped once for lunch and a stretch. The proposed road trip masquerading as a "break from the city" Beca claimed she needed before starting her next project.

In reality, it was an excuse to continue her time with Chloe and their pseudo relationship.

Amy had called them out within the Bella thread, dubbing their relationship as "sandpapering": neither needed for the whole project (relationship) but there to finish each other off. Neither ever fought her about the term. It was oddly accurate to how they were. Both were significantly important to the other but unwilling to give up or hinder the other's endeavors to make a true relationship work. They figured their true time together had come and gone but at least they could enjoy each other's company before the next "right" person stumbled along. They were also "idiots" according to the Aussie, and, on occasion, a drunk Aubrey Posen.

Checking over to the brunette, Chloe spoke.

"Need a break?"

"Yeah," Beca answered honestly. "Wouldn't mind setting my eyes on a different stretch of ass-phalt." She gave a side glance. Chloe giggled and rolled her eyes.

They were minutes outside of Sacramento, Capitol city of California, when Chloe sweet talked the smaller woman into stopping for a photo at the Tower Bridge. She needed new photos for her desk once she returned to New York.

"Didn't you get enough photos when you were in Oklahoma and Montana," Beca poked as she put the Subaru into park.

"Well yeah," Chloe replied, unbuckling her seatbelt, "none of them have you in them." She smirked and slipped out of the car.

Beca eyed her coyly before exiting the driver's seat. She stretched and popped her back.

The two made their way over to the bank and positioned themselves to have the bridge in the background. They cuddled, cheek to cheek, and snapped a series of photos. Some modeleque, some with smiles, Beca even planted a kiss to Chloe's temple in the last one.

They didn't waste too much time after the photos. They grabbed another round of food and reloaded in the car. Chloe took the driver's seat, Beca the passenger.

They drove, fries and chicken tenders in hand, and lap. Chloe held her tenders on her thigh while her fries sat between her legs. Beca used the dashboard to hold her tenders while she devoured the last of her fries.

"I should have gotten a larger serving," Beca commented with a full mouth.

"You always say that," Chloe retorted.

Beca eyed the cup between Chloe's legs.

"Don't even think about it," Chloe challenged.

There was a beat before the brunette shot her hand to covet the redhead's fries.

"No!" Chloe shrieked and grabbed Beca's wrist.

They fought for a brief second until the cup tumbled to the floorboard.

"Becaaa!" Chloe whined.

"Oops."

The taller woman huffed and the ride became quiet. Beca wiped her she mouth and cleaned off her hands.

"I'm sorry," Beca finally broke the silence.

Chloe offered a dissatisfied hmph.

It took Beca all but a second to plan her next course of action. She shifted closer to her driver and reached over, placing her right hand on Chloe's thigh. She leaned in and whispered seductively into Chloe's ear.

"I can make it up to you." She trailed her fingertips up and down the exposed skin.

A raised eyebrow questioned Beca's ability.

"Hmm?" Beca implored, rubbing small circles close to the apex of Chloe's legs.

Subtly, Chloe opened her legs, granting the producer access. Beca smirked, almost giddily, and cupped the redhead fully. Chloe gasped but kept her eyes on the road. She cleared her throat and pretended the desired effect hadn't happened. Slowly, Beca began kneading, adding pressure to Chloe's mound through her shorts.

The smallest of whimpers left the redhead's throat.

Beca traversed her hand up and down knowingly, touching Chloe more fully, Chloe spread her legs a little wider.

Beca bit her lip as she stole a glance to Chloe's face, cheeks now flushed with excitement. Looking back down, Beca's adjusted her right hand to toy at the hem of Chloe's sweats.

"Mmmm," Beca moaned, fingertips brushing skin. Chloe arched into the touch.

The faction of moment led Beca to dip below the fabrics and come into contact with wet, warm silk.

"Oh my," Beca teased.

Chloe was still aroused from their morning sex, as her essences easily coated Beca's fingers.

Chloe pressed her hips forward trying to gain more contact. Beca surprised her by dipping two fingers into her wetness.

"Ohh," Chloe groaned at the sensation as it covered her body with electricity.

Languidly, Beca moved in and out of the woman next to her, glancing at the road before returning her attention to Chloe's face. She moved her thumb to play with her clit. Chloe's mouth opened in a silent moan as her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

The pace Beca set began to increase, Chloe's mewls and moans spurring her on. It was at the next mile marker that Beca's movements boarded "dangerously distracting" as she feverishly pleasured Chloe. She could feel the woman's wall clenching around her fingers and the sounds emitting from all parts of the redhead's body were indicating she was close.

"Oh fuck," Chloe hissed. "Don't stop," she demanded, her own hand coming to grab Beca's thigh.

"Shit," she gave another moan and arched.

"Oh, God, Beca," Chloe panted as her orgasm shook her. Beca watched on in awe.

A few moments later, and many miles below the speed limit, Chloe cleared her throat, urging the woman to remove her fingers. The brunette removed them and brought them to her mouth.

"Am I forgiven?"

"For what?" Chloe teased satiated.

Beca smiled and sucked a finger clean.

"Oh and by the way," the producer added with a glint of smugness in her eyes as she smacked her lips. "I'll be staying at Coffee Creek if you'd like seconds."

She met the wide eyes of the redhead with a smirk and winked.