#but reputations are. as they are so it was like vague prodding

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. viii: Still Falling for You

Chapter Summary: Incapable of finding sleep, both Valeana and Aemond seek refuge in the sanctuary of the library, together. Alone.

Word: 3751

Sneak Peak: “Is this your way of forgiving me, Lady Valeana?”

Warnings: +18/MDNI. Masturbation, P+V sex, Smut. Descriptive anxiety attack. PTSD flashbacks.

T H E  G R E E N S 

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Aemond was a black and silver mass of fury and rage as he left the training yard. He made a beeline towards the stables so that he could exit King’s Landing and find Vhagar, wanting to put as much distance between himself and Valeana and Aegon as possible. He didn’t trust himself in the castle where he could bump into someone that could set him off. The Keep crawled with crabs. 

But before he was even able to get to the stables, Criston had reached him shortly after he exited. His firm hand clutched the side of shoulder to stop Aemond’s long and fast stride. 

“My prince–” Cole cut himself short when Aemond whirled on him, eye filled with violet fire. The knight let his arm drop to his side and took a step back, but otherwise did not move. “Do not let him get under your skin. Your brother only seeks to provoke you. You let him and he wins.”

Aemond’s nostrils flared, “He did not provoke me.” His words were forced through his teeth.

Cole tilted his head, not believing him, “You lost yourself the moment the two of you locked swords. I saw him whisper something to you, what was it?”

Aemond’s jaw was tight, and his lips were a thin line. His eye flickered down from Cole’s face to a vacant spot over his shoulder. 

“Shall I describe it to you? Her delicious, untouched cunny–”

He shut his eye tightly, trying to rid the image of what Aegon was alluding to; what he implied he had done. He wished to believe that Valeana had far more dignity for herself than the weak-willed female servants that Aegon lured to his bed. However, he did not recognize this Valeana Celtigar – she was a different person. 

“He was speaking immorally of a lady of court,” Aemond surprised himself by the truth of his words, although vague. Alas, He did not think Cole was of a lesser mind to not know who he was referring to anyway.

Before the knight could prod onto why that bothered him so, Aemond continued. “I grow weary of my brother’s depravities. He seeks to dishonour not only himself but this entire family. Should he–” He cut himself off, eye flickering around the corridor they found themselves in. When satisfied that they were alone, he took a step closer to Cole, his voice lowered. 

“Should there be a shift of succession upon my father’s death, Aegon’s reputation will only bolster my half-sister’s claim and make us look like fools.”

Criston kept his opinion on the matter to himself. Aegon wouldn’t be first nor the last whoremonger that was crowned, and that had never given the people a reason to question whether or not they deserved the title of King. He doubted Aegon would for that reason alone, should he usurp his sister’s crown. With that knowledge, Cole could see Aemond grasping on straws. 

“Do not worry about your brother’s reputation, my Prince,” the knight finally spoke. “Worry only of your own mind and what you intend to do with it. It is the sharpest and most lethal weapon on your person. Use it to protect your heart, Aemond, because the moment you let someone commandeer that, they can use it against you.” 

Aemond stared at him in quiet contemplation. There was something behind his words and his dark eyes that the prince could detect, but not make out. Cole spoke as if he was speaking to himself, almost like advice he would have given to his sons so they would not make the same mistake he had done. 

“Do not worry, Cole,” Aemond tilted his head back. He still simmered on the surface, but the inferno in his chest reigned in like a claimed dragon. “I never had any intention of letting anyone close. Not even my own family.”

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Aemond was with Vhagar for over a day. When he returned to the Keep, it was the hour of the bat. By the time he instructed two servants to draw him a bath, and then got to his chambers to undress, it was the hour of the eel. 

The searing heat of the water burned off the sweat and grime that coated his body. He dunked into the water to wash out the sand and filth from his hair; he had spent the previous night asleep on a secluded beach east of King’s Landing, on the coast of the Narrow Sea just outside the Gullet. The morning after he had found crabs to boil in a stone basin he put over a fire. The screeching of the little creatures eased his mind; the symbolism wasn’t lost on him either. It was cathartic. 

But now in the Keep, boiling in his own basin, his mind wandered to crabs that still live. Namely one with hair as fair as his and eyes as green as wildfire. 

“Her delicious, untouched cunny–”

Aemond growled at the intrusive voice of his brother. He fisted the side of the tub before running his fingers over his temples and down to his chin with his other hand. Then, Aemond shut his eye and leaned his head back, trying to will himself to think of anyone else. One of Helaena’s attractive handmaids, the one with the long legs, hair as dark as a raven, and almond shaped eyes. He’s never had her, but he could. The way she stared at him with intrigue and awe, it was quite obvious that she desired him. 

Heat pooled at his pelvis, and his hand went under the water to inspect. Aemond’s lips parted once his palm met the hardening muscle between his thighs. A small sigh escaped at the first stroke and then his imagination took flight.

He imagined the maid coming into his bedchambers and finding him in the bath. He imagined her hands on his shoulders and chest as she cleans the remnants of battle off his body. Then he imagined her frumpy maids gown drop from her own before she slowly descended into the water. 

Then he was reminded of crabs in boiling water again. And when he looked at her, her hair brightened to a white-gold, and her almond eyes widened into a pair of doe shaped peridot orbs with pupils blown wide. Aemond tried to fight back, forcing the image of the other woman back into his mind’s eye, but ultimately his cock won. 

Pleasure overtook all sense of intelligence for Aemond Targaryen. His imagination feverishly feeds his loins with thoughts of Valeana Celtigar. Her ample tits sleek with soap and water, and his hands grasping and pinching her pink nipples. Her thighs wrapped around his narrow hips, and her pouty lips trailing kisses along the column of his neck. And then how she’d arch her back when she speared herself on him. One of his hands upon a breast, and the other on her buttocks, both kneading the supple flesh with large fingers as she bopped slowly up and down his length. 

“Is this your way of forgiving me, Lady Valeana?”

With her voice lost in his mind, she only nodded like an eager whore, mouth a perfect O as she took his full length down to the hilt. 

He was so close. 

Aemond grabbed her hair and yanked her head back as he leaned forward. His hips jerked wildly under her, water splashing everywhere around the basin. 

“You are mine. You always have been, and you always will.”

“Then claim me now! Inside! Aemond… Please!” 

His arms encased her body tightly against his, and his nose buried in the crook of her neck with his teeth nipping the skin there. As he reached his physical peak, he imagined filling her womb with his seed, and claiming her for once and for all. Like how he was always meant to do. What he should have done if he wedded her more than half a decade ago.

Aemond tilted his head back against the tub with mouth hanging open, thick veins protruding under the tight skin of his neck, arms and hands as he stroked himself to completion. A long, satisfied groan escaped from parted lips as ropes of white seed clouded the dirty bath water. His entire body went limp after, his muscles relaxed, but his breathing laboured. The post-orgasm still clouded his mind, but it didn’t take long until he gained some clarity. 

His eye opened and he found himself looking up at the ceiling of an empty room. Aemond curled his bottom lip under his teeth, and flexed his fingers angrily as he raked them over his face. 

“Fuck!” He shouted as the self-loathing settled in. He was so pathetically weak.

T H E   R E D S

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Valeana and her sisters went to their bedchambers at the hour of the eel, like they so often do. Sharing a room with Shyla left little room for privacy, but the younger of the sisters fell asleep fast. Soon the room was filled with soft sighs and the rustling of blankets and furs as Valeana tossed and turned in her bed, trying to will herself into a slumber. 

It was at the hour of ghosts when she had given up on trying, and promptly got out of bed and snatched her burgundy robe after hastily strapping her prosthetic. Her mind was a cluster of thoughts, namely to questions she needed answered. The old book she had read the other day still haunted her curious mind, and she needed answers to the question that burned at the forefront. 

Did she have a Targaryen ancestor? Did the Targaryens ever marry a Celtigar? 

There had to be at least one with a lineage so long and old. The Targaryens, with all their desire to preserve their Valyrian dragon blood, had many children with each other, and only branched out to very few houses outside of their own. With the Velaryons being one of them, why hadn’t they married a Celtigar? 

There could be many reasons, Valeana surmised, as she contemplated a list of them on her way to the Royal Library. Celtigars weren’t so eager to preserve their pure blood; their ambitions stemmed from wealth and reputation. Valyrian blood is strong, and because of that, many generations of Celtigars still birthed children with fair hair and purple eyes, even though their ancestral features dwindled with every generation. As did their names with every Andal or First Man married into the family. 

Valeana was the first child to be given a Valyrian name in a couple generations, and the choice, surprisingly, was by her mother, a Lannister of all people. She had chosen the name prior to her birth, but her father wanted to call her Lynora. Val supposed that had her mother not died, she would have been called Lynora, but her father ended up honouring his late wife’s wishes and titled his first daughter Valeana. The story, she learned early in her youth, was that her mother had found the name in a book about the houses of Old Valyria. Lysa, though, had mispronounced it at the time. “Val-awna”, she said, when it was supposed to be “Val-ayna”. But when Barty corrected her, Lysa waved him off and said she liked her way better, and thus the variation stuck.

The Royal Library was empty, aside from the patrolling guard outside that merely acknowledged her with a nod. Maester Artos, who usually presided over it, was blessedly gone. Artos was as old as the books that lined the walls, and always treated her like a nuisance whenever she had dared ask for a book. He would pop the vein in his forehead had he known that she was in there without him present, pilfering books off of shelves at the dead of night. Books that he spent his entire life meticulously organizing and keeping clean of dust and oils from dirty fingers. 

The book in question wasn’t difficult to find. It was placed on a pedestal inside an alcove in the north chamber. It was large in dimensions, but not as thick as other tomes she had seen there. The binding was made of iron and leather, embossed with the sigil of the House of Targaryen. It was broader than her shoulders, and one of the heaviest things she had ever had to lift. But, Valeana was stronger than people gave her credit for. She heaved it up with her entire chest and then shuffled to the nearest table and did her best to gently lay it down with the back facing her. 

With a heavy exhale, Valeana fell into the chair and flipped the back cover and blank pages over to get to the latest entry. She was going to begin from the earliest entry, since it would be easy to skim through given her recent knowledge. 

“Visenya, Viserys, Aegon, bigoted from Princess Rhaenyra and her uncle Prince Daemon Targaryen… Silver of hair, and violet eyes,” Valeana read outloud, and pursed her lips. It had been a week since they had taken port, and they had yet to receive confirmation that the Princess and the Rogue Prince were coming. Then after learning about the possible fatal wound Lord Clorlys Velaryon suffered at the Stepping Stones, Valeana started to believe there was a distinct possibility that the King would not get his wish in reuniting the Valyrian houses. 

Valeana hadn’t been able to go to Laena Velaryon’s funeral all those years ago, but her father and stepmother went with Clement. While they had not witnessed what happened at Driftmark on that fateful night, Bartimos was made aware of it the morning after. Aemond had claimed Vhagar, and in a skirmish of just children, he had lost his eye for it. When Alicent did not receive the justice she wanted, she had attacked her step-daughter and former friend in a fit of maternal rage. 

Val wondered if her mother had been still alive, would she have the same rage when she saw what Aemond did to her? Would she reach for a knife and try to take Alicent’s leg in lieu of the Prince’s? 

From what she was told, Lysa Lannister had the demeanor of a contented lioness. Very little angered her; she was patient, listened intently to her husband and friends, and rarely talked in social settings. However, when she did, all listened at the table. Her father said that the only time he had witnessed Lysa’s anger was when Queen Aemma, her closest friend and mistress, had died on her birthing bed, and not long after, the sharks of the small council swarmed King Viserys about remarrying. The tipping point was when Prince Daemon had called the late princeling “Heir for a Day”. After the King had summoned his brother to the Throne Room to confront him about it, Lysa intercepted Daemon in the corridor outside. She slapped him with the back of her jewel adorned hand. then spat in his eye and called him a jealous blackguard with a tiny piece of coal for a heart. Allegedly she had gone to punch him, but a gold cloak had pulled her back with her kicking and screaming.

Valeana wagered her mother would have probably done a lot more to avenge her children. Probably commit treason. The thought of that made her smirk in amusement. 

When the door to the library was pushed open, she had barely gotten through the Old King’s long list of sires and grandsires, and the Targaryen bastards that were worth mentioning. Valeana jostled in her seat, getting ready to spew excuses for Maester Artos, but the person who walked in the door was much worse than the old man. 

It was Aemond. 

He looked equally as surprised to see her there, albeit briefly. Soon his face contorted into one of annoyance. 

“What are you doing here? It is prohibited to enter the library when the Maester is abed,” he looks about the library, seeing no other candlelight other than Valeana’s, confirming that she was, indeed, here alone.

“No-” she cleared her throat when it came out croaky. “No one stopped me. The doors were open.” 

“Hm,” from this distance she could see his lips thin, “Do you allow your guests to go where they please in your home during the hour of the owl over at Claw Isle?” 

Val’s cheeks turned red, though she thanked the darkness for shielding it from him, “Yes.” She lied. Truthfully, it would be strange if the positions were reversed and she found a guest she wasn’t overly fond of in their family’s library in the dead of night. But there was a fat chance she would admit that to him.

“I do not believe you,” he stood still before his eye flickered to the large book that sat on the table and then moved over to the empty podium it once sat. His jaw tightened as he strode over, “That is not a book to be removed from its place. It is not a book to be touched by common– anyone other than a Targaryen.”

Valeana bristled at his tone, but before she could give him a reasonable answer of: “how the hell am I supposed to know?” he slammed the heavy book shut in front of her, causing both the table and herself to jump in surprise. 

“I was reading that!” She stood up as he slid the tome across the table to his side and pulled it up to cradle it against his chest. 

He didn’t say anything as he lifted it with ease and brought it back to its podium. Aemond gently adjusted it to its center, and then inspected it, convinced she had damaged it somehow. 

It bothered her to be ignored, especially after so rudely snatching what she was reading, after all he has said and done. She was bothering no one, especially not him, yet her simple presence was enough to demean her. In her annoyed anger, she swiftly strode towards him, and without thought she reached out and grabbed his arm, repeating herself, “Aemond, I said I was reading–”

Once her hand grabbed his shoulder, his entire body jerked back. His other hand reached over to grab hers, only to shove it back into her, effectively thrusting her away. The shock of being pushed immediately brought back a riptide of memories, one after the other. It might’ve only been a second or less, but it felt like an eternity; it felt like her back was being passed through endless air and then surely be greeted by one sharp edged stair after another.

 Had she been an abled body woman, she would have balanced herself after a step back. Unfortunately, when she left her bedroom, she did not dress her leg properly, nor did she wear secured shoes. Her bad leg gave in to her weight when it found no security in the loose straps, and she slipped, landing flat on her back on the carpeted wooden floor. 

Valeana could feel the sting of tears behind her tightly shut lids. Her tailbone and shoulders were in the most pain, but luckily the soft carpet had absorbed the shock of it. Though nothing felt worse than her face, which burned and twitched as she fought back hard to control the sob that threatened to burst out of her throat. Even with eyes tightly closed, she could feel air on her good leg, which meant her robe and small clothes had left her legs bare, and the humiliating knowledge he could see everything made this all the worse. 

“Valeana–” 

Without so much as a hiccup, she rolled onto her knees and held onto her right thigh as she righted left leg carefully, yet swiftly. She refused to breathe through her mouth, afraid that the sounds of her sorrow would escape from her throat and echo an infinite amount of times in the grand expanse of the library. Valeana fled, at least as much as she could; the pain on her tailbone coupled with her loosened straps made her limp-sprint out of the library and down the corridor. 

She spared absolutely no glances over her shoulder. Her eyes casted onto the floor as she watched her mismatched steps on the stone tiles. It seemed, at some point, her shoe had slipped off, but she couldn’t remember when or where that happened. Her ears were ringing with white noise; if anyone were calling after her, be it a guard or a servant, she did not hear them. All she could hear was the sound of her inner child’s own blood curdling scream. Her left leg suddenly started to burn, a phantom pain shooting up her non existent calf. 

Valeana’s lips finally popped open, and something between a groan of agony and a sob escaped. Gasping, she faltered in her gait, and her eyes shut with a veil of tears that blurred her vision. Then she stumbled forward with a grasping hand at her left knee, chest and shoulders stuttering with each panicked gasp. 

“Valeana? Valeana?” Someone was holding her upright with masculine hands on her shoulders. “Hells, what’s wrong? What happened?” 

She allowed her weight to be pressed against the stranger’s chest as her own shook with sobs of anguish and phantom pains. His hands moved from her shoulders to her face, trying to urge her to look up at him. 

“Valeana, tell me what happened. Look at me,” His voice was familiar to her, but his identity remained unknown until the dew from her lids slipped down her reddened cheeks and her vision focused. Aegon’s wide purple eyes examined her face, full of concern and fear, two things she has never seen there before. 

“I hate him,” She finally spoke through gritted teeth. “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!” 

His eyes searched hers, the creases in his forehead relaxed when he managed to piece the puzzle together with the little context she gave him. Aegon’s thumbs brushed away the tears from her cheeks and then pulled her to his chest. 

“Let’s get out of the hall,” He whispered after a moment. “My apartments are not far from here.” 

He pulled her arm over his shoulder, and slipped his under hers. Taking a brief glance down to her feet, he noticed her right foot was clad in a red velvet slipper, and the other a wooden one.

Note: This was an emotionally taxing chapter to write, so I hope it came out well. I had to channel a lot of personal experience into it. Also, I had to squish in Valeana's name pronunciation somehow XD. So there it is.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[peachmangofuzz]

from this day forward - shohei ohtani au

a wedding au where shohei and female reader have broken up and anywhere within shohei's 5-foot radius is molten lava

special mentions: lars nootbar as the couple's best friend

trope: friends to lovers to strangers to lovers again, second chance, a bit of forced proximity, fluff

word count: 4560 words

other notes: started out as angst but decided towards a more peaceful resolution

written under the influence of 1989 the vault tracks. thank you mother taylor for your genius brain.

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

The next time you'd see Shohei Ohtani was in a wedding ceremony. He would be wearing an expensive grey suit and a tie in oxford blue that you've picked up for him months before. His thick dark hair would've been waxed and slicked back showing more of his forehead. If it had been last spring, that hairstyle would not have lasted as your fingers would tug the back of his head while he stole you kisses at the security of someone's bathroom sink, locked away in the gentle murmur that both escaped your lips. You'd be late and attracting a lot of stares from the guests and terse expressions from the bride and groom, definitely knowing your shenanigans. Instead, you came here alone, at the demand of your best friend and bride, Jessica, agreeing to meet up with the rest of the entourage. Your absolute consolation would be rubbing elbows with some of Jessica's celebrity friends, being a celebrity herself, and eating expensive food. For free. You'd be seeing Shohei too, yes, since he used to be in Jessica's social circle through you, only this time, you'd be alone.

You clutched your drawstring purse tightly and made a beeline towards the mobile bar that served drinks. If you'd have to go through this entire ordeal while nursing your broken heart--in a wedding reception, no less--you might as well get plastered.  

In the last summer that you've spent with Shohei Ohtani, you realized it wasn't all rainbows and sunshine. Although the relationship did start as a one-night stand and friendly banter, you caught yourself falling deep for him. You believed he did too as he spent more and more time in your apartment and called you often despite being out of town for the season.

You knew the consequences being involved with him like that but as if under a spell, you ignored the red flags that came with being his lover. One of them being constantly reminded of public pressure and opinion. Not even being a hotshot professor with a PHD in Creative Writing and Literature in a prominent university could save you from criticism. Being the golden boy of Japanese baseball had its repercussions. The media's constant prodding into your relationship took a toll on you since the beginning. You don't like attracting attention to yourself. You were quite the private person, so was Shohei. He only answered questions about his work in the big leagues, in respect to your wishes. So why did it feel like a betrayal when he actually dodged the media when they playfully inject questions about your not-so-secret secret? Why did it feel like a denial when he could've acknowledged the relationship like a normal person at least once? But Shohei was not a normal person, and you knew that. He was special beyond imagination and you wouldn't want to do anything that would ruin his reputation, much like his chances to appease both Western and Japanese media. 

Secondly, when his dedicated fanbase learned about you being in Shohei's life, they went rabid. They found your social media accounts despite having a vague name handle on Instagram; you didn't even have your personal photo on your profile. But they were scarily smart, his fans. They figured out your cryptic photos and captions that aligned to the locations Shohei was recorded to be at (and those were your actual short quiet dates around town during his free days). You had to ironically laugh out loud once, when it all suddenly happened, an unspeakable number of notifications flooding your phone, messages you couldn't ever dream o tf ever receiving.

"Are you sure you're Shohei's girlfriend??? you don't look like Shohei's type at all."

"Girl, you're constantly with Shohei recently? Are you a stalker pretending to be his girl for attention?"

"This girl in her delulu era lmao"

It took you all the restraint in your body to reply to these anonymous accounts, convincing yourself it was not worth it. You knew with every fiber of your being that showing off Shohei Ohtani as your boyfriend was worth every malicious comment sent to you, but you didn't. You never did. You never mentioned this to him despite the anxiety eating you alive. For you, at that time, as long as you have him tangled in bedsheets, in the quietest moments, the clamor of the world outside did not matter. 

Of course, you were wrong again. Much like every out of the ordinary couple, it was destined to fail. It did not take long until he got frustrated with your frustrations. It also affected your work. More and more students gossiped and faculty bullied you into oblivion. But why couldn't you tell him anything? Why wouldn't you show him how heavy carrying the relationship has started to feel? The thing is, you didn't feel like you should demand anything more, that being with him was already a blessing and demanding more means being greedy.

One night when both of you were coming off from a sugar high after eating too much cookie dough from Target, your head lay on his arms and his face pressed against yours. You laid there in bed with him in the silence, except for the rapid beating of your heart against his chest. You prayed for moments like this, and now it's happening. You love this. You love hi--

"I think I love you." you blurted out.

"Hmm?" he doesn't lift his head and continued to lay there, voice sounding sleepy as ever.

"I think... I think I'm in love with you, Sho." you whispered. "I like you more than the first date. It's just something I felt a while back..." you rambled on waiting for a response and when you tried to unentangle yourself from his hold, he suddenly tightened his embrace, beckoning you to stay still under the covers. He started lightly snoring after a few minutes.

He heard it, right? You thought he had fallen asleep but he heard you.

So why didn't he say it back?

"You gave up on him, remember?" You said to yourself as you sipped your first glass of raspberry limoncello prosecco. "So stop acting like he owes you anything. Not even an explanation or closure, Y/N."

You caught your faint reflection on the sliding glass door right beside the mobile bar. You were wearing a blue satin dress you bought for this wedding. The neckline going lower than when you first tried it on, revealing a bit of your cleavage. The dress also has a bonus feature: the maxi dress has a slit that stops just below your right thigh. You originally bought this at the same with Shohei's tie. You thought you'd surprise him with how sexy the dress was, and with you wearing it, you could only imagine his reaction. You sighed, as you took one last look on your dress, you noticed a familiar face nearing from behind you.

"Are you sure you're not trying to get him back with that dress?" Lars Nootbar loomed from behind, grinning, eyeing the skirt.

"It would need me more than a seductive dress to get him back, Lars." You scoffed. "Besides, I'm not that drunk yet." You proudly raised your half full glass of prosecco. Lars, your best friend and wingman, who was unfortunate enough to get caught in the Cold War (Pre-Break-Up Phase), down to the Great Depression (Post-Break Up Phase) and had to be there for the both of you, separately. Poor old Lars couldn't pick a side between his two besties, that he had to go back and forth between spending his time comforting you while you went on a How I Met Your Mother rabbithole while eating only salty snacks and leftover cake; and Shohei dragging him to go on a 5-mile jog almost every morning and deadlifting more than 400lbs lbs to "bulk up for the next season". Shohei knew that Lars could smell through his bullshit. Lars gave no comment every time he suggested something crazy during their workouts, or tried to talk him out of it. He was also tightlipped on how both of you were dealing with the break up, and for that, you and Shohei were grateful. 

"Well, I'll keep my radar on in case you start hysterical crying during the reception."

"Good call. Maybe tie a leash around my ankles while you're at it." you rolled your eyes and he sniggered, revealing his dimples. 

"Lars, I swear to God, I just want to go through this wedding without breaking down. The good thing is our breakup is already out in the open, so he's walking the aisle last with his new, equally-tall, bridesmaid partner, who also happens to be a model for Vogue Japan." you said a matter-of-factly.

"Did you do your research on the bridesmaids, Miss FBI?" said Lars. It was only a matter of coping that you stalked all the women he has spent time with in social events. This wedding is no different, you thought. You just wanted to know if he had moved on with another fling. If he already replaced you that quick, then it would make you feel more vindicated when you presumed he didn't love you and fight for you at all. 

"The internet is an amazing thing. I know now how his fans got so obsessed with hunting me down."

"Did you run out of TV series to binge on that you're now stalking your ex?" said Lars. He was smiling but his eyes showed a slight worry in his expression.

"Someone's got to fill in the role of the crazy ex, you know." you joked. "Don't worry, big guy, I'm not going to have a relapse after just one wedding."

He eyed you dolefully. "I'll keep an eye on you, lady."

"There he is! Our MVP!" someone shouts. Suddenly a number of guests flocked towards the end of the hall, clapping and greeting Shohei Ohtani, who just entered the reception with Ippei Mizuhara, his trusty friend and interpreter. He smiled politely and greeted everyone as he tried to find his way towards the crowd, eyes scanning the place.

"Ooh... He came without a date. Interesting turn of events--" commented Lars, about to say a joke but was interrupted when you swiveled on your feet so fast, you could've been a Yo-yo. Lars let out a loud laugh, inviting a few looks from nearby guests. Your back facing them, sipping your prosecco nervously, and pretending your Midnight Blue marble nail art is more interesting than Baseball star, Shohei Ohtani (who inconsequentially just happens to be your ex-lover. NBD.)

"Shut up and stop looking at him!" you hissed. 

Lars chuckled and before he could say anything more, the wedding coordinator's voice boomed into the speakers. "Entourage, come forward please."

"Oh, fantastic. Here we go." You downed your remaining drink and took Lars by the arm. 

By the time you got to the entourage queue, someone called your name.

"Y/N as bridesmaid, come here please." Linda, the wedding coordinator in a stunning dress suit and pants called out. You went to her, trying to avoid eye contact with everyone else. Everyone was probably gossiping how you and Shohei didn't arrive together, or why you have your arms linked with Lars instead of his. You tried brushing it off but the guests' side glances really bothered you.

"Groomsmen, Shohei Ohtani. Stand beside Y/N, please." 

It must've been the wine because you thought you were hearing things. You chuckled to yourself. You thought Linda called--

"Shohei Ohtani, stand here, please!" Linda was waving at Shohei, who was at the back of the line to come forward and pointing at the space beside you. It took you a couple of seconds to realize what it all meant. Your eyes turned around to look for Lars. He was 2 rows behind you and reciprocated your panicked gaze. 

"Um, Linda, there must've been a mis--" You started but were immediately cut off when Shohei came to your side. 

"We're good, Linda. Thank you." He smiled politely and shook his head at me. You could only look back in disbelief.

"Didn't you say you'd have the list updated with Jessica?" You blurted out.

"I did."

"So?" Your voice raising. Shohei gave you a furtive look. He stood closer and offered his arm. All those mental preparations you had planned went down the drain as soon as you stood close to him.

"I couldn't." He started.

"I know I should have. When we split up, I always thought we would get back together so I put off telling Jessica about the breakup... and changing the list... would be... Pointless."

"You act as if you did something to prevent the breakup." you said bitterly. "Let's just get this over with and move on to our separate ways, okay?"

He looked pained when he searched your eyes, hoping you could return his gaze. You didn't and only looked straight ahead. You knew he was looking at you. You knew he was trying to say something more but couldn't. You knew that if you looked at him and saw his sad brown eyes, you'd go soft and all those months of trying to get him out of your system would all be for nothing. You're able to stand up now because you chose not to wait for him anymore. Don't go searching for a reason to look back now. 

You swallowed hard. Making a big deal out of this would only draw flak from other guests and with especially with Jessica. It's her day after all. No time for any of your meltdowns. The last thing you wanted to do is make a scene in the presence of Shohei. Especially in front of Shohei, so you put on your big girl shoes on and took his arm to walk down the aisle. You silently die inside as you gripped his biceps hard against your hand. 

Oh god, this is going to be a long day, you groaned inwardly.

The wedding ceremony went surprisingly quick. The bridesmaids were seated separately from the groomsmen on the opposite side of the hall. Once you and Shohei reached the end of the aisle, you immediately let go of his arm and walked towards the bridesmaids' table without glancing at him; Shohei did the same and walked as fast and normal as he could, trying to steady himself being near you after months of separation.

When the host announced the newly weds' entrance, you were already on your second flute of champagne. Of course, you didn't pass up the opportunity to taste the petite crab cakes and tuna tartare from the appetizers. You busied stuffing your mouth with as much food as you could so there wasn't any room for conversation. In between bathroom breaks and buttermilk biscuit refills, you'd spot someone you knew from you and Jessica's school, or from Shohei's circle, stopping by to say a quick hi. Of course, you'd exchange curt greetings and you braced yourself when it spins to the impending question.

"So sad to hear about you and Shohei, dear." one of the guests, Mrs. Nakamoto, approached you with her wine glass. She dazzled every time the lights caught the rhinestone jewelry adorned all over her neck.

"I'm okay, Mrs. Nakamoto, thank you for your concern." you faked a smile and responded with the lines you have rehearsed a hundred times in front of the mirror.

"Couples fight, that's normal. Fighting means you want to fix things." she said, looking at you. "Don't be too mad at him anymore. He loves you, you know."

You look at her, bewildered. "I don't quite under--"

"He spoke to the media and asked to give you privacy." she winked. "Oh to be young and in love. Makes you fearless, don't you think? The fans were not happy though. Have you seen it yet?" she asked pointedly when she saw your blank expression.

You had no idea what she was babbling about. It could be the wine, or probably some tabloid news she heard from the grapevine. You intend to correct this but as if Mrs. Nakamoto could read your mind, she interrupted your thoughts before you could open your mouth.

"He won't go far to scold his fans if he doesn't want to protect you and your relationship, you know." she winked and with that she floated away with her twinkling diamonds, leaving you utterly shocked. Scolded his fans? Since when did Shohei talk about his personal life in front of the press? Mrs. Nakamoto must've been mistaken. The world would be ending and he would only talk about baseball more than anything.

You tried following Mrs. Nakamoto but she had already disappeared into the crowd. Lars came into view, dimples on display and cheeks flushed from all the dancing, probably.

"Hey, sweet pea. Having fun on your own?" he asked.

"Just about to." you took a swig of your last champagne and dragged Lars into the dancefloor. He quickly noted the change of music and started dancing.

"I love this song!" you exclaimed as I Don't Wanna Dance With Somebody started playing in the background. You were swaying your hips and singing the song word by word, not a care in the world. For the first time tonight, were actually enjoying yourself.

It took 3 songs until Lars called timeout. His face flushed and sweaty from keeping up with you, almost heaving.

"Man, do you already have weak knees at that age?" you giggled and tried to hold on to him thinking he might suddenly collapse from exhaustion.

"I think I actually do, dude. I'll remember not to underestimate you on Just Dance." he was looking at something from behind you, as if looking for someone.

"If you want to sit down, we can sit down back there--"

The music switched up and suddenly a slow song started. Grow Old With Me by Tom Odell.

Lars took your hand and led you into the middle of the dancefloor. Unknowingly, you followed along. He might've already recovered and want to dance more. He is your partner in crime tonight, after all. Whatever confusing feelings you felt after talking to Mrs. Nakamoto earlier has been swept away from your mind. At least momentarily.

And then it happened too fast, you didn't have the time to process what was happening. One moment you were holding Lars' hand, now you're facing Shohei, his right hand slithered to your back, and the other on yours, leading the dance. He thanks Lars and Lars taps his back, retreating back into the dancefloor as if he nothing happened. Of course, he is also Shohei's best friend and wingman. Of course, he'd do this. He is definitely going to hear a lot from you once you get back at him.

Shohei pulls you harder to him, shaking your attention from Lars to him. Only him. He's looking at you and you're looking at him like it was a dream. Or a nightmare. You couldn't decide because his perfume invaded your system and is causing your mind to stop working.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"That dress is so revealing, Y/N." he finally said after a few moments.

"Wow. That's none of your business." You snapped, annoyed now. What a way to break the spell. "I didn't wear this for you."

"Hoping you could bring a date home tonight?" he said, voice low.

Oh, he did not. The worst thing he could do is provoke you on a night like this. Not when you're on the brink of alcohol intoxication. Your mouth runs everywhere when you're drunk.

"Why does that concern you? I can because I'm single anyway. You should try it too."

"Who said I was single?" Shohei looked pissed off now. As much as you want to escape, as someone with Scorpio rising, you just want to play with fire.

"Oh, you did you replace me with? Was it the Vogue Japan model? Or the badminton player during the gala?" you pushed.

The look on his face gave you chills on your bones. Oh, he was angry angry.

"I'm starting to think you believe what the tabloids wrote more than what I ever told you in the past."

"What did you ever tell me, Sho? I'm curious. I don't think I ever heard you say anything reassuring." You don't want to go through this anymore, no matter how pissed off you feel. You just want to go home and take a long warm bath while listening to your sad breakup playlist.

You let go of Shohei's hand and stopped dancing. You turned your heel and walked towards the exit, in the middle of the wedding band's rendition of Can't Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley. 

At the corner of your eye, you saw Lars dancing and flirting with one of the bridesmaids. He noticed you but you waved him off, stopping him. If he was enjoying the night, you shouldn't drag him along with him. He has already done so much for you. You can handle this on your own tonight.

You shivered as soon as you stepped outside the hall. You let a light wind breeze through you as you walked around the garden path, lost in your own thoughts. You mentally smack yourself for forgetting to bring a coat again. It was a cold evening and you no longer have Shohei to keep you warm. And you were always so cold. You'll have to get used to bringing your own coats again. You, who has always been okay being alone pre-Shohei days, would have to wake up without his good morning texts again. Dining alone. Sleeping alone. Watching movies alone. 

Walking aimlessly in the garden, you remembered your conversation with Mrs. Nakamoto and fished your phone from your purse. You knew it was not a good idea to be watching his interview videos anymore but curiosity killed you. You googled his latest interview video and pressed play.

The interview started with the usual introductions and questions about baseball and his performance from the last game. He answered them attentively and politely. Then, a reporter suddenly asked him about you.

"Since you are attending Jessica Thuy's wedding next week, do you have plans on addressing if you and Y/N are gonna be endgame? Or has the fans scared her off already?" the reporters' laughter was heard on the recording. Ippei, who had been within shot the whole time, looked like he wanted Shohei to ignore the question but Shohei grunted and gave the cameras a sarcastic smile.

"I thank the fans for their constant support of my games and schedules. I'm grateful, really. But they don't have a say on who I fall in love with." The crowd went quiet, waiting for him to say more. He gave in and indeed more, much to their delight. "The woman I'm in love with is a very private person. It took me a long time to get to know her because she's always had her nose buried in a book. She gets super chatty when she talks about the things she is passionate about. She would not, for the life of me, stop talking about astrology. She once cried when she learned that Manatees are endangered species. She has a laugh that the fans commented negatively about. I find her laugh the most adorable thing I've ever heard and I don't want to live in a life where I don't hear it ever. I hope the fans respect that. Thank you." It was as if the wind was sucked by a vacuum and got sealed elsewhere. Even Ippei was speechless. He couldn't believe Shohei said that in front of the media. He was fighting for you. He finally set his boundaries.

He signaled the end of the interview and went out of frame just in time for the video to end.

You turned around to go back to the reception but saw Shohei standing behind you, his face glistened with a wistful expression. You stood there with tears in your eyes. That interview sounded like a confession of love and now you want to hear more.

"When you left I really thought you brought all the sunshine with you. Literally... It was always raining in our games." He said. "In my heart, too. It's true. I don't ever want to live in a life where I don't have you, Y/N."

"I figured the best way to get you back was this wedding, since you know, you've blocked me everywhere. You even told the receptionist in your apartment to never let me in." he pouted.

"And about that night... I was embarrassed because you said it first. I thought that when I'd finally say it, it would be after I plan the craziest, most beautiful date ever. You know, private restaurant reservation, red roses, fireworks, all the jazz. I wanted to give you that much." he chucked darkly to himself. "I know now that I have been the biggest asshole to let that moment slip away and let you go without bringing up a fight. I should have said it right then and there. Fireworks or no fireworks."

You went through a rollercoaster of emotions over his speech. After watching the video, you wanted to storm back to the reception and confront him, angry because it made you feel ashamed at what the both of you had to go through in the last couple of weeks. Now you just want to laugh out loud at how this has unfolded.

"Fireworks?" you squeaked, wiping tears that threatened to fall from the sides of your eyes.

"Well, they're a bit romantic...don't you think?" he said shyly, looking down. You finally burst in a loud, belly laugh.

"You idiot. Come here."

Shohei took huge strides to get to you, smiling widely. You forgot how much he towered over your small frame. You had to strain your neck to look up at him. "I hope it's not too late to say it. I don't have the fireworks though. I didn't get to plan if this cornering-you-in-the-wedding thing is going to work out... And as for the tabloids, I--"

You went on your tiptoes and pulled his face to yours. "Stop talking."

You gave him a light peck at first, testing the waters. He returned the kiss with more pressure, as if trying to catch up with lost time. He put his hands on your waist and pushed his body towards you with so much fervor. This time, his movements became needy, frantic even. As if any moment from now, you'd disappear again.

He held the nape of your neck and pulled you closer, opening your mouth with his tongue. He licked the insides of your mouth, making you shiver with pleasure. A moan escaped your lips and you held on to his shoulders tightly. Both of you are lost in the kiss, pulling and pushing each other's bodies like molding clay, hoping that after this, you come out as one body, one soul and one heart.

You only parted when you needed to breathe for air, foreheads touching. You're both needy now, desperate for more of his touch. Anywhere that he hasn't touched feels on fire. His hand wandered through your clothed chest and squeezed your breast tightly, earning another moan from you. You let your leg stroke his middle and felt him harden, all while your hands pinched his ass. He grunted a noise and gave you a hungry look. Anything that you've thought before this moment has been forgotten. You remembered how much you wanted this, how much you wanted him.

"I love you, Y/N. I'm sorry I took so long to say it." Shohei finally broke the kiss and looked at you. "Fuck, that feels so good. You don't know how happy I am that I could finally say that. I love you."

You too couldn't imagine a better moment for him to say it.

Fireworks or no fireworks.

[quillkiller]

microfic: quillkiller, 848 words, explicit/mature

light d/s undertones maybe ?? vaguely described sex scene, nsfw

Bellatrix is poison, or maybe just a very sharp knife. More weapon than a girl, always has been. She did this to herself, and she had done it all wrong.

She destroys what she touches, leaves them a bloody mess at her feet until they crawl away from her on all fours. She had done it to anyone who tried to be her friend.

She had done it to her younger sister. She doesn’t know why her youngest is still around.

She doesn’t want to do it, again, to Rita, she wants so desperately for her to stay— so she keeps her hands behind her back most of the time. She keeps her teeth behind a closed mouth, so as to not tear open Rita’s perfect skin.

She wants to keep her perfect. Pristine and lovely, like a porcelain doll. No teeth grazing her neck, drawing blood. No fingers digging too deep into her hips. No visible hickeys, dragging Rita’s reputation through the dirt.

No, she’s too perfect, and she deserves better. Bellatrix doesn’t doubt she’d duel a pair of scissors if they dared to make Rita bleed.

She’s the loveliest, sweetest thing Bellatrix has ever been in possession of.

“I want to make you bleed,” Rita whispers against her ear, taking Bellatrix’s earlobe between her teeth, biting until it hurts. Until Bellatrix gasps, struggling against the ropes tying her hands together behind her back.

Maybe not that sweet, not really, not actually, but what matters is that Bellatrix thinks so. Rita is nasty, rude and selfish— and she’s perfect. Rita thinks she’s a god, and Bellatrix is happy to indulge her. Happy to worship at her feet.

“How badly do you want to touch me?” Rita asks, sucking down hard on Bellatrix’s neck, “feral thing like you, you’d ruin me if i’d let you,”

Bellatrix would never hurt Rita, hasn’t ever hurt Rita, even when her hands aren’t tied together, but it’s true that Bellatrix is feral. Wild and sharp, and doesn’t know how to love without leaving claw marks. It takes all her effort to be soft, but Rita rewards her every single time.

She’s become Rita’s domesticated beast. A dog on a leash. A leash that Rita loves pulling at, and Bellatrix is all too happy to submit and be led.

Bellatrix wants Rita to stay perfect, not a single tear on her lovely skin, and Rita basks in it. In turn, Rita wants to claw, push and prod. A perfect thing, but not at all kind, and Bellatrix loves her for it.

Who else can you hurt? Bellatrix had asked her once, when Rita had looked at her with fire dancing in her eyes, Bellatrix pushed up against a wall. Rita’s hand around her neck.

She had squeezed, Bellatrix gasping for breath, and said, I want you at my mercy.

Bellatrix had laughed, as much as she could with her airway blocked, and said, I already am, baby. Deliriously happy, Rita’s delicate fingers digging into her.

Rita adjusts herself on Bellatrix’s lap until she’s straddling her right thigh, she sits back up and looks down at Bellatrix, a smirk on her lips. “You’re so good,”

Bellatrix isn’t exactly comfortable, sitting with her back against the headboard and hands tied around her back, but her comfort doesn’t matter. Not to her, and not to Rita. Right now she belongs entirely to Rita. She thinks she was made to make her feel good, if all she’s good for otherwise is to harm and destroy.

Rita starts moving, and all Bellatrix can do is watch. Rita’s still fully dressed on top of her, a miniskirt, but the panties are gone, and a loose fitting button up shirt that refuses to stay in place. Rita’s blonde hair is a mess, eyes rolling back as she’s focusing on her own pleasure. Bellatrix has been tied up and naked for over an hour.

“Baby,” Bellatrix whispers.

God, she’s perfect. A perfect, pristine little thing— and Bellatrix intends to keep her that way. She’ll let Rita ruin her, make her bleed, leave her marks. She’ll beg her for it, and bask in the glory until they’ve faded. Then she’ll beg again.

She wants everyone to know who she belongs to. And in turn, Bellatrix demands Rita be kept perfect. Showing not only who Rita belongs to, but that Rita belongs to her without all of Bellatrix’s violence.

“You’ll hurt everyone,” Rita says, pulling Bellatrix’s hair, just a tad too hard, “but not me,”

“Never,” Bellatrix promises.

Never, never, never.

“Good dog,” Rita gasps, and scratches at Bellatrix’s back until she bleeds. Rita giggles, pleased when Bellatrix hisses from the pain.

“You’re perfect,” Bellatrix says, trying to get closer, but Rita pushes her back against the headboard roughly.

“My perfect girl,” Bellatrix continues, she’s delirious, a stuttering mess, “my one good thing,”

Rita says something, but it’s lost in her frantic movements against her thigh and Bellatrix’s growing desperation. She’s an angel, a god, a porcelain doll.

Bellatrix worships. Like a dog on a leash, held by a perfect, delicate hand that loves her.

[tragicvampireromanceisland]

id love to hear more of your dream prod thoughts! it was really funny reframing the fact that yeah, the emotions probably really do just have authority over everything and anger was Laser Focused on gettin rid of a director that put riley in danger

HIII yes i'd love to talk more about dream prod!! 😁 i'm gonna go ahead and put it all under the cut though, since 1) probably gonna be LONG and 2) i feel like it's too soon to talk about spoilers out in the open dhkjhkjgh. but!! yes anyways

YES god i really loved all of anger's bits in the show. loved how protective he got 🥺 one thing i always found interesting in the first movie was that the long-term workers did not really seem to...care that sadness and joy needed to find a way back to hq? might just be working in long-term that does that to you LMAO!! really fascinating that the guys working in dream productions do defer to the emotions to some extent. in a way emotions themselves are very integral to dreams! and i loved all the little things that showed this, like paula desperately looking for a happy memory to come up with a dream for, or how gigi's nightmares mostly consisted of green and purple orbs (sidenote SIGH i really wish we got to see disgust and fear interact more considering this. especially since even the sleepwalking memory was green and purple, iirc? buuut i digress. NOT just the disear brain talking i promise but maybe also a Little /lh).

also found it very interesting how the machine jean brought in to measure the. "excitement" of the dream is also a bit dependent on emotions i would say? i'm getting real technical here, but i'm wondering how riley could still react to the dream with other emotions who are not on dream duty (and even then, the ones on dream duty aren't using the console...) despite them being asleep...🤔 definitelyyy overthinking this LOLLL but it's very cool to look at the inner workings of dream prod overall! i love that they introduced daydreams in, too...and this sort of worldbuilding of how daydreams are constructed differently compared to dreams at night. really good contrast for the paula xeni rivalry!

SPEAKING of mannn i loved paula and xeni!! WHAT a fun duo. one thing i noticed was that paula's insistence on "fun" dreams and living in the past was an interesting mirror to joy's previous behavior before her character development across both movies...i thiiink this was intentional, and it's fun to see that riley growing up isn't something just the emotions have to adjust to, but everyone else in the mind word as well 🥲 i wasn't expecting to find the paula-xeni dynamic as funny as i did, either. the bit where he steals her boots made me laugh out loud LMAOO. ALSO going to mention mel here too GOD. THE PUPY. I LOVE HERRR...was talking with a friend the other day about how interacting with the personification of a hormone lets you be affected by that hormone...really cool annnd makes sense considering these guys are all brain cells LOL. makes me wonder if hypothetically this could affect emotions too...? hmm!

anywaysss i loved all the callbacks to things from the first movie...i kind of wish there could have been some acknowledgment of how joy and sadness literally broke into dream productions in the first movie since, well. that's a Pretty Significant Thing that happened. BUT it's fine HKJFHG i thought the callback to canadian boyfriend was real fun. i willll say, given both disney and pixar's....not so good reputation with this sorta stuff, i was concerned the romance! episode was gonna be. one of those "See we PROMISE riley isn't gay!!!" sorta things so i'm glad that's not the direction it went in, and that they kept the resolution for that vague. AND i love love that they really played into the romcom element with all the tropes like the love triangle. AND sadness and joy watching it together!!!! MAN. SO CUTE. 🥺 in general i adore how much joy and sadness are just. besties now. they hang out together!! they LIKE hanging out together!! AUGH. ANYWAYS. romance DID end up being my favorite episode of the bunch! joy and sadness appearances obviously. helped with this LMAO but i loooved how it really showcased paula and xeni's strengths as a team. AND I WILL NOT LIE. that sleepwalking scene did kinda stress me out and i am a grown-ass adult. i also always love when real-life phenomena get translated into the mechanics of the mind world. the camera suddenly moving on its own was sooo cool.

i ALSO found it interesting how the characters all seem to have different views of what's best for riley...jean is the antagonist obvs but! interesting that she had a rationale for the dream xeni wrote, kinda "shaming" riley into growing up...even more interesting when you think about how shame was eventually written out of the second movie drafts, AND how anxiety's original character was rewritten a couple of times because it seemed like both of them were "self-sabotaging" riley too much. interesting that jean could somehow fill this role...! i wonder if that concept was carried on into this show.

ALSO. THE LUCID DREAM STUFF!! very cool. i've always been curious about the reality distortion filters. also a cool way to have riley interact with the mind world! i wiiiish we could have seen more of how...the emotions viewed this dream, what they thought of it etc. since their reactions are present for all the other dreams...i'm honestly very curious about Dream Duty in general, especially since it's not mentioned at all in the second movie. i think it would've been cool to kinda explain the details of dream duty in parallel to the dream production process, sorta tie the whole relationship between the emotions and the mind workers at dream prod together a bit more...buuut overall it was fun to see more of dream productions! definitely my favorite place in the mind world out of all the ones we'd seen across both movies. had a fun time overall!! and honestly my favorite thing about worldbuilding in inside out is how many strange hypotheticals it makes you think about LOL. so while i still got criticisms i'm having a fun time with it 😁👍🏾

[blooddrinkingbartender]

foxedthecards

At this point something maybe was vaguely prodding at the back of his mind that this whole scenario seemed off a bit, especially with that smirk involved. But caught up in the spectacle of seeing a magic celebrity, that was quickly dismissed in favor of what seemed obvious at this point: oh it was all a street show wow what a fucking stroke of luck! " Oh! Sure yeah! " Jonas said eagerly, moving a little closer and sticking his hands in his pockets. He really wanted to see the man himself in action because even in the magic circles he frequented, Antonio always had a reputation for being extremely good at what he did, to the point of it being downright uncanny even to other experienced mentalists. If only Jonas knew...

Antonio allowed Jonas to take a moment to process what he had just said and what was happening. After all, it wasn't like his current victim was going anywhere.

"Glad to hear it," Antonio said, "Always wonderful to see someone so enthusiastic about the wonders of mentalism. It's amazing what the mind can do, as I said."

Even now, it was always a nice feeling when he met a fan of his shows.

"Looks like we have a little audience, Jack," Antonio said, "Maybe you could tell me something about cheaters. People who cheat. They're not much different from liars are they, and I believe there's a rhyme that children enjoy saying about liars. Something about their pants being on fire."

"Yes," Jack said, "Liar liar pants on fire."

"That's the one," Antonio said, giving Jonas another little smile, "And seeing as you were lying and cheating your way through that game of Poker. I think your own are on fire, and it's starting to spread to the rest of your clothes."

He hardly had time to bring the watch down before Jack burst away from him in a panic, frantically patting at his clothes, trying to put out a fire only he could see. Then Jack pushed his way past and started to run off, desperately stripping away at his clothes as he did so. Antonio just watched him for the moment, before he turned to Jonas.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" he asked then, "What the human mind is capable of. All I did was give him the idea and the rest, he conjured up himself."

Well, that was a little bit of a downplay. But it was close enough.

The Cat in the Casino (closed for foxedthecards)

@foxedthecards

Ah, Vegas. A place of strangers. A place of unfamiliar faces. Perfect to flex his newfound powers for a while, and without that dog around to possibly get in the way of his fun.

He hadn't been here for a while, and the change of scenery could easily match his change of mind. His original plan was to relax with a game of Poker before moving on and seeing what kind of targets he could find.

His first target came very quickly, given that he was very quick to notice one of the opponents had been cheating. He had been silent about it, allowing himself to lose.

But then he took his moment to ambush the man in a more isolated part of the carpark, when the player had been on his way to leave. It didn't take long to have him fall into a trance with his newfound strength, but now he needed to decide what he wanted him to do.

However, a movement caught the corner of his eye, and he turned to look at who he had seen, the pocket watch he was using still keeping his victim in a susceptible state.

[impossible-rat-babies]

shadowbringers? More like Sad-bringers, eh?

I’m real sad y’all

[deejadabbles]

Spells of Defiance (Atem x Reader x Yugi) Chapter 9

NINE: MEMORIES

One //// Two //// Three //// Four //// Five //// Six //// Seven //// Eight //// Nine //// [Ten coming soon]

Summary: The Circle of Magicians protects the world from rogue, murderous fey. The police who keep bloodsuckers and flesh-eaters in check. You’ve hunted vampires for years, earning a reputation as one of the best magicians in that field; but what happens when an encounter with a particular vampire makes your already fragile loyalties split? Supernatural/Demon Hunter AU. Vampire!Atem x Reader x Incubus!Yugi (yes, a polyamorous relationship). Warnings for cursing, vulgar language, violence, and some sexual themes.

A.N: I'M FINALLY DONE WITH THIS CHAPTER!!! So, one of the main reasons this took me so long was because there was this one scene that I hated every version I wrote of it. I kid you not when I say I deleted and rewrote it at least four times. I think I finally got it to a version I like, though, and I hoped it came out okay. I also hope you guys enjoy this long overdue update.

Soft hands were raking through your hair, soothing, full of comfort and affection. Everything hurt, pain came and went in aching waves through your body with every breath and beat of your heart. 

At least you felt safe.

The warmth around you as the fingers combed your ruffled hair, the soothing voice that hummed assurances, the knowledge that someone cared. The pain waved on, but at least you had this, at least you had the warmth and safety. The healer’s wing at the Sanctuary had always been cold and sterile, hard beds meant for efficiency and nothing else and prodding hands that cared little if they hurt before they healed.

At least, it was that way when she wasn’t there, and you were grateful when she was. Although, now you had a vague thought of preferring the cold and harsh, if it meant you didn’t have to feel the wet tears and hear the shuddering sobs. 

“I can’t believe they did this to you,” her voice cracked overhead, and another warm droplet fell on your cheek. “My sweet little one, how,” another sob, “How can I save you? How can I stop them from forcing this- this disgusting future on you?”

Your eyelids, still heavy from fatigue, started to lift and more pain came when the lights of the healer’s wing invaded them. Her face was above yours, and it was only then that you realized she had laid your head in her lap. Her eyes were red and puffy from the tears and you had the urge to shy away from her, as if that would stop them.

“You should be resting,” she said, and put on a fake, watery smile. “I’m sorry I woke you, I should get you a sleeping draught so you can-”

“No,” your tone sounded scared, though you had no idea why, “No I don’t- I don’t want to sleep! Don’t make me sleep- Not again-!”

She put her finger on your lips, shushing you, and her smile fell. “Sleep helps. Sleep heals. Please let me heal you.”

She sobbed again and more wet warmth dripped onto your face. Only this time, it was red. 

Fear crept in to grip your heart as blood filled her mouth, “My child- my sweet little one. I can’t save you. I can’t help you.” Her tears mixed with the red and both spilled down her chin and neck. Then it was pouring from her eyes. “I’m- I’m so sorry! Please forgive me, forgive me.”

Her sobs broke through the empty room as the blood poured down on your face and you began thrashing and crying in turn.

“Forgive me forgive me forgive-”

A muffled shout left your raw throat, as if it were scraping against bark, and pain shot through your ribs as you scrambled to sit upright. Your breathing was labored, your skin soaked in a sickly-feeling sweat, and- and fucking hell did your body ache!

Someone whispered your name in the dark, and you flinched when a warm hand touched your cheek. The same voice made a reassuring, calming noise as you felt a body shift closer to you.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” again he whispered your name, trying to draw you in, calm you down. “We’re here, you’re safe, you’re okay.”

Another hand had slipped into yours by the time your breathing was even again, and you bit down hard on your lip to keep any rising tears at bay.

Yugi must have expected tears because his thumb was soothing as it rubbed gentle circles over your cheeks and under your tired eyes. Atem’s hand gripped your own, firm and assuring, pulling you back to reality, to remind you they were there. 

“So, I made it?” You finally managed and cringed at how rough your voice was. You remembered laying in a numb heap on the cracked pavement, raking in every last ounce of energy you could muster before attempting a final teleportation...and immediately passing out a moment after casting said spell.

“You did,” Yugi said in a tone so breathy with relief, you wondered if he had kept all that worry in his chest until the moment he heard you speak again.

The hand around yours tightened as Atem said, “We managed to get that poison out of your body, and tend the rest of your injuries as best we could. You’re going to be just fine.”

“But you still need to rest,” Yugi interjected, and you felt his hand slide from your cheek to guide your shoulders back down the cushions.

You obeyed and began sliding back under the warm blankets, and the urge to crawl in there for a decade or two was strong. Again you were made painfully aware that the poison wasn’t the only thing that almost killed you, especially after you felt the dried paste of poultices patched all over your body as you moved. The skin under the flaking patches was tight and itchy, but you knew they were important for your healing. They honestly could do a bit more for pain management, though.

Now that your eyes had adjusted to the dark, you realized you were in the bedroom the boys insisted you call yours, laying on the bed they had offered you, wrapped in the blankets they gifted you. It was comfortable, warm, soft. Not only the bed though, and you noticed that you were dressed in a pair of draw-string sweats, and an oversized flannel. 

They smelled like Yugi, airy and clean, with a vaguely floral scent like lilies floating on spring water. Your face went hot as you wondered, very very briefly, if this was what it was like to be embraced by the incubus.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Atem’s fingers wove between yours as he asked, a seemingly absent-minded action. “You sounded like you were upset,” his voice was barely more than a whisper and your face stayed warm as he shifted to sit on the edge of your bed.

Had they been by your bedside this whole time?

“I’m okay,” you answered, though your tone sounded much less flat than you had expected it to. “It’s not the first time I’ve had the dream. I’m actually kinda used to it.”

“...It’s about your mom?” Yugi pushed on, after a moment, and his tone was cautious, treading lightly and ready to retreat at a moment’s notice.

You shifted, scooting under the covers just a bit more, “Yeah.” Even though you had had every intention of leaving it there, more words started coming, “She was a healer at the Sanctuary. I used to get injured a lot and one time when I was roughed up pretty bad as a kid, she managed to convince the others to let her be my healer. Now, when I get serious injuries...I don’t know, I guess it just reminds me of her.”

In the dark, you still noticed the way Atem’s eyes shifted toward Yugi’s, his face looking...distressed. “She had to convince them to let her heal you?”

You nodded your head, knowing they’d see since their eyes were made for the dark. “Families...they aren’t the same where I grew up. Do you remember when I told you that children are taken from their magician parents pretty young? Magicians still think it’s their duty to procreate, but the parents, especially the mothers are...discouraged from having much to do with their children while they’re growing up. It’s considered weakness to show attachment, even to your own kids.” You tucked further under the blanket, as if hiding your mouth and face would hide the shame of that philosophy. “But she was always...I think it was hard for her to stay away from me. She used to get in trouble with the council when she’d bend the rules to see me or spend time with me. That time I got hurt and she healed me, I remember her crying so much, she was so upset over seeing me hurt...it was the first time I remember feeling how much a person could care for someone else…”

You heard a sniffle in the dark and wondered if Yugi was getting emotional from the words. You hoped not, it wasn’t your intention to make him cry. When his hand reached out and touched your hair you wanted to melt into the affection.

“I bet you have some good memories of her too, since she tried to see you all the time.”

The urge to crawl under the covers and never come back got stronger. “She died. She got sick and died when I was really young. Besides that memory in the healer's wing, the only other clear one I have of her was her sneaking me into the herb garden and showing me the flowers. I remember her giving me a sprig of lavender and telling me to keep it under my pillow to keep nightmares away,” a small sniffle that you tried to hide, “She even petrified it with magic so it would keep its full bloom forever.”

Despite the tears trying to work their way up your throat, this felt nice. It felt good to talk about her, to mention her, and remember her without fear of a mentor berating you for getting ‘too attached’.

“Do you still have it? The lavender,” Atem asked, his voice so gentle you almost didn’t hear him.

Your mind had been mulling over the memories of all the times you had held the flower in your hands, curled up in bed and trying to remember her and her warmth which had been so alien, but so comforting. You frowned though, when you realized you didn’t actually remember losing it, or having to discard it. The circle often had everyone's quarters “cleaned”, routinely scrubbing everyone's possessions down to the bare essentials. They claimed it was to ensure that magicians didn’t hoard expired potions, collect harmful objects, and a host of other half-baked excuses. You had watched them throw out so many of your things over the years, the small things you had collected for yourself from the outside world, not being able to do anything about it. You were about fifteen the last time you remembered holding that sprig of lavender, which added up, they must have thrown it out once you started collecting nicknacks from your field missions.

“No, they sweep everyone’s quarters every now and then and throw out anything they don’t deem useful. They threw it out as an expired herb a long time ago.”

“Bastards.” The flat curse coming from Yugi’s usually soft voice actually made you give a little wet laugh.

“Yeah, they’re bastards alright,” your little nod accompanied the words, and you thought you saw Yugi almost join the laughter if he wasn’t too preoccupied with being so annoyed with the cult who raised you. “But it’s okay, I have a better home now, a real home.” 

You hadn’t even realized the words were on your lips until you were saying them, but they were true, sincere, and you didn’t have to see the boys to know their expressions had softened. Some silence passed for a while, and when it was clear there was no more reminiscing on your mind for now, Yugi’s fingers were back to stroking your hair.

“You should get some more sleep, I’ll use some of my own magic to keep the nightmares away this time.”

You wanted to say something, more than a word of thanks, but your mind came up empty, at a loss for how to express how much this- all of this, meant to you. How much they meant to you. Instead, you settled for a simple, “Thank you both, for everything.” 

And drifting off to sleep had never been easier.

It was late. Late enough that Yugi had finally nodded off, long after soothing you to sleep with his magic and combing fingers. Neither of them dared leave your bedside, Yugi having dragged in a couple of old chairs from the storage room across the hall so they weren’t sleeping on the floor.

Not that Atem was sleeping at all, of course. He tried to let yours and Yugi’s steady breathing lull him to rest, but his mind wouldn’t stop tormenting him. The memory of your blood wouldn’t stop flashing behind all his senses. The way it smelled, the sickening way it tasted sweet to him, the way it looked coating his hands and face. He knew sealing the wound with the curative on his fangs was the right call, you were on the verge of bleeding out, after all, but it didn’t stop him from feeling sick with himself.

It didn’t stop the assault of memories; of other blood staining his hands and filling his mouth.

All the years, all his victims. He remembered each and every one. Heard them in his dreams. Mourned the days of their deaths every year. And, in moments like this, moments where he was reminded so wholly and devastatingly of what he was, he saw them every time he closed his eyes.

A sickly, helpless beggar forced to sleep in the exposure of the streets. The traveling merchant who had picked the wrong time and place to make camp in the woods. A pair of locals displeased with his drifter's ways. The old widower who had taken him in from a snowstorm.

The pain of those kills had not subsided in time, but, Atem always seemed to be the most raw to whatever memory was freshest. His most recent memory of hurt and blood and pain.

New York had not been a kind place in the 1870’s, but, Atem had been a true pox on the populace, and gods did he wish he had left as soon as he arrived.

Obsessions did not care for logic, though, and he still remembered the dirty streets and smell of rot as he poured over the mission that still plagued his eternal life. If he were more callous, he would have pinned her death- all the deaths, on Marik’s head, but the guilt of Atem’s failures were his cross to bear and his alone.

She was one of the few he never had a name for, and that just made an extra layer of disgust coil inside him. Everything else about the event was so damn clear, everything but the name of the woman he had broken. 

The rough brick scrapped his palms as he gripped it for support, his breathing labored, face coated in sweat. He had waited too long, too long to tend to the hunger puling and twisting his stomach in two. He knew that obsession care nothing for his contintion, but he still cursed himself for such carelessness.

With a thud, his back hit the building as he reached down and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He needed to alleviate the tightness closing in on him from all sides, and his breathing only slowed at all when he practically ripped the jacket from his shoulders.

What had be been thinking? Weeks spent cooped up in his ratty, mildewed apartment, and he hadn’t even though to stave off the worse of his hungar with the rats infesting the whole of the city. But he was so close, so close to finding him.

Marik had chosen his hunting ground for New York well. Despite his body count reaching double digits last night, no one but Atem seemed to be investigating. Atem had seen it in other cities, in other countries and kingdoms. What law enforcer cared when a immegrant factory worker or lady of the night went missing? Marik always chose his hunting ground, and his victims, well.

Dirt ground under his fingernails as Atem gripped the brick behind him again. Marik had to be stopped, even if it meant he had to run himself to near starvation, even if stumbling-

Atem smelled her before he saw her.

Memories of warm flesh against his mouth snapped him out of his hunger hazed stupor, just as a girlish, melodic voice called out to him. “My my, what have we here?”

He could feel his fangs growing, pricking his tongue as he met her eyes. She was standing in the mouth of the alley way, hair done up in a messy heap, and the tops of her breasts exposed from her gaping neckline. Atem could practically feel the veins pulsating under the perfumed skin.

“Oh my!” she giggled, taking a step closer to him, “That’s quite a look you’re givin’ me, mister, but I’ve seen that look plenty before.” 

Her heels were sticking in the dirt of the alley, but she was still only an arms length from him when she tilted her head to the side. And he had to hold back a desperate whine at the site of her exposed neck.

“Why don’t you come with me, handsome? I’ll make sure to show you the fun you’re lookin’ for.”

When she tried to tease him by fanning the open flaps of her bodice, he wanted to be sick. The smell of her was pressing in against that overwhelming tightness, but he managed to slip further down the alley, away from her, as he found his voice.

“N-no!” it was weak, garbled by the fangs filling his mouth, but he kept going as he said, “I’m quite alright, have a nice night, ma’am.”

He thanks the gods that she didn’t try to follow him, content to call after, saying to come find her if he ever got ‘too lonely’ as he retreated down the alley.

But Atem’s trials of the night did not end there.

Butchers were always he preferred means of getting food. Though he received strange looks, they seemed content to be paid for something they usually threw out, and Atem always made sure to locate a willing vendor whenever he relocated.

So, one can imagine the scream of turmoil that wanted to rip free from his throat when he realized his supplier in New York was unavailable. His shop was closed, due to a family emergency according to the shops neighbor. Though rarely one for destruction, Atem actually broke into the shop, slipping in through the backdoor unnoticed. But of course, the owner was sure to sell off his stock before leaving, lest he return to a shop full of rotted meat. The place wasn’t exactly clean, but there was nothing to salvage that would help Atem. 

Not all hope was lost yet, however, there were other butchers in the vast city, plenty who could give him what he needed.

Or, so he had foolishly thought. Hours were spent scouring streets for someone who could end the pain hazing his mind and tearing his stomach asunder. And in that haze, Atem had forgotten just how hard it had been to find his willing vendor when he came here.

The first butcher he came across made a different brand pain shot through his chest. The man practically begged Atem to leave him and his family be, that they didn’t want any trouble. It had been a long while since Atem had seen such fear on a humans face. 

The second almost made Atem wish that he was willing to harm humans, as the trader rambled on in bigotted ignorance about voodoo and an array of racial slurs. Atem was barely able to restrain himself as he wrestled a knife from the man.

The third must have known what Atem was, as he kept his tone calm while thumbing a silver dagger at his hip and warning Atem to never darken his street again. Had be been any more desperate, Atem might have threatened him into getting what he needed, but he left without another word, like the previous shops.

He had managed to find a miniscule reprieve that night, even if the savage act and fur scraping at his mouth did make him want to vomit. But it wasn’t enough, he needed more, far more than the small creatures that littered the streets.

The next night brought more hunger, more pain and more desperate need. Atem had even cast his work aside early, abandoning his ever present mission to find Marik so he could scour the city for another source of blood. He had never expected to run across the woman again.

It was just a block away from his hovel this time, and he had only stopped to try and smell out another non-human blood source when he caught her scent on the air. He could feel his pupils dilate, his mouth water as he turned towards the smell. The same faded dress, the same tossled hair. She greeted him with a wide smile.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mister Lonely. Come looking for me after all, then?” She stopped just short of him and Atem clamped his mouth shut. “I’m glad, I like a pretty face in my line of work, and you’re definitely a handsome one.”

Atem hissed, jolting out of her reach as she lifted a hand to touch his cheek. He recognized the fear that flashed across her face, the widening of her eyes, the tightening of her jaw, and she actually flinched away from him.

Had she expected him to strike her? What else could she assume, men weren’t exactly known for treating women of her profession with gentility.

“Please, miss,” he choked out, moving to rush past her, “stay away from me.”

She didn’t call out to him like last time, and Atem breathed a sigh of relief. When he did not see her again over the next two nights of searching for sustenance, he was even more relieved.

He should have known fate would not be so kind.

All he remembered was the feel of rain drenching his suit and the putrid smell of sick before he black out.

It was nothing but black when he tasted something rich and sweet on his tongue, satisfying fire burning down his throat to ease the emptiness in his stomach. At a snails pace his other senses came back to him. Metal and a pungent rosey perfume filled his nose and ensnared him long before the darkness started to fade. His lips were clamped around something so soft and warm, so delicate- something that was convulsing.

Dirty brick walls with nothing but a moon to light it; a filth-filled alleyway.

With a gasp Atem was pulling away from the sweet fire, the rosey perfume, and the oh-so-inviting softness, only for the pain of horror to rip his throat raw with a scream. 

He had been pinning her to the ground, fangs buried deep in her neck.

“No- please no!”

 She was pale, the left side of her face and neck covered in blood from the wound his teeth had torn open. Her body was shaking, clinging to life, and Atem pulled her up, held her in his arms and against his chest as if it could help.

“I’m sorry- I’m so so sorry- please-!”

His fangs weren’t the only wound he had given her, he must have dug claws into her to keep her from moving because blood was pouring down her front and arm. He clamped his hand over the open wound, and it was only then that he realized he was shaking too.

“Stay with me, please stay- just hold on! Please!”

Her bodice was torn open to bear her neck, another ministration of violence he had committed in his hunger. He pulled it closed again, a pathetic attempt to mend. His throat was raw and hoarse but he repeated his pleas and his apologies over and over as he tried to stem the bleeding, even though deep down he knew it was too late. Soon enough her body slowed its shaking, its attempt to cling to life. 

Then she went still, her eyes staring open but unseeing at the moon above. 

Atem started into those eyes for the longest moment of his eternal life- before another scream wracked his body.

He had no right to touch her, but he held her body as hot tears burned down his face, repeating his apologies again and again. Now he was rocking, back and forth and only moving his hands from holding her to swipe at the disgusting blood coating his mouth. If anyone saw him there he didn’t notice, even if they had he would deserve anything that came to him.

But no one would care that she was gone, would they? No one who could bring her peace or justice, in any case. Just like all the victims Marik left on the street, she’d be carted off and left forgotten in some splintered pine box. She didn’t deserve this, to be bled out in some dirty alleyway. 

None of his victims deserved what he had done to them.

A shift in the chair across from Atem blinked him out of his thoughts and gave him a moment’s distraction. Yugi mumbled something in his sleep, cheeks puffing out as if showing his annoyance with the dream. Atem had the urge to crawl into the same chair, ignore the spacial limitations of it and just tuck himself around Yugi if only to feel his warmth and breathing. He definitely would have if Yugi wasn’t already asleep, Atem hated the idea of waking him; even if he knew that Yugi would accommodate his body on the limited cushion without question. 

Instead, he kept drifting his gaze between your’s and Yugi’s sleeping faces, trying and failing to keep his mind distracted. At one point he snuck out of the room just long enough to wash his face, hoping it would help cleanse his thoughts. When it didn’t, he thought about working on cleaning the living room some more. Anzu had taken it upon herself to sweep up the worst of the glass and wood, but there was still more that needed to be done. 

He wandered in there, intent on making himself useful, but he had barely begun soaking the couch with stain remover before he found himself wandering back to your room and planted firmly by your bedside. At least he set the bloodstains to soak before curling back into his chair.

He was glad that Yugi had eased you back to sleep with his magic. You looked peaceful, even in spite of the bruises across your face. By this rate, you should be well rested in a few hours. 

After that, Atem was almost startled by the sound of birds chirping on the other side of the window. Morning. Not long after that, he saw the tips of sunlight peeking in from the bottom edges of the curtains. You might rise soon, even with your injuries and the spell, and Yugi was sure to wake with you, so Atem got up and decided to make both of you a hearty breakfast.

Or, at least he tried.

Yugi wandered in some time later, blanket wrapped and bleary-eyed only to see Atem scraping charred eggs off of their best frying pan. Bacon was also popping and sizzling on the stove, but Atem had the good sense to dart over and flip that before it could also smoke dangerously close to the fire alarm.

“Atem, you know I could have done that when I got up, right?” Yugi yawned, tucking the blanket more securely around his shoulders as he stepped to the stove.

Giving up the pan as a bad job, the vampire let out a sigh, “I know, but I wanted to do something for you both. I would say you should go back and rest, but...I’m already a little scared that you’ll hate me for ruining this,” he waved the skillet with its black battle scars.

Yugi actually gave him a smile and Atem felt relieved with the quick pecked Yugi placed on his cheek. “Nothing a soak in vinegar can’t fix...hopefully. How about we both finish breakfast? Besides, Anzu will be by later, we should save some for her.”

The joint effort was a good compromise, and together they whipped up a decent spread, including some herbal tea steeped from remedies that Anzu insisted they make you drink during every meal. It didn’t smell great, but Yugi made a good point that you should be willing to gulp it down when you heard it had pain-killing properties.

After piling a tray full of food and herbal tea, they ventured back upstairs to your room. Atem rushed ahead and opened the door for Yugi, but paused when he saw his face fall and the tray rattle in his hands.

“What are you doing?!” he snapped, and Atem was startlingly reminded of a mother scolding her child.

When Atem moved to look into the room, he understood the maternal outcry. You were at the side of your bed, one hand bracing yourself on the mattress and the other clamped to your side as you tried to shuffle forward.

“I was just-” a face scrunched in pain interrupted your explanation, “just trying to reach the bathroom.”

The tray was suddenly and quite unceremoniously shoved into Atem’s arms as Yugi rushed forward. “Then you should have called one of us, we could have helped you.”

The smell of breakfast could not hide another scent that hit Atem, something fresher than the other lingering smells of the house.

“You’re bleeding again,” he hadn’t meant the words to come out as a hiss, but he still saw the way your eyes darted away from his.

“Yeah, that’s why I was heading to the bathroom, thought I’d wash up.”

Yugi took in a sharp breath, then placed the hand that wasn’t supporting your back gently against your ribs. “You shouldn’t be moving so much, lay back down and we’ll get some warm water,” when you looked ready to protest, Yugi brought out the big guns, aka, those large pleading eyes of his. “Please,” he added quietly, and Atem knew all too well the powerlessness you were experiencing at the moment.

Without another word you half sat, half flopped back onto the bed while Atem set the tray aside and ran to get the warm water and washcloths.

Why did he have to break out the sad eyes?

You would think after years of facing down the most dangerous and intimidating creatures on earth, you wouldn’t even flinch at Yugi’s attempts to subdue you. But here you were, bowing to his wish because of nothing more than a look.

Though, you supposed words like ‘subdue’ and ‘bowing’ were a bit dramatic. The most heartache you could claim was some embarrassment at being tended to like a child. In truth, Yugi was only trying to make sure you were alright.

With you sitting on the edge of the bed, he was kneeling on the carpet in front of you, so that he was eye level with your stomach and ribs for easier work. And if ignoring your scratchy throat and aching body wasn’t enough, his hot breath on your bare skin was the unbearable cherry on top.

A hiss of pain left you when he started replacing the salve over your ribs.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “too cold?”

You shook your head, “It’s fine,” was all that you managed as you looked away from him again. 

Despite the fact that Yugi was only looking at your wound, you couldn’t keep the heat from your cheeks and neck. With nothing but a thin blanket slung across your chest, you were practically half-naked in front of the incubus. It shouldn’t have mattered in the current state of things, but the way your bare skin prickled under his gaze had you twisting the pillowcase in your hands tightly.   

“Sorry,” Yugi muttered again, “I’m almost done.”

He must have sensed your discomfort and you cursed yourself for being so uneasy around him, none of this was his fault. 

Again you thought back to the way Yugi had so easily convinced you to let go of your continued independence. That look of his, the slight frown of his lips, the worried curve of his brow, made any argument you had melt on your tongue. The fact that you had caused such a look added a drop more guilt, and it was no wonder you’d do practically anything to keep his face free of that expression. 

You were glad that Yugi was as kind as they came, because he could most definitely use those looks for some true evil if he desired.

“There you go,” he whispered eventually, then his handsome face was smiling up at you, “all patched up again.”

Oh yes, looks that could get you to do anything indeed.

“Thank you, Yugi,” you all but coughed, even as he rose and turned his back to let you slip your shirt back on.

Almost as soon as Yugi left to dump the hot water bowl, Atem slipped back into the room. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

‘Like a pumpkin carved open with a poisoned dagger’ was what you said in your head, but kept the unnecessary bite to yourself. 

“Lousy, but I’ll live,” is what you answered out loud.

Atem picked up a tray from the dresser and the delicious scent of food filled the air, “Eat up, and drink the tea, Anzu says it will help with the pain.” 

Just as he set it next to you on the bed, Yugi returned. They took only a moment to gather their own plates and sit down in the chairs opposite you before Atem started in again.

“Now, since you’re more awake, are you going to tell us what happened?”

After taking a bite of fruit-covered toast, you actually sighed. “It was a trap. Two magicians tasked with hunting me down convinced Bonz to lure me into a trap.” The fruit tasted oddly bitter as it went down your throat. “I should have known, it was an apprentice-level slip-up, going after a known informant is what I would have done.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Yugi assured, those eyes dangerously close to ‘the look’ again. “You got back to us just in time, that’s-”

Whatever Yugi said next was drowned out, the heat of sudden panic prickled your skin as you realized something like a shot to the heart. ‘You came back here!’ 

A plate clattered and Yugi let out a shout as you jumped to your feet, but before you could even take a step, the world around you tilted. Your head light and stomach reeling, it took you a long moment to get your bearings back, even when you made contact with something soft and warm.

“It’s okay,” came Yugi’s voice, your name spoken close to your ear, “I’ve got you.”

Loose arms around you tried to coax your weak legs to straighten, but all you could do was tighten your grip on his shirt to keep upright.

“I- I came here,” you managed, “They could have tracked me, I need to seal up the house!”

He kept you from falling again as you tried to wriggle past him and he called your name.

“I need to make sure they can’t use me to find you two, I-”

Yugi's voice was as firm as you had ever heard it when he repeated your name, “It’s okay! I have seals around the house already, they won’t be able to track you here, I promise.”

Something peaked through the fog of your dizziness, a vague memory of Yugi showing you the seals his grandfather had taught him. That’s right, they couldn’t use spells on this place, or you while you inhabited it.

A soft “oh,” left you as you let yourself slump against Yugi’s chest just a little. He had caught you, in more ways than one, and you couldn’t even care about the literal sense with your dizzy panic still settling.

The scent you had picked up from the borrowed clothes was stronger now, pressed into Yugi’s chest in the would-be embrace. Unfortunately, the more your mind cleared, the more unbearable to position became.

Embarrassed, yet again, you managed to stand a little straighter, and Yugi took the cue to set you back down on the bed gently. Dizzy and exhausted, weak as a newborn fawn. It was good that the council couldn’t see you now, or they’d be sure to scold you for your dependence.

When Yugi collected the fallen silverware, you said “I’m sorry, my mind’s still reeling from everything, I forgot.” ‘About the seals and my sickly state,’ you added to yourself.

“It’s okay,” Atem was the one to say it this time, as Yugi sat back down next to him. “But I’m going to beat Yugi to the punch when I remind you to eat. It should help with your lightheadedness.”

You took in a deep breath and saw no issue with complying, swallowing another bite of food before continuing your story. “Anyway, Bonz didn’t actually have any information for me either, so all this,” you waved a hand broadly over your various injuries, “was for nothing.”

“One of them poisoned you,” Atem stated, tone rather quiet as his eye darted down to your stomach.

“Yeah, Keith. He’s a real piece of work and doesn’t mind backhanded tactics if it gives him an edge. We’ve had…issues in the past. It’s no wonder they sent him on my case.”

Yugi made a noise low in his throat, “So they’re just sending executioners after you?! They’re that scared of someone who isn’t under their complete control?”

“Oh, apparently they wanted me alive, Keith just decided his old vendettas were more important.”

Yugi tilted his head back, eyes narrowing as he looked out the window in thought, “If they come after you again, they’re going to get a nasty surprise.”

You found yourself smiling at that, and Atem was too, even as he looked back at you and said, “I’m sure our little spell caster gave them quite a beating of her own, aibou.” Then he pointed at the cup on your tray, “Don’t forget the tea.” 

When you picked up the mug to oblige your nose caught quite a putrid scent. You almost set it back down, but, not wanting to risk Yugi’s look again, you took a tentative sip. It tasted better than it smelled, but not by much.

You had just downed the last of it and were about halfway through your meal when the sound of a faint knock came from somewhere in the apartment.

“Oh!” Yugi got to his feet, “That must be Anzu,” and with that, he was dashing down the hallway. 

As you vaguely heard him somewhere in the living room, you turned to Atem. “Anzu’s herbology came in handy with me, didn’t it?”

Atem took in a breath, lacing his fingers together as he watched the door, “If it wasn’t for her, I’m not sure we would have been able to get the poison out of your body. You were…” he sighed and shook his head, saying nothing else, but you could sense the words on the tense air between you. 

You had been very, very close to dying.

Looking at him was suddenly uncomfortable, and you looked down at the empty mug. These people, who barely knew you at all, who had every right to fear you and those who raised you, had saved your life. Without question or payment or even a bitter word. It had taken so long for you to realize that people like that even existed, and it was all still so fresh. So…alien, in a way.

You barely registered footsteps approaching the room before you turned your head and-

“Alright, who did this to my girl?! I have a cross bolt with their name on it!”

Next thing you knew slender arms were pulling you into a hug that has also been quite alien at one time.

“Just give me a name and they’ll wish they were never born!”

“Hello, Mai,” you wheezed, then tapped her arm, “can you- you’re kind of crushing me.”

The blonde released you, but kept her arms on your shoulders as she stared daggers, “And you! How dare you scare me like that, I was practically frantic when Anzu called me last night, saying you were bleeding out on the floor!”

You could have sworn you heard Atem say something about ‘not leaving you on the floor’ over Mai’s shoulder, but your friend’s continued tirade distracted you. 

Eventually, Anzu took pity on you and stepped up beside her, “Mai, I should check on her wounds before you lay into her, kay?”

“Oh, Mai flipped a strand of curly hair over her shoulder, “of course. But don’t think I’m done scolding you, missy!” she made sure to add before stepping out of the way.

Anzu asked everyone to wait out in the hall while she set a black case on the bedside table, and once everyone was out, she turned a smile on you. “I’m not going to be dumb and ask how you’re feeling, especially since I’m sure that Yugi and Atem already covered that ground,” she opened the case and began pulling out baggies of dried leaves and bottles of brews, “but I will ask where you’re hurting most.”

A sigh left you, “Honestly? Everywhere, but, I guess my face is where I’m noticing most right now.”

Anzu’s face pitched in a cautious kind of understanding, “Yeah, I kinda figured.”

“Does it look that bad?” you managed a small smile as she grabbed a cotton ball and an amber bottle.

“For a badass who just escaped death’s door? No, not at all.” Anzu winked, before wetting the cotton ball, “Close your eyes for me, and, sorry in advance about the sting.”

The sting in question wasn’t all that bad, though just how tender your skin and nose were became blaringly apparent as she dabbed and rubbed gently.

There was silence for a few moments, then, “I hope you don’t mind me telling Mai. I just thought she’d want to know since you two seemed to be friends…”

“No, it’s okay, honestly it’s probably a good thing you told her. I would have forgotten to, and then she’d give me more to hurt over when she found out.”

Anzu chuckled at that, “She’s definitely someone you want to keep on your good side. You better hold her back when you find Marik, or she’ll insist on coming with you to tear him a new one.”

“It wasn’t Marik’s doing, actually. I got ambushed by magicians sent to bring me back.”

Anzu froze mid-dab. “You mean… you’re saying the circle did all this?”

You shrugged, then regretted the movement instantly.

Anzu stared a while longer, then pursed her lips as she turned back to her portable apothecary. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. You defied them, so of course they’re going to treat you like some sort of dangerous criminal.” She slammed one of the drawers shut, “Honestly, it’s a miracle my grandma escaped them.” 

She turned back to you, a jar and herbs in hand, but you couldn’t quite meet her eye this time. There was a silent heartbeat, then a soft call of your name.

“Hey, you know when I say ‘them’ I am not talking about you, right?”

“Yeah, I know I just…” You drew in a long, slow breath, “Never mind. And trust me, I agree with you.”

Anzu looked unsure for a moment, but ultimately didn’t comment and just asked to see your other sore spots.

After that, the unofficial check-up didn’t take long. After some fresh (and even itchier) poultices were put on and she reexamined the scar across your stomach, you were free to dress in a clean shirt. When Anzu told Yugi, Atem, and Mai they could come back in, you were surprised to see Yugi and Atem looking a little anxious. Or, expectant perhaps.

“I hope she didn’t give you any drowsy painkillers,” Mai started as she took one of the only seats in the room. “Because I’m afraid I’m not here just to check up on you. I got some news for you.”

You raised an eyebrow, “News?” 

“About Marik.”

A.N. The scene I had trouble with was Atem's flashback. If I'm honest I'm still not 100% happy with it but, I finally got so fed up with it that I just decided to go with the version I didn't completely hate and move on, especially since it hadn't updated this in like, two years. Anywho, again, I hope this satisfies you guys, please leave comments if you liked it <3

[darkfinch]

1) so… I don't know if I want to ask about rabbit retiring. certain questions might be better unanswered. (consider that a free space if you want to talk about it though.) but: how did babusia react? I feel like she must be very used to hitters dying or retiring in various ways by now, but this was specifically a failure of her methods, which do have a certain (dubious) ethical core to them. this is someone who she would've spared this if she knew where things would go. she couldn't still be doing what she does (what she did) if she has a crisis about this sort of thing every time though.

2) pulling out the big guns here: does rabbit ever meet the hitter who dropped him off at babusia's again, in training, on the job, stopping by babusia's? ……do we already know his name?

(I'm only like 98% sure this isn't the question I sent it already, giggling about it, apologies)

Ohhhh a Question. Some Questions a Question. *deep breath*

Rabbit’s retirement is kind of a hush hush thing around the house, because it was a combination of just. sigh. despite his rabbitness, he was genuinely very Good at what he was trained to do, and he was very Effective during his time as an active hitter, right. He mentors a kid, he takes enough jobs to support himself, he holds it together. He makes some hitter buddies. He builds a reputation. He’s not Happy Tee Em, but he’s fine. 

Then, A Week of Events: he fucks up on a job and finds himself duct taped to a folding chair in an abandoned warehouse, losing a couple of fingers, Et Cetera ominously capitalized. A few days later, he’s left for Probably Dead somewhere, doesn’t die (matching nine lives kitty tattoo), crawls his way back to babusia’s place to be put back together—and finds out that the girl he’d mentored was killed on a job while he was gone. 

As you can Probably Guess, this is not ideal for him psychologically

He has what babusia charitably refers to as a Very Difficult Winter, during which time he is completely unable to function without Alarmed Prodding and eats a lot of porridge silently in his grandma’s kitchen. Spring comes, and he fucks off to the woods to build a cabin, and he’s absolutely adamant that he’s done with being a hitter and done with training kids and kind of done with everything. Would like to lie down in a bed in absolute silence, thank you goodbye, do not contact him, he does not own a phone. (Three years later, a man drops a curly-haired demon off on Babusia’s porch with a garbage bag full of clothes.)

Rabbit is Babusia’s first big failure, because he’s someone who is absolutely excellent at what he does, but he drops out of the game Specifically because he can’t handle certain things Psychologically, which is like. the exact thing her system is supposed to Prevent? And like. She’d kind of known, a little, is the thing. But he’d been determined, and she’d sat back and let him go out there, and she doesn’t ever a hundred percent forgive herself for that, i don't think.

It’s the last time she ignores her gut, which is good, i guess, but. Yeah, you’re very correct about her just kind of being Used To It, which is *stares blankly at wall* Interesting, Huh

2: Yes, actually: he pops by a handful of times to talk to babusia, and says a cautious hello to rabbit. then, seven years after he gets dropped off at Babusia’s, Rabbit’s gearing up for his mentorship, and he (casually, washing dishes like a good grandson) asks if that nice man jean-loup who brought him to the farmhouse might be willing to do it.

it's important to note that there's a certain Understanding of how rabbit Should feel about what happened, the understanding being that this was something that was professional and not personal, and you should blame the guy that hires the hitter, not the hitter. he brought you here, he did the kind thing, etc etc.

so babusia's not really taken aback by this, and she knows the guy, and has vetted him, so eventually she agrees; jean-loup’s kind of flattered (and also feels like. vaguely obligated), so he says yes, and he ends up being Rabbit’s mentor. Rabbit learns a lot. He works with him for three years. He graduates with flying colours. Then, two weeks after his 17th birthday, rabbit sets up on a rooftop, watches jean-loup eat breakfast through his kitchen window, waits for him to finish his crossword, and shoots him.

[reckoningss]

Mercy Springs - Five

Summary:  Mercy Booker holds these truths to be self-evident: animals are significantly more relatable than people and working as a veterinary tech in a sleepy little town is as close to the “good life” as she’s going to get. When a strange man shows up at her clinic after hours with an injured dog, she has a decision to make – go on living the quiet life she’s come to know, or open the door to the exhilarating unknown.

Pairing: Pete Castiglione/Frank Castle x OC (Mercy Booker)

Warnings: Language, vague descriptions of physical harm

Wordcount: 1.8k

A/N: It's filler, but we're back, wheauxres

The police hadn’t believed her at first. They’d had Mercy repeat her story ten times over, sitting in the precinct in a generic fleece sweatsuit they'd provided to replace her blood-dappled scrubs--about how five men had broken into the clinic after hours, finding Mercy alone. How she’d defended herself with Dr. Leibowitz’s bat until another man, one far more high than the first, had arrived and attacked them all only to run off into the night.

What scant CCTV footage Charity Springs PD had managed to salvage from the clinic’s weather-beaten cameras didn’t seem to contradict her version of events. There they were—five hooded figures slinking around the building, then spilling inside through the maw of a shattered window. Then a few minutes later there he was—a fifth man—similarly hooded, though taller and wider with a surer more confident walk. They couldn’t quite make out the glint of a plastic sleeve of the flowers through the grayscale film grain, but mercy knew and she kept the secret like something precious.

Officer Carl Meadows leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, sighing. All of the blood in his tall, thin frame seemed to have accumulated at the top of his shiny, bald head. A framed picture of his son in full little league regalia smiled out at Mercy from the corner of his desk so she focused on it instead of the man in front of her. It didn't take incredible emotional intelligence to tell that he was running out of patience.

Maybe it was the skeptical looks he and his colleagues had been giving her since arriving at the scene of the ransacked animal clinic or the way he'd been talking to her like a child since sitting down to take her statement, but something about the whole ordeal set her teeth on edge. Normally, other people's opinions rolled off her like so much water off a duck's back, but tonight...tonight he'd all but told her that she was lying.

She was lying of course, but she'd be damned before admitting it.

The back of her chair tugged at the bandages beneath her sweatshirt and Mercy winced. A pair of EMTs had patched her up sitting in the back of their ambulance, though she'd ultimately denied a ride to the hospital. She wasn't sure if the thought of the $3,000 ambulance bill or the thought of being poked and prodded by more medical staff disgusted her more. She had several shallow lacerations in her back where she'd fallen on broken glass and a dull ache in the crown of her head that testified to a mild concussion, but she'd bear it. What she wanted more than anything was for it all to be over.

Meadows sighed again and placed his pen down on her report with too much ceremony. "I don't mean to suggest that you're not telling the truth Ms. Booker, but something just isn't adding up. I don't understand it."

At that Mercy snorted. "I don't get it either."

Meadows looked at her for a second and then inclined his head as if to say "fair enough."

That, it seemed, was easy enough to believe.

It was common knowledge around town that Mercy was kind of...off. Staring blankly in response to jibes and innuendos. Falling behind in passing conversation. Everyone thought that Mercy was a little strange, and the sentiment was prevalent enough that it had gotten back to the subject herself. Not that she minded. Her reputation served her well in conversations she didn't really want to be in--much like this one.

Officer Meadows geared up for another go. "I don't mean to imply-"

"If you don't mean to imply anything, then don't."

Meadows sat up straighter at the interruption, eyes going wide. Mercy turned to find Dr. Leibowitz standing behind her. He draped his coat over her shoulders without so much as a glance and placed a cold hand on her shoulder, all the while pinning the officer with a hawkish gaze

"Look at you, treating her like some kind of suspect. It's four in the morning, can't you see she's in shock?"

"I- of course, I didn't mean," Meadows stuttered, shuffling the sheets of her report to avoid meeting the older man's gaze.

"Mercy risks bodily harm protecting my clinic and its animals and you interrogate her like a common criminal? I won't have it."

Mercy felt the pads of the doctor's fingers on her face and held her breath to keep from pulling away as he turned her face upward. "They told me over the phone that she's concussed. Why aren't we at the hospital right now?"

Mercy noted with a curious detachment that Officer Meadows seemed to sink lower and lower in his chair every second. "EMTs checked her on the scene and administered aid. They didn't deem a trip to the hospital absolutely necess-"

"I hope her condition doesn't worsen due to a lack of expedient care."

Their conversation was beginning to attract attention from the precinct's other nocturnal denizens, a fact that wasn't lost on the younger man. Mercy noticed a flush of red peeking out from beneath the collar of his uniform.

Clearing his throat, he finally met the doctor's gaze. "Of course not sir. I only wanted to confirm her statement to be sure we nail these guys."

The doctor cocked a condescending brow. "And are you quite done?

Meadows lowered his eyes like a scolded puppy. "Yes sir."

"Then we're going home. Come Mercy." Dr. Leibowitz hooked a hand through the crook of Mercy's elbow and gently pulled her from her chair.

As they approached the sliding doors leading out of the station, Dr. Leibowitz paused to toss one final jab over his shoulder. "You'd better hope no one hears about this at the next townhall meeting."

Then he was off again, pulling Mercy behind him. She could've sworn she saw the color leave Officer Meadow's round face as the doors slid shut.

As soon as they were out of sight, surrounded by the slumbering cars in the precinct parking lot, Dr. Leibowitz let go of her arm and took a step back. Distantly, Mercy was grateful. All of the sudden she was tired, more tired than she'd been on that first night when she'd met Pete.

Pete.

Her sleepy mind formed a hazy image of him--eyes dark and wild, his sharp face dappled with blood. Where was he? How had he known?

She shook the incoming onslaught of questions away and looked up at Dr. Leibowitz who was staring at her.

"You look terrible."

She laughed at that, loud and fast, feeling the ringing in her head intensify. The look on the doctor's face told her it wasn't the right response. "I feel terrible."

He took a step toward her again and Mercy felt her skin prickle at the expectation of renewed contact. He paused, seeming to sense her reluctance.

"The best thing for you now is rest."

Mercy agreed. How long had it been since she last slept? Surely it had been days since she'd napped in a rolling chair at the clinic. The events of earlier that night felt a lifetime away, mired in a nightmarish fog. Mercy took a deep breath.

"If you wouldn't mind dropping me off at my ca-"

"Absolutely not." Dr. Leibowitz cut her off. Was she just imagining it, or had his tone been too cold since arriving at the police station? His furrowed brows and taught mouth gave away nothing. Usually he was easier to read than this--even for Mercy. Had the blow to her head sent her back to square one? "You're not going anywhere near that clinic."

Mercy balked at him. Surely she hadn't heard correctly. "But I-"

"It's not up for debate, Mercy!"

She flinched. There were few people in this life that Mercy actually respected--even fewer who could make her feel ashamed--but Eli Leibowitz was one of them. What had she done to let him down? Was he mad at her? Did he think she hadn't done enough to protect the clinic? Did he know she'd lied to the police?

Her stomach bottomed out. Dr. Leibowitz was the only person in this sleepy little town she could even remotely call a friend. He'd gone to bat for her with the town council following her hiring, shielded her from gossip and mistrustful eyes. Every patron of the clinic had heard him praise her work ethic and competency, even when she wasn't so sure she deserved it. Only Dr. Leibowitz had been willing to take a chance on a quiet, stone-faced young woman with no talent for small talk or people pleasing.

"It's plain to see you're good with animals, Mercy," he'd told her once, when she'd found the curiosity too overwhelming not to ask him why, "But I think you have the potential to be good with people too."

Only he saw potential she wasn't even sure she had. If he had given up on her, where could she go?

Mercy wanted to sink to her knees in the parking lot, feeling the asphalt shifting sickly beneath her feet. "Am I-" Her throat was dry. "Are you saying-" Had her stomach been this upset before? "Am I being fired?"

Dr. Leibowitz's eyes went wider than a full moon. "Christ, Mercy, no!" Her rushed forward to grab her by the shoulders, an action that Mercy barely noticed between the din of her ragged breathing and racing heartbeat.

Dr. Leibowitz pulled Mercy in for a tight hug and Mercy let him, listening to the rustle of his suede jacket around her shoulders. Smelling his old leather smell. "Mercy," He pulled back to look her in the eyes, the way he usually did when he wanted to hammer an idea home. "You're concussed, your back is sliced to ribbons and you're bruised from head to toe. You simply cannot drive in this condition and you certainly shouldn't be alone. I'm taking you to my house where you'll sleep and be fussed over by my wife without pause for at least a week and that's that."

Finally--mercifully-- the rusty cogs in Mercy's head began to turn again. What was the proper response to the wave of relief that washed over her in that moment? Should she laugh or cry?

She blinked up at Dr. Leibowitz instead. "I thought you were going to get rid of me."

He shook his salt and pepper head emphatically. "Never. I'd have you marry into the family if I could, but my boys just aren't good enough for you."

Mercy had nothing to say to that, but he laughed for the both of them as he placed a feather-light hand on her back and guided her toward his car.

And while they wound wordlessly down Mercy Spring's darkened backroads, Mercy said a silent thank you to no one in particular for Eli Leibowitz--the only person on earth who cared that she was alive.

Scratch that, she thought, just as she began to doze against the heated leather seat, Pete too. Thanks for him too.

[janshu]

CEO!AU Endeavor for @cherrytenko's collab...

Summary: Drabble, 1k-ish words for the CEO collab!

Warnings: Oral (m!receiving), dirty talk, slaps, slight threats, g!n w/ the mention of wife, vague mentions of being a pain bunny & sugar daddy/baby relationship.

"And don't come back until you've filed all the expense reports!"

The day started off poorly. The extensive and frankly redundant meetings did little to quell the rage the Boss was famous for. The little lemmings scurried out of the meeting room as if a fire had been lit underneath their asses. Ants, all of them. That was a compliment. At least ants knew what to do without being ordered.

The head of the infamous Endeavor Conglomerate was a man to be respected and feared. It was easier said than done to avoid his ire. Few employees lasted their internship at the company despite the overwhelming benefits that came with further employment after the allotted training period. They were all either fired due to their incompetence or they quit of their own volition, the stress of the expectations making them crack under the pressure. The businessman who fled from the meeting room weren't met with the usual tantrum that followed after their rough dismissal. They all had noticed how their boss was distracted. As if something more important had caught his attention but there was nothing more important to him than work. Everyone knew that. There had been rumors of a rival company making their way into their territory, making the large amounts of paperwork that covered his desk turn into mountains. The break room was quickly filled with gossiping men and women as they all discussed what could be wrong.

Enji groaned, hand smoothing back the gel that kept his scarlet hair in place. Everything felt hot, his breath was hot, the air was hot, even the leather chair underneath him felt hot. The planet's must've aligned to allow Mr. Todoroki to be thankful, thanking luck that he had been in such a hurry and had forgotten to put his jacket back on. The room felt like an oven so he could only imagine the sweltering heat if he was wearing the navy blue cover.

Rolling up his shirt sleeve he folded the cuffs up towards his elbow, hoping his forearms would catch any light breeze and cool his overheating body. Enji wasn't a man who could go to the gym on a daily, or even weekly, basis yet he still retained his muscles. Finding shirts that weren't tailor made was difficult to his unconscious habit of ripping the seams whenever he flexed, buttons bopping, fabric stretching until all that was left were threads and slabs of fabric. His arms were like the trunks of a great oak tree. Long, wide and covered with scars from his youth. His second defining feature besides his pectorals that connected to his personal favorite feature: his hands.

Oh, he knew very well that he had a hand kink. Twice the size of anyone else's his palm alone could smother a face with thick and wide fingers made it easy to thread into hair and grip a scalp with one hand. They could spread legs apart with ease and when they plunged inside a cunt it was all the prep they needed for his cock. Seeing his hand wrapped around a pretty throat riled him up like nothing else and leading someone's head up and down as he used their mouths as a cocksleeve the best stress reliever. Which was the very thing he was getting to.

One of the massive hands darted underneath the table to spread apart the flaps of his slacks, the zipper as far down as it could go but it still wasn't enough. His scorching cock hanging out in the shadow of the table as drool and pre cascaded down his calf towards his leather loafer. The evidence of lipstick smeared across his prominent V-Line made a messy trail towards the base of his manhood. Your lipstick. The gaudy color you promised to wear if he brought you to work. How could he not take up your offer to pleasure him during his work hours? You knew how hard he worked and how little time you got to spend with him. This was the best solution wasn't it?

"You dirty slut." The same hand gripped the chunk of hair at the crown of your head to pull you up from underneath the table. Your knees lifting off the uncomfortable carpet beneath you by the sheer strength Enji displayed without even realizing. The light hurt your bleary eyes, making you tear up even more than you already were from the burn in your jaw. A light shining on your filthy deeds underneath the table. "You nearly gave it away, whore. What do you think would happen to my reputation if they found out my slutty wife was sucking me off in front of them?"

There was no chance to answer as the other hand came down hard against your cheek, leaving a handprint shaped welt on that side of your face. You may as well have been fucked dumb by the cloudy film over your loving eyes and the lopsided grin that grew from the pain. How lucky was he to find an escort like you years ago who could keep up with his sadistic desires. What turned from a business arrangement to release his pent up frustration out on you turned into you becoming his pretty spouse. His cock twitching against your chest as he caught sight of that big, fat diamond ring on your left hand.

"That's right, you're too dumb to fucking care aren't you? Just my dumb, personal cocksleeve. Get back to work and do better this time, if I hear so much as a slurp during the next meeting then you're going to regret it." The jerk of his wrist pulled at your hair, the sharp pain sending pleasure right to your dripping sex as his hand guided your mouth back onto his cock. Tip prodding your stained lips open to be shoved back down into your throat with an obscene gag, the saltiness and burn coming right back as he assaulted your mouth to his pleasure.

"You have five minutes until the next meeting, you better make me cum or else I'm revoking your allowance." The tip of his shoe pressed into your sex, heel digging into the flesh of your thigh as the rubber gave you the delicious friction to cum for the umpteenth time since he pushed you under there. "Make it snappy."

[star--anon]

Stuck

"The fuck?" Wilbur muttered, watching his computer screen lag and crash. If it wasn't so abrupt, he would have gotten mad at all the lost work. As it was, he simply sat there, confused. Had the power tripped?

A quick - and unnecessary - glance at his lamp told Wilbur that the power was still on, which only puzzled him more. After a moment, it registered that his ceiling lights were also on. Feeling somewhat stupid, Wilbur tried to think of other explanations for the abrupt shortage of power in his computer.

And he found it.

A quick peek behind his desk told him all he needed to know. His computer had unplugged itself. And really, it wasn't all the hard to see why.

"It's a fucking jumble of wires back there," Wilbur muttered, getting up from his seat to get a better look. Wires, black, red, blue, green, ran around the hidden area, coiling around one another and tangling into big knots. One small tug could easily unplug several devices.

It was going to take a while to sort out.

Being lazy, Wilbur simply wrote a small sticky note remind to clean up the wires. As of right now, he decided that all he needed to do was to replug the cord to his computer. He would deal with everything else later.

What? He had editing to do! (The realization that he had lost at least three hours of editing was also staring to sink in.)

And it would have worked out just fine! Wilbur would have been able to redo all of his lost work and have his video out by tomorrow!

...Except, it seemed like fate had other ideas.

The electrical socket his computer's cord was supposed to be plugged into was a little further in and lower than Wil had initially expected. As a result, Wilbur had to get on his stomach and scoot his way over. After a few failed attempts and a lot of curses, Wilbur managed to replug his computers. Almost immediately, the fans in his computer began turning and the Microsoft power-on noise sounded above.

As Wilbur tried to scoot his way back out, a sharp tug on his left hand quickly make him stop. He froze, not wanting to knock anything over. These wires were taut. One pull would send whatever those wires were connected to falling down on top of him. With great care, Wilbur tried to untie his hand from the wires.

All he succeeded in doing was tangling his right hand too.

Yeah, there was problem. Phil was most likely out of the house with Tubbo. Wilbur vaguely remembered him telling Tubbo he had found a new beehive. Techno was probably off beating up the dummies behind their house again. That left Tommy, who he knew for a fact was upstairs.

Fuck it, Wilbur eventually decided. His reputation wasn't worth the risk of dying of electrocution.

"Tommy? Tommy, you there? Tommy! Tommy, come quick, I need your help!" Wilbur yelled. He waited. When no response came, he yelled again. And again. And again. And again.

A minute passed. Then two. Then three. Then five.

Still, nobody came.

Just as Wilbur was beginning to fear the nobody was home, he heard small pattering footsteps from outside. His bedroom door creaked open and the gentle footsteps came inside. He let out a sigh of relief. Stuck between the wall the wall and his desk, with nothing but the wires arounds his hands to keep him entertained, Wilbur had began to panic a little. Thankfully, help had finally-

"Pffffttttt," snorted Tommy, slapping a hand over his mouth. "Whahat the shit? Wilbur? What the fuck happened?"

Wilbur flushed, embarrassed. He swung a leg behind him, trying to kick Tommy.

"I come in," Tommy managed to say through his laughter, "annoyed as fuck because I was trying to set up my camera, and all I see is-"

Tommy broke off in loud cackles.

"Shut up, Tommy," Wilbur snapped, glad that the boy couldn't see his red face. "Just help me get out of here!"

Still giggling, Tommy made his way over to Wilbur. Since Wil took up all the space between the desk and the wall, Tommy was forced to scooch under the desk and work through an opening in a portion of the table. Gradually, Tommy helped Wilbur untangle himself from the wires. After making sure that nothing would fall on him, Tommy gave him the go-ahead for Wilbur to make his way out from underneath the desk.

Yet again, it seemed like fate had different ideas.

Because Tommy had to work with Wilbur through the desk, that also meant Wilbur had to work with Tommy through the desk. Although Tommy managed to help get Wilbur's hands free from wires, they were now effectively stuck underneath the desk.

"Are you kidding me right now?" snapped Tommy, irritated. What had began as a hilarious situation turned out to be a frustrating distraction from his camera-fixing.

"No, I am not kidding you right now!" Wilbur snapped back. "Now come here and help."

Working together was not Wilbur and Tommy's strong suit, and it isn't all that hard to see why. Tommy liked to be respected, but the other didn't think he deserved as much respect as he demanded (and he's right). The issue that often occurred was Tommy feeling mistreated by Wilbur.

So, as if Wilbur didn't already have enough complications to deal with, that problem had now officially entered the chat.

"You know, I had to stop fixing my camera, come down here, and help you get out from a few wires, and I don't even get a 'thank you'?"

"I'll thank you when I'm out of here. Now help me, for fuck's sake!"

Tommy glared at Wilbur, and Wilbur glared right back. Tommy sat there, angry.

"I don't need this," Tommy muttered. He sharply poked Wilbur's side. "Help yourself then."

He expected Wilbur to shut up. He expected Wilbur to be very grumpy. He expected Wilbur to apologize and call him back.

What he did not expect was for Wilbur to squeak.

-

And then Tommy, under the pretense of teaching Wilbur how to be nice, wrecks him. Yeah, I ain't writing that. I mainly do unfinished fics/prompts bc I'm too easily embarrassed to write stuff like that...

>///<

Right, anyway. Once you've written the tkling part that I'm too chicken to write, you can pick it up below.

-

"T-Tehehechno!" yelped Wilbur, pulling at his wrists. "Phihihil! Sohohohomebohody! H-Hehehelp!"

Wilbur let out an embarrassing, high-pitched squeal as Tommy hit a more sensitive part of his stomach. He tried kicking, but Tommy sat on his legs, effectively pinning them down.

"Aw, Wilbur is asking others for help~" Tommy teased, speeding up his fingers. "Is wittle Wilbur upset? Is wittle Wilbur getting despwerate? Is wittle Wilbur-"

"Shuhuhuhut the fuhuhuck up!" Wilbur demanded through his giggles. Tommy rolled his eyes.

"Some people never learn," he muttered, leaning down. He drew sharp breaths and blew quick, small raspberries all over Wilbur's exposed stomach. Wilbur could do nothing but arch his back and cackle loudly.

"WAHAHAHAIT! I-IHIHIHI'M SOHOHORRY!" Wilbur tried to apologize. "TEHEHECHNO, HEHEHELP!"

"Techno's not home, Wilbur," Tommy said, digging his fingers between Wilbur's ribs. Slowly, making sure to lightly scratch at each rib, Tommy made his way up Wilbur's ribcage, silently counting each rib. As his fingers got higher, so did the volume of Wilbur's laughs.

And his panic. He knew where Tommy was going.

"D-Dohohon't you dahare," Wilbur said, trying to be scary. Tommy placed his hands on Wilbur's underarms, innocently looking up at Wilbur. The older glared at him and Tommy had to struggle to not grin. With Wilbur's bright red face, messy hair, wide smile, and nervous giggles, he didn't look nearly as intimidating as he thought he did.

"I'm gonna do it~" Tommy sang. Wilbur tensed.

"Y-You wouldn't."

"I would."

"I-I'll get you back," Wilbur tried to threaten. Tommy wasn't fazed. All he needed to do was take one look at Wilbur's cherry-red face for any threats to lose their scariness.

"It'd still be worth it."

"D-Dohont you dahahare," Wilbur demanded. "I'm serious Tohommy."

"You know, you really could have avoided this if you were nicer to me."

Wilbur opened his mouth to respond when a new voice came from behind him.

"Who could have what when if which how why where?"

Tommy froze. He quickly retracted his hands and darted away. He scrambled into the corner of the room, warily eyeing the new member.

"T-Technoblade, my friend!" he nervously stuttered. "H-How are you doing? What brings you here today?"

Techno tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I live here, Tommy. And I couldn't help but get curious at Wilbur's laughing and screaming."

"Not my fault!" Wilbur called from his awkward position. Tommy gulped.

"What's going on?" Techno asked Tommy, glancing at Wilbur. "Why is Wilbur like that? Is he stuck? What were you doing? Tickling him?"

Wilbur squeaked at the word, which caught the attention of Techno. Meanwhile, Tommy sheepishly grinned.

"Aha..." Tommy rubbed the back of his neck and quietly explained the entire situation.

Techno stayed quiet the entire time, processing what he had heard. Then, without a word, he walked over to Wilbur. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Tommy trying to slip away.

"Tommy, stay there," he ordered. Tommy immediately stopped moving. Techno squatted down in front of Wilbur. To him, he asked, "You good? Lookin' a little red there."

"I'm fine, yeah," Wilbur muttered. "Can you let me up? I have some revenge I wanna be doing."

"Yeah, yeah, you can do that."

Tommy tensed. Oh, he was gonna get it.

"Just, in a moment."

Wilbur blinked.

"In a moment?" he echoed. "What do you mean?"

Instead of responding, Techno simply prodded his hips.

-🌟

[victoriams]

Livinia was used to being the one who took control in situations like this. Well, not exactly like this – but her point still stood. She'd trained herself to be the rational one, the level-headed one, the one who could set aside her problems and her feelings and focus on solutions. It was a more arduous task than it might seem, but she had grown used to her role as the logical sibling, the one who would diligently clean up Max and Auggie's messes, the one who would hold up their family's reputations in spite of everything else. Part of the reason was because she was good at it, another part was because it was expected of her. The third, most treacherous part, was that she'd never really trusted her siblings to take care of themselves. To make tough decisions and navigate difficult circumstances, when push came to shove.

Right now, though, this pretence is dropped. Right now, she can barely get her mind to focus on anything besides that stupid white room and that awful electric prod and her baby brother's anguished screams and the fear that she'd lost her whole family in one fell swoop. She holds onto Max's hand, unwilling to be the first to let go, and watches Augustus flitter around the room frantically, gathering supplies and shoving them into her arms. Part of her wants to question why on earth they have all this stuff – but she's not quite sure she wants to know the answer to that right now. Instead, she watches Max gulp down his water, notices the way it seems to vaguely pain him, and finally snaps into action to follow Augustus' instructions. They are the oldest, after all, maybe they did know how to take care of themselves, and, by extension, Max. There's a pang of guilt there – she'd spent a long time underestimating them.

"I want to sit down." She says, suspecting it will invite greater cooperation from Max than blatantly ordering him around. She tugs on his hand and leads him back over to the couch, wringing the cloth in her free hand. "I'm going to put this on your head, okay? It'll get rid of the headache." She says, carefully pressing it to Max's forehead, urging him to lean back against the couch as she does so. If her head is sore, she can be almost certain Max's is worse. Vulnerability isn't a natural state for the Crane children, and she can almost feel her cheeks flush red at the thought of showing her siblings that she cares, beyond snide remarks and sharp jabs. It's unnatural, but familiar, all at once.

"We thought they'd taken you for questioning, too." She clarifies after Max's rambling, "They, um..." A pause, "They were looking for rebels, I think. After the attack last night. I assume they were looking at us because of..." The end of her sentence drifts, eyes vacant. Livinia blinks a few times, refocusing herself. "Because of mom, and..." Because of your stunt. The words hang in the air, but she doesn't give voice to them. She doesn't do that to her sibling. "Because apparently there's a leak within the gamemaker's room. To the rebels." She says instead.

@cfcannons / @reblrths

maxim can hear his father's voice in the back of his head as he holds liv's hand with a vice grip, can even hear livinia's normal tone chastising him for the action. he's always been a tactile person, little innocuous touches and right now, when he cannot gather enough energy to speak, it's all he can do to not slip completely. he tells himself to let go a few times, but when she squeezes back, it eases his mind.

when auggie ushers them both inside, when they start speaking, maxim takes a moment to catch up. why are they only talking to liv? telling her to have max sit down? no, no, max can't sit. if he sits he won't get back up and if he doesn't get back up then he can't go see kaleb, and he has to go home soon to check on atlas. he doesn't let go of liv's hand as they walk inside, just stands by the door and watches blankly as auggie runs around and grabs things he can't quite see and talks to -- not them now, no. who are they talking to now? concussion notes. notes? why do they have notes on this?

max blinks for a moment and then realizes he was asked a question. he doesn't shake his head, because that would make him feel nauseous, but he is growing frustrated. why are they asking liv these questions? giving her this rag? he's fine. "earlier, but not now," he says, brows furrowing. seeing auggie grab the water bottles, he realizes just how dry his mouth is -- so he takes a few steps forward and grabs one, ignoring the searing pain that spreads like wildfire in his ribs, and takes a few big drinks. the coldness of it makes his head hurt even more for a moment. he takes a breath, looking at auggie, then liv. they're alive. they're both here. something had to have happened -- why else would they be freaking out like this? "after the party," he says simply. "you -- you weren't there?" he asks. "you -- i heard you. they said you were there?" didn't they? maxim's head hurts more, trying to remember the moment he'd figured it out, but that bright room is blurry and all he can hear are liv's sobs in the room next to his and screaming. "they only released me a few hours ago. i came here as soon as i could."

@victoriams @cfcannons

[antebunny]

Intervention Gone Wrong

^^despite the vaguely crack title this swings wildly between crack and angst because those are my two midnight moods^^

When Wei Wuxian hears that the sects are all gathering to form an alliance to kill him, it’s depressing how quickly he believes it. His initial reaction is disbelief, rejection, denial, but all too soon reality sets in. Even after all Wei Wuxian has lived through, apparently he’s still managed to be naive. It’s not like he’s done anything. He’s been holed up with the Wens in the Burial Mounds, trying to turn the resentment-soaked ground into something farmable. He even missed his sister’s wedding, and staged a fight between himself and Jiang Cheng just to fully sever ties with the cultivation world. All he wants is to be left alone.

“They say even Sect Leader Jiang is going,” the people of Yiling are whispering when Wei Wuxian descends from the Burial Mounds. 

Wei Wuxian is glad that none of them recognize him as the Yiling Patriarch, because he strolls up to one of the vendors he heard whispering, and prods him for more information.

“All the cultivation sects are gathering in Nightless City to kill our Patriarch,” the man says. “Someone must’ve let it slip, but it was supposed to be a secret–he’s not supposed to know.”

Well. The Yiling Patriarch knows.

He abandons the quest for potatoes and returns to their settlement in the Burial Mounds. When he tells the Wen siblings, their faces turn white.

“I’m s–” Wen Ning begins.

“Don’t apologize,” Wei Wuxian cuts him off. “It’s not your fault.”

“If you hadn’t protected us–” Wen Qing begins.

“It’s not your fault,” Wei Wuxian says again. “It’s.” He presses his lips together, and when he opens them, he means to say why couldn’t they just leave us alone? But what spills out is a plaintive: “Even Jiang Cheng?”

They’re looking at him with pity now, and Wei Wuxian hates that, but he can’t take the words back. He can imagine how it happened: if the rest of the great sects all agreed–so he supposes Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen must have changed their minds about him, though he doesn’t know why–then Jiang Cheng would’ve been pressured into agreeing as well. 

“We have to evacuate,” Wen Qing says.

“Maybe they’re just rumors,” Wen Ning suggests at the same time.

Wei Wuxian can’t help but spare a fond thought for his endlessly optimistic friend, but it’s optimism he no longer shares. “We still have to evacuate,” he says. “If you take everyone to the forest island between Yunmeng and Qishan, I can join you there. And then we can find a plot of land somewhere, I suppose, to hide.”

He’s already turned his back on the cultivation world, but hiding from it entirely–completely leaving it behind, without any chance of seeing his family ever again–is a worse kind of goodbye.

“And where are you going?” Wen Qing asks suspiciously.

Wei Wuxian manages a bone-weary smile for her. “Isn’t it obvious?” He says tiredly. “Nightless City.” 

-

Contrary to popular belief, Nie Huaisang actually does care about people, not just his birds and his fans. And he doesn’t just care about his brother, although his brother is of course his first priority. Nie Huaisang cares about his friends, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, and he cares about the Nie disciples under his brother’s care, and he cares about his brother’s sworn brothers. Nie Huaisang empathizes with people, he just usually chooses not to act on it. 

The thing is, Nie Huaisang likes Wei Wuxian. They’re not the sworn brother type of friends; Nie Huaisang’s not exactly dying for him. He likes Wei Wuxian’s easy-going friendliness, likes his willingness to help, and admires his unwillingness to bend his core principles. It reminds him a lot of Nie Mingjue. This is all to say that Nie Huaisang thinks that the world is a better place with Wei Wuxian, and unfortunately the world seems to disagree. 

Nie Huaisang just wishes that the job of keeping Wei Wuxian alive fell to anyone but him. He’d kept his head down and assumed that they’d figure it out eventually, but he’s not stupid, he sees where this is going. His first thought is that Jiang Cheng will figure it out, but then he remembers his friend is pricklier than a pear, and with more parental issues than Jin Guangyao. Jiang Yanli, he thinks, could help in theory. Nie Huaisang briefly muses on encouraging Jiang Yanli to fix things, before deciding that getting her to overcome a lifetime of being told that she’s no help is much harder than just doing it himself. 

And since there’s no one else who cares about Wei Wuxian, that means that if Nie Huaisang wants to visit Lotus Pier at any point in the future and trade gossip with his friends, he’s going to have to stage an intervention for Wei Wuxian.

Honestly. The things he does for his friends.

Nie Huaisang also hopes that an intervention can get Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng out of the dark mood they’ve been in ever since the end of the Sunshot Campaign. It’s understandable, truly, but Nie Huaisang isn’t touching that with a ten-foot saber.

The first sect Nie Huaisang goes to is the Lan sect. Lan Xichen is bound to hear him out, now that he’s Nie Huaisang’s brother’s sworn brother, and Nie Huaisang wants to know where they stand on the whole Yiling Patriarch business. 

Lan Wangji is the most difficult person Nie Huaisang has ever tried to understand, and he didn’t try all that much. All he’s really sure of is that Hanguang-jun could not get away from Wei Wuxian fast enough back during their guest disciple year, and hates demonic cultivation. This he knows second-hand, from countless tales of arguments between the two during the war. It’s a bad combination for Wei Wuxian, but luckily for him, Lan Wangji also has an unmatched reputation for righteousness. Considering that he chose to argue with Wei Wuxian over demonic cultivation instead of just letting the man rest and win the war for them, Nie Huaisang figures this is more or less accurate. All in all, Nie Huaisang is pretty sure that Lan Wangji will support Wei Wuxian, if he realizes that the Jins are purposefully trying to get him killed. 

Lan Xichen, it turns out, is fully aware that Jin Guangshan is up to something, but he’s pretending that he doesn’t. 

“Sect Leader Jin’s business is Sect Leader Jin’s business,” Lan Xichen says firmly, when Nie Huaisang prods a little too much. “You know we don’t gossip.” 

Ah well. It’s not like Nie Huaisang was expecting support on his one-man intervention quest. He does a little more snooping before he leaves the Cloud Recesses, which is how he discovers a stunning secret. 

“Wangji,” he overhears Lan Xichen saying. “I know you…care for Young Master Wei–”

That’s as good as a declaration of love from either Lan brother. Which is to say: Lan Wangji is in love with Wei Wuxian. Now that’s a match that even Nie Huaisang, matchmaker extraordinaire, didn’t see coming. 

Once Lan Xichen has accidentally confessed his brother’s love for Wei Wuxian to Nie Huaisang, suddenly Nie Huaisang has a great advantage. He hasn’t the faintest clue how their relationship will work out in the future, between Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation and Lan Wangji’s sect rules, but that is another issue that Nie Huaisang isn’t touching with a ten-foot saber. For now, it’s enough to know that there’s someone else, someone with power, that Nie Huaisang can rely on to keep Wei Wuxian alive. 

So the next place Nie Huaisang goes to is the Jin sect. He drags Jin Guangyao away from his duties for a night of drinking, and then proceeds to get blackout drunk. Or at least, he pretends to get blackout drunk. 

“Did you know,” Nie Huaisang says, through hiccups, “That Lan Wangji has a th…” His mouth works, trying to form the word. “A thing!” He fumbles for his glass again.

“Perhaps you should have water now, Young Master Nie,” Jin Guangyao suggests.

“Ah ah ahhhh,” Nie Huaisang corrects, slurring the sounds together. “What did I say about this young master business?”

Jin Guangyao smiles indulgently at him. “Not to?”

“Uh-huh.” Nie Huaisang thinks for a moment. “A thing!” He repeats. “For Wei Wuxian!”

“What sort of thing?” Jin Guangyao asks. 

“Oh, you know,” Nie Huaisang fumbles for his fan and waves it around airily. “That sort of thing.”

He can see Jin Guangyao pale, and knows he’s working through the logical thought process. If Lan Wangji will be sad when Wei Wuxian dies, then Lan Xichen will be sad, and Jin Guangyao doesn’t want that. But even as Nie Huaisang sees this, he knows that it won’t be enough. Jin Guangyao will still do it, on the off-chance that he finally wins his father’s approval. 

Nie Huaisang wants to shake him by the shoulders and tell him that he deserves better, but he doesn’t. Instead, he tries to imagine that he’s Jin Guangshan (ew), and his plan to stir the sects into killing the Yiling Patriarch isn’t working, because Wei Wuxian just isn’t doing anything. If he were Jin Guangshan, he would either find a way to lure Wei Wuxian out of the Burial Mounds, or find a way to frame him for something and rally the sects to kill him before Wei Wuxian can protest his innocence. 

So Nie Huaisang just has to move first. 

-

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang begins sweetly, and he is offended by the very visible flash of fear in his brother’s eyes. “I’m your favorite brother, right?”

“What’s wrong?” Nie Mingjue says, a bead of sweat forming on his upper lip. “I haven’t even made you practice saber recently.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Nie Huaisang says, throwing in a pout for good measure. “But things could be better.”

“What is it?” Nie Mingjue asks warily.

Nie Huaisang blinks innocently. “I was just thinking how much happier I would be if you did me this one small, small favor.” He stops to estimate how much Wei Wuxian is worth to him. “I’d even do two consecutive weeks of saber practice,” he wheedles. 

Nie Mingjue eyes him like Nie Huaisang is the one twice his size. “Depends on the favor?” He settles on finally.

Nie Huaisang tells him.

-

“You want me to what.”

-

“No,” Jiang Cheng says.

“Hear me out,” Nie Huaisang wheedles. 

Lotus Pier is the last of the great sects on Nie Huaisang’s list, just because he feels like Jiang Cheng will be a lot easier to convince once there’s nothing he can do about it anyway. 

Jiang Cheng merely glares at him, looking about one second from kicking him out of the Jiang sect leader’s private meeting rooms. “I know you’re behind this, Huaisang,” he says flatly.

Now Nie Huaisang has to admit that in his haste to act before Jin Guangshan, he’s been more obvious than he would’ve liked, but he’s truly been transparent if even Jiang Cheng knew he was up to something. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Nie Huaisang wails, fanning himself aggressively. 

“I know you’re the reason your brother decided to join Jin Guangshan’s crusade!” Jiang Cheng explodes. “I don’t know why, but–”

“Sect Leader Jin was going to do it sooner or later,” Nie Huaisang interrupts, eyes innocently wide. “I only thought that if we joined in we’d have more control over it.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrow into slits. “Let me get this straight,” he says. “You think Jin Guangshan wants my brother dead, for the Seal.” He doesn’t even bother waiting for confirmation, which is how Nie Huaisang knows that Jiang Cheng already believes that. “So your solution is to get the sects to make a pact to kill my brother–just so that you do it before Jin Guangshan does.”

Well, when he puts it that way…

“Okay, look,” Nie Huaisang says, snapping his fan shut. “Jin Guangshan goes to Nightless City thinking he’s heading an alliance to kill Wei Wuxian. Then my brother suggests destroying the Seal, and you support him. The Lans are bound to support that, so then either Jin Guangshan is forced to reveal his hand or he’s forced to back down.” 

And hopefully whatever’s going on between you and Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian gets sorted out as well, Nie Huaisang thinks. He doesn’t have a plan for that, exactly, so much as the hope that if he pours the chaos of the entire cultivation world into Wei Wuxian’s lap, something’s bound to come loose. 

“Alright,” Jiang Cheng relents, albeit begrudgingly. “Who’s going to tell Wei Wuxian?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Nie Huaisang says, snapping his fan open again and hiding his smile. “I have a plan for that.”

-

“I d-don’t know why da-ge changed his mind!” Nie Huaisang sobs into Lan Xichen’s arms. “B-but now everyone is going to kill Wei Wuxian, and he hasn’t even done anything!”

Lan Xichen pats Nie Huaisang on the back, his face pale. “I’m sure we can talk this out,” he says weakly. “But, Huaisang, my brother–”

“He hates Wei Wuxian, I know,” Nie Huaisang interrupts, sobbing even louder. 

He pauses, breath hitching just in time to hear the sound of a spiritual sword being unsheathed–and then, presumably, mounted. Lan Xichen had probably been about to say something like “my brother is coming.” It’s really too bad Nie Huaisang interrupted him.

“It’s so sad, because Wuxian really likes him!”

Lan Xichen blinks several times, and his face does something funny. “R-really?”

Nie Huaisang sniffs loudly. “But that’s not the point,” he cries. He tugs on Lan Xichen’s robes. “You have to go stop them!”

“The Lan sect will surely have a presence,” Lan Xichen says. “But Huaisang–”

Nie Huaisang bursts into tears again, successfully distracting him from escaping Nie Huaisang’s clutches. He doesn’t stop crying, or let Lan Xichen leave, for another ten minutes, until Lan Wangji has had plenty of time to leave the Cloud Recesses.

Doubtless he’ll fly to Yiling, where he’ll tell Wei Wuxian a less than comprehensive overview of their plan. It’s not exactly the informant Jiang Cheng had been picturing, but Nie Huaisang will make do, so long as it’s Lan Wangji. Perhaps he’ll vow to protect Wei Wuxian, and then declare his undying love to Wei Wuxian–so Nie Huaisang’s a romantic, sue him–so by the time the two of them actually make it to Nightless City, another piece of the puzzle will be in place. 

-

Wei Ying. 

Lan Wangji lands at the base of the Burial Mounds running. He tears up the path, worn into the mountain’s face by Wei Ying and the Wens. When he reaches the top, the place where the little Wen settlement once stood is completely empty. The cave where Wei Ying once slept is empty. Little Wen Yuan is nowhere to be found, nor are the elderly Wens. There’s no sign of life, anywhere, save for the abandoned plot of land, ready for farming. 

Lan Wangji falls to his knees, sullying his white robes with dirt. Wei Ying, he thinks desperately. Where are you?

-

The last time Nightless City had this many people, they were leading the final attack of Wen Ruohan. 

The memory randomly occurs to Wei Wuxian as he alights on the massive outer wall of the Sun Palace, before the great pavilion where all the sect cultivators have gathered. Last time, they were charging up these steps, while Wen Ruohan stood in the entrance. Now, Wei Wuxian stands on top of it, one hand on Chenqing, and the other on the Seal. 

Down below, he sees the bright yellow robes of the Jins. Jin Guangshan has placed himself at the head of the alliance, because of course he has. But Jin Guangyao is there, his father’s silent shadow, and so is Jin Zixuan, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Nie Mingjue is stone-faced at the head of the Nie contingent. Lan Xichen is blank-faced at the head of the Lans, almost like his brother. 

In vain, Wei Wuxian looks for Lan Zhan. He doesn’t care what he sees reflected back at him, he only wants to see Lan Zhan. But he isn’t there. Finally, Wei Wuxian looks over the Jiangs. Jiang Cheng is scowling, to Wei Wuxian’s utter lack of surprise. 

“How rude,” Wei Wuxian calls, interrupting whatever Jin Guangshan’s going on about. “A party for me and I wasn’t invited?”

Jin Guangshan startles when he hears Wei Wuxian, though he hides it well. Jiang Cheng doesn’t seem surprised, merely directs his scowl directly at Wei Wuxian. Which is rather unfair, Wei Wuxian feels. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong.

“Get off the roof,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “Get down here.”

Wei Wuxian stares down at him, eyes fizzling with red light. He can’t be serious. Just because Jiang Cheng didn’t tell him doesn’t mean Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what this is about. 

“You can’t be serious,” he sneers.

“It might induce a better conversation,” Lan Xichen says, solemnly.

That’s certainly no lie. The Lans never lie. Though Wei Wuxian would make a case for misleading–his sentence implies that the reason they want Wei Wuxian to come down is just so that they don’t have to shout at each other from so far away, and not–

“Won’t you come down and join us?” Jin Guangshan says, sickly sweet. “We were discussing some concerns that people have raised about your behavior.”

–So that they can kill him easier. 

Why is he here again? Oh, that’s right. Wei Wuxian was hoping this was an overblown rumor. 

Wei Wuxian laughs harshly. The sound is swallowed by the endless night. “Sect Leader Jin must think I’m stupid,” he says, with thinly veiled anger. 

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng fumes. “Stop playing around and get down here.”

“Who’s playing around?” Wei Wuxian demands, Chenqing twirling around and around in his hand. He stalks up and down the roof, just an inky smudge against the vast black sky. Torches flicker all around the pavilion, lighting the cultivators up in all their colors. 

Usually Jiang Cheng is a terrible liar, but there’s not a hint of deception in his demeanor right now. If Jiang Cheng wants to settle a score with him, then Wei Wuxian is happy to do so. But as far as Wei Wuxian is concerned, he doesn’t owe the rest of the world anything.

“I heard Sect Leader Jin’s moving speech,” Wei Wuxian continues, full to the brim with anger. He stops pacing, and stands facing the cultivators. His hand trembles on Chenqing. He didn’t come here for a fight, but now his blood is singing for one. 

From the back of the mass of cultivators, a moving white blur comes in at full speed. Soon, the blur reveals itself to be Lan Wangji, late for clearly the first time in his life, if his expression is any indication. Every line in his typically stoic face is drawn taut with tension. Wei Wuxian’s hunger for a fight drains away. 

He’s still angry, but he has to protect the Wens. They’re waiting for him, on the forest island halfway between the Burial Mounds and Nightless City. He has to return to them, or Wen Ning is probably going to come wandering into Nightless City looking for him. He can’t afford a fight. 

“Good for you,” Jiang Cheng gripes. “Now will you get off the roof?”

Wei Wuxian is still angry, but beneath that, beneath all the bravado and the sneers and the self-righteousness are the white-knuckled, shaking hands that he draws in front of him to clutch Chenqing protectively by his chest. Beneath it all is the shaking voice that Wei Wuxian forces down until his tone sounds acceptable. Beneath it all is the part of Wei Wuxian that he doesn’t want to admit: the part that’s terrified. 

Lan Zhan stops next to his brother, joining the ranks of Lan cultivators, and whatever hope Wei Wuxian had sinks like a stone to the soles of his boots. Dread pools like acid in his stomach, hissing and churning his emotions into knots. 

Wei Wuxian looks across 3,000 cultivators, and swallows, laughter and sneers fading away at last. His voice is small and shaking when he finally speaks. “I’m not coming down, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Returning from Afar Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 远归之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

[ This date was released in CN on 28 Sep 2020 ]

This is the 29th day of Gavin’s mission, and also the day he said he’d return. 

As agreed, I’m in Gavin’s house to water Little Spiky. Since I’m already here, I also tidy up the place, which hasn’t been habited for a month.

MC: Mm, its rootstocks are healthy, the colour is lush and green, and it’s growing well. Now to put it under the sun.

I carry it to the window carefully, letting it soak in sunlight.

My line of sight lingers on the wind chimes hanging near the window. I reach out to pull at the crystal piece. 

The bright and limpid crystal suddenly sends my consciousness back to the week before Gavin departed for the mission. 

[ flashback ]

The afternoon wind blows the curtains upwards, brushing across the crystal shoes glittering on the floor.

If one were to ignore the slight scratch at the back, this would have been a perfect souvenir.

I squat on the floor, one hand holding the “main culprit” - the broom, and another hand gripping my phone, giving the manufacturer a call while feeling upset. 

MC: Hello? I’m the person in charge of [MC’s Company Name]. We held an activity and ordered crystal shoes from your company. Do you still remember that? 

Person in charge: Miss MC, right? I remember, I remember. Do you want to collaborate with us for another event? 

MC: Ah, actually, one of the crystal shoes has a scratch on its back. I wanted to ask if it’s possible to fix it? 

Person in charge: Hmm... Because of the way it was designed, that batch of crystal shoes were specially handled, so traditional restoration works won’t be effective. But since you’re a regular client of our company, we can send you a pair based on the address you gave us. 

MC: ...no need for the trouble. Since it can't be restored, it’s fine. Thank you.

I hang up, a little disappointed. 

In the midst of cleaning up, I had accidentally scratched the crystal shoes Gavin gave me the other time. 

[Note] MC is referring to Gavin’s 2 Become 1 Date, which is available in EN.

Although the damage is slight, it’s not something I can just ignore.

While sighing, I store the crystal shoes back into the box, and place it in the cabinet. 

At this moment, a low knocking sound resounds from the door.

When I open it, I see that the person standing at the door is Gavin.

Light and shadows are cast on his profile, illuminating his sharp and soft eyes.

Gavin: What are you busy with? 

He walks in while speaking. Without him noticing, I prod the the box containing the crystal shoes further into the shoe cabinet. 

MC: I was doing a cleanup, but it’s almost done. 

Gavin responds with a “Mm”. He seems to hesitate, then walks over and takes my hand in his, his thumb rubbing it gently.

Gavin: I have a mission in a few days. It’s of a high level, so you might not be able to contact me for a while.

I freeze for a moment, subconsciously recalling how Eli had previously detailed the dangers of Gavin’s missions.

MC: ...is the level of danger very high as well?

Gavin: Mm, it’s a little dangerous. Which is why I have to go. 

He pauses, then continues. 

Gavin: You don’t need to worry. Before the 30th of next month, I’ll definitely be back.

He speaks confidently. Suppressing the worry in my heart, I give him a smile.  

MC: All right. I’ll take care of Little Spiky. And will wait for you to come back.

[ end of flashback ]

The wind chime clangs, its melody light-hearted and lively. However, I can’t help but sigh. 

For some reason, the second day after Gavin left, I discovered that the crystal shoes in the cabinet had disappeared.

I searched the house, but couldn’t find a trace of them. In the end, my guess was that a thief had stolen them.

Even after pondering over it a hundred times, I remain puzzled about the thief’s motives, and couldn’t fathom how a thief could have broken in. To be safe, I ended up changing the lock. 

MC: When Gavin returns, should I tell him about this...

All of a sudden, the wind outside grows stronger, causing a magazine on the table to flip open with a rustle. 

MC: What’s this? 

I walk over, holding up the magazine. I flip through it randomly, and wind up on a page which has been folded. 

It features a custom-made jewellery shop.

The vibrant front cover is incompatible with the cold colours of Gavin’s house. On the page, the eye-catching font forms the shop’s name - “Cang Xing”.

[Note] 苍星 (“cang xing”) directly translates to “dark green star”.

MC: Isn’t this the private studio which opened recently?

In a program not too long ago, I got to know about this shop. Although its prices are hefty, and the workmanship takes quite a long time, it has a very good reputation. 

I find myself getting confused.

MC: Is Gavin interested in this shop too...

The phone suddenly rings.

Designer: Hello. Is this Miss MC? I’m a designer from Cang Xing. Previously, a customer ordered a gift for you. May I know if you have time to drop by and have a look today?

MC: A gift? 

My eyes flit to the magazine in my hands, a vague guess surfacing in my heart. 

MC: All right, I’ll head over now. 

-

Pushing open the doors to the studio, it’s as though I’ve stepped into another world. 

Soft white muslin can be seen everywhere. Jewellery of various colours can be seen on the ivory tables, brilliant like stars in the dark night. 

The table near the entrance has visitors’ book. The designer doesn’t seem to be around, so I instinctively pick up a pen and flip it open, planning to write my name down.

After signing my name and preparing to shut the book, I suddenly see familiar handwriting. 

On the upper section of this page, amongst a mix of illegible and serious font, there’s a handsome and light-hearted one. 

It’s Gavin’s.

The date that he filled in was the third day before he left for the mission.

??: May I know if you’re Miss MC? 

A staff dressed in working attire walks towards me.  

MC: Mm, I’m MC. 

??: Nice to meet you, I’m the designer who talked to you over the phone earlier. Please follow me. 

I follow the designer’s directions and walk towards a reception area at the side. 

Several pink jasmines are scattered on the table of the reception area. At the side, there’s a long white silk ribbon, looking as though it’s been tied halfway.

MC: Is there an event happening in the store today? 

Designer: No, there isn’t. These were leftover flowers from an earlier event. I just thought to use them to decorate the shop. I didn’t expect you to reach so quickly, so I was only halfway done with the decorations. 

The designer explains in embarrassment. 

MC: I see. Oh yes, you mentioned a custom-made gift in the call...

The designer casts a glance towards the door, her expression turning apologetic.

Designer: Well... I have to wait for the customer who ordered it to arrive before I can tell you. I’m really sorry about that. 

I nod my head pensively. Looking at the unfinished decorations, I break the silence. 

MC: Since I have to wait, why don’t I help you with the decorations? 

Designer: How could I ask that of you!

MC: It’s fine. Is this meant to be hung on the wall? 

While speaking, I pick up the jasmine flowers on the floor, and hand it to the designer. 

After that, we stand on the stools, hanging the jasmine flowers on the wall. The white muslin sways gently next to us.

At this moment, the door is suddenly pulled open. What follows is the sound of specially made boots. The footsteps are slightly hurried, and they pause not too far off. 

Gavin: Sorry, I arrived slightly later than scheduled. 

I lift my head abruptly, turning around and wanting to hop off the stool. But my coat gets stuck on a hook, which has jasmine flowers hanging on it. 

MC: !

Along with the sound of fabric ripping, a pulling force tugs me backwards, and there’s empty space beneath my feet.

MC: Gavin--

In a moment of desperation, the word slips my mouth.

A gust of wind blows up the white muslin. Accompanied by a calm laugh, a strong pair of arms wrap around my waist. 

Gavin: [laughs] Don't worry, I won’t let you fall. 

Gavin catches me steadily. In the narrow and small world created by the soft, drifting muslin, he carries me and spins in half a circle. 

My torn coat is on the floor. Slightly embarrassed, I clasp a hand over the strap which has fallen off my shoulder.

Gavin sets me down. His gaze falls on my body lightly. Then, he hurriedly averts his line of sight. 

Gavin: [coughs] ...

The temperature in the room suddenly rises. Face flushed, I frantically search for the coat.

MC: ...where’s the coat?

Gavin: Over here.

He picks up the coat and hands it to me, his eyes averted to the side, his ears tinged a slight red. I take the coat, but discover that it’s basically unwearable since the snag is too serious.

In the next second, a warm piece of clothing is draped over me. The texture feels slightly hard, and I can even still feel the cold insignia.

MC: ?

I lift my head to see that Gavin has taken off his uniform, revealing his white shirt underneath.

Gavin: Put mine on first.

He pulls the uniform more snugly around my body. His warm fingertips accidentally brush my collarbone, causing me to shiver.

Face flushed, I lower my head. But I catch sight of a ripped button on Gavin’s shirt. 

MC: What happened? Are you hurt? Are there any other places? Let me see...

Anxious, I’m just about to pry apart his shirt to check if there are any injuries on his body. 

Gavin: ...

Gavin: I’m fine. 

Gavin grips my hand to stop me, his cheeks slightly red. 

The designer had left without us realising it, leaving the private space to us. 

The surroundings are delicate and tranquil. Only the person before me carries with him a windy and frosty aura, his eyes lowered as he watches me quietly. 

[Note] Interestingly, the word used to describe Gavin’s aura, 风霜 (“feng shuang”) also has a figurative meaning to describe someone who has experienced hardships in life :’)

MC: Let me have a look then. Only after I’ve verified it with my own eyes, I’ll believe that you’re not lying to me. 

I act in a fit of pique, angry and not understanding why he would still hide his injuries from me.

Gavin looks resigned. After a moment, his long and slender fingers touch his lapel, slowly removing one button.

His defined muscles come into view, revealing a lean figure. 

My hand gently brushes a wound on his shoulder blade which has already formed a scab, and my nose suddenly feels sour. 

Gavin: It’s just a small wound, and it has already healed.

His gaze follows my hands and rests on the wound, then he pauses. 

After being silent for a while, I lower my head, mildly aggrieved, and speak. 

MC: Did you rush over from afar? Actually, you could have taken your time to come back. You didn’t have to... be afraid that I’d worry, and be so anxious. 

I hold onto Gavin’s hand. He hasn’t removed his gloves, and the touch feels as cold as ice, bringing with it a chill.

Gavin: It wasn’t far. 

He tries removing his gloves before holding me again. But I don’t release him, and I tighten my grip.

Gavin pauses. Then, his fingers curl slightly, encasing my hand in his. 

Gavin: The mission was completed earlier, so I came back. 

A smile dyes Gavin’s eyes. Then, he pinches my palm.

Gavin: Let’s not talk about these things first. The gift I prepared for you - want to know what it is?

Looking at the mildly expectant expression on his face, I can’t help but store away my sour emotions, and snort with laughter.  

MC: I do want to know. So could Officer Gavin tell me what it is?

Gavin: You’ll know soon. 

-

MC: I didn’t think there would be a small showroom at the back of the private studio...

After pushing open the door inside the studio, what enters my vision is a glass showroom. 

The outer side of the showroom is constructed using glass, allowing sunlight to stream in, illuminating bouquets of pink jasmine flowers that have been strung up.

Gavin: This is a small glass showroom originally used by the owner to allow customers to hold mock weddings. 

Gavin guides me to the centre of the showroom, brushing past the flower bouquets.

Gavin: But today, I’ve temporarily borrowed it. 

A gust of wind causes the fine gauze draped over the showcase in the middle to fall, revealing a pair of crystal shoes surrounded by flowers. 

The shoe now has a small gem embedded in the place which was scratched - brilliant, bright and sparkling. 

MC: ...this is? What is it doing here?!

Gavin: When I went to your house the other day, I saw that you placed them on the shoe cabinet. 

I’m a little dumbfounded. 

MC: I thought I hid it in the box...

Gavin can’t help but laugh. 

Gavin: Mm, you did hide it in the box. But your reaction was too obvious. In the span of a meal, you glanced at that area around ten times. So before I left, I took a look. 

This causes me to feel perplexed. 

MC: So you were the one who secretly took the shoes away. I thought I lost them, and was depressed for so long. I also thought a thief stole them, and even changed the lock.

I mumble softly, but my eyes sneakily linger on that pair of fully restored crystal shoes. 

The unease from the scratched souvenir vanishes bit by bit, turning into a sweetened state of mind. 

Gavin: I searched for many places, but only this shop’s owner said he could use precious stones to try restoring the damaged area. 

Gavin: The date of the completed restoration could have been earlier, but I wanted to give them to you personally. 

Gavin: Which is why I asked the shop to give you call today. 

Gavin: [coughs] Even though it looks different from how it was before...

I interrupt him softly. 

MC: But I like it very much. 

Gavin stops, looking at me seriously with lowered eyes. 

Gavin: I did this because I didn’t want you to be unhappy over the damaged crystal shoes. 

Gavin: As long as you like it, that’s all that matters. 

His words land on my heart, rippling across it. 

Slightly flushed, my peripheral vision rests on the gem, which is reflecting specks of light. 

MC: Oh yes, what’s with this gem? 

Gavin: While I was on a mission, I passed by a shop and saw this gem through the window.

Gavin releases an unnatural cough.

Gavin: At that time, I was about to return to help you with the amusement park wedding photoshoot. I thought it would be of use, so I bought it. 

Gavin: But after that, I didn’t have a chance to give it to you.

He seems to think about something, and laughs lightly. 

Gavin: I kept thinking about when would be an appropriate time to give it to you. 

Gavin: It just so happened that the shape of the gem needed by the owner tallied with this. 

Gavin: So it was used. 

He fixes his eyes on me, affectionate and gentle. 

Sunlight parts the layers of clouds, casting a warm shade. It’s as though I can clearly hear the sound of my own heart beating. 

The sound gradually grows louder, becoming more urgent, wanting to burrow its way out of my chest and tell the person in front of me how I feel right now. 

MC: Although what I’m about to say may come across as being overly polite to you, I still have to say it. 

MC: Gavin, thank you.

Thank you for silently watching over my mood. Thank you for always returning to my side no matter where you go.

The white muslin drifts to and fro. My heart stirs, and I gently touch the muslin in front of me. Sunlight streams in.

My fingertips brush the soft white muslin, tracing the word “Gavin” on it. 

I turn my head to the side, blinking at Gavin a little playfully.

MC: This word - apart from it being your name, it also has another meaning.

 MC: It’s “courage”.

Gavin’s eyes pause on my face, as though he’s slightly shocked. But it quickly morphs into a smile which harbours starlight.

His smile leaves me in a daze. I turn back, pretending to be unaffected as I begin speaking softly. 

MC: Gavin, you are my courage. 

MC: You are the courage I have when I face life’s large and small twists and turns. 

MC: Next time, I’ll become a person who is stronger in heart, and won’t be dejected over such a trivial matter. 

MC: I’ll also work hard to become your courage and strength - to protect you from harm each time you go on missions. 

MC: Or... to sustain fewer injuries. 

I wave a fist towards Gavin as a display of my determination. The sunlight sifting in through the muslin is like a gentle filter, descending on Gavin slowly.

Having to part from each other and having gloomy moods are inevitable. But there’s one person who will ultimately make his way over to me, smoothening out all the anguish, leaving only happiness behind.

He will cross the mountains and rivers, walk across the clouds and the moon, to meet me at the brink of dawn. 

Gavin: [laughs] I got it. 

He turns his head, mimicking my earlier actions, lifting his hand to trace something on the white muslin.

MC: This is...

I try to decipher what he wrote, but can’t tell what it is. Confused, I look at Gavin. 

He puts his hand down, lifting his eyes to stare at me quietly. 

Gavin: Protecting each other. 

His voice is loud and clear, reminiscent of a galloping breeze in autumn, crashing into my heart. 

Gavin: You are already my strength. 

Gavin: So I will keep protecting you, and everything you like. 

The numerous times of parting, the numerous mornings and evenings spent alone, now leave a sweet aftertaste.

MC: Gavin, I’m really happy now. 

MC: So happy that I feel as though the entire world is before me at this moment, and within reach. 

Seeing my smile, Gavin lifts the white muslin between us, reaching out to bring me into his arms.

The coat draped over my shoulders slides off. The white muslin is akin to a gentle mist, gracefully drifting mid-air, then falling onto the both of us. 

Gavin holds my hand, encircling me in his arms. 

MC: Gavin...

The close and warm contact causes my face to heat up. I can’t help but call his name. 

But he isn’t in a hurry to respond. Instead, he lifts a hand, taking a strand of my hair into his palm, his gaze lingering on my face. 

Gavin: Now, I’m the only person in your entire world. 

The delicate fragrance of pink jasmine slowly permeates the air. The temperature from our laced fingers is scalding. I tilt my head upwards, giving Gavin’s chin a careful peck.

MC: In that case, could I bribe my entire world to let me have this moment for a while longer?

In the next second, I feel warmth around my waist, and Gavin wraps me in his arms tightly. 

He lowers his head slightly, his fringe brushing my eyelashes. I can feel his steady, composed breaths. 

Gavin: No matter how long it is, you can.

-

Phone call: here

-

🍒 Cheri’s elegant thoughts 🍒

HE PURCHASED A RING OKAY

NO ONE JUST BUYS A RANDOM GEMSTONE

HE HAD A RING ALL THIS TIME

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[vegalocity]

The Tinkerer (Red Groom AU)

It took me a hot second to decide who i wanted to be Miracle Max because there was no way I WASN'T gonna put that scene in this AU

I decided on Syntax bc the other spiders haven't shown up yet and so why not

--

The house was little more than a glorified workshop; there were shelves of research notes and half finished odds and ends puled up on an open wall near the back, and Xiaojiao was unsure of whether they should be approaching the front door or coming in through the workshop area. Especially since the front door had a very clear 'No Longer In Business' sign hanging from it.

All the same it seemed like Sandy had all the confidence in the world in this 'Tinkerer' as he was known. As his usual grin didn't waver as he shifted his grip on the Not-Monkey King's body and approached the front door. Xiaojiao fell into step beside him of course, and upon Sandy's polite knock stationed herself between her friend and the question of what will be coming next.

A small peek window opened and Xiaojiao was suddenly making eye contact with a pair of very bright green eyes, nearly bioluminescent in their vibrancy, surrounded by a pale purple complexion not unlike the late Spider Queen's.

“We're closed.” The Demon stated firmly.

“Are you The Tinkerer?” She asked in reply.

The demon at the door snarled with a mouth of sharp teeth. “I was. And thank you for reminding me of what that wretched Prince did to my reputation, Why don't you throw a handful of dirt in my face while you're at it! Scram.” he shut the peek window. And Xiaojiao was far less polite when she knocked.

“I said beat it! Or I'm calling the brute squad.” The Tinkerer opened the little window again and glared her down, but Sandy leaned in at the offer.

“I'm on the brute squad.” he waved.

“You are the brute squad.” The Tinkerer agreed.

“Look, we heard you were one of the best healers in the region with your experiments and we're in desperate need.” Xiaojiao tried again.

“What part of 'was' did you not understand? Past tense. I'm Not in that business anymore. Besides-” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Why would you want a disgraced tinkerer to have a look at whoever you've got in mind anyway? I might kill them.” he said that last part in a mocking tone, clearly imitating the Prince in the false posh accent. The only thing stronger then The Tinkerer's sarcasm seemed to be his bitterness.

“He's already dead?” She tried one last time, and this time the Tinkerer seemed interested. He leaned forward a bit to peer at the Not-Monkey King.

“He is, hm?” He paused for a second, eyes flicking into nothing as he thought something over, before eventually shrugging. “Sure, bring him in. I'll take a look.”

The little home indeed was as small as the door implied, and in the living space there was in fact an extra door that lead to the outside workshop area.

Scanning the room for anything flat enough to lay the Not-Monkey King down on, Xiaojiao eventually started to clear the table of books—and there were many books in this house.

“Careful with those!” The Tinkerer chided but as she turned to hand them off instead of a more average demon aggravated and ready to take the tomes from her, she was met with a pair of metallic prongs infront of her, not dissimilar to the legs of a spider demon, and peering to the side a bit she saw that indeed, they were sprouting from The Tinkerer's back.

...Huh... Spider Queen had let on that she was the only spider demon in the area, to think there was another of her kind so nearby without her knowledge before she'd died... The Tinkerer's spider legs sprouted from his back which WAS a little odd since she'd always been told the hips were the usual area for spider legs, but he was using the other pair to better arrange the table for Sandy to put Not-Monkey King down onto it, so it didn't seem like they were a hindrance. She placed the books in the spare two prongs and said tomes were carefully deposited on an empty chair.

The Tinkerer strode over to the body and hemmed and hawed for a moment. “Well I've certainly seen worse.” He continued to prod at the body, and the running clock began to hold over Xiaojiao's head.

“Sir we're in a rush here-”

“Never rush a scientist, Miss.” The Tinkerer responded evenly. “Nothing makes an experiment go wrong quicker than rushing the scientist.” He fretted over the body a little longer, and his attention was on the corpse still as he spoke again.

“So how much is this worth to you both?”

“All we've got is Sixty-five.”

The Tinkerer scoffed. “I never work for so little.” He paused for a moment, considering. “Except for that one time, but that was a very noble cause.”

Xiaojiao thought fast “Sir this is a noble cause.” Though no one ever said she was any good at improvising. “His wife cannot leave the house after the accident, children on the brink of starvation-”

The Tinkerer was unmoved. “You're not a gifted liar, are you?”

Fine, if she couldn't make this happen with sympathy she may as well tell the truth. “I need him to help me avenge my father. Murdered these last ten years-”

“Your first story was better.” The Tinkerer cut her off with a scoff. “Probably owes you money, doesn't he?” he turned away from the body to rummage through a crate of strange looking devices. “Now where did I put the- Ah.” He pulled out a pump looking thing. “Well if you're not going to be giving me a straight answer I'll ask him myself.” Her thoughts spluttered for a moment.

“He-... He's dead he can't speak-”

The Tinkerer chuckled. “Oh, so now you're the expert, miss?” he shook his head. “No, your friend here is only mostly dead.” He began to turn a few knobs on the device before gently prying the Not-Monkey King's mouth open. “There's a very distinct difference between mostly dead and all dead you see.” He began to turn the crank on the device and slowly the Not-Monkey King's chest began to inflate. “If he were all dead there'd only be one thing to do.”

“What would that be?”

The Tinkerer smirked “Go through his pockets and see if there's anything worth selling. But Mostly Dead, is Slightly Alive. So there's far more options.”

Soon enough he stopped turning the crank and lifted the device from the Not-Monkey King's mouth. After handing the device off to Sandy, whom helpfully carefully set it back inside the box, the Tinkerer leaned in close to the body.

“Hey! Hello in there! Hey- What's so important? You got anything here worth living for?” he then placed both hands and two of his spider legs onto the Not-Monkey King's chest and pushed.

At first the wheezing noise didn't sound like much of anything, but then Xiaojiao was able to make out-

“'True Love'! You heard him!” She leaned forward to examine the body herself for a moment, but other than the faintest moving of his words, the Not-Monkey King remained still. And peeking back up at the Tinkerer he looked pale, mauve skin suddenly more of a sickly lavender. “You couldn't ask for a more noble cause than that, sir.”

“Well Miss, true love certainly would be a noble cause of all noble causes.” He agreed, before blinking once and shaking his head. “But that's not what he said! I've been hearing mostly dead groans for the better side of thirty years now, and I know 'To blave' when I hear it.” He waved a hand dismissively as he turned away from her. “And since you seem like those whom may not know 'To Blave' is an archaic way to say 'to bluff'. So here's my read on things, you lot were gambling on something or another and he was cheating so-”

“Oh for the love of- You CanNOT be serious, Syntax!” a raspy voice piped up, and emerging from one of the small rooms was another spider demon, this one looking far more traditional, with the obvious mandibles and four green eyes instead of The Tinkerer's two.

“Huntsman I am in the middle of something can you just-”

“You're in the middle of making yourself look like an obstinate fool that's what you're in the middle of!” The other spider, Huntsman, approached and grabbed The Tinkerer (Syntax apparently) by the arm. “What kind of coward has my brother turned into that he can't even say the truth when he refuses to do what he poured his life's work into?!”

“You have no idea what you're talking about-”

“You head him,You know what he said-” Huntsman turned to the two of them and were it not for the sadistic gleam in his eye Xiaojiao would have thought he was honestly trying to help them. More likely he just wanted to see his brother squirm. “He's turned into a coward ever since the prince fired him! He's been stuck in a rut for months now!”

“Hey! You said you wouldn't bring that up! You swore you'd let that drop!” The Tinkerer's voice went shrill with anger, and the smirk on Huntsman's face widened, showing off his far more pronounced fangs.

“What? That you got fired? You got fired!” and then in a routine Xiaojiao would more expect out of a play than from a pair of fully grown brothers, Huntsman began to chase Syntax around the little room, loudly crowing 'Fired' over and over again while Syntax made vague noises of distress. Eventually Huntsman got hold of his brother again, and this time he maybe actually looked concerned.

“What would mother say if she saw you puttering about like this?! You know how much she went on about 'True Love' and all that ilk! And Sure Goliath was the only one who ever believed her, but you don't even have the decency to say why you won't help?!” Syntax had his hands clapped over his ears and seemed to be trying to loudly tune Huntsman's words out. “What, one good for nothing Prince gives you the boot and you don't have a reputation anymore?! Where in the world did your Spider Pride run off to because sure as anything else it ain't here anymore!” Wait he meant THIS prince, right?

“This man is Red Son's lover!” she cut in. “If you heal him he'll stop at nothing to stop the Prince's wedding!”

That gave both spider brothers pause, and something sparked to life behind Syntax's expression, he took a step away from his brother and leaned over the Not-Monkey King's body to lean in close to Xiaojiao.

“Hold on, hold on. I heal him and the Prince suffers?”

Xiaojiao leaned in and shot him as big a smirk as she could muster. “What's more humiliating than having your groom run off on the day of your wedding? He'd be mortified.” Syntax smiled back at her, and cackled.

“Now that is a noble cause.” a pair of his spider legs rummaged through the bin again before pulling out a set of adjustable glasses. “Give me the sixty-five, I'm on the job.”

“You're welcome.” Huntsman sarcastically called out before sitting down in a nearby chair and crossing his legs.

Sandy seemed to take an interest in him, wandering over beside the spider and striking up conversation, but Xiaojiao had her eyes on the Tinkerer, and her hopes.

–

“So that's gonna heal him up?”

“Something along those lines. He'll be more alive than he is now.” By this point all three of them were leaned in watching The Tinkerer put his last touches on the cure pill.

“Huh, chocolate coating and everything” Huntsman chiming in every so often for color commentary. “Of course you're enough of a petty bastard to pull out all the stops for revenge.”

“You should wait about fifteen minutes so everything's got time to settle.” Syntax continued as though he hadn't spoken, finishing up the pill and sliding it into a leather pouch. “Oh, and don't let him go swimming for awhile, about an hour or so.” He handed the pouch to Xiaojiao whom quickly slid it into her pocket, and Sandy lifted the body beneath his arm again.

“Thank you so much for this Tinkerer.”

Syntax rolled his eyes. “Just make sure someone sees the Prince suffering so you can send me a letter detailing it.”

And then they were off.

“Don't die!” Huntsman called out as they left.

“Have fun storming the castle!” Syntax added on.

–

“Think it'll work?”

“Do I look like a miracle worker to you?”

–

But soon enough they were at the mouth of the mountain entrance. A small wall the only separating Xiaojiao, Sandy, and their only hope from what was supposed to be about 30 demons.

Key word, 'supposed to'.

“Xiaojiao there's at least sixty men there.”

“What?!” She hissed and poked her head out the side to confirm Sandy's observation. And sure enough-

“I could probably take about ten on my own, how about you my friend?”

“Twenty, assuming we're fighting to incapacitate.” Sandy added on very carefully.

“Damn it all.” She hissed. Before glancing back down at the body. “Well, no matter, we've got him. He'll think of something.”

“Has it been fifteen minutes?”

“We can't afford to wait any longer. The wedding's in half an hour!” She shuffled with the body until he was propped up against the wall and took the pill out.

It slid down his throat quickly and concisely, possibly aided by whatever swallowing reflex remained in his mostly-dead state.

“How long do we have to wait, before we know the experiment works?”

“Your guess is as good as mine-” A voice between them interrupted Xiaojiao

“I'll tear you both apart! I'll take you both together-!” Sandy covered the Not-Monkey King's mouth to cut off his desperate threats.

“I guess not very long.”

“Hey, glad to see you awake!” She went for the friendly approach, he seemed sympathetic to her plight when they were about to duel after all-

When Sandy uncovered his mouth the man remained quiet. “Why won't my arms move?” he finally settled on.

“You've been mostly dead all day, friend.” Sandy calmly explained, Xiaojiao quickly adding on that they'd taken him to The Tinkerer to heal him up before Sandy cut back in.

“You know I feel kinda bad just calling you 'The Man in Black' in my head, but now that we know you're human it feels kinda weird to call you Monkey King too, so do you happen to have a name for us to call you by?”

The man paused again glancing between the two of them. “... Who are you two? Are we still enemies?” He glanced behind him. “Why am I resting on this wall?” but the his expression hardened over. “Where's Red Son?!”

“Okay I can explain-” Wait- “...No there's too much. Let me sum it up, but Sandy's right I'm gonna need that name first.”

"Xiaotian. Now tell me.”

“Well Xiaotian, Red Son's marrying the prince in about half an hour, so what we've got to do is break in, stop the wedding, steal your fire demon back, and make our escape. After I kill the Six Eared Macaque.”

Xiaotian's expression tightened and his fingers began to twitch nervously.

“I'll admit that doesn't leave a lot of time for hesitating.”

“Oh hey Xiaotian! You just wiggled your fingers!” Sandy chirped. “That's great!”

“I've still got something resembling the immortality Monkey King loaned me I guess.” Xiaotian agreed. “What are we facing against?”

“One mountain entrance, guarded by sixty demons.” She grabbed hold of his shoulders and lifted him just enough that his head lolled back and he could see the gate.

“Okay, what do WE have?”

“Your mind, my sword, Sandy's muscle.” …. well that sounded pathetic now that she said it outloud-

“That's it? That's pathetic."... but he didn't have to SAY it-

"Maybe if I had a WEEK I could think of a plan but this?” he shook his head slightly.

“Hey! You shook your head too! You're getting better!” Sandy was clearly nervous, with how bright and sunny he was trying to be. Xiaotian tilted his head to the side just enough to turn to see him.

“Your strength, my mind, and her sword against sixty men to stop the love of my life from getting married and then assassinated by a power hungry tyrant-to-be and you think a little head jiggle is worth celebrating?” He hissed and Xiaojiao was about to throw out a hand in Sandy's deference, but as usual the implied insult did little to dampen Sandy's hard earned chill.

“I mean I'd hardly consider it asking for a lot to have a little more to work with! if we had a wheelbarrow that would be something!”

Wait...

“Sandy what did we do with that Wheelbarrow those demon twins had?”

“I think we just left it there after they ran off.”

Xiaotian's expression pinched. “Why didn't you mention that earlier?” But nonetheless she could see the gears beginning to turn in his head. “Ugh... Maybe if we had a dark cloak I could do that plan but-”

“Yeah no, sorry about that, friend.” But Sandy it seemed had other ideas.

“Will this work?” a long dark cloak was pulled from behind him.

“W-... Where did you get that?”

“At the Tinkerer's! That Huntsman guy said it was made for his brother but it was too big and it fit me, so he said I should just take it!”

“Alright alright. Long Xiaojiao was it?”

“Just Xiaojiao is fine.”

“Can you pluck one of my hairs for me and hold it up?”

“Uhhh?”

“Trust me.”

So she curled a finger around a strand of hair and plucked it from Xiaotian's head before holding it up before him.

He blew gently on the piece and directed her to toss it forward.

There was a shower of golden sparks and the hair had turned into a staff much like the one he'd been wielding when they'd met.

“Alright help me up and I'll explain things.” It was a bit of a struggle, Xiaotian had to be sandwiched between Xiaojiao and Sandy “Can one of you attach that to my back?” Sandy reached down and did so.

“You can't even lift it!” Xiaojiao huffed.

“Yeah but they don't know that.” Xiaotian countered, and... she didn't have a counterargument. “So it's going to be a mess when we start this whole thing, one problem after another-”

“I'll say.” She huffed. “I've got three off the top of my head, when we're inside how do I find the Macaque, when I'm done with him how do I find you again, and when I find you again how do we all escape?”

Sandy whom had been basically holding Xiaotian's head up for him during this exchange, tilted the man's head to rest against his chest. “Come on Xiaojiao, lay off the guy, he's had a hard day.”

“Right, Sorry.”

Sandy bobbed Xiaotian's head in an approximation of a nod.

“Hey Xiaojiao?”

“What is it?”

“I hope we win.”

[sanguine-salvation]

The words struck Viktor like the darkness of aged oil paintings where only the palest spots still jutted through. To always be terrified, what an interesting existence. A curse, but one that gave the cursed a... unique perspective, one that he had reclaimed and fashioned to his use. It had to be one of the the closest things to feeling well and truly alive…

Still, the compliment earned a preening look from them, one that loosened slightly at Crane’s prodding and their focus getting lost to the bristle of memory. They could almost feel that balmy breeze again. So powerless and hopeless in the face of everything. Weeping and empty and weak. And they would have gone out that way, too. Nothing but another corpse at the end of a miserable spiral, a smudged name on the coroner's report, pointless... had fear herself not given them a gift, stinking of liquor and greed, bearing down on them with a knife.

The adrenaline of that night, the panic, the blood, drowning in it and breathing all anew once it was over, it gave them what they wanted— needed. To hear someone who even vaguely understood… They shook themself from the almost mesmerized path of thought. “A kind of strength that can only be found in that embrace," they quietly agreed, a dreamily happy tone in their voice.

But his next words, oh, they promised something... unusual. Viktor was hardly the first choice of many rogues. They did have a bit of a reputation, of course, and they would not assume they were Crane's first choice, either. The idea was fun, though. But the offer was made all the same. A joint experiment. And in one swift motion they were now met with Crane, maskless and delightfully wild-eyed. Ah, Fear was a lovely thing in the flesh! They smiled giddily, entranced and infected by the sheer manic excitement of it all. The mask was a fine thing, but bare skin made the contract feel so proper.

They reached out and took his hand, the oldest scars on their wrist sprawling out from under their loose hoodie like an added assurance, a return of bared skin. “A partnership, for now.” They gave that Cheshire Cat-like grin. “You have my word, Professor. And they’ll have my blade.” Their eyes flickered up to his, unobstructed, they pored through his Emptiness eagerly. “It will be… interesting, having someone else to enlighten with.”

“May I share a secret with you Zsasz?”

Once more, his wide, bloodshot eyes gazed down upon the Tallyman.

“I am terrified, always. My body demands it. The euphoria of the adrenaline, the cortisol flowing through. My amygdala has not had a day’s rest since I was seven. Blood is water, if only for what it provokes in me. Violence is a tool, it is my specialty. Pain, anguish, it all leads back to fear. It is inevitable, and it will always be there.”

His body turns fully towards them, and he hovers expectantly, leaning forward so he could gaze down upon them. It’s a risk, sticking his neck out like this, and so literally too, but he must demonstrate his point.

“Your understanding of the subject is extraordinary. Your first kill – I can tell it was like mine. After so fucking long being powerless… fear. She gave us vindication. Love. Attention. Power, strength, everything we could ever fucking want.” His breath was shaky as a croaking laugh escaped him. It was 12:45. The gas would be pouring in now, ever so subtly. “She’s addictive, her kiss. She takes so much, and only gives so little – but it is worth it, is it not? The adrenaline, the fight or flight – if you no longer wish to simply fight, and you have no desire to flee, all that is left is pure strength.”

The thought was enticing enough for Crane to begin to drool, though he quickly remembered he was in the company of a beast. Wouldn’t do to get too distracted.

“These corpses, these animals, they will understand. They MUST. There is a reason to everything.”

There must be a reason he had suffered. He would prove it.

“I am proposing a joint experiment, Zsasz. I will be observing this complex for one week. None will approach – this is guaranteed. But if these subjects fail to live up to the expectations? If they stay chained down?”

He tore off his mask so the Tallyman could see his crazed grin.

“Butcher them.”

A thrust of his hand, just barely stopping short of Zsasz – and opened to show his palm. For a shake.