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sissytobitch10seconds · 7 days ago

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i'll be the blood if you'll be the bone (i'm giving you all)

Fandom: Grishaverse: Six of Crows and Shadow and Bone Summary: Kaz has asked to speak with them in his office, and neither Inej nor Jesper can imagine what they've done to warrant that kind of seriousness. Warnings: Mentions of touch-aversion, mentions of Inej Ghafa's backstory, and awkward love confessions Word Count: 3,565 Ship(s): Jesper Fahey/Inej Ghafa/Kaz Brekker

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A/N: I had originally written this based entirely off the show, but when I read the books I wanted to go back and change it. I know a lot more about the characters and their backstories since Leigh was able to finish her entire story instead of Netflix just deciding that they didn't wanna, so I figured that this would be better. I hope you all enjoy! Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3

It was well known amongst everyone on the streets of the Barrel that Inej and Jesper belonged to Kaz.

None of them would ever use that word to describe the relationship that they had, but it had been tossed out amongst the bigger gangs and even within their own. The Dregs knew the way that Haskel’s Rabid Dog felt about human ownership and would never dare to imply that he participated in that to his face. They simply whispered it behind their hands or into their mugs, obfuscating the words enough that his spider would be unable to hear them if she was nearby. Secrets in the Barrel never went far without coming across the Wraith, and nothing that she knew ever went longer than a week before it got back to Kaz.

While being in a gang was nothing like the Grisha slave trade or the prostitution along the Stave, it was similar enough to warrant some amount of metaphor. They had the brand of who they had to answer to in ink on their arms, the voice of the man that they took orders from always ringing in their heads, and their entire livelihoods and bodies were controlled by the person that they had vowed themselves to. The difference was that they had chosen to go to Haskell, in the case of the Dregs, when they were poor or down on their luck or running from something that warranted the protection of people around them. Slaves and Grisha didn’t have that choice when they were in Ketterdam, so they were always careful when they chose to use that metaphor around Inej especially.

The ownership of the Dregs went to Per Haskell, since he was the leader. There was rumor of a time when those at the bottom of the Barrel had been owned by someone else, when they had been following the orders of a big man with one eye and a jawline held on by nothing more than some Grisha-made glue. The old men in the gang talked about it sometime, when they were sour that they had to take orders from someone that had just a touch more seniority than them in the gang. None of the younger members, the ones that Kaz had dragged out of the harbor and out of gambling dens, remembered that time. Ownership had always belonged to Haskell, he was the leader.

Other than Inej and Jesper. The two never looked to Haskell when they were getting their orders, dark brown and gray eyes always straying to the rabid hound on his other side. On the occasion that they did get orders from the true leader of the gang, it would be a countdown to see how long it took them to get from Haskell’s office on the first floor up to the attic where Kza had made his own office/bedroom. He gave them orders, he protected them better than the rest of the gang, he even stood closer to them than he did any other human with breath in their lungs.

That was why no one batted an eye when he made his way down the stairs and then called the duo to follow him. At least, it was a surprise to no one but Inej and Jesper.

To the outside eye they looked as loyal to Kaz as everyone else was to Haskell, or even more so. It wasn’t strange for someone to turn into a loyal puppy for the person that had given them a second chance at life in the Barrel, it was why so many people risked their lives for something as stupid as a shipment of jurda or a property location along the most profitable part of the Barrel. Inside of the group, they knew better.

They had a strange dynamic with the boy, but it went far deeper than simply being loyal to him for saving them. Jesper knew that he was the worst at hiding it, the longing looks and brushes of clothing and desperate pleas for attention. Inej was much better, worming her way under his skin so that Kaz had to carry her around like a parasitic bug from across the ocean. They were both deeply in love with Kaz and had forced a friendship in their desperation to be near him, which was why they spent so much time with him.

The moment that they heard the knocking of a cane and heavy boots along the stairs, the conversation that they were having with Pim and Big Bolliger quieted down so that they could pay more attention to their boss. Jesper was sitting in the high-backed chair in the part of the shared living space that was nearest to the water-logged books that they kept around for decoration and dramatic kindling. Inej was on top of the bookshelf that the chair was next to, her legs folded so that her ankles were resting atop Jesper’s shoulders. He didn’t mind since her slippers were light and she kept most of her weight leaned back so the furniture wouldn’t topple.

The entire room went silent when Kaz emerged from the dark depths of the stairwell and looked over them all. It was imposing to see him shrowded in shadows with his heavy woolen overcoat hanging off of his body, hat perched just barely over those stormy brown eyes. “Inej, Jesper. I want to see you in my office when I get back. Twenty minutes,” he rasped.

Neither of them said anything as they watched him make his way over the wooden floor and out of the door, into the raining streets. It was a day where he was going to check in at the Crow Club, to make sure that the small games they could run there currently were going well. They had been renovating the place for what felt like an age but in reality had only been a couple of months. Apparently when Kaz had found it, after securing enough money for them to be able to do anything, it had been decorated in the usual gaudy Barrel flash. Jesper happened to like all the colors and patterns clashing with each other because it reminded him in some ways of his home.

Inej and Jesper shared a look with each other before they began to remove themselves from where they were sitting. The moment that the door of the Slat had swung shut everyone had returned to their conversations, so it was only the two Dregs in front of him that were privy to what the duo was doing. “Where are you going? He said twenty minutes, that means you’ve got at least fifteen to talk to us before you have to be up there,” Pim complained.

“Kaz said twenty as a generous estimate. It takes him about two minutes to get down to the Crow Club when he’s in a rush since people just move out of the way for him and it’ll only take him a minute there if he thinks that everything is going well. We have twenty minutes if he has to fix something,” Inej replied curtly. It was a half truth that no one other than her was ever going to be able to make sure of. She was the only one that could follow where Kaz was going without getting in trouble, not even Jesper could properly get away with that.

There was a sigh of discontent from Big Bolliger but neither of the other Dregs said anything. Inej and Jesper quickly made their way through the main floor of the Slat and into the rickety, shadowy stairwell that Kaz had emerged from. They were quiet as they climbed through the first and second floor, only speaking once they had emerged into the office that they had been told to wait in. What they were going to say to each other was extremely private and while Kaz had renovated the Slat first, the walls were still very thin and everyone they lived with was very nosey.

“What do you think he’s going to talk to us about?” Jesper asked as soon as the heavy wooden door had clicked shut.

“I think you know, Jesper,” Inej replied. She walked through the long attic room to the little bench next to the window. Jesper hadn’t been working with the Dregs for as long as Inej had, but he was certain that Kaz had put that there just for her. He wasn’t the type of person to sit next to a window and look forlornly out at the city that had wronged him or not given him what he desired, nor did he need the street lamps for light since he had plenty of money for his own.

“I don’t, that’s why I asked,” Jesper replied. He looked back at the door and then towards Inej, before he followed after her. She opened the window and then sat on the ledge with her feet dangling against the outside wall. The lip of the roof was just big enough that it prevented her from being soaked by the seaside downpour that they were experiencing. He sat on the bench next to her, his hand traveling the smooth wood of the sill before it connected with her fingers.

“This,” she said as she held their joint hands up so that they were both looking at it. “Jes, we’ve only really been together for about a month and he’s already going to be upset with us when he comes back.”

“I thought that we agreed that we weren’t going to let Kaz scare us out of being with each other when this whole thing started,” Jesper said, a bit defensive. He remembered being in love with Kaz since he was brought into the Dregs and in his opinion it was far past time for him to move on. He had pined after the brooding leader of their micro-gang for long enough, he had to let his heart lead him to something that might actually make him happy.

Inej let out a sigh and turned her face towards the rooftops of Ketterdam. Jesper knew that she would much rather have stayed in Ravka with the family that she had always known, traveling around as an acrobat on the trails that had been worn by her ancestors. He also knew that what she had gone through in the Menagerie had changed her enough that she was another jigsaw piece that belonged to the city and if she was removed from it then she would never be able to fit anywhere else quite as well as she did here. He was the same way, which was why they had tumbled into each other so easily.

“I did say that,” she whispered.

“So why are you acting like Kaz has any right to get involved in our personal business? We’re together just like Anika and Joola were together and it’s none of his business,” Jesper said. He knew that wasn’t really true. Everything that they did would end up being Kaz’s business in one way or another. He was everything that they were and more, after all. It was going to be impossible to disentangle him from their lives, let alone the messy little relationship that had formed between himself and Inej.

“It’s always been him,” Inej whispered.

“I know,” Jesper replied. He leaned forward and placed his forehead on her arm to get a bit more comfort that he knew wouldn’t trigger her into a panic attack. The first week of their relationship had almost ended it and their friendship, back before Jesper had begun to learn her tells. Now he could figure out when the best time to cozy up to her was and when the best time to step back and give her space was. He also made sure to telegraph his movements long before he did them and to not press anything if she looked even a little bit uncomfortable.

She leaned her head to the side so that her cheek was resting on his fluffy coils, reminding Jesper that he had to find someone who could work with Zemini hair so that they could do something about it. Inej let out a long-suffering sigh. “I never thought that I was going to have love, when he broke me out. I thought that I was going to spend my entire day being raped by men who paid a woman that had kidnapped me from my home. But then he never tried to make me do something with my body that I didn’t want to. I could suggest alternatives and we could talk about it, which was something I never even had with my parents. It’s hard not to fall in love with the first person that respects that you’re a whole entire person.

“I respected you as a whole person,” Jesper pouted. He hadn’t been able to figure out the touch-aversion thing as quickly as Kaz, someone who went out of his way to never touch anyone else, had. He regretted it deeply and often sat up thinking about the moments where he had likely triggered Inej back to the horrid place that she had been stolen to.

“I know that Kaz is… different than everyone else,” she whispered. “I’m fully aware of the fact that chasing after his approval, whether that’s verbal affirmation or romantic entanglements aside, is a futile effort. I had always hoped that the more layers I unwound the more I would be able to read him, and then something might happen. But it never did.”

“Are you saying that you settled for me?” Jesper asked, mostly teasing but also asking.

She laughed, remembering the way that her father used to say the same thing to her mother when they were cuddled around the campfire, long after she was meant to be asleep. She parroted her mother, the woman speaking through her mouth though it was her voice. “The heart is not as fickle as some may think. It can love none or it can love many, mine loves many.”

“I know,” Jesper smiled properly at her. “May I kiss your cheek?”

She opened her mouth to answer but then scrambled into the window. “Not at the moment, Kaz is coming.”

They flung themselves away from each other so that they were standing in front of Kaz’s desk at a reasonable yard away from each other. If they were going to be scolded for being in a relationship, though it hadn’t yet affected any of the missions that Kaz had sent them on, then it would be best not to give him another example the moment that he entered.

The door to the office swung open and then clicked shut as the very man that they had been speaking about walked in. “Everything go okay at the club, boss?” Jesper asked. He flicked his heavy overcoat, donned to keep the chill of the bottom floor of the Slat away but never taken off, to the side so that he could run his thumb over the mother-of-pearl handles of his revolver.

“Yes, in fact,” Kaz replied, his voice rasping less than when he had left. It was never going to not be that way, Inej knew because she had talked with Kaz for hours and it had changed but not enough to be considered smooth before it went downhill again. “I wished to speak with you both about something, if you have the time.”

“You haven’t told us to do anything else, so all we have is time,” Jesper replied as he flashed a smile at Kaz.

The other boy didn’t do or say anything about that as he sank down into the chair behind his makeshift desk. He slid some of the mortgage papers and ledgers over to the side so that he could thread his fingers together on top of the wood. “I have noticed the two of you have grown closer within the last month. I wanted to ask if… perhaps, the two of you were in a relationship,” he said.

As he spoke, the words sounded strange and oddly tacky in his mother. Jesper and Inej had heard him say plenty of weird things when he was in disguise while they were out on a heist or another sort of mission, but never in his own timber and clothes. They glanced at each other before Inej said, “We are. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, no problem,” he said a little too quickly. No one in the room missed the way that his eye flicked upwards in a poorly hidden wince while he leaned back in his chair. “I was simply wondering something.”

“Spit it out, boss. You’re going to give one of us a heart attack,” Jesper said. He wasn’t entirely lying about that because he could feel his heart beating rapidly up in his ears.

“I want to join.”

“I’m sorry?” Jesper and Inej said at the same time. Her heart rate had jumped to a million miles a minute when he had said that while Jesper’s stopped and then started again. They glanced at each other before they both turned back to their boss.

Kaz, the Bastard of the Barrel, had red coloring the edges of his cheeks and ears. He had tilted his hands in such a way that the majority of his face was hidden, but it was clear from the way that his shoulders were held that he was embarrassed of the request. “I wanted to enter into your relationship, like polyamory.”

Little was known about the Suli people outside of Ravka, and even then it was sparse information that was likely wrong. Inej knew that polyamory was typical when people were traveling from town to town and got bored of being trapped with one singular partner. She also knew that for Jesper, polyamory was entirely normal because it was easier to homestead on the frontier with up to five adults instead of only two and a hoard of children. Polyamory in Ketterdam, on the other hand, was considered very taboo. None of them really cared about what society thought of them, not when they were the Dregs of the Barrel.

“Are you certain?” Inej asked.

“This was a bad idea. Get out of my office. If either of you breathe a word of this to anyone else I’ll make sure that your bodies are on the Reaper’s Barge faster than you can sneeze,” Kaz said in a rush as he got up from the desk and pointed towards the door.

“Boss, wait a second!” Jesper objected. “We weren’t saying that we thought it was weird for you to want to join our relationship or making fun of you or anything like that! I think that Inej and I were both just shocked that you wanted to in general. We’ve both been in love with you for months if not years and nothing that we ever did seemed to clue you into that fact.”

All the words tumbled from him in a great rush, like if they weren’t spoke in that exact moment then they would never have another chance to be in the open air. Kaz listened to him with wide, dangerous black eyes before he sat heavily back down in his seat. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“Kaz, we do very much want to date you. And we are together,” Inej said. She offered her hand out to him like Jesper had done for her when they had gotten together a month ago.

He looked down at her fingers and then up at her. Finally, he said, “I cannot touch you. It’s not that I don’t want to, because I do. But I can’t. You’re just going to have to trust me on that for a while, because I don’t have the words or the guts to explain that. If you believe that I can love you without touching you, then I would be honored for you to be mine and I to be yours.”

“We already are,” Jesper grinned. “Pretty sure most of the people that try to knock our teeth out think that you have your own gang instead of running Haskell’s.”

“Well that’s because they’re stupid,” Kaz grumbled behind his gloved hands.

Inej spoke next, stopping them from derailing the topic. “Polyamory is normal in my culture, but I know from that that it takes a lot of work. I think that we can love you without needing to touch you because that need is fulfilled by another person. That is the entire purpose of non-monogamy, to have people that can fulfill all your needs without having to put that pressure on one person. So we will continue to show you that we love you by going to you first, by taking care of you, and by annoying the Saints out of you.”

“You can count on that,” Jesper grinned.

Kaz smiled at them, small and shy. They had only ever seen him grin when he had come up with something particularly devious or intelligent, and at that point it had looked like something carved into a gourd around the Autumn in Novyi Zem. This was something precious and delicate, something that they got to share with him and no one else ever would.

#fanfiction #fanfic #writing #ao3 #archive of our own #polycrows #Jesper fahey #Inej ghafa #Kaz brekker #Kaz x Inej x jesper #kazper #kanej #injeper #i'll be the blood if you'll be the bone (i'm giving you all) fic

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sprnklersplashes · 2 years ago

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a laugh I could recognise anywhere (ao3)

inej comes home

He’s kept the window open.

It was easier to justify months ago, when summer had finally blessed Ketterdam. Back then, he could respond with “it’s hot”-not a truth but not a lie- and pretend not to see Jesper’s raised eyebrows or the way Wylan’s lips pressed together in a thin line. They saw right through him but never said a word, out of kindness or self-preservation. And while he can’t show it, he’s grateful for that.

To their credit, they still haven’t said a word, even though summer heat has come and gone and now the sky is grey and the pavement speckled with rain. The occasional Dreg has commented on it, normally the younger ones with something to prove or the older ones who want to show they still “have it”. In those moments, Kaz sees that Dirtyhands still has his uses. One glance from him would banish that topic from the conversation, more often than not replacing it with bumbling apologies. And so the fact of his window becomes a quiet, unspoken and accepted truth. Everyone knows it, but no-one wants to be the first to say it.

Kaz Brekker has left his window open for six months, two weeks and three days. He doesn’t know if he’s the only one counting.

He shakes his head free of the thought and turns his attention to the papers in front of him. The past few weeks may have been kind to the Crow Club upon its grand reopening, the city eager to try their luck once more, but that doesn’t mean they can afford to relax. It took work, more work than setting it up in the first place did, to coax tourists into the Barrel in the first place and then into the soon-to-be-bustling gambling hall again. Kaz looks over the numbers and scribbles down some notes beside them and writes up the rota for the next fortnight’s steerers. The main competition might have taken enough hits to run Rollins out of town (for now), but this city thrives on challenges. New clubs sprouted up like daisies after the quarantine ended, eager to fill the void Rollins’ clubs left. Kaz appreciates the sentiment more than they know, but that doesn’t mean he is ready to sit back just yet. Let those newcomers scrap with him first, then he can pick through what’s left.

Satisfied with the rota, he then pulls that week’s inventory toward him. The tapping of his pen against the table fills the silence, much like he wishes his mind would fill with wine orders and table repairs. Rather than the damned window, the curtain falling out to the other side and likely being soaked by the rain. If the past few days are anything to go by, the rain is only going to get heavier, and if the wind follows suit he might have to replace that curtain altogether-

The side of his hand hits the table, and as he looks down at it, he slowly notices the burst of ink across his glove. He mutters a curse under his breath, then another as he notices the blotch staining the page. His breath rushes out as he dabs the page with his sleeves, hoping to get the worst of it out, while his broken pen leaks ink against the wood of his desk.

He’s pulling open his drawer to grab a new pen when he hears it. The one sound that could cut through him like a knife could, possibly better. A sound that he’d said he’d die to hear again, that if it weren’t for the Club and his Crows and his damned reputation, he might have tried crawling across the sea just to hear again.

He thought, with her gone for so long, he’d forget it. It’s just one sound after all, one inconsequential noise in this world of guns and gambling halls. No-one would blame him, not even her, if he did.

But he didn’t, because Inej Ghafa’s laugh is reverberating through his floorboards, and the world has tilted on its axis.

She’s back, he thinks. It sounds like a grateful prayer in his mind, although who he’d pray to he still doesn’t know.

One shaking hand pushes the drawer, the other reaches for his cane. He rises slowly, the bones in his body creaking like a door on old hinges. His hand tightens around the crow’s head on his cane, the one companion that has served him as much as his real Crows. As the cane makes its first step towards the door, he hears it again, quieter this time. That laugh, fluttering up from three flights of stairs to his office. He hears it, and the cane almost snaps.

He takes his time with the stairs. His cane thumps in a steady rhythm against the wood, as if it can make his heart follow suit. His free hand is shoved into his pocket, his teeth pressed together to stop them from chattering. Everything about him is tight, tight jaw, tight spine, tight hands, the months of anticipation wrapping like a coil around him.

His knuckles almost burst through the gloves as he descends the last flight of stairs. As he does, the quiet murmurings solidify into words and the words into sentences. As the final few stairs come before him, he can hear Jesper filling Inej in on the Van Eck mansion, giving her more detail than he thought possible on the colour of curtains he and Wylan had chosen for the main parlour.

“Jesper Llewellyn Fahey, domesticated at last.” He freezes, his breath trapped in his lungs. All those months looking at maps, wondering where she is, and now he doesn't have to wonder. She travelled farther than any merchant or sailor ever did, and then she came back to the Barrel.

(Back to him, he thinks selfishly).

He lowers himself from the last step and slides into the patch of shadow beside the stairs, his side pressed to the wall. He’s keenly aware of the strange role-reversal taking place; spying on his best spy.

From his vantage point, he sees her, perched on a round table with her feet on the chair. Her hair is braided loosely and falling down her back, a glass held between her hands. Her elbows resting on her knees and her back curved as she leans forward to tease Jesper some more. Her nose scrunches and her eyes crinkle, and for a moment, she looks too good for the knives strapped to her legs. But then she downs her drink. The tilt of her chin is proud as she does so and the square of her shoulders strong. A smile flashes across Kaz’s face. She glows with her power and freedom and purpose , and it's a light that even the Sun Summoner would be put to shame by.

Then she laughs, again, this time at Wylan’s blushing face, and he hides his mouth behind his hand.

He had played that sound over and over in his head, committing it to memory the way Wylan would his sheet music. It was most often at night, laying in his single bed in his attic room, playing it the way one would tell a story to a child. He did wonder recently if this meant he was going mad, becoming so enamoured with a single sound. But he’s had worse experiences with madness. They’re old friends, madness and him, yet madness wishes it had the effect on him that she does.

He looks down, his black-clad legs disappearing into the shadow surrounding him. His hand flexes inside its glove, the feeling both comforting and disconcerting. Six months is a long time for both of them, but it seems to have done more for her than it did him. He’s tried to pull himself out of the grave he dug himself, to find the brighter future Inej believes they can have. To pull himself back into the world, even if it’s a world of smoke and shade and half-dealings. To not shed his past entirely, but to hold onto it as he builds something, real and good and maybe even permanent, from its ashes.

Even if he believed he’s made progress, he would know it’s not enough.

But Kaz is nothing if not determined, and as he watches her smile light up her profile, he knows he won’t give up. Even if it takes him a year to make a real step forward, to be something resembling what she needs, he’ll try.

His cane hits the ground again, and slowly he steps out from the shadow and rounds the corner. Three heads look up, but he only has eyes for one. He watches her eyes widen as he gets closer, listens to the blood rushing through his ears. Goosebumps rise beneath his shirt, cold sweat trickles down his back. This could be a dream, something whispers to him, and he could wake up in the small hours of the morning, alone and safe in his office. Nothing changed, for better or for worse.

He doesn’t though. Instead he stops just steps away from her table and her expectant gaze. His tongue is pressed to the roof of his mouth, his breath so shallow he could be mistaken for a corpse.

It occurs to him then, that maybe she’s waited for this as much as he has. The thought shakes something inside of him, dusting the cobwebs away from something he thought he’d left behind.

“Hello Inej,” he tells her. The words roll off his tongue, grateful to finally be spoken. He holds his breath, the way only she can make him do. She pulls herself off the table and steps closer, not closing the gap between them entirely. But she’s close enough that they could reach out to each other. She’s close enough for their fingertips to touch, if they wanted.

His chest tightens at the thought, and he doesn’t know if it's out of revulsion or something else entirely.

Maybe later, he’ll test it, and see if holding her that day on the docks was a fluke or proof that something had indeed changed.

But for now, he watches her smile, a soft, “hello Kaz” coming as her reply. And if Jesper or Wylan notice the tears momentarily gleaming in his eye, they don’t say anything.

Neither does Inej, but why would she, when twin tears glisten in her own eyes?

“Welcome back.”

#six of crows #kanej #kanej fanfiction #kanej fic #six of crows fanfic #kaz brekker #inej gafha #i tried tm

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carnivorousyandeere · 1 year ago

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Welcome to the Cliffside Inn P.3; Isla and Airna Short Intros

CW: gambling mentions, alcohol implications

Spending some more time with Kurtis, and meeting the enigmatic performers of the hotel’s casino.

The next installment will probably be a more in-depth look at Isla and Airna, rather than an intro to the Siren Eris, since this one ended up being so Kurtis-centric. Hope you all don’t mind 💜

Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5

After Cecilia leaves, you do your best to shake off your nerves and tidy your belongings in the hotel room; your trip is a week and a half long, after all— may as well unpack a little.

You’re almost done when a knock comes at the door. You brace yourself for yet another enigmatic or larger-than-life person to be waiting on the other side of the door, but to your relief and confusion, nobody is there. The confusion of who knocked and why is quickly replaced with a new question— who’d left such fancy clothes outside your room?

And why— as you pick them up to examine them, a letter falls out— do they look like they’d fit you perfectly?

The letter was on extremely nice paper, and sealed with a… a Lisa Frank sticker, of all things, and was written in magenta ink. You supposed it was pretty obvious who’d left the letter after all. The letter invited you to a casino on the property, and even included a little photograph of the building.

Kurtis didn’t sign his name, instead signing with a little bitty heart at the corner of the page. The ink is ever so slightly smeared, in contrast with the neatness of the rest of the page.

Kurtis seems… a little strange, but you can’t deny the attention feels kind of nice. Part of you screams at you to be careful, but the rest says, “fuck it! We’re on vacation!” You idly wonder if you’re going to end up on some kind of Netflix true-crime special thinking that way, but bring the clothes into your room and try them on anyway.

As you suspected, they fit perfectly— and you look good.

The letter didn’t specify a time, and as you look in the mirror, doubt begins to swirl once more. But again you say, “fuck it!” And decide to go anyway.

It’s been a long, and stressful day. Maybe a night of dancing and partying, or people-watching from the corner, will actually be just what you need. Even if Kurtis is there to talk your ear off the whole time.

The evening air is dark and heavy with humidity, clouds masking the sunset and making it look much later at night than it was. You shiver a little in the salty winds buffeting you among sparse plants and sand-crusted walkways.

The gaudy lights of the casino reach you over a sand dune, drawing you inside. The place is lavish, maybe even more so than the main hotel— but if anything, it looks like a place from the 80’s, something straight out of Twin Peaks or Blue Velvet, rather than out of the 20’s.

The lights are soft, and the atmosphere strangely calm for how many people were gambling and drinking. Maybe when you had as much money as these people, gambling felt less… dangerous, you supposed. Tempers just didn’t run as high then.

You meet Kurtis’ eyes from where he stands behind the bar, decked out in a slim tuxedo. Although it isn’t what you would’ve expected from him; it’s plain black-and-white, the only hint of his favorite pinkish shade a pocket square.

He squeezes in between the bartenders, careful not to disturb their mixing, and makes his way to you. Kurtis’ smile is a million watts as he places his hands on your shoulders and thanks you for coming.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” he admits. “We did just meet after all. Didn’t know if you liked this kind of thing. If not, we could always walk on the beach? It’s so peaceful at night, I love walking out there.”

You let Kurtis ramble on for a bit, but assure him you’re fine to stay here for now.

He grins again in response. “Great! There’s actually a really cool show tonight. Not me doing card tricks, although that’s pretty cool too. Tonight we’ve got our best singers and musicians playing a set.”

As if on cue, the lights in the casino dim, some changing to moody colorful lighting, and a hush falls over the crowd. You and Kurtis sit next to one another at the bar, facing the stage opposite.

Musicians begin to play, one-by-one, weaving together a rich tune.

Spotlights flicker on over one, then two, singers. Their voices are soft and dreamy, mixing with one another in a strangely tense harmony. Everybody is entranced by their voices, the words flowing over you and dragging you under… or at least you think they are, until a third spotlight shines on the last singer.

Her voice is strong, tightly controlled, her mastery over pitch unquestionable. Her tone is rich and dark, a slight vocal fry scratching an itch in your brain you hadn’t known was there. This is what it means to be entranced, you find yourself thinking, leaning forward more and more, even forgetting to blink, until Kurtis’ hand around your waist anchors you back to reality.

You look up at him. His expression is more serious than you’ve ever seen before, gaze fixed on the lead singer. Something about it sends a shiver down your spine.

He seems to feel your gaze on him, and turns, leaning to your ear; “She and her voice are beautiful— but only from a distance. You really should stay away from her.”

You blink at the sudden change in his mood, and try to lighten things up with a risky joke, shakily whispering back “Why? You got a history with her?”

Kurtis smiles down at you, expression brightening like the sun peeking through dispersing storm clouds, and he bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “Nah, thank goodness! She’s just a real man eater. And woman eater. And… well, everyone eater.”

You cover your mouth, trying not to laugh too much at his awkward phrasing— especially since the musicians and singers are still hard at work onstage.

You and Kurtis bring your attention back to them, though they don’t manage to ensnare you in the music as deeply this time. They go through one song, then two, then three, before the lights come up and the hushed awe of the crowd splinters into polite-rich-people-applause and admiring whispers.

All of the singers and musicians bow before leaving the stage, save the lead singer, who walks right off. She looks across the room, meeting your eye by chance— there’s something so cold, so electrifying, about her gaze, but then she’s looking away and being hidden by a throng of admirers. The curiosity is eating you alive— you’ll have to ask for her name later.

Kurtis leans down, as if to whisper something in your ear again, but is interrupted by his phone ringing. He smiles apologetically, and excuses himself to take the call. You see a glimpse of that serious side of him again as he walks out, spine straight and brow furrowed.

How strange.

You don’t have much time to ponder this before you’re accosted by two new acquaintances. One of them bounds up and grabs your hand excitedly, and the other approaches more calmly. They look beautiful in the dim light, the sparkles in their makeup and dresses scintillating.

“Hello~!” The first barks out, startling you with her volume. You blink, surprised that the harmony singers who’d put on such a gorgeous show seem so excited to talk with you of all the people in here.

“Haven’t seen you around here before! You new? We might be a resort but we do get a lot of regulars coming around too. You’re really pretty, too-“

“Airna!” The other singer interjects with a laugh, “I think you’re coming on a little strong. Give them a chance to answer your questions, cariño.”

Airna flushes, smiling guiltily at her, then you. “Hehe, sorry. I’ve been overexcitable like that since I was little.”

You introduce yourself, and they introduce themselves.

Airna and Isla, two peas in a pod. Even just meeting them, you can tell they have a way of completing the other. It makes your heart ache just a little, wishing you had someone like that. But you don’t say so, and the conversation stays light. They’re fun to talk to, and the time slips by before you know it.

#cliffside inn #beachside resort #oc Isla #oc Airna #oc kurtis #my thoughts #yandere #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere cw

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running-with-kn1ves · 3 years ago

Text

Yandere! Male x GN Reader X Yandere! Female

A/N: Aight so I wasn’t planning for this to be one of my october fics but I recently watched sweeney todd and bro.. the vibes. I have been working on this for a while and even though its not my proudest piece, I’m lowkey happy that the writing sounds decent sometimes. maybe its just decent to me because I’m half asleep--

TW: Yandere/obsessive themes, kidnapping, stalking, murder/blood/gore, dubcon kissing/touching, implied nsfw, verbal abuse, physical abuse

It’s a strange and scary sensation to suddenly forget your own name.

You knew that feeling all too well, after years of no one calling it out. You had simply been referred to as “Child” or “nuisance” for as long as you could remember. It had been years; perhaps she didn’t remember your name anymore. Perhaps you never had one.

It always seemed that way until you read the crinkled, musty letters which wrote your name in rushed ink. But that woman refused to call out to you, due to the remembrance of your family. If she could've given you another name, you knew she would have. But she was incapable of doing so, which left you with the same nicknames. Child. Nuisance. Pest. Irritant. And occasionally, harlot.

With this, you were grateful to have your own room despite the constant lingering threat of ‘Auntie’ taking it away. She wasn’t your real aunt, merely a familially estranged, angry old bat who managed to convince the judge that she should handle you.

You were just the price she had to pay in order to keep herself off the streets. With the decent wealth your parents left you, you were quite well off; at least, well off enough to live without you or the old bat working. But you knew the money was running out, even the woman claimed so when she talked to herself.

The hag felt no fondness towards you, and you none to her. You had tried time and time again to form a bond, some kind of familial connection, but it only brought back screaming and crying, as well as the blaming of your parent’s irresponsibility. She claimed they made you such a burden to her, despite her being a distant family member. And yet, you always appeared to be such a nuisance, such the distress.

You tried to be thankful, tried to move past the insults, but the rising frustration in your voice was difficult to suppress. Even today, it was hard to be kind.

“Auntie,” You started, trying to pull her in with a name of endearment. “What are we going to do about the house? I understand you dislike me working but.. I’m of age.”

The woman you so dearly called Auntie hummed in response, showing that she was listening. Her moods were always a gamble; through the years you had learned to recognize her small behaviors.

“I’m past the ideal working or marrying age. I should have been out of this house long ago; you know how quickly everyone’s moving,” Trying to keep her on your side, you brought out what you knew would catch her eye. “After all, high society is growing smaller these days. You read about the impending plague, yes? It’s wiping out whole families.”

“That illness is a dreadful thing...” She mumbled under her breath.

“Indeed, Auntie. In order for me to marry well, I’m going to need to have some suitors. With age, my desirability grows smaller.”

You hated referring to yourself this way. Marriage? With a snotty aristocrat? You may have come from a line of inherited wealth but it was nowhere near their extremity. In fact, most of your familial funding was used by Auntie for her own means. You had no desire to meddle with the rich’s affairs; but, you couldn’t deny that your blood came from a long line of successful people. And with that, finding a wealthy spouse was your prime goal: it may be lowly, but it was a far better idea than selling yourself on the streets.

“Yes, prime reproductive… you will not be prime for long..” She moved away from tending to her pot of ivy, sweeping the floor of your bedroom. It was an odd arrangement, her cleaning your room, but you learned not to question it. The last time you tried to take control of your room’s cleanliness, she forbade you from touching a broom for a week.

“Yes Auntie… So I must go outside, and meet some eligible supplicants, yes?”

“Absolutely not.” Auntie’s voice was not harsh, nor angry like you expected it to be. “I will not allow you to leave this house on your own. And I am far too busy tending to the house to supervise your… amusement.”

“But Auntie I can’t stay here forever! If I don’t find someone to support me, I’ll be on the streets.”

A dark shadow fell upon her face; you made the mistake in talking only of yourself.

“You’ll be on the streets, you say?” She moved towards you, the broom still in her hand.��

“Auntie you know I didn’t mean it like that..”

“No, no child. I understood exactly what you meant.”

Her tone grew louder, the end of the broom facing towards you.

“You’ll be on the streets. You’ll be poor. You’ll be selling yourself. Is that what I hear?!”

“No Auntie I…”

She hit you with the brush end of the broom, a cloud of dust forming. The hay dug roughly into your stomach.

“Ungrateful wretch! After all I've done and worked for, after all I've had to do to give you a good life... I will not tolerate this behavior.”

She hit you once more with the stick end of the broom, huffing in frustration. You didn’t realize she’d switch from calm to unhinged so quickly. It wasn’t as bad as usual, but still a backwards step nonetheless.

“You will remain here until you learn to be grateful for me.”

Shutting the door roughly, Auntie locked the deadbolts from the outside. You could hear the click and clammer of the metal against itself, proving that you really were once more stuck in this house. In this place with little sun and even littler socialization.

You weeped into your hands, only able to make the sounds of despairing moans and whimpers against yourself. You could hardly think whilst sobbing; only that you hoped Auntie wouldn’t be able to hear you.

Her rushed footsteps up the stairs made you wipe your eyes quickly. Picking up a book, you moved to sit near the window so she wouldn’t suspect anything if she dared enter your room again.

Her footsteps receded, leaving you in agonizing peace. You tried to focus your attention outside, just to keep your mind off of Auntie for a while. Taking in the details, you concluded that the outside world was almost bleak: greys and overcast skies made your bedroom seem like heaven. Though it was dirty and loud, you would have much preferred the outside air compared to the suffocating stench of your home. Auntie’s home.

While the shouting children and bargaining grocers caught your attention at first, the woman standing below your window easily grabbed your eye. She watered small carnations, ones that had barely bloomed. As soon as you noticed her, she looked up at you. You both locked eyes, your hand firmly pressed against the window. She stopped watering the flowers, merely staring just to gaze at you. You worried at her reaction, afraid that you may have done something wrong due to her lack of expression.

But to your surprise, she smiled up at you. Her red auburn hair blew in the wind, the long, thick curly locks making you stare in awe. Opening your window, you looked closer at her. As she tried to speak to you, you hushed her furiously, bringing a finger to your lips. The woman quickly understood, nodding and bringing a finger to her plump lips as well.

Letting your hand fall, you felt a piece of ribbon escape in the breeze. The small scrap of fabric from your wrist flew off, floating to the bustling town. The girl caught the slip of smooth fabric before it could hit the cobblestone, feverishly rushing to it before it could touch the dirt filled floor.

You reached down to grab it, knowing you were too high to ever get down there safely. The woman stepped upon the side of the building, trying to lift the ribbon to you. Her eyes were filled with an emotion you had never witnessed before; from your little knowledge on feelings other than anger and despair, she looked… hungry. Hungry for something. Her mouth read kindness, lips curling up to the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. She was prettier than Auntie’s peonies. Her assortment of different skin colors on her face and hands was different, unlike you had ever seen before. Despite the kindness she radiated, her eyes held a nearly scary look; strong and hard eyes yearning for something you did not know of.

You reached out to take the ribbon from her hand. You were barely able to touch her hand even as she lifted it towards you. The ribbon was too flimsy, too long and thin for you to grab. Instead of reaching further, you pushed her hand down to clasp the ribbon.

“Keep it.” You mouthed, hoping she’d agree.

The woman looked slightly surprised, but ultimately delighted. Hearing a knock on your door, you looked back at the empty room. Your face went rigid; the woman lowered her hand quickly, moving away from your window. You looked back at her with fear and sympathy, giving a small smile before you shut the window doors.

You looked back once more at the door to hear the metal bolts clinging against one another. From outside, the girl backed away slowly, continuing to look up at you in the window. Her basket held an assortment of flowers, as well as your lone ribbon. She waved toward you, bumping into other townspeople behind her. Before you could wave back, Auntie bursted into the room.

“Dear heavens child! Get away from that window!”

You were ripped away from the open scenery, Auntie’s hands pushing you away. She closed the curtains quickly, swatting away the small bit of dust that came into the air.

“I’m sorry Auntie I..”

“You what,you were conversing with those lowlifes! Now you listen to me,” The greying old woman shook a finger at you, a hand on her hip. “You do not ever speak to those people. Goodness, do you know what they will do to you? I cannot let you interact with such.. Filth.”

“Yes Auntie..” You did not dare to fight with her; it was clear the argument from before was bad enough. Even today seemed to be a bit more watchful; she hardly entered your room so consistently.

“Good. Now I will have no more of this, stay away from that window, child.”

You were on the edge of protesting on that nickname, but bit your tongue. She still saw you as an infant, a baby barely able to feed itself. Despite your being at prime, nearly past the age to be wed, she still treated you like the child she never wanted.

Auntie’s shoes clicked against the floor, allowing you to recognize that she was soon gone once the clicking dissipated; you refused to watch her leave like she wanted you to. Racing to the window, you checked to see if that girl was still there. Opening the curtains just a peek, you saw her nowhere to be found. It was growing late, dark even. Grocers and florists began to gather their produce, protecting it for safekeeping in the night. You had spent most of the day reading, and napping occasionally: like you had been for the past year.

Though you were sad it was growing to nightfall, you couldn’t help but daydream that the mysterious woman from outside your window would come back. She was addictive; her scent of jasmine and smile of solid sunshine was unforgettable. Maybe, just maybe, you’d get to see her tomorrow. After all, it wasn’t like you’d be leaving anytime soon.

Preparing for bed, you ignored Auntie as she mumbled to herself downstairs. It was a blessing that she tended to leave you in peace at night.

As you washed your face leisurely, you heard a small tap at the window. And then another. The short clink of something hitting the glass panes made you nervous. It seemed harmless at first, maybe just a moth drawn to your lamp from inside.

The tapping got louder, something bigger beginning to be thrown.

“Goodness, what is that noise!?” You heard Auntie yell from downstairs, her impeccable sense of hearing assisting her in your mischiefs.

Running to the window, you pried open the curtains to see what awaited you. It was… a man. But not one of the many men you had seen around town before. In your little corner of the world, there were only a select few who wandered or sold near your home. You had begun to recognize them by face; and this man was not one you had seen before.

He was nearly ominous, holding a burning lantern. The shadow of the light casted upon his face. Darkness from the night covered him, allowing you to only witness vague features. Other than his strong, striking grin, you couldn’t make out much of him. He looked terrifying, but almost… inviting. His strong dimples made him look even younger than you first assumed.

The man was excited to see you, excited that you popped up out of your window to give him a crumb of your time. He threw something towards you. Out of instinct you flinched, but came into contact with nothing. The window got the brute of it: a small rock. Looking back at the man, you saw him eagerly nod at you to open the window. Doing as he instructed, you squinted to look better at him in the dark.

He shouted a whisper at you, cupping one hand around his mouth to project himself. Despite his efforts, you could not hear a word.

“I said--” He tried to speak in a louder tone but you shushed him immediately. Your harsh scolding caught him off guard, but he covered his mouth quickly. You laughed quietly at the goofiness, the exaggeration of his movements being something you had never seen before.

Grabbing something off the floor, the dark stranger prepared to throw something. Putting down the lantern, he made sure you were watching as he hurled something off white at you. You flinched at the sudden and heavy toss, but managed to catch the item. In your hands, was a small baby pink peony, tied to a rock with a ripped ribbon. Your ribbon; the one you threw to the girl mere hours ago.

Looking to the man for answers, you found no one to be there. Any trace of him was gone, leaving as quickly as he came. Smelling the small peony, you inhaled a sweet scent of floral jasmine and firewood.

---

That night you could hardly rest. You were excited at all this newfound attention; albeit a little confused. How did two strangers that you’d never seen before take such an interest in you? It seemed to come out of nowhere. Though your night was filled with restless sleep, you got up the next morning bright and early. Focusing on your daily tasks, you appeared to come into less trouble with Auntie compared to before. She spent her day mumbling and reading a book, drinking the sour tea she always did. It was your day to clean up the house, and you were grateful for it. Finally, something that pulled you away from the confines of your room.

It seemed to go well, the day moving slowly, yet unfortunately not as eventful as the evening before; or so it seemed. Auntie had barely acknowledged you the entire day, yet once you were scrubbing the kitchen floors did she call.

“You- you, come to me now child!”

Rushing off your feet, you ran to see what the matter was. Auntie was a shouter, her quiet moments were few and far apart. But something about the way she shrieked was different than usual.

She spoke to herself while tearing a bouquet of flowers apart.

“You harlot! I-- I can hardly believe this!”

She ripped thin tulips out of their paper wrapping, petals falling to the floor.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

“Auntie, I have no--”

“Prostitute!!” She accused.

“You’ve been selling yourself, haven’t you? Being a devious little nuisance behind my back-- working in the whorehouse while I’m gone!”

“No I’d never!”

“So then what’s this!? Pray tell my dear, what is this sinful little note talking about!”

The woman waved a small paper in front of your face, the writing barely distinguishable. Throwing the paper at you, she mumbled angrily to herself again, stomping around the house. Picking up the tulips roughly, she threw them into the fire pit.

Reading the note, you felt confusion and exhilaration pump through you.

‘We’re coming to gather you, dear love; be prepared for us. Sharing never comes easy.’

At the bottom, two signatures signed the letter. N, and C. You didn’t recognize the two different initials; neither you or Auntie had ever come in contact with a person’s names starting with a C or N. Perhaps it was a last name? You couldn’t untangle yourself from the confusion, too lost and afraid to understand.

Auntie grabbed you from the back of your head, pulling you with her in a harsh grip.

“I will tolerate none of this. I will not have a whore living in my house, luring men off the streets!”

“That hurts--!” Auntie forced you into your bedroom, throwing you onto the floor by your hair.

She slammed the door shut, locking all of the deadbolts with fury. You felt yourself shake uncontrollably. You couldn’t control the sobbing noises leaving your throat as tears welled. Auntie’s anger on the other side of the door was clearly heard, her mumbling and incoherent ramblings growing louder as she hammered against the door. You didn’t doubt she was adding another chain lock, possibly a board from how hard she was hitting the wood.

You tripped over to your bed, crying into the sheets. What had you done wrong? You didn’t even know who the flowers were from; Auntie hadn’t let you speak, or justify yourself at all. After the rattle of chains wrapping around the doorknob stopped, you found your hiccups begin to slow.

Auntie stormed off angrily, commenting on your misbehavior from down the stairs. Looking out your window, you couldn’t help but keep your eyes on the tops of the buildings that you could see. It seemed amazing; to live a fulfilling life managed by no one but yourself. It was hard to stop yourself from remembering the two mysterious, but alluring strangers from last night.

Maybe that note was from one of them? You dearly wished, prayed that it was true, but the unlikelihood was high. A pit formed in your stomach as you realized you’d be in this room until the day you died; that was if Auntie didn’t die first. You could never hurt her, but you did desperately hope that maybe someone or something could sweep her off her feet. Maybe a lover, or an illness.

The mesmerizing glow of the sun hypnotized you, making your eyes grow dreary. Auntie’s anger had manifested into silence, allowing you to slip easily into an early dream. The sleep was uncomfortable, but far more enjoyable than dealing with Auntie’s shouting.

You didn’t awaken for several hours, the exhaustion from crying and hard labor making you sleepy. It was until clanging against your door was heard, that you awoke. Its noise was gentle, cautious even. The person taking off the chains on your door was clearly doing so secretly. Whispering on the other side of the door could be heard, two voices threatening to enter your room. The gentle clammer of metal hitting the ground made you tense up. With a creak, the door opened.

You sat up in your bed, looking at the two dark figures inch closer.

“Who are you? What are you doing…?”

Sitting cautiously, you awaited an answer; Auntie would never do something like this, so there was no way it could be her. And there were two... Two people? Why were there two strangers in your home?

“Shh.” A feminine voice hushed you. Neither of the stranger’s faces were visible, but their hostile shadows were more than enough of a threat. Though the woman who shushed you was more… calming than expected. She didn’t speak to you with annoyance or in incoherent mumbles like you had expected from most people in your life.

“Just relax.” Another voice called.

“Yes, just lie down. We’ll take care of you.”

The feminine voice responded, a long hand growing to touch your forehead.

“No...no this isn’t right.” You prepared to scream for help, but a palm quickly forced itself over your mouth. Another pair of arms grabbed your hair, gripping it with strength and mercy. Your head was painfully thrown against the wall. The room was filled with hushed breaths from your invaders, but yours were shallow. Through the dark, you felt your hands forced behind your back. Warm fingers touched your face as you blacked out from the pain.

You hardly felt yourself get carried out, the two voices bickering as your body was lovingly dragged out of the room; out of the house. You couldn’t recall the bloodstained livingroom floor, or your Aunt’s corpse sitting on the couch as if she was supposed to be there. Her insides fell out with ease.

It wasn’t until the rush of wind blowing on your face, did you realize you were outside of your home. The bumpy gravel road making a riding cart shake didn’t bother you as someone stroked your head. Softly, a woman hummed as she ran her fingers through your hair. You couldn’t open your eyes, but you knew something was wrong; something was different. But the kindness in her voice and the soft touch of someone else's hands around your own, made you drift back to sleep.

The moment you finally awoke, things were much different. Kind nails were still tickling your scalp, but the air was strange. A lullaby was being sung behind you, as bright lights made your eyes strain. A woman had her chest pressed to your back, her arms gliding down.

You could hardly recall the previous events as your eyes opened. Groaning, you tried to understand where you were. It wasn’t your bedroom. The area didn’t look anything like your home at all. Dried flowers and papers hung from the walls, as oil lamps burned brightly. The woman from behind didn’t sound like Auntie; in fact Auntie would never do something like this. She wasn’t the type of person to take you out of the house, and especially would never touch you so lovingly.

“Where…” You tried to speak, but were quickly hushed.

“Dear don’t say a word, you must be so tired. Go back to sleep.” A feminine voice spoke in your ear, her hands resting on your shoulder and neck.

“No… I have to, I have to go home..”

Trying to pull yourself awake, you remembered the previous quick events. People, in your home. Two of them bursted through your room, attacking you. Well, they sounded slightly kind, almost apologetic. You couldn’t tell if you were in danger, or in safe care. Sure, it was painful when your head was forced against the wall, but the woman acting so caring to you didn’t seem to be a threat.

“Wait, are you--” Before you could finish your sentence, someone tore open the door.

“Well well, it seems like our little flower is awake!”

A man stared down at you, his eyes beaming back and forth from you and something from behind. The woman shushed again, this time more harshly at him.

“Can’t you see I’m doing something? Our darling needs sleep.”

“Hey--” The man interrupted again, pushing his blonde hair back.

“Agh Nara they’re already awake it doesn’t matter. Besides,” Bending down, the eager man came face to face with you. “I wanted a better look at our sweetheart. A cutie, huh?”

You didn’t move from his touch as he pinched your chin in between his fingers, turning your face sideways. The woman behind you slapped his hand away, her patched skin looking familiar.

“Caius! Don’t hurt our flower!”

The man you learned to be named Caius, put his hands up in surrender. “Hey hey I was just trying to get a better look. After all I only saw em in the dark, you got a better view.”

“Well, that’s because I found them first.”

The woman spoke with a pouty tone, her fingers placing something in your hair.

“There, I’m done,” The man in front of you tried to touch something in your hair, but his hand was slapped away again. “Dont ruin my masterpiece.”

Putting a hand mirror in front of you, the woman admired your reflection. Your hair was decorated with a multitude of flowers and pins, each secured safely and decoratively. You felt like a doll.

Removing herself from behind you, the woman moved to stand. Her demeanor was familiar, but that wasn’t what made her recognizable. It was the scent of jasmine and her patched dark and light skin that made her so familiar. The man she stood next to, crossed his hands over his chest.

“Hey you.. You’re the girl I saw in the street.. The one who caught my ribbon.” You said with a groggy tone.

The woman’s eyes widened with her smile. She looked down, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Naramore!” The man shouted, jabbing her in the arm. “You’re remembered but not me?”

Looking at the man, you tried to remember his face, but couldn’t find anything familiar.

“Hey come on now, you remember me don’t ya? I gave you that pretty flower, with your little fancy ribbon huh?” He bent down to your height in the chair again, resting his hands on your thighs.

“That was my idea..” Naramore, the woman mumbled.

Grabbing a lantern, the man put it under his face. “Does this look familiar at all?” He asked with desperation.

“The man… from last night, with the flower?”

“Yes!” Tossing the lantern down harshly he gripped your face tightly and gave you a quick peck on the lips. “See I knew you’d remember. Still, I can't believe she made a better impression than I did..”

You looked at him with a bewildered expression, confused at the sudden closeness.

“Hey Nara,” Caius turned to look behind him, his long, blonde hair cascading over his shoulder. “You think we should untie em? Seems like a waste don’t it?”

You tried to move your arms and realized he was right: you were tied up. It didn’t alarm you as much as it should have, but these two didn’t seem particularly harmful.

“I’m not sure... Our flower doesn’t seem so trustworthy yet.”

You piped up at that, feeling you needed to show your reliability.

“No I, I won’t move. I promise. I just want to know what’s going on.”

Naramore stared at you scrutinizingly, still unsure if she should let you be.

“I know!” Caius shouted, moving behind you. “Why don’t we test you? See if you can handle being released?”

You looked back at Naramore, seeing if she agreed. You didn’t mind that; after all, you must have been restrained for a good reason, right? These people didn’t seem like the crazy lunatics Auntie always warned you about.

“Alright..” Naramore said with hesitancy, sitting on the bed behind you. “But if you try to run away, I won’t hesitate to tie you up again, alright?”

You nodded your head, confident despite her worried stare. Untying the rope from your wrists, Caius allowed you to stand up from the wooden chair.

“Good.” He said, seeing how you stood without moving. “Now, sit down.”

You complied, sitting on the bed next to the woman.

“Now what should I do?... Can you trust me?”

You awaited further instructions as Naramore stroked your arm, looking at the red marks the rope left. Caius sat down next to you, putting a hand on the end of your thigh.

“Hmmm…” He pondered, rubbing your leg.

“Well, are you willing to be obedient…?” Naramore asked, her hands keeping busy with a small flower as she stared at you.

Nodding your head, you looked back at Caius as he held a devious smile.

“Oh? You’ll be obedient for us? You’ll do… anything?” He traced fingers up your leg to your waist.

“Yes... Why?”

Getting close to your face, the man looking solely into your eyes. “So you’ll… kiss me then?”

You went rigid at his request, looking down.

“What? Can’t do it?” Caius removed his hand, sighing dramatically. “Then I guess we’ll just have to tie you up again, how unfortunate…”

“No I... I can do it.” You put your shoulders back, trying to prep yourself for his desire.

Caius looked at you with challenging eyes while Naramore stared with caution. The both of them awaited you to make your move.

Gripping his face lightly, you pressed your lips against Caius’; He quickly put a hand to the back of your head, making your face smush against his. Grunting, the man whined as you were pulled away from him.

“Caius how come you always get to make the first move?” Naramore questioned with a pout, her grip on your sleeve pulling you closer to her. Her sweet smell was in contrast to Caius’ firewood scent.

“Fine, why don’t you have cutie here do the same for you?”

Caius tapped your chin, making you face Naramore.

“Fine.” The woman pushed back her hair, making you look straight at her. She looked slightly flustered, but self-assured. You did the same ritual with her, holding her cheek lightly as your lips barely touched hers. You stayed next to her, merely staring back through half-lidded eyes. Her breathing quickened, fingers gripping onto the fabric against your abdomen.

“Hey,” Caius scowled, pulling you harshly back to him. “Now who’s the greedy one huh? Taking our flower for yourself..”

Caius pushed your face against his, grabbing your hands up. The man gave your bottom lip a small tug with his teeth, beckoning for more. Wordlessly Naramore pulled you over to her, a small glare pointed over at Caius.

“Why don’t you let me see if our flower is ready, okay? Go back to doing whatever before you disturbed us.”

Naramore gently put herself against you again, her chest pressed against yours as she lightly touched your lips. Her hand gripped your hair, pulling you closer but with a type of gentleness that was different from Caius.

Moving away, you looked with concern at the two. You had been here without any sign of familiarity; where was Auntie, and why weren’t you back home?

“Where’s..my aunt? Is she here?”

Naramore went frozen. Looking back at Caius, you saw a grim expression stuck on his face.

“Why don’t you worry about something else, alright? We’ll take care of you. Your aunt... She left. You’re in our care now.” Caius spoke with a tone of superiority that you couldn’t deny.

You pondered the idea. She left? Auntie would never just up and leave… But, you couldn’t deny that what these people were saying seemed like a dream come true. Maybe, you could let this dream last a little longer.

“Alright…”

“Good.” Naramore said with a stern tone. She looked nervous, fidgeting with the small petals still stuck to her dress. Clearing her throat, she tried to clear the fearful air.

“Now, Caius I believe our little flower has shown loyalty… but which one of us do they like better?”

Caius looked with thought, as if the idea had never occurred to him.

“Good question..” He pondered, putting a hand up to his mouth.

“Tell me, aren’t I your favorite? I found you first, after all. Caius here wouldn’t even know of your existence if it wasn’t for me. Don’t you like me more?” Naramore fluttered her eyelashes towards you, interlocking her fingers with your own.

“Now hold on a minute,” Caius grabbed your other hand, pulling it towards him. “How can you say such a thing? I made sure our flower arrived here safely; if It wasn’t for me, things would still be like they were before. Isn’t that right, flower? You’d still be stuck up in that bedroom?”

The two stared at you expectantly, both wanting you to say their names. You didn’t know how to satisfy both of them.

“Well…”

“I propose an idea,” Naramore spoke boldly, looking directly at Caius. “Whoever can make our flower the happiest, would be the most loved, yes?”

Caius looked back, squinting at the woman next to you. “That’s true..”

“So, why don’t we hold a contest: whoever can pleasure my sweet flower here the greatest, gets to be claimed as their favorite.”

“I think you mean my flower.” Caius gripped your arm with more force, pulling you towards him.

“So it’s a deal then?” Naramore smiled cunningly.

“You’re on.”

“Wait.. I don’t really--”

“Be still.” Caius commanded, holding your shoulder in place. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips before you could respond.

You whimpered at the pair of hands undoing the top buttons of your nightshirt.

Naramore gripped at the lace trim of your shirt, pulling it upwards as she planted small kisses on your neck. You couldn’t help but suck in air through your teeth as Caius nipped at your shoulder ,slightly tugging down the fabric covering your arms.

“Wait but....” You felt strange, the mood escalating far too quickly than you had expected.

“Be quiet, flower.” Naramore whispered in your ear as she pulled at the top part of your pants.

“Yes, just enjoy it. We’ll be gentle.” Caius agreed, having unbuttoned most of your shirt.

You obliged, feeling Naramore lick at your lips as she pressed small kisses against your mouth.

Pulling again at your pants, Naramore let go as Caius pushed you down on the bed.

“Now, are you ready to find who you like more, flower?”

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georgiapeach30513 · 3 years ago

Text

A Losing Hand, Part 10

Summary: Andy comes to collect, partially in the past

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: mild

Warnings: explicit language, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 2.3k

Series Masterlist

*divider created by @firefly-graphics

Hearing the doorbell ring at the flower shop, your eyes drift up and catch sight of those dark menacing eyes. Except with you, there’s a kindness. Quickly averting your gaze you go back to arranging the flowers, trying to make yourself look invisible.

It isn’t time for him to be here. He had already collected your father’s dues. And what’s worse, up until recently, he sent someone to collect, and now he did it himself. He whispers something in your father’s ear before slowly approaching you.

His ringed and tattooed hands slide onto the counter, and he taps his fingers on the wood, drawing the most attention to his marks and rings. Spades are all inked all over his body, and it doesn’t take a genius to know who this is. “Honey, you not going to help me.”

“What can I do for you today, Mr. Barber?” you ask sweetly. Andy tilts his head to the side, and gives you a soft smile, making your gaze go back to his hands. Your cheeks heat up, and your stomach draws up in knots. He should not be making you feel this way.

“I’ve told you before, call me Andy.”

“Andy,” you begin to ask looking back up at him, your words getting caught in your throat. “Has he not paid his dues?”

“He was a bit short.”

“Oh, I-I…if you give me a couple of days, I can make it up to you.”

“No need,” he responds quickly. That crooked smirk appearing on his face. “I have an easier way for you to make it up to me.”

“Whatever you need, Andy.”

His large body leans over the counter, and his hand wraps around your neck, bringing you closer to him, “Watch your words, honey. Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Andy Barber,” he cocks up an eyebrow, wanting you to continue. “King of Spades.”

“Good girl,” rolls off his tongue, in a deep gravely timbre, feeling it directly in your core. A high from his words, spread throughout your limbs, causing you to feel a bit numb. Your thighs press firmly together, and you try to back away. “Do I scare you?”

“You intimidate me. I…I’ll help my dad pay. He-he…just…”

“Calm down. I won’t hold you to your words yet. But in the future, watch how you say something. You said anything?” you give him a nod, and he smiles back. “What if I asked you to dinner,” you let out a puff of air and look back at his hands. Refusing his question would not be wise, but also agreeing, puts you in the life you didn’t want. “It’s one dinner, I got your father’s permission. You had to have known I was coming in here for more than the dues.”

“The King also doesn’t collect.”

“Pretty and smart,” you finally dare to look up at him, and you can’t help but smile. “You like me coming here, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven then.”

“So what is it you do for fun?” Andy had been nothing but a gentleman. Holding your door open, listened to whatever you said, his hand tastefully resting at the small of you back. And even at dinner the conversation was easy, and it flowed.

“Surly counting cards for your father’s debt isn’t all you do.”

“You know about that?”

Andy takes a bite of his food, smirking at you, “I know everything. Especially about you.”

“That’s not creepy at all.”

“You think it’s okay for a father to let his daughter roam around at night, in the seedy part of town, and all because she has to clear his debt?” you give him a quick shake of your head, answering with a no.

“Exactly, his debt. He’s a coward, he’s a junkie. Addicted to the high of gambling, and sends his daughter to make more money, and instead of paying off his debt, he gambles it away. And how did you fix that?”

“I started taking the money to his bookie.”

Andy rolls his eyes, settling back into the chair. He looks you up and down disbelieving of how you, his sweet Daisy girl could come from such an incompetent man. “How did you know.”

“Had you followed,” you start to speak, but he holds up his hand. “I have this urge and need to protect you. You’ve got this disgusting son of a bitch father, who is supposed to protect you, and instead he lets you roam around at night, in pure Diamond territory. It’s pathetic. I’m offering you a safe place.”

“I can’t leave…”

“Before you make up your mind,” holding up his hand, he gestures for the check, “come by, look at the compound. You’d have your own room.”

“Not in yours?”

Andy takes a quick sip of his wine, watching you wiggle around. Looking down at your lap to notice how you’re clenching your thighs together. “I do have a big bed, if you wanted to share.”

“No.”

“Very well,” his voice darkens. Paying the check he quickly stands. Grabbing up your coat to wrap it around you, before gently pulling you to the car.

The ride to the Spade compound is silent. Feeling like an eternity, and a heavy cloud hangs over your head. You can almost feel Andy clenching his teeth. “Andy, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you’re not sure why, but your hand moves to rest on his. Softly caressing over his skin, and you finally feel him relax again. Even giving you a genuine smile.

Excitedly, he walks you around the compound. Giving you a tour of every room that should matter. “This is your room?” you ask. Your hand runs over everything you can. Pristine, immaculate and clean. Dark and foreboding, as most Spade buildings are.

“It is,” you look up at him through your lashes, and swallow deeply. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Yes.”

He walks as close to you as he can. His hand caresses your cheek, and his fingers settle on the back of your head, “Why?”

“Because…”

“Because, why?” your face moves closer to him, so close you feel his heated breath. You even grab up his free hand, placing it on your hip.

“Because I like it.”

“Good girl,” he whispers before slotting his lips on yours. His hands hold you tight to his body. Sliding around and down, before cupping the swell of your ass. Lifting you up he starts walking the two of you to the bed.

With a tickle of his tongue on your lips, you grant him entrance, and you have the first taste of your King. He knew it long before you did, that he was yours.

Settling down in between your thighs, his own thighs push yours further apart. His hands moving down to your panties, before you finally come to. “Andy no,” you pant, but still he doesn’t stop.

Going under your dress, he goes to hook his fingers, under your panties, “Andy, stop. Please, don’t.”

Finally, he pulls back to look at you, and he jerks his hands off. Holding them up in surrender. “What?”

“Just kissing.”

“It was fun.”

“It’s too fast. Just. Kissing.”

“Okay. Just kissing. But, you’re sleeping here. In my bed,” he starts unbuttoning his shirt, and that’s when you see the thick chords of muscle on his broad chest. Thick and toned, and you can’t help but to stare.

Andy gives you a little chuckle when he throws that shirt at you, “You’re drooling. You like what you see?”

“You know you’re attractive.”

“And that’s not what I asked. You can have every part of it. Your dad did say you were a sweet girl. Have you ever had a boyfriend?” ashamed you look away but shake your head no.

“It’s like you were made for me. That door leads to the bathroom. Go change.”

You walk into his bathroom, and quickly change into the shirt he just removed. The pressed white shirt smelling of his dark and mysterious cologne. Still those pesky butterflies turn your tummy into knots.

“You okay?” he asks, and when you open the door, he’s right there. “It’s a big bed. The compound is bigger. I don’t want you to get lost.”

“You can stay. Just kissing.”

He picks you up quickly and holds you tight to his chest. Giving you the biggest smile when you giggle. “Just kissing sweet girl.”

“You’re a pathetic man,” Andy’s fist slams down on your father’s desk, and he looks back out the door just to make sure you aren’t here.

“She’s my daughter. You can’t just keep her in Spade territory.”

“I’m giving her a fucking choice, old man. She’s choosing to stay with me. Sleeps peacefully every night, and then you go and make her feel guilty for your fucking debt. You got yourself into this mess. Why is it her problem.”

Your father goes to rub his hand over his neck, while Andy looks back out to the flower shop again. “You let her go into Diamond territory with no regard to her safety. I’m giving her the life you couldn’t.”

“Life of a murderer.”

“With a man willing to die to protect her!”

“And what about me?” he shouts at Andy, and Andy backhands him.

“Your debt isn’t her problem.”

“I need her. I’ve got problems.”

Andy looks at the pitiful little office. Even the run down flower shop. It won’t be long until it falls under anyways. “How much?”

“Two hundred grand.”

“I give you half. She’s mine. You leave her alone,” he starts to protest, but Andy screams. “She’s mine. Pack her fucking things, and I’ll have someone here to pick it up. She owes you nothing. She’s won well over two hundred grand for you. We’ve been watching. It’s not her problem that you blew everything she earned. I bought and paid for…”

“Andy?” you ask coming in at the tail end of the conversation. “What’re you…dad?”

“Your Andy’s now.”

“What?” you look from your dad to Andy, shaking your head. “No. No. No, I trusted you. No.”

Andy picks up his phone making a quick call, and a man you hadn’t seen comes in, and hands over a briefcase of money. “It’s done. We’re going home.”

You wake up to find the bed cold and empty. Looking around your room, is when you see Andy staring out the window. You give a quick rub to your barely swollen stomach before standing up.

Shadow, your wolfdog guard, lifts her head to look at you, until she sees you’re walking behind Andy. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you rest your head on his broad and naked back. “The bed is cold.”

“You hate me,” he answers coolly, trying to push your hands off of him. “Tomorrow is our wedding and you hate me. I’ve tried, Daisy. I’ve been patient. I have done everything you’ve asked of me. Explained my side of the story and you hate me.”

“No I don’t.”

Andy lets out a broken laugh. His eyes still never leaving the window. “Then why are you still fighting? Every damn day, it’s a fight with you. Sometimes the same fight, sometimes a new fight. It’s exhausting.”

“You scare me.”

“Why?” he spins around in your embrace. His face hard and stoic. “Please, tell me why I scare you. I have never let a woman treat me this way.”

“I don’t deserve to act like this? You took me from everything I knew. You made me stay with Lloyd as a punishment. If I disobey next time, what’re you gonna do?”

“I told you I was sorry for that. I’m not used to being soft with people. I can’t. I protect what is mine. And you won’t allow me. The wedding is off.”

“Andy,” you whisper, you pull at his hand to rest on your stomach. “This is yours.”

“What?”

“Dr. Banner confirmed it this morning. It’s too early to tell, but…pretty sure he’s a boy. This is your son. I don’t wanna call the wedding off”

“Why?”

“I want you,” Andy scoffs walking to the bed. “I want us to be a family.”

“Not good enough Daisy.”

“I…I’m sorry for fighting you. I’m fighting what I feel. I’m fighting the need to want you and need you as much as I do. I don’t want to spend a night with you not in our bed,” Andy starts to ask why again, and you just blurt out. “I love you, Andy. I was falling for you when you went to my dad and bought me.”

“You heard wrong. And I went along with your narrative of paying for you. I’ve told you this over and over again.”

“Andy, I love you. I want you. I need you. And so does our baby. We’re getting married tomorrow, and I promise I’ll quit fighting you with everything,” Andy bites as his lip and gives you a cocky smirk. “What?”

“Maybe keep acting like a brat sometimes. Just me and you though. Not around everyone. They think I’m losing my touch with you.”

You crawl into the bed, crawling up his body, before straddling his lap. Andy’s hands slide over your belly, and you watch his satisfied face as he tries to memorize the way you look right now. The way you feel, knowing how quickly you’ll change.

“I always wanted to be a dad,” his voice so soft, and without its power. He gave you that power over him a long time ago.

“I always wanted something that was truly mine.”

“We are,” grabbing at your waist, he pulls you closer, and kisses all over you belly. “Andy,” you giggle, which only makes him laugh right along with you. “Andy, stop. Andy!”

“You’re sure? You’re really gonna marry me? Get your mark and become the official Queen of Spades.”

He lays your body over his. Making sure that you are face to face with him. “Yes. I’m yours.”

Masterlist

#a losing hand #a losing hand au #andy barber #andy barber x reader #soft!dark!andy barber #defending jacob

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cacoetheswriting · 4 years ago

Text

little mystery

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: tattoos, alcohol consumption, gambling/betting money, mild swearing (i actually don't think there is any but just in case), baby spence!!, no smut/or implied smut but it reads a little dirty (so i’m gonna rate this 18+ anyway) Word Count: 1.8k Summary: Bets are placed to see who can be the first to figure out the secret location of your tattoo, and what the tattoo is.

A/N: i was browsing pinterest for my next ink inspiration (the whole country is currently in lockdown, but a girl can dream), when i stumbled across a particular tattoo, featured in this fic, and this idea just came to me ah i hope you ENJOY!

“A recent study concluded that people with tattoos are more likely to be so called experience seekers, and they tend to lean more towards rebellious, non-conforming lifestyles.” Spencer stated glancing between the group. His eyes lingering a little longer on you. “Research also shows, people who choose to get tattooed feel a stronger need to claim their identity and stand out from the crowd.”

Derek chuckled while taking a sip of his drink. “Kid, not everyone that has a tattoo is an attention seeker or a criminal. Many who get inked lead perfectly normal and stable lives.”

“It’s a form of self expression.” Morgan continued. “It doesn't necessarily mean people with multiple tattoos are wildings. I mean look at Y/N, she’s got like ten and she's far from a non-conformist.”

All heads turned in your direction.

“Ten is an over exaggeration Morgan.” You replied with a light giggle before looking directly at Spencer. “It’s eight. I have eight tattoos.” You said shooting him a smile. A mix of intrigue quickly spread across his features.

Of course, he was aware you had a couple of tattoos. Like the tiny heart on your left index finger. The crescent moon just above your right elbow. Or the rose on the inside of your left bicep. Given that the two of you were similar in age, the young doctor didn't think you would have that many.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s a huge difference.” He teased, granting Penelope to nudge him in the arm. The bubble blonde then turned to you. “You have eight tattoos?” She asked with a raised brow. “How come I didn't know this about you? I know everything.”

“Because you never asked me and eight really isn't that much. Plus they’re all pretty simple and dainty. Well... actually... all apart from the snake slithering between my boobs.” You responded nonchalantly causing the males at the table to simultaneously choke on their drinks.

The girls all whistled before erupting into laughter at the suddenly red faces of the three boys. Hotch stared silently at the half-empty class in his hands, Derek nervously cleared his throat, while Spencer gaped at you completely wide-eyed.

The image you just painted circulating in his mind.

“Don’t be shy, tell us, any other risqué body art?” Emily chimed once the laughter died down.

“Uhm, there is one but I really don't think it’s appropriate to share.” You answered, a sly smile circling your lips. JJ and Emily both groaned at your response. “Now you have too!” The blonde exclaimed, but you just shook your head.

“Only a handful of people know what it is, and where it is.” Your eyes locked briefly with the brunette doctor sat across from you. Not enough time for anyone at the table to notice, but enough to get him a tiny bit flustered.

“What if we guessed?” Emily enquired, her eyes sparkling mischievously. You giggled. “If one of you manages to guess both what and where it is, I will tell you whether you’re correct.”

“I want in on this little bet.” Derek chimed confidently. “I can get you talkin’ hot stuff.” He shot you a playful wink and took another sip of his drink. Hotch snickered next to him. “I wouldn't be so certain Morgan.” “Oh, and you think you can?” Derek asked sarcastically. “Maybe.” Hotch poised, shrugging his shoulders.

“Right.” JJ clapped her hands. “Let’s make this interesting. Everyone that wants to take part place a ten dollar bet on themselves, and the winner will take the pot.” She turned to you. “We’ll give you the money for safekeeping and once one of us guesses correctly, you can rightfully pass the cash onto that person.”

“Sounds good to me.” You replied with a grin. “But what if none of you guess? Who keeps the money then?” “Do you forget who you work with? We’re FBI agents, profilers, one of us is bound to figure it out.” Morgan stated making you giggle.

“Okay, if you say so.”

“Oh! And whoever wins gets to see this mysterious ink of yours.” Emily added teasingly.

Just like that a pile of cash formed in the middle of the table. You reached out to grab it when a hand slowly slid across with a neatly folded ten dollar bill between two fingers. Your eyes snapped up to meet the determined gaze of none other than the resident genius.

“I want to take part too.” He said, trying his best not to appear jittery. The grin currently embellishing your features swelled, and Spencer took note of the devilish sparkle in your eyes. “Well all right.” You responded, fingers brushing lightly against his as you retrieved the money. An instant spark tingled through both you and Spencer.

The night carried on. You were bombarded with questions that would give the team any sort of clue as to what the tattoo could be, but you didn't budge. It was a lot more fun seeing your friends struggle. The only person that didn't say anything further on the matter was the young doctor sat across from you. In true Spencer Reid fashion, he simply listened and observed.

About an hour later, he accompanied you to the bar for another round of drinks. After ordering for everyone, you quickly glanced at him. “What’s going on in that big brain of yours?” You asked causing him to break away from his thoughts and turn his attention to you. He lightly scrunched his nose.

“I’m just wondering when is the most appropriate time to tell everyone what your secret tattoo is.”

Your mouth parted ever in shock, eyes widened. “There is no way you know.”

“Actually, I not only know what and where it is. I also know when you got it and why.” He stated confidently.

“Alright then, tell me.” You challenged taking a step towards him. Spencer stiffened for a brief moment. Your sudden closeness caused the heat to rush to his face and his heart to skip a beat. All he could do was hope you didn't notice; which of course you did.

With a raised brow and your fingers tapping lightly on the wooden bar, you waited for Spencer to respond. You were about to say something like, ‘See, I knew you were bluffing.’, but he cleared his throat. Regaining his confidence.

“It’s the word ‘bite’ written in cursive on your ehm, on your left b-buttcheek. And you got it your freshmen year of university as a result of a drunken game of truth or dare with your friends. I believe it was either getting the tattoo or shaving your head.” He was, of course, correct. Every word.

You stared at him in disbelief. This you definitely did not expect. Spencer on the other hand seemed quite pleased with himself. It’s not often he’s the one to rattle you.

“H-how, how did you-” You shook your head. “You know what, never mind. I don’t want to know.” Your lips twirled into a smile. “Congratulations doctor.” Without really thinking, you leaned in closer and placed a soft kiss on his cheek causing once again for the blood to rush to his face. Once you pulled away, his hand immediately travelled to the spot.

“What, uhm, what was that for?” He asked and you shrugged. “An extra prize considering it didn't even take you ninety minutes to win. I hope that was okay?” He quickly nodded his head. “Ye-a, yes.” “Good.” And with that you kissed his cheek again.

He couldn't help but grin proudly as the two of you ambled back to the table, each holding a tray of drinks.

“What’s got you so happy, kid?” Morgan asked, drawing attention to Spencer’s expression.

“Spencer just won your little bet.” You replied, placing the tray down and reaching into your purse for the money. Although his win was definitely part of the reason for his increased good mood, it had more to do with the spot on his cheek that was still tingling from your kiss. But he’d never say that out loud.

Gasps of shock echoed through the team. “What?! There is no way he’s won already!” JJ exclaimed. “He cheated. Did you give him extra hints because you have a soft spot for him?” Emily accused, narrowing her eyes.

“Nope.” Your mouth popped. “He definitely won fair and square.” You stated before shifting your body weight to look the young doctor. Smiling, you handed him his winnings. He didn't hesitate to take them, eyes never leaving yours.

“Well pretty boy, what is it?!” Derek enquired eagerly. Spencer waited for you to nod your head before turning to address the team. He revealed the design and location of your secret tattoo in one breath as you watched, finding their reactions amusing.

“How did you figure that out?” Penelope asked.

“A little mystery never hurt.” You chimed before Spencer got a chance to respond, and proceeded to intertwine your fingers with his. His head snapped first down at your glued hands, and then up at your face. He wanted to ask what was happening, completely forgetting what else the winning prize entailed, as you were leading him away from the table.

Morgan and Emily whistled after the two of you, the rest of the group laughing.

It wasn't until you were walking into the bathroom, locking the door behind, that the realisation hit Spencer. He swallowed his breath and opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.

You quickly noticed the nervous look on his face. “We don't have to do this if you don't want to. If you’re uncomfortable.” You said in your usual kind and caring tone.

“No, uhm, it’s okay. B-but if you don't want to?” He mumbled. “I don’t have to see it if you don’t want to show me, or anyone for that matter. We can just pretend.”

You smiled at him, your hands travelling to the zipper of your jeans. “A bet’s a bet, and like I said, you won fair and square.”

“Y-you, are you sure you don't want to know how I figured it out?” Spencer asked, voice breaking. The palms of his hands began to sweat. He wasn't sure where to look. Did you want him looking directly at you? Or was he supposed to keep his attention on something else until you were ready to show the tattoo?

“A little mystery never hurt.” You repeated what you said earlier to the group and pulled your pants down, just low enough to display the tattoo in question.

Spencer’s gaze landed on the writing. At this point his heart was hammering inside of his chest, and he was sure it would explode any second. His eyes widened as he slowly licked his lips. He was sure this was the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

“Do you like it?” A seemingly innocent question, although the intention behind it was anything but.

Spencer nodded his head. “I-I...y-es, I do.” His eyes gradually moved up your body until they once again locked with your gaze. His pupils now flared.

A mischievous smirk escaped your mouth. “I always knew you had a naughty side, doctor.”

spencer reid taglist: spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no, @calm-and-doctor, @idroppedmygourd, @averyhotchner

masterlist

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #little mystery fic

818 notes · View notes

findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years ago

Text

Dream SMP Recap (June 6/2021) - Techno’s Visit

It’s time for Techno to visit Dream in prison. After saying some parting words to Phil, Techno goes to Pandora’s Vault for the first time...

Later, Quackity, Puffy, Bad, Skeppy and Michael tour around Las Nevadas for a fun chill stream, and Quackity recruits Michael as a worker to build in the city.

A brief summary of the week’s total events can be found at the end of the post.

---

VOD LINKS:

Technoblade

Ranboo

Captain Puffy

QuackityToo

Michaelmcchill

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- Techno goes to speak with Phil before he visits Dream

- Phil gets a horrible canonical headache and Techno offers him a canonical aspirin

- Phil isn’t sure going to the prison is a good idea, as every time someone’s gone something bad's happened, but Dream saved Techno’s life. Also views

- Phil has his concerns, but Dream called in the favor. Techno thinks he should go and check on him anyways, even without Quackity. Dream’s been in there for five months

- Phil offers his help, but Techno doesn’t want Phil to take any risks paying off his debt

- But there is something Phil can do: Techno wrote a will. He throws a signed book to Phil. Phil asks how many days he should wait. Techno says it varies. The instructions are in the will

Techno: “I took a vow. Those who treat me with kindness see it repaid tenfold...I gotta honor that.”

- He rings the channel member bell

- Techno wonders if he can bring Steve, but probably not. He says goodbye to Phil and heads off for the prison

- He makes it to the prison entrance and says hello to Sam, who welcomes him through the portal

- Techno says he’s come to visit Dream, but Sam says he’s not allowing people to visit right now. Techno throws Sam a book:

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FIELD TRIP SLIP

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Sam. Technoblade will be paying Dream a visit. This is business related. Let it happen.

It’s also tax write off :)

- Quackity

---

- Techno reads the waiver aloud and signs it “Techno Blade”

- Sam then asks the questions:

“When is the last time you visited the prison?”

“I have not visited the prison before”

“Where is your place of residence currently located?”

“I live in like this cabin in the north, it’s pretty chill.”

“Do you believe that the prisoner is deserving of being locked up?”

“I’m gonna be honest, I have no idea why he’s in there, so...”

“Are you saying no?”

“I’m not saying, like, yes or no, I don’t really -- I’m not really up to date on the news recently, if I’m being honest.”

“What are your prior relations with the prisoner?”

“Yeah, we’ve been business associates I’d say, in the past, you know. I wouldn’t say I’m like friends with him, honestly -- he’s kinda sus...I’m not gonna lie, it does not surprise me at all that he ended up in a jail, ‘cause that guy -- he’s a little weird sometimes, you know. A little strange...So you know, it’s, eh...it’s up and down.”

- Sam gets to the last question, telling Techno he’s the ultimate authority on the grounds of the prison

Techno: “Oh I love authority, everyone can tell you that.”

- Techno goes to store his belongings in the locker. There’s a bed in an item frame now which he uses to set his spawn. Techno opens up his Ender Chest and stores all of his armor and weapons in it

- Having run out of space in the Ender Chest, Techno puts his remaining items in the locker chest: Potions, gapples, golden carrots, an Ender Chest, Ender Pearls and a stack of stone

Techno: “Well. You know, you seem like a trustworthy man.”

- They go through the security protocol. There’s a new Ender Pearl stasis chamber in the first room that wasn’t there before. Techno zooms in on it before it activates, teleporting Sam in

- Techno’s impressed with the prison’s design. He gets Sam to open the vault door a second time to admire it

- Techno signs the next waivers “sub to techno” as “Technoblade (subscribe to technoblade”

- Techno praises Sam’s creativity with the prison, comparing it to the Butcher Army’s simple execution platform

- The lava wall comes down. Dream isn’t facing them

- Techno walks with the moving platform to the cell. The second Dream sees him, he starts shouting

Techno: “Yo, Dream! Dream, what’s up!”

Dream: “TECHNO NO! NO!”

Techno: “No what?”

Dream: “QUACKITY -- it’s a trap! It’s a trap! Techno--”

Techno: “What about Quackity? Dream, you need to -- I haven’t seen you in a long time, Dream.”

Dream: “(muffled) Techno...He’s been torturing me I gotta -- I didn’t write that note.”

...

Techno: “I’m not gonna lie to you, Dream, I -- I kinda had a feelin’ he was lying, but I kinda had to visit anyways, just to see how you were doing, get to the truth of things, you know? You know? And besides, Quackity’s not even here, man.”

Dream: “...Why did you come?”

Techno: “I wanted to see you! I need to figure out what’s going on here, Dream, and between you and me, I’m an anarchist, so uh -- (looking to Sam) Can he hear me at this volume?”

Dream: “They’re working together...”

Techno: “Who?”

Dream: “Sam and Quackity!”

- Techno asks Dream to tell him everything. Neither the lava wall nor the Netherite barrier have lowered yet

- Techno looks back at Sam, asking how long he has to be in there for

Sam: “I think you could do with a nice long stay with Dream...you’re probably the main threat to uh -- to Dream escaping, aren’t you, ‘cause you know, the two of you have worked together before, and...”

Techno: “I...would never defy authority, alright. I. Love. Authority.”

Sam: “I think we both know that’s probably not true--”

Techno: “Everybody will tell you how much Technoblade loves authority figures.”

- Sam refuses to send the bridge back, saying the two of them will have some catching up to do. He sends the lava wall down

Techno: “Sam, this is NOT DOING MUCH TO CHANGE MY POLITICAL OPINIONS!”

(Dream freaks out in the background)

Techno: “...Alright. Well that was nice.”

- Dream panics. Techno tells him it’s fine, that they’re not out of options

Dream: “I have been in here for six months! What do you mean we’re not out of options, it’s fine -- how?!”

Techno: “Well I mean, maybe you’re out of options, but like I actually have friends now. I know I was kinda like a loser when we first met...”

- He finds the books and quills and tells Dream to write down everything he knows about the prison

Techno: “So...hows it goin’, roommate?”

Dream: (quietly) “Oh my god...”

- Techno seems optimistic about the new experience. Dream tells him he used to have a clock as Techno examines the cell

- Techno tells Dream to get to writing and ends stream

- Ranboo goes back home and is confused by how much the trees have grown. He thinks Phil probably has something to do with it and that he knows something, even though Phil isn’t doing it himself

- He then goes mining

- Quackity does a chill stream on the SMP working on the roads of Las Nevadas while chatting about lore out of character

- He walks down the Prime Path when he gets suddenly jumped by Skeppy and Bad, who attack him together. Quackity threatens to blow up their house

- Captain Puffy joins the fray and stops them

- Quackity offers Puffy and Michael a tour of his country

- He goes eating at McPuffy’s and Michael comes over to give him food as well

- There’s a hostile takeover of McPuffy’s and Bad declares it McSkeppy’s now. Quackity takes the drive-through instead

- Quackity orders a BTS meal and Bad hands him a steak “with extra cruelty”

- He starts walking them all over to his country, asking them what their expectations are (Quackity talking to Bad at this point is non-canonical) Skeppy wants a lot of ducks

- Quackity falls into the Punzo Chunk

- He tells them that his country isn’t even near done, and he’s going to need a lot of cheap labor. Skeppy says it doesn’t sound very enticing, but Quackity says he’ll give him all the ducks he’d want.

- Michael tells him about his experience with 2b2t

- Quackity shows him the concept of “the house always wins” (a picture of “Finding Doryto”)

- Quackity kills Skeppy and Skeppy logs off. Bad is horrified. Quackity tells Bad it isn’t his fault that Skeppy is dead as Bad buries Skeppy’s dropped things beneath the ground under the Needle

- Quackity shows the remaining people to the gambling machine, teaching them how it works

- Afterwards, he takes them to the strip club and starts stripping at the pole

- He takes Michael into the back, where he tries to mug Michael for his things. But Michael runs out the back door

- Quackity goes back to stripping and offers Bad to go into the back room for a “surprise.” He tries to mug Bad, but Bad goes running out the back door

- He returns to Puffy, defeated, and half-heartedly promises her a surprise in the back room too. Puffy, not at all suspicious, follows him and he tries to mug her. She gives him ink sacs, slabs, Ender Pearls and shears.

He shows her out the back door

- Afterwards, Quackity takes the three of them to the Tommyinnit Restaurant

- Then they go to the stage and Quackity puts on a “show” for them...

...Which is more stripping

- Next up is the hotel. There’s nothing in it, so he takes them to the pool outside. Bad almost drowns

- He wants to show them “something embarrassing,” so he brings them to Tommy and Wilbur’s headquarters

- Quackity then shows them the Eiffel Tower to conclude the country tour and they argue about a trident

- He suggests Michael and Puffy possibly build some structures around Las Nevadas and gathers them at the Needle. He shows Michael the empty plot next to Fundy’s area and says he needs something put there in return for some free spins at the casino. Michael’s down for that

- Quackity tells Puffy and Bad to help Michael build there. Bad asks how much he’s getting paid, and Quackity says he gets free spins at the casino too. Bad and Puffy start arguing again and Quackity leaves, having gained a new worker

- Bad and Puffy continue to argue about the trident

- Later, Michael builds a statue in Las Nevadas

END OF WEEK RECAP:

5/31 - Wilbur and Tommy visit Las Nevadas

6/1 - Ponk tears down a tower of L’Llamaburg, Tubbo builds an outpost, Techno’s birthday party, Quackity speaks with Foolish about Las Nevadas, Niki finds out about Wilbur’s revival, Bad and Puffy destroy the supreme fridge in an act of war

6/2 - Fundy speedruns self-care, Antfrost confronts Foolish, Bad and Puffy to apologize

6/3 - Nothing much happens.

6/4 - Ponk decides to sue Puffy and Bad, Pubbo

6/5 - Nothing much happens.

6/6 - Techno gets trapped in prison, Quackity tours Bad, Puffy, Skeppy and Michael around Las Nevadas

---

Upcoming Events:

- The final Egg lore stream

- Tales From the SMP: “Space Race”

- Ponk’s lore stream

- Dream’s lore video

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts

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cr0wbonezz-wr1ting-inc · 4 years ago

Text

“Game for two~?”

Summary: You planned to have a nice night out at the casino, but the evening turned into a lot more than just betting money (Gender neutral + Mafia!AU)

Trigger warning: Gambling, mentions of alcohol, being drunk, implications about mafia

Author’s note: @inniterhq come get yall juice- i love casino quackity, and im a sucker for mafia fics, so now i made this lol

Song recommendation: Something’s Gotta Give - Sammy Davis Jr.

It was late in the evening. You stepped out of the ink-black limousine that drove you there and looked at the building in front of you.

It was gorgeous. The lights were bright, yet inside the casino it was dimmed. The blood-like red mixed with the black made everything look quite professional. This was not your average betting tent. You weren’t complaining, though. You were not an average better, it was expected.

You walked towards the door, a bodyguard carrying a briefcase following behind you. You heard a muffled jazz song play from a jukebox inside the casino. Just your kind of music. The music became more clear with every step you took.

You stopped right after you went through the door.

What a beautiful place. Pool tables, a bar, roulette wheels made out of gold, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The patrons were a sight to see as well; Men in differently colored suits, a group of people with dresses ranging from elegant to sexy. It was something you’ve never seen before.

There was one person that really stuck out out you. He was leaning against a pool table talking to a man you assume was his partner.

He didn’t try to be threatening, but he certainly had an interesting ambiance surrounding him. He must run this place.

He wore black pants with leather dress shoes. He had a white blouse and suspenders that went over his shoulders. His face was round, yet quite handsome. His left eye was dark brown, his right was white with a scar running through it. There were feathered wings coming out the back of his torso and he had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

His partner was a tall creeper hybrid. he had to be around 6′7 at least. Unlike the patrons, he wore a black turtleneck with a dark green blazer and pants. His right hand was covered with gold rings, the other was covered in a jewelry claw*. He had perfect posture and a stoic expression as he looked down at the other man in front of him.

You’ve met hybrids before. Although they’re strong and quite helpful to have on your side, people don’t respect them. You almost audibly scoff at the thought. You’ve recruited multiple hybrids, and you know just how powerful they can be. You’ve had to break up fights from within your family because people see hybrids as threats to their ego. It disgusts you.

But, you shake that thought. You came here to have a nice and relaxing evening, and those pesky memories are not going to ruin it.

You move towards a table filled with cards, chips and money.

“May I join?” You ask the dealer. “Certainly. We were just about to begin. Take a seat.” He spoke with a British accent. The brunette gestured at the empty seat on the left side of the table.

“What game are we playing?” You ask while taking your place. “Poker.” The dealer said. “Great. Would you be a doll and get me my chips?” You look at your bodyguard. “Of course.” He opened the briefcase he was holding to reveal stacks of chips. In total, that would be a couple hundred thousand dollars You knew this was going to have an impact on how the other players would perceive you.

Your night was going well. You’ve won multiple rounds, you even made a few people lose all their chips. Word spread around the building, and soon a crowd showed up to watch the games.

Even the owner.

The winged man walked up behind the dealer and put his hand on his shoulder. “I want a game with that newcomer over there. Now.” He let go and walked to the right side of the table as the other guests were ushered out of their seats.

“Good evening.” He said as he sat down. “Who might you be?”

“You don’t want to know.” You say as you stare at the chip in between your middle and index finger.

“Well, I believe I do.” More intrigued by your mystery, he props his head up with his elbow.

You chuckle slightly.

“What’s so funny?” He said with a raised eyebrow. “Nothing. Well, if you want to know that badly, I’ll show you.” You roll up your sleeve to reveal a small tattoo. It was shaped like ram horns.

“So, you’re one of Schlatt’s goons?” His face went from amused to disgusted. “I am the head of the family. I’ve never been loyal to him. I’ve hated him since the day I laid eyes on him.” You answered coldly. You truly hated him. That’s exactly why you took over the moment he moved cities for the construction of his liquor factory.

“So we have something in common, then?” He pulled a small smirk. “I suppose we do.” You look him in the eyes. “Do you want to play a game?”

“Sure. Game for two~?” His tone was flirtatious - almost seducing.

“Fine with me. How much are we betting?” You take a chip from one of the stacks in front of you.

“You choose.”

You’ve been gambling for the entire evening. It was well past midnight, which was your usual curfew. You were both drunk from overpriced cocktails and drinks.

“So, I just realized this. I don’t know your name.” The owner says. He takes a sip of his half-filled glass of liquor.

“___, last name is classified.” You respond.

“My name is Quackity. But, you can call me Alex.”

“Well Alex, you and I have been going at this for a while. I can’t stay here forever.” You say to him.

“Really?” He pouts.

“Yes, It’s dangerous for me to stay out this late!” You reply.

“Aw, don’t be like that~! One more game.” He pleads.

“Fine, one more game. How much?”

“Oh no, darling. We’re not betting with money. If I win, you and I are going to be partners in...” He paused for a moment. He smirked slyly. “Business.”

“And if I win?”

“Riches?” He recommended.

“I have enough money, what else you got?” You say, slightly slurred.

“Well...” He thought about it for a couple seconds.

“You get me.” He laughs as he finishes his sentence.

“Deal!” You say as you laugh with him. Looks like this evening came out way more eventful that you’d thought.

Not that you’re complaining, though.

* [ x ]

m.list

#cr0wbonezz-wr1ting-inc #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #alex quackity x reader #quackity x reader #quackity x you #quackity x y/n #alex quackity x you #alex quackity x y/n #casino quackity x reader #casino quackity #alex quackity #quackity

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whoacanada · 4 years ago

Text

Zimmerbro AU

Summary: Andrew Phillip Rowe could skate before he could walk, and it wasn’t until he was almost twenty and well on his way to becoming a Las Vegas Ace before he knew why.

a/n: that’s right we’ve got a secret zimmermann brother au based on the fact that Bob was an active pro athlete for almost 15 years before Jack was born and almost definitely had relationships before Alicia. This particular one resulted in a secret love child.

When the call finally went out that year — a request for players willing to billet the incoming draftees — Andrew had been the first in line.

His already sparsely decorated guest room had been primed for a new tenant since he’d learned Las Vegas’ abysmal season had earned them the first pick of the 2009 draft. In his mind, Andrew had envisioned a tearful confession. A family reunion nineteen years in the making where he’d finally get a chance to connect with a half-brother he’d grown up learning about through news articles and stats pages.

He wasn’t ready for Jack to pull out of the draft days before the ceremony; wasn’t ready for the claims of an overdose or speculation about suicide attempts. He certainly wasn’t expecting to have to open his home to a young man with limp blonde hair and deep circles under his eyes with the same enthusiasm he’d promised he’d offer to a son of Bob Zimmermann.

Andrew was hoping for a little brother.

He got Kent Parson instead.

______

“You remind me of my boyfriend.” Kent slurs one night, completely gone on Johnny Walker Blue borrowed from Andrew’s wet bar. “It’s your . . . face.”

“Shouldn’t talk about things like that,” Andrew cautions gently, covering his own surprise. “Never know who might be listening.”

“Who fucking cares? He won’t talk to me,” Kent continues, ignoring him and sniffing like he’s on the verge of sobbing or puking, both options equally unwanted. “They wouldn’t tell me if he was even alive.”

Another unwanted puzzle piece locks into place.

“Jack?” Andrew suggests softly, and Kent begins to cry.

“You won’t tell right?”

Andrew shakes his head no, long enough for Kent’s bleary eyes to focus on the gesture and take it seriously.

Things are different, after that conversation. Not worse, or better, just different.

________

“He’s my brother.”

Andrew admits this one night, for no reason other than that he can.

Kent is across the room, backlit by lights from the Strip, his legs dangling off the arm of his favorite couch as he scrolls through his phone looking for distractions. Parse hasn’t lived with Andrew for almost two seasons, but he still turns up like a bad penny whenever he needs to commiserate with someone who knows his more lascivious secrets. Truthfully, Andrew’s grateful for the company. He’s a pretty genial guy, but he’s always kept his distance, a personality trait he likes to think he shares with an unassuming sibling, but there’s no way to know for sure. The farther Andrew gets from the 2009 Draft, the less faith he has in a reunion that won’t just bring crippling sorrow to everyone involved.

A secret Zimmermann son who actually made it in the NHL. Who has his name on the Stanley Cup, not once, but twice, largely thanks to the spitfire forward lounging in Andrew’s living room.

“Who’s your brother?” Kent asks, not looking up from his phone.

“Jack Zimmermann.”

Kent barks a laugh and rolls his head lazily to smirk at Andrew.

“That’s funny. I guess you kinda have the same chin. Was Marky digging for chirps?”

Andrew has no idea what that means, but he sets down his tablet and says, “No, he’s actually my half-brother. My mom dated Bad Bob in ’84 and got pregnant.”

The lackadaisical smile on Kent’s face falters as his gaze sharpens, like he’s actually looking at Andrew for the first time. Andrew responds by gesturing at himself lamely.

“That’s not funny.”

“No.” Andrew agrees. “It isn’t.”

Kent swings his feet down off the couch and braces himself against the overstuffed leather. He doesn’t look mad, but there’s something too close to disbelief for Andrew to convince himself everything’s okay. It takes a moment, but Kent must find what he’s looking for on Andrew’s face.

“Does Bob know?” Kent asks with that familiar overfamiliarity, as if they both still have some personal relationship with the living legend.

“Yeah. When Mom got pregnant she told him she didn’t want the attention since it was only a fling — ”

“Who the fuck doesn’t lock down Bob Zimmermann?” Kent breathes. “Also, why the fuck did she tell you that?”

“No shit, right? She got him to sign away parental rights, set up a trust, never spoke to him again as far as I know. I didn’t find out until after I signed with the Aces. She didn’t want me to get blindsided if it all came out, but the story never broke.”

“I mean, does Bob know who you are?” Kent questions. “Does Jack?”

Andrew shakes his head no, because he doesn’t think so, and Kent flops back against the cushions, face slack with disbelief; it doesn’t take long for his features to shift to anger.

“You knew this whole time and you didn’t tell me? Even after I told you —“

“Okay, there’s a whole-ass difference between you fucking dudes and and me being ‘Bad Bob’s bastard’,” Andrew bites, curtailing Kent’s imminent hissy fit. Appropriately, Kent closes his mouth, almost pouting.

“Fine. But that’s fucked.” Kent says after a loaded moment of silence. “I’m sorry you’re . . . you.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry you’re you, too.”

“You know Jack’s signing with the Falconers, right?” Kent offers like the worst kind of olive branch, unintentionally telling Andrew exactly what he was up to during that stretch of time between New England games a few months prior. “It’s not public but it’s happening. Ink’s dry.”

“I know. That’s why I told you. It’s gonna be weird,” Andrew swallows, thinking about playing Providence in the coming months.

“Fucking right it’s weird.”

_________

For the most part, the Las Vegas Aces are decent, stand up guys. Even with the accusations of gambling debts and mob connections with the ownership group, Andrew’s never been asked to hit a certain player a little too hard, or to take a dive so the other team gets a shot at a power play. A lot of talk, a lot of conspiracies, ‘Typical Aces hockey’, but there’s no malice. Not really.

Andrew thinks it’s hilarious he plays the game a lot like his estranged father, but he’s not a legend in the making, hell, at this point he’s barely regarded as more than a mid-level, reliable center that can bring home 40 points a season.

Carly whips behind Zimmermann’s back to clip his skate with a stick, dropping a ill advised chirp that sets every player in earshot on edge. Parse is close enough to catch the quiet slur, stiffening like he’s been hit, and Andrew watches Zimmermann recover quickly, steely and resolute.

Jack has his mother’s eyes — not the warm brown Andrew catches every time he looks in the mirror.

“He’s a fucking goon,” Andrew breathes, gliding up to Jack’s shoulder in lieu of an apology. Zimmermann doesn’t miss a beat, his gaze flicking to Andrew with the quiet rage of ‘who gives a fuck’. Andrew admires his commitment to the game. Coming back after so much, after so long, to willingly subject himself to the same kind of treatment that Andrew knows likely led to his original fall from grace.

“Hey,” Kent ducks his head as he slides up a little while later, mouthguard clenched between his teeth, and asks, “You see his twink?”

At Andrew’s obvious confusion, Kent jerks his head toward the glass behind the Falconers’ bench, to a raucous group of fans all sporting fresh Zimmermann jerseys. Andrew’s gaze drifts along the row of faces, lingering longer on the familiar, handsome couple beside the blonde young man. He may be imagining things — the stadium lights catching a bad angle — but for the briefest moment, Andrew holds eye contact with his father.

“He’s cute, right?” Kent says bitterly, like he doesn’t have a partner of his own back home.

“Yeah, he is. You gonna do anything about the slurs, Captain?” Andrew counters, earning a stern look from Parson.

“I’ll deal with Carly.”

“Oh, you will? Because I’ve never seen you shut him down before.”

“I’ll handle it.”

Kent’s expression goes stormy, and he gives Andrew a hard shove before skating off to set up for the next shift. To his credit, he does grab Carly by the arm and tell him something that earns a look of displeasure from the larger man, but Andrew knows a verbal warning won’t curtail someone as dead-set in his conservatism as Carly.

The next play, Carly flashes Andrew a toothy smile over the lineman’s shoulder, as if they’re in on the same joke, and his vision goes red.

__________

“Bad Bob’s outside,” Scraps rasps, like whatever brief interaction he’s just had has physically winded him. “He wants to talk to Flip.”

Andrew blinks up from the water bottle in his hands, previously concerned with the pink-stained gauze wrapped around his knuckles. A few of the guys start chirping, but most of them remain silent, still processing the fact that Andrew assaulted one of their own without clear motivation, in defense of an opponent.

“That’s what this was all about? You gunning for a trade?” Sorenson spits from his stall. “Needed to impress Bad Bob by beating the snot out of Carly?”

“Maybe I am,” Andrew sighs, pushing himself to his feet, wincing at the way his jaw aches from the few good hits Carly had managed to squeeze in before he went down. “What the fuck are you gonna do about it.”

_______

Andrew’s grateful he kept his skates on. He needs the boost of confidence that comes with the added height, especially when he finds Bob Zimmermann waiting patiently in the corridor like he’s just another staff member and not the second most recognizable figure in modern hockey.

“Hey kid,” Bob greets, casting an approving, overly-familiar eye over Andrew’s padded bulk and sweat-slick hair. “You can throw a hell of a punch. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy beat the piss out of a teammate before. Off ice, sure, but never during a game.”

His accent is just as thick in private as every interview Andrew’s ever caught live — but his tone is unexpectedly warm, even grateful — when Bob laughs at his own recounting of Andrew’s assault attempt, the sound is light and joyous like nothing in the world comes easier to this titan of a man.

Andrew wonders if Bob can recognize the chin they share beneath a his playoff beard; if there’s any resemblance left in a nose that’s been reset a half-dozen times.

Andrew grew up loved and never wanted for anything. His step-fathers, both of them, had been good men who never left him looking for a father figure. It wasn’t until his twenties that Andrew even realized there was hole where his bio-dad should have been, and not just a regular hole, a yawning sinkhole threatening to devour his entire sense of self, because his biological father turned out to be a man he grew up idolizing as a personal hero.

He’s not mad at his mother, but when Andrew struggles to find his voice — which is bullshit seeing as he’s almost thirty-five and a god-damned professional athlete — he can’t stop himself from feeling like a misplaced child.

“Do you,” Andrew swallows, looking over Bob’s shoulder to see if anyone’s watching them. Finding they’re alone, he rallies quietly, “Do you know who I am?”

Bob’s jovial expression softens into something remorseful, but unfathomably kind. “I do, buddy,” he acknowledges, somehow squeezing three decades of affection into one term of endearment. “I’ve known for some time, now. The whole time, actually.”

That hurts more than expected.

“Does your wife? Does Jack?”

Bob shakes his head, but it isn’t a hard no.

“Alicia knows, and Jack has some idea he’s got a half-brother, but it’s all in the abstract. No specifics. Definitely doesn’t know you play. I wanted to respect your privacy and your mother’s wishes. She let me know she’d told you the truth a few years back and I wanted to give you the space you needed if you decided to reach out. When you didn’t, well, a man makes assumptions.”

Andrew looks down at the concrete beneath his skates and sniffs hard, fighting nasal drip from the smelling salts he’d needed in the third period; or, at least, that’s what he tells himself. “I had a plan, back when — ” he stops himself, looking down at his skates. Bob’s eyebrows lift in curiosity, leaving room for Andrew to gather his thoughts, but he doesn’t take the bait, unable to bring up what could have been just yet. Bob seems to grasp the context after the moment.

“2009,” he acknowledges softly. “Hell of a year.”

“Yeah. It was. Is he okay?”

“What, Jack? He’s leagues ahead of where he was then —”

“No, I mean, tonight. Carly clipped him pretty hard before I got in there.”

“Oh, a little bruised up, but he’ll live. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Okay.”

Andrew looks down at his bandaged fist and realizes he’s completely forgotten how gnarly his face must look.

“Trainer says I’m alright, but I’m gonna get leveled with a wicked fine, I know it.”

“Was it worth it?” There’s a look of guilty pride on Bob’s face, like the man’s enjoying himself a little too much when he leans in and whispers, “You just did something I’ve wanted to do since Jack was in mites. Fucking lay out one of those fuckers that’s got nothing better to do than bitch because they can’t play,” there’s a moment of hesitation, as if he’s worried about pushing a boundary, before he adds, “How’d it feel to look out for your little brother?”

Pride, it turns out, in contagious, and Andrew feels like he could go back on the ice and do it all over again. “Pretty fucking great,” Andrew can’t help a smile, wincing when the gesture pulls at his split lip.

Bob slaps a hand on Andrew’s shoulder pads, then gets a grip on the back of his head, heedless of his sweaty hair.

“Crisse, you’re a fuckin’ beaut, kid. I’ve wanted to tell you that for years.”

Andrew can’t blame the smelling salts anymore.

__________

Jack clearly doesn’t see his father standing there with red-rimmed eyes, or Andrew in an equally unkempt state, and has no reason to think anything untoward has happened when he offers a handshake and pulls Andrew into a hug, bouncing his free fist off the back of Andrew’s pads. “I owe you a drink,” Jack says decisively when he pulls back, shooting a grin between his father and Andrew. “Can’t believe you did that.”

“More than a drink, I think,” the blonde guy Andrew saw behind the bench pipes up. Jack’s ‘twink’. Boyfriend. Whatever. “Dinner at least.”

“A pie,” Bob suggests tightly, keeping his voice even as he turns to quickly scrub his fist over his eyes. Andrew recognizes the statuesque woman who strides up beside Bob, and one quick look tells him she definitely knows who he is.

“Hello, Andrew,” Alicia greets softly, genuinely. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” he says, the tightness in his throat coming out as gruffness rather than emotion. “This is great, but I should go shower and, uh, it was nice meeting you all.”

Bob’s hand whips out and fists the sleeve of Andrew’s sweater, keeping him in place.

“You have plans tonight?”

Andrew debates lying, because he doesn’t know how to move forward from this point, but they’re all looking at him. Waiting. Expectant. There’s too much at stake, and yet somehow — A sharp whistle drags Andrew’s attention back to the locker room. Kent is peeking his head out, and god knows how long he’s been eavesdropping.

“Yo, Zimmermanns. Bittle.”

“Parson.” The blonde says curtly, earning a wry smirk from Kent.

“Flip, we got a presser if you feel like putting a bow on the evening,” Kent’s gaze drifts to Bob’s flushed face, and he adds, “Or, you can shower and slip out the loading bay while I cover for your aggro ass because this is not going to be fun. Your call.”

Andrew looks at the small family surrounding him, his family, and says, “I don’t want to explain.” Kent shrugs and ducks back inside while Bob’s brow furrows in confusion. “I can do dinner, but I don’t want to,” Andrew holds his hands out in front of him, trying to gesture what he means, and Bob snaps his fingers in understanding.

“Ah, ha, I got you, kid.”

“Neat. I’m gonna go shower.”

“We will be here when you’re ready,” Alicia offers. “Take your time.”

“Oh, I will,” Andrew replies before he can stop himself, cringing the second his back is turned because what the fuck could he be any more awkward?

Time will tell.

_____________

#zimbits #jack / bitty #omgcp #check please #my fic #my stuff #lost zimmermann brother au #bob's got another kid and I named him andrew again!#kent is not a bad guy #only carly is a bad guy and we hate him #long post #because it's a mini fic!

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ofdragonsdeep · 2 years ago

Text

9: Yawn

The empty sky cuts like a knife.

(EW spoilers, brief discussion of significant injury (nothing gory))

(m!WoLxThancred)

It hadn’t really sunk in, once the Ragnarok had landed, the enormity of it. The life support had failed - Meteor’s influence - and they had passed out to a man, and when they woke…

Survive.

The land beyond the ship’s egress, just like the ship itself, was possessed of breathable air once more. It did not look like a land that should be inhabitable, with its pockmarked landscape and gouts of poisoned aether billowing into the air, but it was. Thancred’s doing, though Ar’telan was choosing not to dwell upon Meteion’s description of it as his final words. Crag gave way to pitted crater, and beyond it…

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

When they had first stepped out of the ship, Ar’telan had thought they might be in a cave, until he had taken the chance to cast his gaze to the horizon. It was a different kind of rock - it did not twist and deform like the land beneath, and though the pillars which held it up seemed composed of the same stuff, it was as though the earth had been physically pulled upwards, the balance precarious.

Survive.

If the air they breathed was Thancred’s doing, this had to be his handiwork as well. The idea of standing beneath the empty sky was almost enough to paralyse Ar’telan at the thought of it, never mind the doing, and Thancred would have known that. Did know that. It was not past tense, not yet. It couldn’t be.

—

“Too hot out for you?” Thancred asked, an easy grin on his face, as Ar’telan hesitated in the doorway of the Waking Sands, hands on his grimoire. He grimaced at the statement.

“No. Just-” He shoved the book into his armpit to free up his hands for speaking. “Give me a moment.” Thancred leaned against the doorframe, holding the door open with one foot, watching Ar’telan with a keener eye than his idle stance would suggest. Ar’telan took a deep breath, steadied his nerves, and opened the book once more.

It was rote, in a way. It still took him several seconds to assemble the sigils, pull the aether from the ink and trace it onto the air, but the carbuncle always manifested now at least. At first, he had dreaded ever causing it to be unsummoned, despite how much its presence drained his aether, for fear that it would never reconstitute.

“M’kew!” it squeaked, pattering about his feet and headbutting his shin in reassurance.

“Good to go?” Thancred asked, and Ar’telan grimaced.

“Yes. Sorry,” he replied, shoving his grimoire back into its bag before he made the words. His heartbeat still thudded in his ears as he stepped across the threshold, but the carbuncle pranced just ahead of him, the soft tinkle of its sparkling aether bolstering his nerves.

The area around Vesper Bay wasn’t so bad for him. A lot of the paths in and out offered some cover from the sky above, and Thanalan in general had a generous helping of caves. The problems liked to congregate in them, too, which suited Ar’telan just fine. In fact, this was the first time the entirety of an expedition seemed likely to be outside.

—

Thancred hired them a carriage to take them to Eastern Thanalan, not liking how long the journey would take on foot, and Ar’telan sat with his carbuncle on his knees and stared at his feet. The rumble of wheels on the rough land was nice, similar in a way to how the boat that had taken him to Eorzea had rocked upon the sea, but it was still an open-topped cart.

“Are your toes really so fascinating?” Thancred said, no judgement in his tone. Ar’telan cringed, remembering the words that had been thrown at him the first time he had been faced with the idea of outside. Coward. Wretch. Sky-shy.

“I do not… I do not like the outdoors,” he said, settling for that in favour of the real reasons why. It would be enough, he thought, surely. It wasn’t like Thancred cared what he thought, really. He was just a greenhorn that Y’shtola had dragged in off the streets as a gamble, he didn’t matter.

“A strange malady for an adventurer,” Thancred mused. “Is there aught I can do to ease it? Perhaps I should have hired us a ride with a roof.” Ar’telan blinked in surprise.

“No, I… will be fine,” he assured. “The carbuncle helps me.” Thancred nodded, as if that made perfect sense to him.

“Let me know, alright?” he said, and Ar’telan offered a feeble nod.

–

The nudges were gentle, always. Each question got a little more from Ar’telan, though he was not precisely eager to talk about Meracydia even with the Scions. Thancred said that Urianger would be delighted to learn of a mysterious land, but Meracydia kept its silence for good reason, if Ar’telan’s experiences in Eorzea proper had been much of a judge, so he was not keen to divulge much of detail. The questions stopped, in hindsight, when Lahabrea had his hooks in Thancred properly, though at the time he had not marked it as anything other than proof of the growing coldness between them.

But afterwards, once the physical wounds were healed, the questions started again. It was an easy thing to fall back on, when the topic of us was too much for both of them to think on, and the threat of that other question made him more likely to answer.

–

“I had thought you might retire the carbuncle,” Thancred said, leaning back in his chair. He had a bottle of ale in one hand, as was his wont in recent days, and the other rested easily behind his head. “Once you got the fairy, I mean. Why both of them?”

“Two hands are better than one,” Ar’telan replied. He did not like the ale, precisely. Not that it was a fault of the drink itself, but more Thancred’s tendency to avoid the pain that haunted him by drowning himself in alcohol until the filters fell away and the words grew sharper when the wounds did not heal easily.

“For the same thing? The outside?” Thancred said, and Ar’telan sighed.

“Yes,” he said, a nod with his head as well as his hand to emphasise it.

“So it hasn’t eased any,” Thancred surmised, which made Ar’telan grimace.

“No. It won’t,” he said. “If it was likely to, it would have done so long ago. I would not… I would not have left.” Thancred blinked, surprised at the tidbit of information that hadn’t needed prying from his lips as though they had been welded shut.

“Is Eorzea’s terrain really so similar that it reminds you of Meracydia?” he teased. Ar’telan stared at the table in front of him. Eorzea was nothing like Meracydia. He had kept this knowledge close to his chest along with everything else which troubled him, but he missed it. Missed the way the heat hung heavy in the air with the threat of rain, missed the great knots of jungle trees, missed the tribe he had called family. Missed the dragons. Resented himself for being so weak that their only recourse had been to send him away, and hated that he had not understood well enough to realise he was being taken advantage of in the aftermath. Fate had dragged him by the collar to Eorzea, it had not been a path he had willingly walked. But he was here now, he supposed. That was something.

“It isn’t the place,” he said. “It is… the sky.”

“The sky?” Thancred repeated, stumped. Ar’telan felt the fear rise in him unbidden, clenching and releasing his fingers to try and stop his hands from trembling.

“The sky. It… frightens me,” he clarified, which was an understatement, if he was being honest with himself. For so long he had been unable to leave the caravans, curled up in the corner, useless and broken. In better times perhaps they could have supported him still, but the Calamity had been felt too keenly even so far from Eorzea.

Allag. Always it is Allag.

“An unusual fear to be sure, but a warranted one, I imagine,” Thancred said, taking a long drink from the bottle in his hand. “Tell me about it?”

“Talking on it does not ease the fear,” Ar’telan said.

“Perhaps not right away. But if I know, I can help.”

Ar’telan considered it. It would not be the first time he had told the story - he had told Haurchefant, because it was difficult to say no to him, and he had spoken on it with Y’shtola, just a little - but the telling did not get easier with repetition.

“It was… The Calamity,” he said eventually. “We escaped the worst of it on Meracydia, but we were not untouched.” Thancred put the bottle on the table and sat forward, resting his head on linked fingers as he watched and listened. “My tribe had seen it, the red moon. It is an ill omen on Meracydia - a symbol of Allag.”

“You remember that?” Thancred said, surprised. Ar’telan grimaced.

“As a people… the story would be lost. But the dragons remember,” he clarified. “The Dusk Mother’s brood carries the song of Meracydia’s downfall, echoing across her empty lair, that we might never again repeat the mistakes of the past. That we will never fall to those like Allag ever again.” Thancred made a surprised noise, but did not offer the comment that clearly rose to the fore, from the way he shifted in his seat. Perhaps the language was too flowery - Ar’telan repeated the words of the dragons when it came to history, he did not have his own, and it must have shown. “As the moon descended, my tribe increased patrols. More creatures crawled out of the wilds. The woods sang too loud.”

“The woods… sang?” Thancred said.

“They are not supposed to. They don’t here,” Ar’telan said. “It is the war’s legacy. The land is… twisted. It is similar to the way the aether warps around the shards of Dalamud here, but larger. More widespread.” He shook his head. “I was helping one of the hunters on patrol when the moon… fell. One of the pieces hit the mountains near where we had made camp, and we were buried in the rubble.” Thancred winced at the thought of it.

“No wonder,” he said, voice quiet. “A miracle you survived at all.” Ar’telan’s hand brushed against the cloth tied around his neck, tracing the line left in his skin without even thinking about it.

“I almost didn’t,” he said. “I was badly injured. Rhei- R’jahna was worse. She…” He looked back down at the table. “She is why I have the scar. Why I cannot talk. Her wounds festered, and I… I told her help was coming. She called me a liar. Tried to cut the lies out.”

He heard the soft swear that Thancred said, under his breath so as not to disturb the story. Swallowed down his nerves.

“They did come, but it was too late for her. Almost too late for me. And when I recovered from my physical injuries, it- every time I tried to leave, I recalled the sky falling on me. I can’t… Can’t take it again. The fear, it grips me. Having the carbuncle with me makes it bearable, but it never truly leaves me.” He took a deep breath, rubbed his shaking fingers together. “So more… more grounding helps. Lily and Carbuncle both. But it doesn’t leave. I don’t know if it ever will.

“I’m sorry,” Thancred said, his voice quiet. Ar’telan shrugged.

“You did not rip the moon out of the sky, nor try to slit my throat,” he replied. “It is done and gone now. That I am too weak to live with the consequences is my own failure to bear, and nothing else.”

“If you are weak, then only the gods can help the rest of us,” Thancred disagreed, cracking a crooked smile to try and lighten the mood. “I can understand your reluctance to recount the tale, however. I will do what I can.” Ar’telan smiled slightly at that.

“You don’t need to. There’s little to be done for it that isn’t already done,” he said. “But… Thank you, all the same. I appreciate it.”

—

Survive.

A simple desire, Ar’telan thought. The easiest to reach for when hope threatened to leave. That they would live.

Thancred would believe in it with all his heart. He always had, always would. Ar’telan looked out at the horizon beyond the empty memory they walked through, at the frozen planets perfectly preserved in a single moment of death, and felt the comfort of shadow above his head.

Survive.

He owed him that much.

#ffxivwrite2022 #warrior of light (solo story)#ew spoilers #ff14 #m!wolxthancred #yawn: the void yawns above him #Carbuncle is a certified service animal you can't convince me otherwise #in which my WoL has crippling PTSD that he doesn't like to talk about

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kentokunn · 4 years ago

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false accusations; (erwin smith x reader)

chapter one; gambler (3k words)

SUMMARY: Erwin Smith has always been a gambler. His decisions have always had promising outcomes. However, when one of his gambles ends with you in the custody of the Military Police accused of perjury, he is forced to come up with a scheme that will have only one solid outcome, the one which he needs to happen for thee wiring your safety.

His plan- to any other bystander -looks to be another one of his unpredictable gambles, but his long time friend Nile Dok knows Erwin's smile all too well to know that he had predicted every single consequence and what the outcome would be to the bitter end. The military Commander had proved to be far too clever for his own good on multiple fronts.

[canon divergence; season 2]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is my first time writing for Erwin that isn’t a headcanon. It’s also my first time writing a chapter story in months. I’ve had crazy writers fatigue so I had to take some breaks, but the idea for this story made me excited to write again! This chapter may seem like it drags on and is kind of dialogue heavy (at least I think it is), but it’s mainly just an introduction chapter to prepare for the actual story. So far, what I have planned out is 10 chapters and a prologue but it might change in the future. I hope you all enjoy, and feel free to leave feedback or constructive criticism!

It was the afternoon before the Scout Regiment was to make their way to the capital within Wall Sina. The Commander stood at the head of the oak wood table in front of a map of Stohess that covered the length of the table. The map was covered in short nails and strings with red, green, and black dots, made with ink, marked along certain points. Erwin was hunched forward a little, pointing to one exact spot on the map and revising over the plan that he and the young recruit, Armin Arlelt, had come up with to capture the Female Titan.

Tapping his finger on the map, Erwin looked up at the four sitting along the sides of the table. "Here. This is where Armin, Eren, and Mikasa will be leading Annie Leonhart for the capture squad to trap her." After a brief moment of silence, an invite for somebody to speak up, he continued. "While I am likely being detained by the Military Police, Levi and Hanji will be planted in Stohess already to engage should anything get out of hand," directed Erwin, who looked at the two in question for confirmation. He was satisfied once both nodded.

"Good. Now, Miche will be supervising a group of recruits in an isolated base located in Wall Rose. We can assume that there are more titans similar to Annie and that they could be conspiring together, Armin suggested this would be a good way to avoid interference from others," Erwin explained, lowering himself into his seat. "This plan has already been told to Mikasa and Eren but I'd like you four to talk with them at dinner to confirm that they're prepared. Everyone is dismissed."

Miche and Levi, who both sat across from you and Hanji- who was on your right -stood and saluted the Commander, Levi sharing a few words with Erwin, before they left the office. Hanji took a moment to gather the map they had brought for the demonstration and said a quick goodbye to both you and the Commander before exiting as well.

You remained seated, brows furrowed slightly in confusion. "Sir?" you asked, as he stood and made his way towards his work desk a few feet away. It was sitting by a window that stretched a large part of the back wall, overlooking the training grounds. The desk was filled with papers and had a few ink stains that must have been only a day old since the desk looks to have been cleaned fairly recently.

"Yes, Squad Leader?" Erwin questioned mentioning your name after your assigned title, raising a brow as he looked up to you from the letter he had grabbed before taking a seat.

You sat, silent for a moment in confusion. "Commander, what would you like me to do tomorrow?" you asked, standing and pushing in your chair, walking closer to his desk so that you stood in front of it.

Erwin placed the letter down at his desk, giving you his full attention as he folded his hands on the desk. "You'll join me to the capital. I'm expecting to be arrested by the Military Police once they find out about this plan so I'll need you by my side. Once the situation is explained I'm sure we'll be let go and allowed to join the others, but until then I'll need you to be with me in case a tricky situation arises," Erwin explained. "I was going to mention this later in the night since I'm still questioning whether it would be better for you to be with Miche, but for now the plan is for you to accompany me tomorrow. Understood?"

You fixed your posture into a salute and nodded. "Yes sir!" you exclaimed. Erwin offered a tight smile in response and dismissed you, returning to his paperwork.

Walking out of the office and shutting the door behind you, you made your way to your room. It was at the opposite end of the hall along with Captain Levi's- who had a slightly larger room than you -Hanji's, and Miche's. This floor was reserved for Squad Leaders, the Captain, and the Commander.

Your room was a decent size, comfortable for one person. It had a bed, bookshelf, desk, and lounge chair that fit comfortably within the room without feeling like it was cluttered. The bathroom and closet doors were beside each other on the left wall, both providing enough space for what they were required for. Your room had two windows on either side of the bed and two gaslights hung just barely above them.

All in all, the room was perfect for somebody who didn't spend much time in it. With most days either on the training grounds with your squad, in town gathering supplies, or on expeditions not much time was spent here. However, now was the perfect opportunity for you to take an hour or so to relax in bed before dinner time.

Grabbing your matches, notebook, and calligraphy pen off the desk you made your way to the right side of your bed, striking the match and igniting the gaslight. You walked over to the left side to do the same before blowing out the match and tossing it into the empty glass on your bedside table that was once filled with water.

Sitting up in your bed you grabbed the notebook and pen you had placed beside you. Using the ink container on the bedside table to dip your pen in you began to rewrite the plans explained earlier by the Commander. This was something you did often to keep everything you needed to know fresh in your mind so that should any mistake happen you could readjust a situation to fall along the original path intended.

This habit had come in handy many times throughout your years as a Squad Leader and has saved many misfortunes from happening. Your quick thinking and leadership in tough situations were often praised by young recruits and even your fellow veterans alike.

While writing your last few sentences the bell atop the headquarters had rung, signaling that the clock had struck six o'clock and that it was now dinner time. Lying the notebook open on your bed to dry and closing the ink container, you stood up and made your way to the mess hall once you put on your boots.

Hanji had left their room at the same time you had, calling out your name and walking up to you to join you on your walk downstairs. "Are you ready for tomorrow?" Hanji asked, pushing the door that leads to the steps downstairs open for you both.

"I am. In fact, I'm currently writing everything down in my notebook," you informed, quietly thanking them for the door.

Hanji clapped their hands together once, the sound echoing in the stairwell. "Great! That may very well come in handy tomorrow, especially since the plan is set to take place inside Wall Sina," Hanji said, opening the door to the mess hall once more.

You hummed, bowing your head down slightly as another thanks. "Yes, that's a little worrisome, but I trust Erwin and his plan so really, I'm more anxious for tomorrow to come than I am worried about it going wrong," you replied.

"I feel the same!" they exclaimed, taking a seat once you both reached your usual table. Levi was already sitting with his tray of food while Miche was grabbing both yours and his. Levi had already grabbed Hanji's tray for them.

You smiled at Miche when he returned, setting the tray he got for you down. You gave a small thank you and properly sat down so that you were across from Levi. The meal was relatively silent between you four while the others in the mess hall were rather rowdy as always. Miche was the one to break the silence.

"We should ask Eren, Mikasa, and Armin to join us quickly to confirm the plan with them like Erwin asked," he suggested, setting his fork down on his empty plate.

You nodded in agreement, "yes, we should. I'll go gather the three of them quickly." With that, you stood from your seat and walked over to the table where Eren, Mikasa, and Armin sat. "You three," you pointed to them, "follow me." You gesture with your finger to follow the order, leading them to the table. Usually, you'd have been more polite in requesting them to follow your orders, however with how few people knew of the plan and you didn't want to arouse suspicions and questions you were required to be more firm.

Once you led them to the table Levi instructed them to each take a seat, to which they took across from you- where you now sat beside Levi. "Commander Erwin requested that the four of us went over the plan with you three to ensure you guys know what needs to be done tomorrow. Are there any questions?"

Eren looked to be holding something in while Armin and Mikasa remained silent and shook their heads. You frowned at noticing Eren's inner conflict. "Jaeger, what is it?" you asked.

The brown-haired boy looked up at you, eyes wide for a moment before he sighed. "Are we really sure that Annie is the Female Titan?" he questioned. "Look, I know how smart Armin is and I'm not saying that his suspicions are wrong, but well... what if they are?"

Mikasa was quick to elbow him, her face as blank as ever, but a sound of disappointment left her lips. "Come on Eren, you know that all the signs point to Annie. You will see the truth tomorrow, accept it." That was the harsh truth. A young girl that the cadets had grown up with was a traitor.

Eren shook his head quickly, clearing his thoughts. "Yeah yeah, you're right, I'm sorry. I'll be prepared tomorrow, no matter what. We'll catch her, I promise!" Eren vowed, growing more enthusiastic with each word.

"You better be," was Levi's reply. "We need you three in order to get Annie to where we need her to be, so please, don't fuck this up."

You frowned, flicking Levi's shoulder. "They're children! Stop putting so much pressure on them!" you scolded, turning your head towards the cadets. "Just do your best, Hanji, Levi, and the others will be there as a backup just in case," you assured, alleviating some of the worries you saw in Eren's and Armin's eyes.

Once the three of them nodded you allowed them to stay with you for the remainder of dinner until the bell rang, signaling it was time to make their way to their rooms. You and the others remained still in the mess hall, however. Nanaba, Moblit, and a few other Survey Corps veterans joined you at the table.

It was common for you all to share a bottle of beer each before a serious plan. Not enough to get even close to drunk, but enough to mask some of the stress if even for a few hours. So, as Miche and Moblit returned back to the table with the bottles of beer, everyone cheered and took a swig from their bottles, settling into a small conversation.

The conversations went from one topic to the other, even a few stories shared amongst one another until the doors were heard creaking open. Everyone's head turned, assuming it was a cadet that'd have to be ordered to return to their room immediately, but everyone was surprised when they saw the Commander.

It wasn't often Erwin came down to the mess hall for dinner, typically getting his meals sent to his office so that he would be able to continue his work, but occasionally he'd make his way down to get his meal himself. He hadn't yet noticed everyone, since he was at the complete opposite end of the large room, but a quick glance around and his eyes had landed on your table.

He made careful steps towards you all, his eyes roaming each and every one of you, and then the bottles you all possessed- some empty, some nearly there, some barely dipped at. "Everyone," he greeted, dipping his head just a centimeter as a sign of respect.

"Commander," was everyone's reply, followed by the same action. You and Levi moved closer to the end of the bench you both were sitting at as an invitation for Erwin to sit, which he gladly accepted.

"A beer sir?" Nanaba asked, offering to grab him one from the kitchen.

"Please," was Erwin's answer. As Nanaba made their way to grab a beer for the Commander, he took the opportunity to ask a question. "Stressful night?" His lips formed a slight smile, almost like a knowing grin.

Levi scoffed, drinking what little was left in his bottle before placing it down on the table with a little less force than a slam. "You know damn well it is Eyebrows," he said.

You rolled your eyes, "Oh please, not this again!" you groaned. "Does it ever get tiring of using the same old stupid nickname? Honestly, be more creative!" you told Levi, causing Hanji to let out a surprised laugh beside you, nearly spilling the beer from their mouth and covering it with a napkin.

Levi was about to retort, pointing his finger at you when Erwin interfered, reaching his hand across the table to gran the beer Nanaba offered him. "Thanks," he said before looking at you both. "Now you two, is there ever a day you both get along?"

"Hey! We get along just fine," you defended, looking surprised when everyone laughed. "Oh come on! We just have a sort of sibling relationship, fuck off," you said, feigning anger when you grabbed your drink and took a sip.

Conversations once again picked up, this time with Erwin participating this time round. It was a nice relaxer before a day like tomorrow, and it was nice for you to see the Commander so at ease. Everyone knew how much he overworked himself, but all attempts to remove himself from his desk were rendered fruitless when he was so focused on his work. It was only at times like these did he allow himself to take time for himself, and times like these also helped everyone else.

Seeing their Commander with a slight smile and loose shoulders, enjoying himself, was a relieving sight for all soldiers. It could even be a sign of hope for some of them, much like yourself. With little driving you forward, other than the freedom of humanity, it was difficult to find reason in why you fight. It was not uncommon for you to question your goal when it seemed unattainable at times, but when the leader of it all seems to have the hope and the drive for it, it gave you the motivation to do the same.

But unfortunately, like most things, all good things come to an end and it was time for everyone to rest up for what tomorrow would bring. Clean-up and 'good nights' were done quickly, everyone departing towards their rooms, all but Erwin who stayed seated. He allowed you to take a few steps forward before calling out your name.

"I've decided on a definitive plan for you tomorrow," he started, standing up and making his way towards you. He tossed out his beer in the trash near you. "I'll need you with me. Miche can handle the cadets by himself, and should he need help Nanaba is going with him. I don't yet know what tomorrow is going to bring, and you're one of our best when it comes to easing a tricky situation. We need you on the front lines, so you'll come with me."

His tone gave no room for questions, Erwin's plan was settled and nothing would change. Still, you replied with an, "understood sir," before making your way to your room again. You paused when you reached the door, and without turning around, said, "good night Erwin."

"Good night," he responded, a hint of a smile in his voice. Allowing the doors to shut behind you, you walked up the stairs and into your room, deciding to take a quick, cool shower. The cool, almost warm, water helped to clear your thoughts so you only focused on the temperature of the water. It wasn't your usual or go to temperature, but on nights like this, it was a good way to get your mind off things without writing yourself to death.

Once out of the shower, you dried yourself, brushed your death, and did your usual nightly arrangements before walking towards the bed. You took a few minutes to think to yourself, like you did most nights, and allowed for yourself to soak in the silence. Zoning in on one particular spot in the ceiling, you thought about tomorrow.

Everything about this plan Erwin had come up with was a gamble. It relied on the soldiers there to capture Annie without trouble, but there would be no idea what would happen. Stohess was in the center of civilization, in Wall Sina, and the fear of Annie transforming into a titan within that wall was frightening to you.

You had good reason to be frightened too, with what the results of this plan, this gamble, could mean for you and for many. However, while many feared for the lives of their family and themselves, you feared the truth that may arise, because although discovery could be a great thing, change was often terrifying in a world ruled by titans.

But, Erwin had trust in himself and his soldiers. He believed that sacrificing lives for change was necessary in war, much like many leaders before him would agree. Death was a result of war, and Erwin risked people's lives. However, he was a gambler after all.

And he would regret that by the time the sun set tomorrow night.

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deadpcnned · 4 years ago

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the gamble of the heart | chapter 1 (r.l.)

chapter one: certain uncertainty

series masterlist

pairing: remus lupin x potter!reader

chapter summary: remus reflects on when he lost the person he held closest to his heart.

warnings: swearing

wordcount: 2.2k

a/n: hi! this is a new remus series i’m working on. WARNING it’s going to be slowburn. hope you enjoy <33

REMUS LUPIN was never one to rely on the idea of certainty. In his sixteen years of life, Remus had gathered that the way the world worked didn’t allow for anything to be certain. For example, he could have been certain that the only peculiar thing about him would have been that he was a wizard (and really this was only peculiar to unknowing muggles). However, at the age of four, his life went off track and he was suddenly a werewolf and had no understanding of what that meant. It wasn’t always bad, however. Sometimes life was uncertain in a good way. At one time Remus was certain that a life of isolation was a fate he would have to accept, but within his first day at Hogwarts, he was proven wrong.

And so, Remus decided that it was okay that virtually nothing was certain. He had even begun enjoying the uncertainty of life at times. He enjoyed not knowing what crazy adventure his mates and him would journey through next and he even liked the uncertainty of what subjects he would have to tackle next in his favorite classes. Which is why he couldn’t understand why he was surprised by the events unfolding now. His relationship with Y/N hadn’t even been official, yet he was stuck pondering over her recent actions instead of the notes laid out in front of him. He knew he hadn’t imagined the feelings that had been growing between the two of them and he had the image of intimate touches ingrained in his mind as proof of that. So, why? Why had she stopped looking at Remus like he held the stars in his hands? Why had she trained her sight on that lousy Ravenclaw instead? Why was she holding his hands in the halls, when the two of them had never even been so publicly affectionate? But most importantly, why was he so surprised by the uncertainty of it all?

A part of Remus - the part that resonated with his younger self most - knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew it was unlikely that any girl, especially a girl as captivating as Y/N, would have been interested in him for long. Not only was he singularly boring in his opinion, but he was a monster. The other part of Remus - the part he had spent years working on - couldn’t understand why she was suddenly acting like she forgot he existed. He knew they worked well together. He knew that he understood her in a way no one else had. He knew that he was perfect for her. Or at least he’d say he was.

“What did that poor piece of parchment ever do to you, Moony?” A voice behind him pulled him out of his thoughts and Remus’ eyes flickered down to the notes in front of him. He had been holding his inked up quill to the paper for so long it had created a hole that was getting bigger from the severity of his hold. Dropping the quill, Remus looked up to see Peter stood in the doorway.

“Uh, must’ve zoned out,” Remus muttered, sending Peter a lackadaisical smile. “What are you lot up to?”

“Headed to Hogsmeade. You sure you don’t wanna join, mate? I’m sure you’re not gonna do much good just tearing through your notes. Literally.” Remus ignored Peter’s poor attempt at a pun and considered his options. He really wasn’t doing much good sitting at his desk and he needed to get his mind off certain things. No better way to do that than with the three most troublesome boys.

“Alright, yah,” Remus nodded his head at Peter who was frowning. “You’re right, Pete. No point in tearing through my notes.” Content with Remus’ validation, Peter led the two out of their dorm and down to the common room.

“YES! Prongs, we’ve got Moony on board!”

—

Being at Hogsmeade during the start of the year always felt odd. Remus would argue that it was one of those things that only made sense during the holidays. He had gotten into many heated debates with James about whether Hogsmeade could be considered fun this early in the school year. James would start by explaining September was the holidays and Remus would remind him that Christmas wasn’t for another few months. But he didn’t feel like striking that kind of conversation today. Normally, he’d have Y/N to back him up.

Remus entered The Three Broomsticks with his spirits a lot higher than they had been a half-hour ago. As much as he renounced being too sure about anything, he was certain he could never be bored when he was with his friends. He prayed nothing would put a damper on his mood, but the world didn’t work the way he wanted. He had heard her before he saw her. The familiar laugh had him looking over his shoulder and following Y/N’s figure from the door.

The Y/H/C haired girl was walking hand in hand with Mason Tomlinson as they looked for a seat in the corner of the establishment. As though she felt eyes on her, she turned to the table the boys sat at and waved kindly. Remus wanted to roll his eyes at her gesture but thought better of it.

“I don’t understand when that even happened,” Sirius mumbled, his eyes still trained on Y/N.

“Apparently they were paired up for a project,” James shook his head slightly before turning to look back at his friends. “You’d think she’d tell her bloody cousin she was seeing someone, wouldn’t you?” Y/N hadn’t been seen by the group of boys as often as they usually did in the past few weeks and Remus could tell it was rubbing James the wrong way. Actually, all of them seemed annoyed by her absence.

“Two weeks… I swear that’s how long the two have known each other,” Peter commented. “Remus, did she ever say anything about him - OUCH!”

All three boys were now staring at Remus with guilty expressions on their faces (except Peter, who seemed to also be holding his leg in pain). Remus simply shook his head and gave him a shrug in response.

“I’m sorry, Remus,” Sirius started and this time Remus didn’t stop his eyes from rolling. “I really did think the two of you were going to get together.” Remus froze, halting the way he was nervously pulling at his napkin under the table. He had expected pitying looks or impetus questions, but he hadn’t expected that. Remus hadn’t expected to be confronted with the exact thought that had been haunting him. When would he learn he really couldn’t expect shit?

“No idea what you mean, mate,” Remus spoke, trying to appear much more nonchalant than he felt. “Haven’t even spoken to her in weeks. Why would we be together?” The three pairs of eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, before Sirius began to nod.

“Right… Well, boys, I think it's time for some more butterbeer.” Remus’ friends continued with their night, but all Remus could do was stare at the manifestation of his nightmares. Y/N had her elbow resting on the table in front of her and was running her hand up and down the length of Mason’s arm. From what Remus could see Mason's other arm was placed against her hip and he was leaning closer. Within moments Remus’ stomach was lurching forward as he watched Y/N’s lips meet with Mason’s to kiss him passionately. If it had been any other person he would’ve been gagging at the crude disregard of their surroundings, but at the current moment, it was as though he was stuck. He couldn’t look away and he couldn’t vomit the sight away. He was stuck watching Y/N crush his heart into pieces without even lifting a finger.

“Don’t stare, Remus,” James’ words could’ve been taken as a joke, but Remus knew why he was saying them. He didn’t want Remus hurting.

“Merlin, I don’t understand what has gotten into her,” Sirius, seemingly not learning from his prior mistake, was looking at Y/N again. “That’s not like her, she doesn’t mouth fuck people in public.”

“Sirius!” James and Remus had yelled at the same time.

“That’s so vulgar!”

“That’s my cousin!”

“Oh please, Moony. Like you don’t have the mouth of a sailor. James, I do apologize for talking about your very innocent cousin that way, but there is no other way to explain whatever that is.” James smacked Sirius on the back of his head and the two began to argue amongst themselves, but Remus was too distracted to care about what they were saying.

Sirius was right. It wasn’t like Y/N to get into a relationship so fast and even more unlike her to be so publicly affectionate. But then again, he wondered how much of that was dependent on who was sitting beside her. Maybe she was only affectionate when it wasn’t him crowding the seat next to her. Did they even know Y/N? Did he know her? Remus thought back to the first time he had ever felt a sense of mutual understanding between the two.

The Gryffindor common room was quieter than usual as a group of five 3rd years faced the welcoming fireplace. Remus, James, Sirius, Peter, and Y/N had opted to stay at Hogwarts instead of going to Hogsmeade that weekend and were glad they had. Other than his friend group, Remus noted that the common room was empty which meant they could do anything without prying eyes. They seized the opportunity by playing Wizard Chess and munching on some leftover candy Y/N had from a previous Hogsmeade trip.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius whined, as he pushed the table in front of him. “How? Again?” Remus just shrugged as he motioned for Peter to take Sirius’ spot across from him. They had all agreed they would have a tournament of sorts and whoever won would get to be the one who executed their next prank. This prank was especially exciting because it was going to be affecting anyone who was innocently spending time in the Slytherin common room next Thursday.

“No way,” Peter tutted, crossing his arms across his chest. “I’m not playing just to lose.”

“Peter, the rules were the winner plays the next contestant,” Remus argued. He knew he was undoubtedly the best at Wizarding Chess amongst the five of them and he took pride in any moments he could use that to his advantage.

“Moons, just let me play Peter,” Sirius started. At Remus’ look of dissent, he continued, “Come on, do you even care about actually being the one that says the incantation?” Remus considered this. He didn’t actually care, but he did want to win.

“No,” The voice came from the body next to him and Remus looked up to see Y/N shaking her head. “You can’t make the rules and then change them just because Remus is better than you.”

“Shut up, you Hufflepuff,” James taunted. The Marauders had often told Y/N she would’ve been suitable for Hufflepuff because of how highly she valued fairness. Even if it was something as small as a game, she wanted to see the right thing done. Remus admired that. He figured if more people did that, the world would be a hell of a better place.

“Eh, let ‘em play. They won’t let me hear the end of it once I win,” Remus uprooted from his spot on the floor and took a seat next to Y/N. The pair sat back as they watched their friends banter and laugh amongst themselves. Remus had only known the lot of them for three years, but he knew that moments like these would be life-altering for him. He had come a long way from the glum eleven-year-old who thought he deserved to be alone. He still battled with whether he deserved the love he received, but he was slowly learning he did. And the only reason he was ever able to get this far in that journey was because of the four smiling idiots around him.

When James began to chase Peter around the common room, Remus turned his face to the side just as Y/N did and the two of them just smiled at each other. It was like they were both thinking the same things, but Remus had no way of knowing. Y/N and he had always been friends, but they rarely spent time alone the way he did with Sirius and the way she did with James. It wasn’t weird, it was just the dynamic of their group. But at that moment, as they laughed with each other, he felt like he had known her for years. He felt like she was agreeing with him on how much these people meant to both of them. He was probably projecting, but it made him feel warm with comfort. At the time he didn’t know that she would soon grow to be one of the closest friends he’d ever have, but he found solace in that random second of certain uncertainty.

tiny little taglist: @kitkatkl

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin series #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin imagine #marauders x reader #marauders imagine #marauders fanfiction #potter!reader #remus lupin x potter!reader #remus lupin angst #andrew garfield #andrew garifield x reader

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suoyou · 3 years ago

Text

[wip] 凤凰涅槃; phoenix rising

incomplete wip. 9034 words, rated t.

wangxian court intrigue + wuxia + wingfic au, in which wwx is the lost phoenix and lwj is royal scholar. this is actually a collection of scattered scenes through the first act of the fic!

dwell too long in the fire and even the phoenix will burn.

Wei Wuxian holds a rotting mango in his hand.

Pungent, slippery as an oiled wok and twice as dangerous, it’s just a few days too old for optimal flavor—but he does not plan to eat it. No, he’s going to throw it.

A well-aimed piece of fruit and the right audience and a stomach just empty enough that the metallic edge of hunger has begun to bite makes for a good show. Wei Wuxian teeters like a gargoyle on the upturn of a roof, all his weight balanced in a crouch, waiting for the fishmonger to pass by beneath him. The market teems with citizens who have come early to buy the freshest kills and produce that the morning has to offer, the smell of frying jianbing wafts in thick curls up to Wei Wuxian’s perch. His belly rumbles. His last meal had been during sunrise the day before.

“Fresh fish!” shouts the fishmonger. His mule’s head bobs dark and feisty as it tugs his cart along. Behind them, their wagon is crammed with quivering tubs full of water and writhing fish. “Fresh from the docks this morning! Fresh caught! Carp and eel and shrimp! Killed and scaled and gutted if you ask! Fresh fish!”

Wei Wuxian rocks up onto the knobs of his knees. The tiled roof digs into his skin--what are you doing here, flightless bird? His weapon of choice bleeds a thin, honeyed line of juice from his wrist to his elbow. He takes aim.

A little commotion in a crowded market goes a long way. One spooked mule, one fishmonger, and a wagon full of uncovered tubs of live catches? What could go wrong? The sun hammers on his back, asking him what he’s waiting for. The mule’s flanks are exposed around its saddle and harness. Wei Wuxian screws one eye shut and sticks the tip of his tongue between his lips as he raises his mango, and--

“I’ll bet my daughter!”

A disturbance rises above the cheerful twang of the market below. It comes from the gambler’s stall, tucked away by the liquor stand. What a smart, slimy placement.

“Is this man crazy?”

“What kind of father are you?”

“How disgusting, to gamble with your daughter’s life!”

Wei Wuxian frowns. Below him, the fishmonger passes, and the crowd molds around his wagon like ants around a snail. A pustule of a man hunches over the gambler’s stall with a girl of no more than nine or ten in his grip as he snarls in the proprietor’s face. His clothes are stained and dirty, and his eyes are yellow with jaundice. Anger flares hot as a kicked hornet’s nest in Wei Wuxian’s belly, muting the hunger, when the drunkard yanks on his daughter so hard that she trips into the table.

Without thinking, Wei Wuxian shouts, “Hey, you, ugly dog at the gambler’s table!”

Dozens of heads turn to stare.

Wei Wuxian lobs the mango with all his might.

It whistles over the street like a lumpy, bulbous pigeon, dripping as it goes. The man is too drunk, or too hungover to move out of the way--he simply watches, jaw slack, not seeming to realize that he’s in the way until it splatters him square in the face and explodes in a shower of golden muck. He howls, clawing at his skin, and in the process lets his daughter go. She falls because she’d been unbalanced, hard into the street on her elbows. Some of the mango carnage had splattered onto her. Orange-brown bits drip off her chin like fat, gummy tears.

The drunkard points a trembling, furious finger at Wei Wuxian. “You--!”

“Me? What about me? Worry about yourself first. Worry about your daughter!”

A small crowd has gathered to watch the spectacle--this man, covered in sticky mango goo and attracting flies, and this vagrant shaking with laughter on the roof. He is so close to the edge, yet balances in place without any unsteadiness, with the surety of someone who is always in high places.

“You are a coward, staying on the roof! Get down here and fight me with your fists, like a man!” shouts the drunk. His daughter tugs on his sleeve behind him as the crowd thickens.

“A-die, A-die, let’s go--”

“Let go of me, you useless girl.” He shakes her off. “Good for nothing, waste of space. Not even good enough for gambling money.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. A hushed gasp races through the bodies below as he stands and tips from his perch on the roof, tumbling once before alighting in the street. His shoes stick to the pavement from the tack of juice. The man barely makes it up to his chin, and his skin is splotchy from alcoholism; his clothes are patches which means he had family members whose kindness he did not deserve at home.

“What,” says Wei Wuxian, tucking his hands behind his back. He’s not above mango-throwing, but he’s not going to fight a man in front of his young daughter. Now that’s just bad manners. “You really want to fight me? Just take my advice, sir. Go home. Take your daughter and your money and buy some food, and go home. Don’t make me throw another mango at you. That was going to be my lunch.”

“I’m not scared of men like you. Arrogant and scornful, just looking for a fight! I ought to break your--”

Wei Wuxian intercepts the man’s fist before it can connect with his face.

He fights like a commoner would, crude and unpolished, with his thumb tucked inside his fingers. Rookie mistake. His eyes bulge like a frog stepped on as he tries to force his way through Wei Wuxian’s grip, face turning the color of puce as he fails comically. Wei Wuxian digs his nails into the back of the man’s hand, trembling with the effort of holding him in place, and then he shoves him back.

The man goes sprawling in the street, and the crowd shuffles back, as if to avoid a particularly filthy swine.

“A-die,” says his daughter, trying to help him up, but he swats at her. “A-die.”

“Go.”

Not without spitting at Wei Wuxian’s feet. He simply laughs, because it’s such a silly, juvenile thing, and then, like an infection clearing, the citizens around him scatter back into the day.

Wei Wuxian claps his hands together, then wipes his palms on the seat of his robes. “You really ought not to entertain patrons who have clearly started to lose their control,” he says to the proprietor of the gambling stall. They wipe down the edges of their table with a dusty rag where the carnage of fruit clings. “Soon he will trade his whole family away for nothing but a nugget of gold.”

The proprietor scoffs. “And who are you?”

“Someone nice enough to clean his mess up. Sorry for this, by the way,” says Wei Wuxian. He starts straightening sacks full of supplies--coin bags, a set of rings, vases clinking fluted and musical against each other. They must run a games stall elsewhere in the city; Wei Wuxian has seen these prizes before.

“Who asked you to be a vigilante, anyway.” The proprietor shakes his head. “You look for trouble, boy.”

“The only thing sweeter than trouble is justice,” says Wei Wuxian, laughing at the distaste the proprietor levels at him. He chases a few escaped scrolls that have tumbled from their sack. “Ah, don’t be like that. I really am sorry, I didn’t mean to interfere with business, okay? I just don’t like to see--”

One of the scrolls has unfurled enough for Wei Wuxian to catch a glimpse of the ink painting. Beneath the glimmer of midday sun the paper is so buttery that Wei Wuxian expects for his fingers to come away slick when he picks it up, letting the scroll’s weight pull the painting the rest of the way open.

The brushwork is unfamiliar. Mountains studded with frosted clouds, a lake, a tiny figure of a man at the silver waterline. A spray of peonies cradles the scene in its petals, done with a brush so fine that the artist could have drawn it with a single human hair. Wei Wuxian doesn’t recognize it--not the art. He hadn’t opened it for the art.

A red seal dots the corner of the painting like a button of blood. Wei Wuxian would recognize it anywhere--anyone should recognize it anywhere. Being in possession of something with a seal like this, without explanation, could earn an axe to the neck.

“Sir,” he asks, staring at the painting, “how did you come across a painting done by the imperial family?”

The proprietor’s eyes widen, and they make a wild lunge for it. Wei Wuxian is taller, though, and jerks it out of reach, rolling the scroll back up so the paper won’t tear. “Give it back!”

“Aha! What is it? Tell me. How did you come across a treasure like this?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Hmm. So if I simply walk away with it, you will also simply shrug, and let me be on my way?” Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows when the proprietor glowers. “Ah, so it mustn’t be nothing. Not with a look like that. Do tell.”

“It’s none of your business.”

Wei Wuxian chews on his lip, smiles. His stomach rumbles, already two cartwheels ahead, but he needs to slow down and think. “Can I pawn it from you?”

“I’d like to see you try, boy. Give it here!”

Wei Wuxian sighs. “I would not try. I would give it back to you, if you asked nicely, but oh--oh, the danger of another person knowing that you have a painting with an imperial stamp on it, with no way to explain how. Unless you’d like to tell me. But you’ve made it clear as day that you’re not interested in letting me know, so you’ll just have to let a stranger go, knowing he carries this secret, not knowing who he is, not knowing what he’ll do.” He holds the scroll out now. “But of course, I cannot take what’s mine. Shame. Here you are.”

The proprietor had listened to him speak with a vague, mounting fear in his eyes, and when Wei Wuxian shakes the scroll at them, they shrink back as if he’s shaking a dismembered arm at them.

“What, don’t want it now? Didn’t you want me to hand it over?”

“What are you playing at,” the proprietor asks. “Are you a palace spy? What do you want?”

Laughter leaps from Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “Me, a palace spy? Oh, no, no, no. I’m afraid not. Palace spies have much more important things to do than to sniff out thieving proprietors. Tell you what. I take this off your hands and you don’t have to worry about your neck, or your family’s necks, and in return, I won’t tell them where I found it. Hm?”

“You plan to give it back to the imperial family?”

“Of course,” says Wei Wuxian. “All things return to where they belong in the end.”

So as it goes, Wei Wuxian is one mango poorer, but one imperial painting richer, and he cannot tell if he is better off for it. He tucks the scroll into his knapsack and the key that hangs around his neck back into his collars and scans the market for weak spots, opportunities to win more food than he has money for. The rotten mango had been stupid luck, and luck is a finite resource which Wei Wuxian does not have much of to begin with, so he’s going to have to work for the rest of his food today.

A surreptitious scrap of pink peeks out from behind the liquor stall and Wei Wuxian only catches a glimpse of the girl before she tucks herself behind the wooden beams again. Oh--the drunk’s daughter. She’s alone now. Irritation bubbles in the pit of Wei Wuxian’s stomach when he pictures the man shaking her off, lumbering towards another gambling stall that will entertain his time, and he has half a mind to--

“Fresh meat buns! Made this morning. Pork and chicken and mushroom!”

Wei Wuxian catches up to the bun cart, falling into step with the vendor. “Shifu, how much for one?”

“One bronze piece for three.”

“Can I get five for one bronze piece?”

“Are you deaf or just stupid? No. Get lost.”

“Please, shifu,” Wei Wuxian says, he gestures behind himself in the direction he’d seen the little girl, “my daughter, she hasn’t eaten in days, and we’re here to see the doctor and he turned her away on account of the fact that we have no money, and she’ll only get sicker if she doesn’t have any food in her system, our family is still waiting at home, please have mercy--”

“Heavens! Good heavens, fine, here! Take these misshapen ones, they’re an eyesore, anyway.”

“Thank you!” Wei Wuxian fishes the bronze piece out of his money pouch, fingertips poking through the holes in the bottom like eyes, and collects his spoils. “Thank you, Shifu!”

“Get outta my sight.”

Wei Wuxian holds his armful of buns to his chest, and their heat warms him through his clothes down to his bones. It’s a relatively cool day, even for autumn. When he turns around again, the girl scrunches herself back into the safety of the shadows, and he chuckles to himself. The liquorist eyes Wei Wuxin warily when he approaches, but he simply seats himself on the other end of the stall and opens his carrying cloth full of lopsided buns. Ugly, unwhole, but still good for hunger. Still good.

“Could I interest you in a bottle of rice wine?”

“Ah, no, it’s fine,” Wei Wuxian flaps his hand. “I am not wont for liquor, but perhaps some company to share these buns with. I have far too many to finish on my own. But I don’t know who’d want these ugly buns. Certainly not you, Shifu, I’m sure?”

The girl peeks out from behind the stall, and Wei Wuxian smiles. “Want one?”

She scampers to sit down in front of him, reaching out with sooty hands for a bun at the top of the bile. The skin of it is pearly in the noon sun, giving under touch, the way only fresh steamed buns are. Then she hesitates, looking into Wei Wuxian’s face as if expecting to be struck.

“Go ahead,” he says, holds the bun out. “Eat.”

She snatches it and crams half of it into her mouth, and Wei Wuxian chuckles again. He knows hunger like this, and takes his own portion to tear into. The sweet smell of pork and mushroom and oil floats up into his eyes, and for a moment the meat sears on his tongue before it settles into a taste.

“Is it good?” he asks.

She nods.

So it’s good.

“Where have you been? Wei Wuxian, I ought to cut you off at the kneecaps! A-Jie’s been worried sick, you were supposed to be back over a shichen ago.”

“I ran into a friend, Jiang Cheng. Lighten up, will you? Here, I got buns.”

“Keep your stupid buns. Where’s the fish you were going to get?”

Wei Wuxian scratches at the back of his neck. “Ha. Well, about that.”

“Seriously? I can’t believe you. If it weren’t your birthday, I really would cut you off at the legs.”

“But it is, so instead, you need to be nice!” Wei Wuxian crows triumphantly.

Jiang Cheng sighs, a gust of hot summer wind that picks up stinging sands. A wisp of his hair flits with his breath. He’s wearing his nice clothes, no doubt because A-Jie made him, with a polished belt tucked around his waist like the coil of a sleeping snake. It’s a formality that they hardly ever bother with anymore, not in such a provincial town as this, leading a life as threadbare as theirs. The shine of the buckle comes off of him in bright flashes.

“Whatever. Come on, A-jie made noodles. Where’d you get buns?”

“Oh, so you do want one. Here, I know you like chicken.”

“Don’t tell me you managed to snatch all of these,” Jiang Cheng asks, but he takes the one Wei Wuxian offers anyway. “Who likes chicken,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

“I just harnessed a talent that you have never quite mastered, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says. “Charm.”

“I ought to smack you.”

“There was a hungry kid. I didn’t want her to go hungry.”

Jiang Cheng is quiet. “We all are, why go help a stranger?”

“Wouldn’t you have wanted someone to help us back then?”

At this, a grunt. Which, coming from Jiang Cheng, is as enthusiastic a yes he’ll give, so Wei Wuxian smiles to himself and slings his sack of food over his shoulder. He’s down to two now, and he figures he’ll just give both of them to A-Jie who deserves much more than two pork buns, but it’s the best he has. One day he’ll get her expensive candied mangoes and hawthorn berries that the baker makes in the market in the next city over--the one that glitters.

“A-Cheng, A-Xian! You’re back!”

“Found him scaling the wall back into the hutong,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “Punk.”

Jiang Yanli, too, is wearing her nicest set of robes today, with a hair ornament that Wei Wuxian hasn’t seen her with since the new year. Her face clears of worry when she sees them, and she reaches up, straightens a lock of Wei Wuxian’s hair where it’s caught over his ear. “A-Xian, you’re not--you know that you shouldn’t--”

“Scale walls, climb to great heights, jump off roofs, I know, I know,” Wei Wuxian says, vividly recalling that he has done all of the above and then some today. “Sorry to make you worry, A-Jie, I’m fine! I got you buns. You can have them both.”

“But what about the fish? A-xian, we were going to make one for dinner for you.”

“Ah, fish or no fish, it’s no matter. Noodles are good enough. As long as I can live a long life, luck will always come back around.”

“What if your whole life is plagued with bad luck?” asks Jiang Cheng as they duck back into their hut of clay and brick. The curtains are open, a rare moment of Jiang Yanli letting daylight peek inside, and it lights up their matchbox home in a wash of sunset. Bowls of steaming noodles are set out on the rickety slice of table, with the biggest in front of the seat where Wei Wuxian always sits. His heart swells. He’ll be forcing mouthfuls of noodles into his siblings’ bowls when they sit down, he’s sure, but for now his heart is the pulse of afternoon sun in the window.

“Then my next life,” says Wei Wuxian. “My next one won’t be nearly as bad.”

The Lost Phoenix is lost. I think that’s the point. No one will ever find them. You will die looking for them.

Wei Wuxian is built from broken things.

He sees rubble and thinks, that is a home. He sees blood and thinks, that is a heart. He sees himself reflected in the slow meanders of swamp-green lakes lazy with dragonflies and skeeters and tries to remember, that is a human, that is a human, that is a human.

“You may not be human, but that is what makes you worth loving,” is what A-Jie says.

“You? A human? With an appetite like that? It’s like trying to feed a void with you,” is what Jiang Cheng says, which is basically the same thing.

Wei Wuxian is built from broken things, but the uglier, eyesore-pork-bun truth is that he is born from destruction. He is born from the fire of things, and the ashes of himself; his body waits for the wither.

The Lost Phoenix is dead. His ashes were scattered in mountain, sea, and sky.

The Lost Phoenix is alive! Everyone knows that leaving behind but a single ember can spark a wildfire. Fire has wings.

No human, ghost, or demon has ever seen the Lost Phoenix. If they had, wouldn’t we have heard by now? They are only a legend.

There are scars on his back to prove what he once was and never will be again, and Jiang Yanli tells him, The world was not ready for you. The world, perhaps, will not be ready for the Lost Phoenix to return for as long as we still walk upon it, A-Xian, but maybe when one day when everyone is gone, when A-Cheng and I are gone, you’ll--

He always cuts her off there. Usually he can’t see her face, because she’ll be sitting behind him and rubbing oil into the muscles that can never seem to loosen around his shoulder blades, the ones that line the edges of the scars like mottled mountain peaks. Just two of them, in straight lines as long as a hand, glaring at each other over the expanse of his back, the winding groove of his spine. Phantom pains. Human or not, the body will miss limbs when they are gone.

Tonight, Jiang Yanli does not tell him the world isn’t ready for him. It hurts to listen to her say it, because it’s not a pain that Wei Wuxian can beat away with his fists or even his words. There’s a quiet noise of the bottle being unstoppered, then the cloying scent of liniment oil wreathing around him as he sits with his back bared to her, hair swept over his shoulder.

“A-jie,” he says.

“Hmm?” Her hands are small and warm against his back, and he hisses in pain when her finger catches on a tight knot immediately. “Sorry, Xianxian.”

“It’s okay. Uhm, I have a stupid question.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. Ask.”

“Which birthday did we celebrate tonight?” he asks quietly.

The inside of their hut is a dark, uneven indigo now, the fires of the village filtering in through their window. Jiang Cheng has gone to bathe, so the only answering noise above the sound of a city settling in evening is Jiang Yanli’s soft laughter.

“Your thirty-first, A-xian.”

“How many years have passed in this life?”

Her hands disappear as she dabs more liniment oil onto her fingers. “Since your reincarnation?”

“Yeah.”

“Thirteen.”

“Thirteen,” Wei Wuxian repeats. “Thirteen.” He rolls it over his tongue, trying to figure out how it tastes. Bitter, a little. like medicine. Maybe it’s the liniment. Jiang Yanli runs her thumb down the edge of one of the scars, massaging out a few particularly gnarly knots there.

“Is there something wrong?” she asks.

“Not wrong, exactly.” Wei Wuxian pushes his fingers into his folded robes in his lap, pretends the fabric is sand and silt at the bottom of a lake. He almost expects handfuls of snails when he pulls them back out. “It’s just that, with every passing year, I think maybe this is it--this is the year I’ll remember. This is the year I’ll remember the things about my life before this one. Remember when I tried to teach you and Jiang Cheng how to catch fish with your hands, in the river, A-Jie? You said you could see them beneath the surface, but when you’d reach in to grab it, it was like the fish were never even there.”

“I remember,” says Jiang Yanli. She is quiet, waits for him to go on.

“Trying to recall my first life is like that. I know it happened. I can see it right there, flickering under the water, but. But each year comes and goes, and not only do I not remember anything, it feels like more and more of what I thought I could remember slips away,” says Wei Wuxian. “I was excited in the eighth year of this life. Then I was excited in the twelfth. Thirteen is no good, is it, A-Jie? I’ve run out of lucky numbers to count on.”

“Would it make you happy to remember, Xianxian?”

“I think so. When I think about it--it’s funny, you know. Maybe you know. I can’t recall memories from it, exactly, but when I think about my first life, I think I remember being happy. Like when you roll over and the sun is already up. You can feel the warmth on you even if you don’t see the light.” Then Wei Wuxian snorts. “That doesn’t make any sense. Sorry, ignore me, A-jie.”

“It makes sense. Of course it makes sense. Is that all you remember, a feeling?”

They’ve been over this before. A hazy, murky image of something from Before, dredged up from packed soil. Jiang Cheng will always say, “Who knows? Why do you think I would remember?” waspish, and Jiang Yanli would always give him a soft, “Perhaps it was, A-xian.”

“I remember,” he says, “that we were in a noble family, once.”

This is an easy one. She always says yes to this one. “We were.”

“I remember that the palace walls were lined with bronze, not gold like a lot of the common folk think.”

“Yes, they are.”

“The accident.” The one that has turned him into this.

“I wish you did not,” says Jiang Yanli.

“I don’t--not really. I just remember the pain. My body does, anyway.”

“Muscle has memory,” she says. “But because you are who you are, so does your blood and bones.”

Wei Wuxian fiddles with the gap-toothed key that swings from his neck. It thunks hollowly against his bare chest without the robes to hold it in place, and he tugs the deerskin rope that loops around his neck so that the knot tying it together comes down, down, down, through the hole in the key, up, up, back up again, a miniature comet’s orbit.

“You were a princess,” he says, quiet again.

“Princess is a strong word.”

“But you were.”

“In my own way.”

And then, the most solid memory he has—a figure in white, with hair that fell to their waist, holding a smudge of pink in their hand. Solid, but blurred, like Wei Wuxian is trying to see them through a sheeting waterfall. The lines of their body were straight and crisp, except for the pink. The pink was always soft, parting the mud of his memory.

He doesn’t mention this one, usually. Wei Wuxian holds it close to his heart where it has roots. Year after year, no matter the rains, nothing has flowered. Seasons have passed.

“A person,” Wei Wuxian murmurs.

Jiang Yanli’s hands slow. “Who?”

“I don’t know,” says Wei Wuxian. “Just a person. Their back is to me, so I can’t see their face, but it’s too blurry for me to see them, even if they’d been right in front of me. And they were just standing there--just standing. Nothing else. I don’t even really know if they’re real, but it’s the best memory I have.” He digs his nail into an indent in the key’s teeth. “Do you think they were real, A-Jie?”

“As real as the Lost Phoenix is.”

Wei Wuxian laughs weakly. “The Lost Phoenix is as good as myth.”

A myth meant to scare people.

A cautionary tale.

“The Lost Phoenix needs to stop squirming, or I will poke the sensitive parts of his scar, and I know he hates it when I do,” Jiang Yanli says.

A story about a monster.

“Maybe it’s better to forget some things, A-Jie.”

“A-Cheng and I only want you to be happy, Xianxian. Whatever that means to you. Whether that means remembering or forgetting.”

“I want to remember, because your happiness is my happiness,” Wei Wuxian insists, turning around. Jiang Yanli lifts her hand away as he rearranges his legs in a half-lotus, one foot stretched out onto the floor. “I want to remember because I know this life isn’t one you and Jiang Cheng would have chosen if you both had a choice. You can’t say I’m wrong about that. No noble family member would choose to live in a rundown hutong if they had a choice.”

“A-Xian--”

“I know you won’t tell me what happened before my reincarnation,” says Wei Wuxian. “I know you want to forget. But if anything ever happens that means we can go back to it--you have to say so, okay? You both are the only family I have left. Let me do something for the people who have somehow kept me alive for thirty-one years. I can’t remember eighteen of them. As if I started reading in the middle of the story. There are things I know without knowing how I know them.”

Whether it be a story, a tale, legend, or myth, one thing was certain: the Lost Phoenix is the last known survivor of the Phoenix Rising, once the most revered noble family of the imperial city, the warrior family that protected the throne.

Forged from the Sacred Fires of Scarlet Mountain, the Phoenix Rising once was so formidable that simply meeting one of them in their true form was a sign of luck and good fortune. They were, as their family name suggested, bewinged humans who lived and died and rose again from their own ashes. They were skilled in combat, nimble in war, with the ability of flight. They harnessed Taoist magic that was only spoken of in books.

A secular world did not have room for magic.

“Our A-xian,” says Jiang Yanli, shaking her head, “always hurts himself trying to make us happy before he remembers he has a heart, too.”

“Ah, what good is a heart if I can’t deal it out in pieces for my didi and my jie?” says Wei Wuxian. “It’s not like anyone else has any use for it.”

“That’s not true,” Jiang Yanli murmurs.

“Hm? What’s that?”

“Nothing, Xianxian.”

“You have my promise, A-Jie,” says Wei Wuxian. “It’s us three until the end. Never apart. If I can bring you and Jiang Cheng back to the glory days before this life, then I’ll do whatever it takes.”

She’s quiet, then dabs a light gauze over his skin to absorb the excess liniment oil. Both of them know it won’t be possible--even if they were a lower noble family, there wasn’t a ticket back into the royal city unless you saved the emperor from death or something equally as momentous. Save the empire, or something. Wei Wuxian dreams big, but he’s realistic.

“Thank you, Xianxian,” she says, finally.

“It smells like old people in here,” Jiang Cheng announces, as absurdly loud as new year firecrackers when he comes back inside. He smells of freshwater and sand, and he tracks an inky line of water where his wet shoes stamp footprints into the floors. “I know you’re another year older now, but you’re really getting started early.”

“If I’m so old, then you better talk to me with respect, punk,” Wei Wuxian says. Jiang Cheng may be loud, may be messy, but he chases away the strange, yearning sadness that tugs like a deep saltwater current on Wei Wuxian every time his birthday comes and goes. He loves his stupid, loud brother for it. “Hey! Where’s my kowtow? Where’s my ‘ge,’ then? Where’s my ‘Wei qianbei,’ huh? I’m so old, Jiang Cheng, pay your respects!”

“Screw you, Wei Wuxian. I’d sooner call you Old Man Wei. You’d have to rip out my tongue first.”

“Okay, come here then, my hands are free.”

“Gross! What’s wrong with you?”

And so night falls on another day, another year, and Wei Wuxian feels a little empty and a lot full, like a planet is breathing inside him. Jiang Yanli tugs on Jiang Cheng’s hair, makes him sit down so she can wrestle the tangles out of his drying frizz, and Wei Wuxian holds the lantern for light.

It’s enough.

So what happened to them, the Phoenix Rising? Why have they disappeared?

Because they had power. Because they were loved, feared, and respected, all things an emperor should be.

In the beginning, it was an honor to be the emperor that controlled the Phoenix Rising, for it took an equally distinguished ruler to command such a family, and for generations, the Phoenix Rising served the throne with grace. For generations, the empire was a glowing, golden city upon which the sun glittered, and the common folk called it the City of Gods.

But at the end of a weak dynasty, the throne was seized by a bloodthirsty family that feared the Phoenix Rising and the power they held. People, monsters, kings, or gods? Did the citizens respect the throne? Or did the loyalty of their hearts lie with the strange, winged family that had for centuries been revered as the beacon of luck and fortune?

Humans fear what they do not understand. Humans seek to destroy what they fear.

And so the Phoenix Rising paid the steepest price.

“Did he mention it to you at all yesterday?”

“No! He never brought it up. That punk. I’m gonna wring his sorry little neck.”

“A-Cheng.” A rustle of wind through paper. Then, “We need to ask him where he found this. He could’ve been caught. He could’ve been killed.”

Wei Wuxian wakes to his siblings whispering. Whispers always come through dreams like shouts, and he’s having a very strange dream about walking through wire, except instead of coals at his feet, there is ash, and in the ash there are hundreds and hundreds of keys glinting red as squirting cherries. His feet are burnt and blistering, but he can’t run, can’t turn back, can only walk forward.

There are no secrets in a single-room shack. No matter how quietly Jiang Yanli whispers, Jiang Cheng speaks loud enough to wake the whole town.

“Nicked it, probably,” says Jiang Cheng now. A grudging respect colors his voice. “That’s probably why he took so long to get back yesterday.”

The bamboo sleep mat crackles beneath him as Wei Wuxian rolls over, then sits up. For a moment the world is a spinning top. Jiang Yanli turns, lowering something, and smiles when she sees him awake. Jiang Cheng, of course, is already swinging.

“You dumbass! Where did you get this? If someone comes looking for it and finds it with us, do you know how dead we are?”

Then Wei Wuxian sees it--the painting that he’d charmed out of the hands of the gambling proprietor at lunch yesterday. Jiang Yanli holds it like a broken bird in her lap, and Wei Wuxian ducks when Jiang Cheng aims another swat at him. Mostly half-hearted, but he leaps to his feet and skips out of reach.

“I was going to surprise you!” he says. “I didn’t even have a chance to tell you what I was planning. You don’t know how much money this could bring in the black market, Jiang Cheng, an imperial painting? Just think about it. I can just disguise myself, go at night--cover my face, you know--and we could stop living here. We could live in a real house, and we wouldn’t have to all share one sleeping mat.”

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli gets to her feet, too. Always graceful in a stark contrast to her two brothers, the lantern from which two wild tassels would dance in the wind. She lifts the painting up high so that she can point to the red seal in the corner. “Do you recognize this?”

“The imperial seal, right? Sure. Everyone does.”

“I’m going to puke blood,” says Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Yanli ignores him. “You’re not wrong, A-Xian. But this is an imperial seal of a concubine.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Of the emperor?”

“Yes. Judging from the seal design, not just any concubine--she must be a consort, at least.” Jiang Yanli holds the paper closer to her face, trying to discern the characters. “Mo,” she mutters, unsure.

“So we could sell it for even more money,” Wei Wuxian concludes.

“No, we are not going to sell it for money,” says Jiang Cheng. His face has darkened.

“Are you crazy?” Wei Wuxian asks. “You said it yourself, if someone finds us in possession, it’ll be our heads. The faster we get rid of it, the less likely anyone is to know it ever passed through our hands at all.”

“Yeah, well, you probably should have considered that before you nicked it, genius,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “It doesn’t matter. Now that we have it, we’re going to use it.”

“Use it how, if not for money, then?” Wei Wuxian struggles to keep his voice low. Jiang Cheng is not making any gods damned sense--isn’t he the one who constantly talks about leaving this hutong under the guise of hating how cramped it is, when really, he and Wei Wuxian agree that they should move closer to the imperial city where there would be better houses and perhaps a respectable man for their sister to marry if she so wanted?

“We’re going to use this to return to the imperial city.”

A silence falls like a tree toppled in storm between them.

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli begins.

“We are?” asks Wei Wuxian. “How would that even work?”

“You’re the best at telling lies.”

“Well, yes, I’m glad you have seen the light.”

“Think about it,” says Jiang Cheng. “An emperor's consort. It means she must have been in favor with the sitting emperor, Jin Huangshang. A painting with her seal on it. How would a painting by a favored concubine of the emperor end up out here?”

“Wound up in a gambling stall, no less,” Wei Wuxian says. Now that Jiang Cheng puts it that way--it’s more than a little strange. “Fine, say that we could use it as our golden ticket back into the imperial city. We’ll be lucky if the consort is dead. She won’t be around to ask any questions if there are holes in our story. What if she’s alive? What if she’s not a consort? What if she was hated, what then?”

“A-Xian,” says Jiang Yanli, setting her hand on his shoulder, and the touch is firmer than he’s used to. “Stop. You too, A-Cheng. Returning would be dangerous for us.”

“Dangerous how?” asks Wei Wuxian. There it is--that gap of the first eighteen years of his life rearing its mangled head. Sometimes it’s like trying to read a page of text with half the words blacked out, the ones left behind still beautiful, but without meaning. “A-Jie, I thought we were…”

“We were a lower noble family then, Xianxian. But it does not mean that the court is a safe place for any of us.”

“Jie!” says Jiang Cheng.

“No, A-Cheng. We’re not going back. It’s not just for A-Xian’s safety, it’s for all of us.”

“Would we really be in that much danger?” asks Wei Wuxian. “If no one knows I’m the Lost Phoenix but the three of us, nothing would happen.”

Right?

“Jiejie,” says Jiang Cheng, his voice quieter than Wei Wuxian has ever heard it, “the Crown Prince has never married.”

Jiang Yanli’s face, for a dizzying heartbeat, is stricken. Something like pain and longing flashes through her eyes quick as the swing of an axe in cloudy morning, but then it’s gone, and she sighs.

“What does the Crown Prince have anything to do with A-Jie?” asks Wei Wuxian.

“That isn’t any of our business. Not even yours, A-Cheng,” she says. Wei Wuxian has never seen his sister like this, drawn up tall with her chin held high, and for a moment he sees the princess that she must once have been. Jiang Cheng, who is easily a head taller than her and twice as broad, crumples under the weight of her gaze. “We left because we wanted to. We’ve lived by this choice and we will continue to live by it. Now, both of you listen--A-Xian will do as he planned, sell this painting for whatever sum that traders will offer, and we won’t speak of it again. Understand?”

The tension swells like a fever between them.

Wei Wuxian should be happy that his sister is on his side for this--when is it that she ever picks sides whenever he and Jiang Cheng argue? Any other time, he’d be hooting with laughter, rubbing it in Jiang Cheng’s face, but there is a deeply strange, melancholy expression on his brother’s face that does not suit him at all.

“Fine,” says Jiang Cheng. He takes the scroll from Jiang Yanli, rolling it up with care, then shoves it into Wei Wuxian’s chest with considerably less care. “Get this shit out of my sight. I’m going out.”

Wei Wuxian watches helplessly as Jiang Cheng moves around their hut with jerky movements, jaw set with the pulse of anger. He gathers his knapsack and what meager rations of buns left over from the day before, no doubt stale and hard by now, and loops it around his shoulder.

Then he’s gone, without another word.

Wei Wuxian gnaws on the soft inside of his cheek. “A-Jie--”

“Don’t think too much about what A-Cheng said, Xianxian,” says Jiang Yanli. “He won’t show it, but he worries. You needn’t take what he said to heart.”

Jiang Yanli will say no more, no matter how hard he presses. He’ll press anyone until they give, but not her. She ducks her head when Wei Wuxian turns to her with his confused, hurt silence, as if she is waiting for his anger. He’d never be angry with her.

“I don’t understand, A-Jie.”

“A-Cheng and I simply have different ideas of what it means to keep our family safe. He thinks it means returning. I think it means to stay.”

“But why would we be in danger?” he asks. “Does this have something to do with the Crown Prince? Did he know who I was? I guess so, or else why would Jiang Cheng bring him up? Did you know him? Could he help us?”

“No, he couldn’t.”

Wei Wuxian sets his mouth in a line. “Well, I should be off too,” he says. The sun has already started to burn back the clouds; he needs to find tonight’s dinner for the three of them. Maybe he should go after Jiang Cheng, press him for more details. Their sister, despite what anyone might think, gives far less easily than either of them.

“Be careful, Xianxian,” she says. “Oh, are you taking the painting with you?”

“There’s no way I’m going to leave it here in case anyone finds it and you’re here by yourself. Worst case scenario, I throw it away, and we can pretend none of this ever happened.” He takes Jiang Yanli’s hands in his, squeezes them ruefully. “I’m sorry, A-Jie. I just thought it would help. I didn’t want you to argue with Jiang Cheng.”

“It’s okay.” She tucks his stray hairs over his ear. “Go. Come back safe, A-xian.”

He waves at her once when he steps out, and once more when he makes it to the end of the hutong and she becomes little more than a quilted patch of terrycloth in the distance, as he does every morning when he leaves. Jiang Cheng can’t have gone far in the time that he’s gone, unless he took off at a sprint, so Wei Wuxian lets the scented chill of autumn fill his lungs.

The Crown Prince. What a strange person to bring up. Wei Wuxian rifles through what he remembers hearing in taverns and pubs, filtered through the thick veil of alcohol. The Jin family sits upon the throne now, after staging a coup against the Wens and seizing power just over a decade ago. The Crown Prince would have to be a Jin prince. The Jin Emperor was said to be quite the philanderer and had more than enough sons from too many concubines to choose from. The Crown Prince must be quite a favorite, for an emperor with so many sons would not pay any mind to choosing the Empress’s sons if he so liked one from his concubine better.

And this Crown Prince, according to Jiang Cheng, has never married.

The look on Jiang Yanli’s face--frozen, bruised, a bird shot from the sky before it begins to plummet--was not one Wei Wuxian expected to see when she heard this news. If they’d known this prince, then he must have been around even before Wei Wuxian’s reincarnation. Jiang Yanli must have spoken of him.

But all his memories can offer him are vague smudges of color and a person with pink like a fire in their hands.

It’s too early for the fishmongers just yet, but the market brims with life as it always does. Wei Wuxian narrowly dodges a cart full of fresh flowers, a toothless grandfather with a bamboo hat pulling it along weakly. One of the wheels is crooked, wood squeaking against the stone pavement.

“Shifu, your wheel,” says Wei Wuxian, plucking the canteen of oil tucked low against the cart. It dribbles out in a black splash. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”

“Thank you, young man,” says the grandfather, and Wei Wuxian waits for him to turn his back to the street before plucking a lotus from the back of his cart and tucking it into his knapsack. For A-Jie, as penance for upsetting her so early in the morning.

Jiang Cheng is not hard to find. He is poor at concealing himself, both in body and in voice, and he really is very bad at haggling. Wei Wuxian sidles up to him at a fruit stall, arguing with the vendor over a particularly ugly dragonfruit that looks more like a leathery handful of meat left too long in the sun than any respectable fruit.

“Now I think,” says Wei Wuxian, plucking it out of Jiang Cheng’s hand and ignoring his indignant scoff, “shifu, if you let this fruit sit out in your display, it would ruin the look of all the rest of your fruits. ‘Ah, look at this lovely display of dragonfruit. But what do we have here? A misfit! A miscreant! A monstrosity, really!’ And then you lose business. So really, we’re doing you a favor.”

“A favor?” says the vendor with disbelief. “What gall.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, then tosses the fruit back and forth between his hands and gives a quick jerk of his chin. “What do you say? Half off?”

“I can’t believe you weaseled him into giving it to us for less than half off,” says Jiang Cheng five minutes later. “You could talk your way out of your own--”

Wei Wuxian tosses his dragonfruit from hand to hand. “My own what?” Jiang Cheng’s knapsack hangs flat and sad against his back, crumpled like a dead leaf, so Wei Wuxian holds it open and drops the fruit inside.

“Nothing. Never mind. What are you doing out here with that--thing?”

“Do you think I was going to leave it with A-Jie? No way. Imagine if she were alone and someone found her with it.”

Jiang purses his lips, nods. He tucks his thumb into the strap of his knapsack, a deadknot slung over his shoulder. “Have you thought about any stories?”

“What stories?”

“About what we’d say, if we brought it back to the imperial city.”

Jiang Cheng resolutely does not meet Wei Wuxian’s stare.

“You want to go?”

“I just think that if we have a plan, A-Jie might be more willing to go. To be honest with you, if it were just to the two of us, it wouldn’t matter as much. We could sell the stupid painting, use the money. We could eke out an existence. It would fucking suck, but we could, and I wouldn’t feel guilty about it.”

“Ah, Jiang Cheng. You’re finally talking sense!” Wei Wuxian claps him on the back. When Jiang Cheng doesn’t shake his hand off, his smile falters. He must actually be worried. “Okay. We have to consider multiple scenarios, then, if we want this to be foolproof. We don’t want to make up a story where the concubine is alive when she’s dead. Or vice versa. So the first order of business is to figure that out.”

Jiang Cheng nods. “And what kind of favor she’s in with the emperor. The better, the easier for us.”

So, like peddlers, they spin their stories.

The night blooms blue and foggy, the moon dropping light in handfuls of glass through the forest, and Wei Wuxian straightens to see that he is not alone.

Someone else is in the mist with him. It’s thick enough that he cannot see their feet, so they could be floating. A man--just a bit taller than Wei Wuxian himself. His sword is drawn, lowered, as if he’d been pointing it before Wei Wuxian sensed him and stopped. The folded steel blade flashes.

Blood sheets heavily down Wei Wuxian’s leg where the muscle has torn around the arrowhead, and haze sloshes in his skull. His brain is an upended bowl of goldfish. He grasps for words, for his thoughts, but they slip through his fingers. The stranger stares at him a bit in shock, a bit in horror, mostly in surprise. He opens his mouth. He closes it. He is wearing so much white he could be glowing, a star abandoned by its galaxy, and Wei Wuxian is the only one to find him.

They stare at each other in the gloom.

Wei Wuxian’s scattered goldfish thoughts say, Pink.

“Are you here to kill me?” asks Wei Wuxian. His words come out slurred even to his own ears. He needs to find Jiang Cheng. They need to get back to A-Jie. He needs to get out of here.

“No.” The stranger steps towards him. “We mistook you for a prey animal. Are you badly hurt?”

“This? No, no. I’m fine. I need to go.”

“Your leg is injured.”

“It’s fine. I need to get back to--my wards,” Wei Wuxian says, catching himself before he says anything too revealing, pats himself on the back for staying in line even as his thoughts unravel. He picks his favorite story and sticks with it, hopes to any god that is listening it won’t get any of them killed. “My wards. They were with me. I was looking for Jin Bixia.”

The stranger has come so close that Wei Wuxian can make out every stitch of his robe. “What business do you have with the emperor?”

“I have a painting,” he mumbles around the haze. It’s a dark one, now. “My mother’s painting.”

Then darkness kisses his eyelids, and the night pulls him under.

The scroll unfurls with the quiet hush of paper that has gone undisturbed too long. Even mounted on fine silk, the edges of the hemp and mulberry fibers have begun to wither, time nibbling as cruel and hungry as moths. The paper stretches on forever, nearly as tall as him fully unfurled. The cherrywood stick clacks upon the floor.

Wei Wuxian’s mouth goes dry. He stares with seeing, then without comprehending, then without believing.

The ink color has faded, like the paper, with age. Once the red might have leapt off the page, the greens so bright that spring grew from the painting itself, but all of it has flattened. It’s a simple composition. Where Mo Fu Ren had let her human subject be lost among the trees and sweeping landscapes, this painting is only one person, draped in textured golds and silk brocade embroidered with dragons.

Simple, perhaps, but done by the hand of someone who held them beloved.

His fingers shake when he reaches out. They hang back, and he pulls away, afraid that touching it might make the entire painting dissolve in his hands.

Smiling serenely back at him is his own face, thirteen years younger, thirteen years less hungry—but it is him. His eyes are downcast, with a rabbit cradled in the crook of his elbow and a bird perched upon his shoulder. Without a doubt it is him. Even if he could not recognize his own face, the characters that march in little terracotta soldiers down the paper leave no room for guessing.

The black ink is fresh, as if someone has run a brush through the strokes every year so that they can never fade.

Wei Wuxian, they say.

This can’t be right. He must be misreading. He blinks hard.

His thoughts trip over each other’s ankles. They come in a clamoring flood, each wanting to be heard first, pored over first. Wei Wuxian. Had there been another before him? It is not a common name. It is not a name that would show up twice in the royal city if every noble family had the names of their descendants planned out for generations, no matter if the Phoenix Rising had been slaughtered by order of the emperor. Why is there a painting of him rolled up and locked away in the private study of Hanguang Gexia, second head of the scholar house to Emperor Jin?

Did they once know each other?

How could it be that a key that Jiang Yanli gave him would unlock this desk?

There are corpses sleeping under their feet. This earth has been burnt and salted.

An old ache starts in his spine.

We were a lower noble family then, Xianxian.

Fire without coals.

There was a person. Just a person.

Do not exhume these bodies.

We left because we wanted to.

Something terrible must have happened to him.

#fic wip #incomplete #wx

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