#it feels like its not ending and it bothers me

[reaper2187]

Caitlyn kiramman x female reader

The Shadows We Share

The damp, cold air of Stillwater Prison clung to every stone, the metallic tang of despair thick in the narrow corridors. Caitlyn adjusted her rifle strap as she followed the warden, her sharp eyes scanning for any sudden movement. She wasn’t here to gawk; she was here to get answers.

Vi, walking ahead of her in tense silence, had been more than reluctant to return. Stillwater was a scar, a place where guilt and anger intersected with memories she couldn’t fully ignore. She had grudgingly agreed to let Caitlyn help her—after all, Caitlyn wasn’t one to give up once her mind was set. And Vi? She couldn’t shake the feeling she’d left something behind here. Or someone.

As they reached the farthest block of cells, the warden slowed. “You sure this is the one you’re looking for?” he grunted, gesturing to a cell shrouded in shadows.

“I’ll know it when I see it,” Vi shot back, her voice sharp. Caitlyn glanced at her, sensing the tension beneath her bravado.

The cell in question wasn’t like the others. Its occupant didn’t bother pacing or glaring through the bars. Instead, they sat on a cot at the far end, back straight, head tilted slightly as if aware of their observers before they even approached.

When the figure turned, Caitlyn couldn’t help but notice how striking they were. The sharp planes of their face, the unmistakable strength in their posture, and yet, there was something else—a cold, calculating air that seemed almost suffocating.

Vi’s breath hitched. “Y/N?”

The woman blinked, recognition flickering across her stoic features. “Vi.” Her voice was low, even, as if the years hadn’t passed. “Took you long enough.”

Caitlyn watched the exchange curiously, her rifle steady in her grip. Y/N—Vi had called her that—wasn't just another inmate. There was a history here. She could see it in the subtle shift in Vi’s demeanor, the way her usual cockiness dimmed into something more subdued.

“Who’s this?” Y/N asked, her tone neutral but her gaze landing on Caitlyn with an almost clinical assessment.

“Caitlyn,” Vi muttered, waving a dismissive hand. “She’s with me.”

The corner of Y/N’s mouth quirked into what might’ve been a smirk. “With you? Didn’t think you’d take to making friends with enforcers.”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” Vi shot back, her fists clenching. “But you—you’re alive. How the hell are you here?”

Y/N leaned back slightly, the chains on her wrists clinking faintly. “Where else would I be? People like me don’t get to walk free, Vi. You know that.”

Caitlyn stepped forward. “And who are you, exactly?”

Y/N’s gaze snapped to her, sharp and unyielding. “Someone who doesn’t need to answer your questions.” Her eyes flicked back to Vi. “But maybe you should answer mine. What are you doing here?”

Vi exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “We’re here for something else. Didn’t expect to see you here, though.”

“You didn’t expect to see me because you forgot me,” Y/N replied flatly, her tone cutting but not bitter. “Not that I blame you. You had other priorities.”

“I didn’t forget,” Vi said, her voice low, almost pleading. “I thought you were—”

“Dead?” Y/N offered, tilting her head slightly. “Close enough.”

Caitlyn, feeling the tension growing, intervened. “You’re from Zaun?”

Y/N raised a brow. “A long time ago.”

“She’s more than that,” Vi interjected, her voice laced with guilt. “She’s—she was like a sister to me. She taught me how to fight, how to survive. Vander trusted her with everything.”

Caitlyn frowned, the pieces starting to fit together. Y/N wasn’t just another criminal. She was someone Vi had cared about deeply, someone who had been part of her past long before Stillwater.

The conversation shifted as Caitlyn pressed further. “If you were that close to Vander and the others, why are you here? What happened?”

Y/N’s eyes darkened, her expression unreadable. “Zaun has no shortage of people who want you dead. I made a living off that fact.” She paused, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Apparently, the Piltover authorities don’t appreciate hitmen in their streets.”

“You were arrested for assassination?” Caitlyn asked, her voice sharp.

“Among other things,” Y/N replied nonchalantly. “Stillwater’s my penance.”

Vi shook her head, a mixture of disbelief and frustration flashing across her face. “You could’ve gotten out. You’re too smart for this.”

“Getting out isn’t the problem,” Y/N said quietly. “Staying out is.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Caitlyn glanced between them, sensing that there was far more to this story than either of them was letting on.

Before the conversation could continue, the warden returned. “If you’re done reminiscing, we’ve got schedules to keep.”

Caitlyn nodded, but Vi hesitated, her gaze lingering on Y/N. “We’re getting out of here,” she said firmly. “All of us.”

Y/N raised a brow, her expression skeptical. “You really think it’s that simple?”

Caitlyn stepped forward. “It’s not simple, but it’s possible. If you’re willing to work with us.”

Y/N studied her for a long moment, her piercing gaze seeming to dissect Caitlyn’s every word. Finally, she nodded. “Fine. But don’t expect me to play nice.”

Vi smirked, the tension easing slightly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As they turned to leave, Y/N’s voice stopped them. “Vi.”

She looked back, her expression softening slightly. “Yeah?”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

The Escape Plan

Henlo, I do have a second part of this if you all want it. So if you do comment and like. If anyone of y'all have any requests then you can also leave those in the comments or in the submission box thingy

Okiee byeeee

[ink-and-dagger]

Hi Legacy, thank you for your comment and for your compliment about my writing. Unfortunately, Tumblr wouldn’t let me leave this response to your comment under the fic, so I am having to add it onto your reblog. Something I really, genuinely, did not want to have to do.

I hear what you are saying, and am in full agreement with you - tags play a vital role in reader protection, and there’s nothing more frustrating (and in some cases dangerous) than people misusing them.

However, a few words now in my own defence.

I am not new here. I have been writing and posting Silco fics since Arcane first aired back in 2021. It seems more likely in this case that you are new if not to the Arcane fandom then to my blog/writing specifically - so allow me to provide a bit of context which may help, because I don’t believe this case is as cut-and-dry as you believe it to be. I began posting my multi-chapter Silco x Reader fic Drink With Me in January 2022, and updated regularly until its completion in July of that same year. I was extremely lucky in that my story gained a lot of traction and interaction within the fandom throughout that time. People became extremely invested in the Reader character, and would ask me all sorts of questions about her. That’s how Astrid was born. She became a point of reference outside the fic for those who wanted someone to visualise, whilst the fic itself remained strictly a Reader Insert. In the few years since this story wrapped up, my followers have remained invested in the ‘Drink With Me’ universe (again, I’m incredibly lucky and thankful for this), and to this day I receive tons of requests for bonus content set within this universe that I try to fulfil whenever I can. Despite these ficlets being connected to a main multi-chapter fic, most of them can easily be read as a standalone and do not require the context or any prior knowledge of the main fic to make sense. Additionally, as I did with the main fic, they are always written in 2nd person, the character is never referred to by name, and I never use any physical descriptors beyond anatomical ones during smut. If you were to take away any and all tags and look purely at the text alone, it reads as a traditional reader insert, which is why I tag it as such. I include the ‘Astrid’ and ‘OC’ tags for those people who are familiar with the DWM fic and universe and who specifically follow me for this reason, so that they know in their minds that the ficlet relates to the world/timeline of Drink With Me in some way shape or form. I think the point I’m trying to make is that those who are familiar with me and my work will see the ‘Astrid/OC’ tag and go “Ah cool it’s this universe”. Whereas for everyone else I add the ‘can be read as gen!reader insert’ note at the top so that they can go “Ah cool, let me just ignore that character tag then” and happily read it as a general reader insert fic perfectly fine. I hope that makes a bit more sense as to why I tag this way, why I’ve always tagged this way, and why I will continue to tag this way for my Drink With Me adjacent works. If I ever were to write something in 1st or 3rd person or that described the MC in a very specific way, then I would of course not tag that as a reader fic.

Now, so long as we’re here discussing fandom etiquette, I’d like to politely point out that adding your grievance onto the reblog of a specific fic is not a ‘gentle reminder’ - it’s a full-frontal attack on the author who wrote that fic. It would have been far better for you to create your own, separate post addressing the fandom as a whole, or to send me a quiet, private comment/DM on the side.

As I’ve already said, I empathise with your point of view, and I hope you are able to empathise with mine. If the way I choose to tag my work bothers you, then please feel free to block my account so that I don’t show up whilst you are searching for content. At the end of the day we are all individual humans - you cannot expect everyone to interpret/measure/categorise everything in the same way you would, and it’s imperative to take some measure of responsibility for cultivating your own online space, instead of relying on others to do it for you.

What if Astrid find a pic of young Silco by accident hehhehehehhehehehehhe

Snapshot

A Drink With Me ficlet

870 words || Established relationship || Silco x Astrid (but can be read as gen f!reader) || SFW but suggestive || MDNI

“Oh my Gods.”

“What?”

“Oh. My Gods.”

Time has stripped the photograph between your fingers of its glossy sheen and has left the edges blunt and frayed, but you would recognise those features anywhere; no less sharp nor striking through the faded sepia.

“This is you.”

It had slipped from between two ledgers as you’d perused Silco’s bookshelves – an activity more to entertain your idle hands than a genuine search for reading material. The image itself is simple and candid: A young man, seemingly oblivious to the fact his portrait is being taken, sat at a familiar bar, with eyes downcast toward a spread of papers.

That same man looks up at you now from a very similar spread of papers. “What is?”

“This.” You drift over to his desk and perch on its edge, all the while unable to tear your gaze from the photo in your hands. The pitch dark hair swept back into a low bun. The familiar strays – the same ones that even now will always be the first to escape any styling under the combing of agitated fingers – falling forward into his face, only far longer and thicker than you’re used to. His skin, unblemished and smooth, save for the chronic furrow between his brows – etched there long before time and tragedy ravaged the rest.

Silco hums absently; an indication that he acknowledges your discovery but finds little interest in it. You can imagine the man in the photograph making the exact same noise, were someone to distract him from his paperwork for a reason he deemed benign. You flip the photo over. No date.

“How old are you here?”

Silco exhales through his nose, places his pen down with a pointed clack, and extends his hand wordlessly toward you.

“Hah! Do you think I’m wet behind the ears?” you hold the photograph out of his reach, “You can tell just fine from over there thank you very much.”

He cuts you a scathing glance, before leaning forward in his chair with a foreboding creak to peer more closely at the image. His scarred lips purse slightly in thought.

“Mid–late twenties. I can’t say for certain.”

“You were hot.”

“Were?”

“Were and are,” you coo, reclining backwards over the desk into his space, one elbow pitched on his paperwork to hold your weight whilst you flap the photograph in front of his face, “Can I keep this?”

“For what reason?”

“Dirty ones.”

“Hardly necessary,” Silco says, the very corner of his mouth creasing upwards as he catches your wrist to halt your photo-flapping, “You have access to the real thing.”

“True, true, and you can be sure I’ll continue taking advantage of that.” You grin, shoving your captured, photo-wielding arm a little closer to him in emphasis, “But right now I’m talking about some alone time with this guy.”

Silco scoffs under his breath and releases your wrist. You twist onto your front, weight propped on both elbows as you admire the photograph in your grip. You trace a finger down the slender throat of the man in the photo, over the generous wedge of chest exposed by his open crimson collar.

“D’you think he’d notice me? If I came into that bar?”

“Oh I’m certain he would.”

“Yeah?” You lift your gaze from the man in the photo to the one before you – as equally breathtaking. More so. You catch your lower lip between your teeth. “What line would he use?”

Silco hums, low and thoughtful, leaning forward in his chair, closing in on your space. He picks up his abandoned pen, briefly twirling the implement until it’s poised between his elegant fingers like a cigarette. Nib safely facing his own palm.

“After downing the dregs of his drink for courage... he would have approached you.”

With sensual tenderness, he brushes the barrel of his pen along your cheek, warmed metal against warmer skin. Catching at the curve of your jawline, and tracing over your pulse in a way that makes it fumble a beat.

“Cast his gaze over each of your pretty, pretty features. One by one,” he murmurs, slowly drawing the end of the pen down your jugular, down the slope of your collar bone, to leisurely trail through the cut of your cleavage. The corner of your mouth hooks up. The warmth low in your belly coils a little tighter.

“He would have leaned in close,” Silco whispers, demonstrating just so, “Close enough that you’d almost taste the whiskey on his breath.”

Blunt metal drags a purposeful line up your throat, and your lips part softly as he tilts your face toward his with the barrel of his pen flat and firm beneath your chin.

“And asked you – very nicely – to stop leaning on his paperwork.”

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek while Silco’s dual eyes sizzle with smug mirth. It’d be unthinkable, really – to forfeit either one for the sake of a matching pair.

You straighten and push off his desk, hips swaying as you saunter over to the bedroom with the photograph in hand.

“Well,” you say, pausing in the threshold and turning to him with a smirk, “If you need us, you know where we’ll be.”

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hi !! i was thinking about logical by olivia rodrigo when she sings "said i was too young i was too soft, can't take a joke can't get you off" and it got me thinking of rupert campbell black x younger!reader getting into a huge argument about something and he says that to her in the heat of the moment and then maybe they end up having make up sex idk

thank you <33

February Sky.

The highs are so high, but the lows are so low.

rupert campbell black x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. age gap. angst. so much use of the word darling. this might be a tiny bit toxic, but...

word count - 2.3k

authors note - title taken from logical by olivia rodrigo (which fits him so well, by the way). thank you for this request, erica!! it works so beautifully. I tried not to make it too toxic, but I think rupert is a tiny bit toxic, regardless. oops. and yet we love him anyway.

masterlist. inbox.

“What’s the matter?”

You’re curled up in the armchair by the fire, cup of tea warming the palms of your hands as the flames warm your toes. You’re still wearing your ballgown, hair still pretty in its updo and makeup still perfectly done.

“Darling,” you hear come from the kitchen, where he’s no doubt pouring himself a whiskey.

You stay quiet, taking a sip from your mug and sitting in your frustration.

Rupert appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame and taking in the sight of you. The first thing he observes is how cosy you look. The second thing he observes is how annoyed you look.

“Darling,” he repeats, walking over to kneel in front of you. “What’s the matter? Did you not have a good time?”

You’ve gotten very good at picking your battles with Rupert. Sometimes, you let go of whatever’s bothering you to save yourself the aggravation of an argument. Other days, much like today, you just can’t seem to keep a lid on your anger.

“I was having a good time until you made me feel stupid in front of everyone.”

“W-what? What are you talking about?”

You look down at him, his wide eyes staring up at you with genuine confusion painted across them.

“When I told that story about the horses, at the dinner table. I saw that look you gave Bas. It was like you were laughing at me, not with me.”

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel stupid. You know I wouldn’t do that.”

“Do I? You did the same thing a few weeks ago at Lizzie’s. You so easily undermine me when I’m speaking with a look or a laugh. That’s all it takes, and you don’t even realise.”

“Darling, I’m just joking with my friends. I’m not sure why you’re taking this so personally. It’s a non issue that you’re making into an issue.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Well I could argue that it’s not fair that you’re telling me that I make you feel stupid. That’s an accusation that’s not fair.”

He gets up, moving to stand by the fire with his glass in his hand.

“I feel like you’re just dismissing me,” you say quietly, squeezing the mug tighter in your hands.

“Because you’re acting like a child.”

“You’re treating me like a child,” you retort quickly, sitting up straighter in your chair.

“Look, darling. Maybe this is just our gap in life experience rearing its head. You’ve got a lot to learn, and sometimes it shows.”

“You know, our age gap only becomes a problem when you make it a problem. You want a sweet, young girlfriend until she acts her age, and then it’s an issue.”

“Because you can be so mature, and then all of a sudden you’re throwing a tantrum like a child,” he fumes, placing his glass down on the mantelpiece and folding his arms over his chest. “You’re young and you’re soft, I’m not oblivious to that. But sometimes you can’t take a joke - or sometimes you miss the joke completely. It’s not my fault if you twist that into me making you feel stupid.”

You put your mug down onto the side table, willing yourself not to get upset. You stand up so you’re no longer below him, still keeping a distance between the two of you. Breathing in deeply, you exhale shakily in an attempt to keep yourself and your composure together.

“You’re acting like my age is something that came up later, Rupert - and that’s not true at all. You knew how old I was when we met. You knew I was significantly younger than you.”

“Yes, I did. Maybe I just wasn’t aware of how often it would come up as a point when we argued.”

He leans against the fireplace wall, sharp features illuminated by the light of the flames. All that can be heard are the sounds of wood crackling and two sets of lungs heaving for breath.

“You’re making me feel like I’m insane,” you burst suddenly, sick of biting your tongue. “You’re acting as if everything is all my fault. When will you take some responsibility, Rupert? When will you hold your hands up and say ‘do you know what - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done it’, hmm? Why do I always have to apologise?”

“Darling-”

“No, I’m sick of it. One minute, you’re telling me our age gap doesn’t matter because we’re in love and I’m mature and intelligent and everything you need - and the next minute you’re treating me like some sort of virginal lamb that doesn’t know the difference between left and right. Make up your mind, because you’re making me dizzy.”

“If you’re so sick of it, why are we doing this? If you are so sick of it, you know where the door is, darling. I’m not forcing you to stay here.”

That’s all it takes for the tears to start falling, hot and heavy down your cheeks. Your sadness seems to be uncontrollable, stemming from your chest and humming through your veins. You’re surprised you’re not turning blue, a perfect personification of sorrow.

You stand your ground and cry in place, refusing to move to him for comfort. Eventually, he breaks first, unable to watch you sob any longer.

“My darling,” he soothes, striding across the space to wrap his arms around you. “My sweet girl.”

His nicknames only make you cry harder, burying your face in his crisp white dress shirt and undoubtedly getting makeup all over it. He doesn’t care, one hand gripping the back of your neck while the other wraps around your waist to pull you closer.

“That was really mean,” you blubber into his chest. “Do you actually want me to leave?”

“No,” he reassures, rocking you in his arms gently. “No, darling. No. God, that’s the last thing I want. Honest.”

“Why did you say it then?”

Your voice is muffled, face still pressed against him. He smells so familiar and masculine and Rupert that it only makes you cry more.

“I… I don’t know,” he confesses, squeezing you tighter. “I shouldn’t have. You know me, I- I say things I don’t mean when I’m angry.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Your fingers are gripping the back of his shirt, holding on for dear life.

“I know, darling. I know.”

You sniffle as you pull back slightly to look up at him, surprised to see his eyes teary and glistening.

“Do you love me, Rupert? Because, because- if you… if you really wanted me to leave… you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“Sweet girl,” he breathes, cradling your face in his hands. “Of course I love you. The fact you even have to ask breaks my heart. I don’t want to you leave - I love having you here. And god forbid, if something bad did happen between us… we both know we wouldn’t stick around and pretend that this is something it’s not.”

Part of you knows that he’s good at this - saying exactly what you want and need to hear. The rest of you is stupidly relieved, letting his words wash over you like a balm on a scrape.

“I didn’t like it when you laughed at me tonight. One, because it made me feel stupid, and two… because I don’t want people to doubt us. You know what they’re all like. They see the tiniest crack and dig their fingers into it until it’s a gaping wound that they can all gossip about.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he murmurs as he sweeps his thumbs back and forth across your cheekbones. “I shouldn’t give them any ammunition. I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t realise it would upset you so much. There was no malicious intent on my part, I swear - it was just a joke between friends. You know Bas adores you.”

“I know,” you half chuckle. “He tells me every single time he sees me.”

“Exactly,” Rupert grins, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “But no one adores you the way I do. I can promise you that.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his middle and resting your head against his chest. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, meaning you can feel his warm skin against your cheek, comforting and familiar.

“Rupert?”

He hums, encouraging you to continue.

“Will you stop bringing up my age when we argue? I don’t ever mention that you’re older than me, but you’re so quick to call me young or inexperienced or a baby.”

“Yes, darling. I’m sorry that it seems like a focal point for us - it’s not, I swear.”

“You kissed me.”

“Hmm?”

“You kissed me, that day in the garden. Not the other way around. You made the move first. I’m not some innocent girl chasing after you because I’m naive and too young to know any better.”

“I know that. I kissed you because I thought you were the most magnificent girl I’d ever met. I still do.”

He tightens his arms around you, gently rocking you like a child again.

“I don’t want to argue anymore,” you mumble, sighing deeply.

“Neither do I, darling. We’re finished with the arguing now. Promise.”

Rupert takes half a step back, to give him a better look at you. You still look beautiful, even if you do have mascara running down your cheeks and lipstick smudged across your face.

“I love you,” he murmurs as he leans in to kiss you.

“I love you too,” you manage to mutter against his lips, kissing him back as hard as you can.

He kisses you carefully, methodically, as if he’s worried he’ll spook you and you’ll take off running. He’s keeping you close, hands gripping your hips to plaster your body to his. You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging the dark locks with a little too much force, which he doesn’t seem to mind.

Rupert walks you both towards the fire, lips never parting from yours. His hand finds the back of your dress, pulling down the zip in one smooth movement. It falls to your feet, kicked to the side in disregard. He sits down in the armchair and pulls you with him so you’re straddling his lap, legs on either side of his hips and arms thrown around his neck.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers, fingers tracing patterns up and down your bare back.

You press kisses into his neck and down his chest, the hair there tickling your face as you do it. Your hips have slowly started to move against his, both of you out of breath as the stakes get higher and higher.

He undoes the zip on his trousers, smirking when you whimper at his knuckles brushing your wet core. He pulls them down just enough to free himself, not worried about getting completely undressed.

“I want these off,” he instructs, pulling at the waistband of your underwear. “Now, darling.”

You wiggle them down your legs, kicking them off one foot in the direction of your dress. You’re fully naked in his lap, while he’s still wearing his shirt unbuttoned with his trousers halfway down his thighs. You both look debauched, more scandalous than you could ever imagine. You wish for a moment that you had a mirror, desperate to watch the way you need each other.

You take matters into your own hands and line him up, sinking down slowly so you can savour the stretch. It burns just right, the slight ache a welcome intrusion.

“Shit, darling. That’s it. Good girl.”

Tangling your fingers into the back of his hair, you start to wind your hips up and down - gently at first, and then with more vigour. Rupert lets his head loll back into the chair, exposing that gorgeously tanned neck of his. You nip at it with your teeth, grinning when he groans all low and slow.

He cups your tits, squeezing and pinching as he begins to buck his hips to meet yours. You’re determined to do all the work yourself, but he can read your body language like a book, whether you like it or not. He knows you’re getting tired, but will point blank refuse to admit it.

One of his hands slinks between you to rub firm circles onto your clit, both of you moaning when you clench down around him. He can tell you’re almost there, just needing the tiniest push to throw you over the edge.

“There we go, good girl. My good girl. All mine.”

That’s all you need, back arching and legs shaking as you reach your climax. Yours triggers Rupert’s, the most delicious groan leaving his mouth as he comes. He looks like a Greek God, all chiseled and glistening in the firelight.

Burying your head into the crook of his neck, you breathe him and try to calm your pounding heart. You can feel his heart battering against his chest where it’s pressed against yours, bodies tangled together in the armchair.

The two of you catch your breath for a while, revelling in the warmth of the fire and the company of the other. Eventually, Rupert carries you upstairs, murmuring sweet nothings into your ear and stroking your hair as he does it.

I was wrong, earlier, you think as he tucks you into bed and immediately climbs in next to you, plastering himself to your back. No one could love me like Rupert does.

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again, even if I sound like a broken record…

reblogs are gold dust to writers!! reblog the fics you read and enjoy, and your favourite writers will keep writing them for you!! it really is that simple!! <3

[missmarveledsblog]

Never doubt the Matchmaker ( jake seresin x reader )

Summary : nat phoenix trace was well known by her friends and coworkers as being a excellent matchmaker although jake seresin thinks it all bullshit till he finally let her set him up and jake learns never to doubt the matchmaker ...

warnings : goofy , fluffy , miscommunication sort of rom com feel to it , picture doesn't describe the reader just cover art i started making for fics

Natasha trace  was a woman of many talents , she was strong , determined , and calculated . all good qualities that made her one of best female pilots but she also had another talent one that didn't even remotely have to do with the navy and it was her match making skills . when she disclosed the information it got laughs  , didn't bother her she laughed along with them .  then one by one it would start off joking then hinting to outright asking. first it was fanboy then bob then javy then rooster. only one she didn't get asked by was payback giving the man was already married and jake who still thought it was all  crock .  she didn’t really concern herself with what bagman had to say the results spoke for themself .  fan boy was living with the barista she set him up with , bob was married to the animal shelter volunteer , javy was still going strong with the yoga instructor while  rooster only began seeing the nurse it was still good and boy was he already gone . the results spoke for themselves as always but jake still a skeptic , still ready to shoot it all down of course . 

“ he’s just afraid of finding the one is all “ rooster laughed .

“ i mean i don’t doubt your skill but hangman finding the one is a bit far fetched “ bob shook his head amused in the constantly denial of the match making but in fairness they all were  til she did her thing. 

“ don’t worry bagman i wouldn’t subject any woman to deal with you “  phoenix rolled her eyes . 

“ because its not working i mean rooster would fall in love with a rock” he countered as the brunette exclaimed out a “ hey “ 

 “ why does it bother you so much , you feeling left out , a little lonely “ she taunted . 

“ never lonely phoenix i can get a girl to keep me warm at night any time” he winked  taking his shot potting the ball . 

“ why don’t you let her set you up then “ bob suggested . 

“ he’s right you think it’s fake then prove it “ javy added . 

“ ain’t you suppose to be on my side here?” 

“ come on man what have you got to lose”  rooster smirked . 

“ you know what i’ll bit just to show you i’m right” he crossed his arms looking to the female pilot.

“Fine  i’ll set you up bagman “ nat shook her head . 

It had been weeks since the whole agreement in the hard deck and jake constantly being the one to let her know the fact . then like an angel to answer all there prayers she found the one , the one that would have jake seresin eating his words .  then one day during lunch jake was looking at text of details for a date saturday . he promised to give the woman a chance   , knowing full well it would end like all his dates do  and that part wasn’t so bad .  He’d gotten the womans number striking up a conversation , she could least do that only thing was when he asked for selfie she would reply later , later never came then it was “ i forgot next” which didn’t fill him with much fate but still keeping his word he continues to chat . saturday he was on the beach  a regular tradition now playing dog fight football as the guys asked about his  date. 

“ i mean we text but no selfies so not promising “ he called as nat shook her head. 

“ she hot bagman not that it matters “ she rolled her eyes . 

“ all chicks say there friends are hot , i’m just being honest” he smirked . 

“ not al about looks “ rooster pointed out . 

“ says the guy with the hot nurse girlfriend , you telling me if she wasn’t attractive to you in the smallest bit you would be with her ?” he asked . 

“ yeah because of the person , she is” . 

“ again not that it matters but y/n is a hotty and well able to handle you “ nat scoffed . 

“ yeah we’ll see about that phoenix”. 

When he got home  still texting his date asking her what she was going to wear so he would be able find her .  all he got back was long red dress probably something a grandma would wear  he didn’t know why but that was what he thought . then he got ready   thinking the worse as time got closer , like it was set up in a different way , a ploy for phoenix to get back at him and set him up with some lady that had twenty cars the generic mad woman crossing his mind .  he could slip out early that was for sure  although javy was telling him it would be ok also agreed to call with fake emergency. He was glad he agreed to meet somewhere else because if this was a trick least there would be no witnesses that was for sure . checking over least he looked good   as he looked down at his dress pants that fit snugly on his legs of the light blue almost whitish blue shirt that made his chest and arms look great . he was ready to prove natasha trace wrong and make a  lady happy to get the jake seresin experience . he was sure it was going to be a disaster , some sort of catfish situation even though he had yet to she her face expectations were not high. He stood outside  the bar it was classy  place so who he thought he would meet would stand out a mile off already building an image of some desperate woman .   parking and taking one look at his phone both message one to tell him she was at the bar and another from javy to have good time but he was also on standby if needed . heading in there was one woman at the bar in a red dress , long that stopped at her shins , her long legs crossed with a pair of black open toed heels   , spagetti string straps as she looked around she was gorgeous. Maybe if his  date failed he could ? . 

She couldn’t believe she let natasha trace do her whole match maker thing knowing how it was going to fail , from texting the guy it was ok nothing special didn’t seem like he was into it either so least she wouldn’t be the only one who was going to go into it with less expectations , plus she could only imagine what she was going to meet not that she didn’t find  nat’s flyboy friends attractive because they were but they lacked a little something  .  she herself worked as a mechanic not as glorious or as dangerous as  the navy but she and nat bonded over being in a male dominated area even still she was confused as the receptionist . now here she was sitting waiting for some stranger  when she could be in her shop finishing the shit ton of cars that needed to be fixed but maybe a few drinks would be ok  , help take the busy week off her shoulders . one so busy she kept forgetting to send a selfie and then she thought it would be more fun to keep the mystery going . she text him to let him know he was at the bar barely flickering her gaze  when he text to say  he was outside well here it was. 

“ showtime “ she winked to the bartender downing the drink waiting for whatever disaster  that was coming her way . 

“Erm y/n “ the  southern drawl clear his throat she turned to raise her hand. 

“ over here” she smiled ok , so he wasn’t tragic looking maybe it was shallow but hey he was gorgeous blonde so she wasn’t complaining . 

“ well darling nice to meet you “ he beamed , he’d give nat this one she was the hotty at the bar . 

“ jake?  Nice to meet you too “ she held her hand out almost swallowed in his own , lifting it to his lips and kissing her hand .

“ what are you drinking ?” he nudged . 

“ just beer , southern boy huh” her own accent coming out more as she talked . 

“ austin born and raised , you ?” he took the seat  noting the slight disappointed glance of bartender since he came over. 

“ dallas , would you like to go sit down and get some food because i for one am hungry ?”  

“ lead the way beautiful whatever you want it on me “  he beamed holding his hand out and letting her take him anywhere and it would be anywhere damn she was like a siren luring him to sea .  following the sway of her hips like they were personal hypnotizing him and maybe they were , pulling the seat out putting the full gentlemen charm because shit she had him hooked with her body already . 

“ so jake from austin what made you ask nat for her skills “ she asked looking up  ever the gentlemen pulling her chair out and pushing it in for her as she looked up through her lashes at the blonde . 

“ honest answer?” to which she nodded .  “ honestly i wanted to see if she was good as other say kinda a skeptic but maybe not so much “ he winked as her  head tipped back and wondrous sound of her laugh came out. 

“ oh my god same i only agreed because she set my cousin up with ostrich , duck some bird dude “ she laughed . 

“ rooster?” 

“ YES !  i haven’t met him yet but my cousin  ironic dove is singing his praise then when she told me she got a perfect match not gonna lie since your being honest and all but i said no for while stuff at works been well hectic “ she shook her head. 

“ what is you do , you never said in your texts plus you owe me a selfie or two “ he teased . 

“ a mechanic actually while other girls where playing with barbies i was playing with tools and hotwheels i’m only girl of a bunch of boys so i guess when i wanted to be one of them safe to say my mom was little let down to say the least “ she chuckled . 

“ i’m only boy of bunch of girls i’m second born though “ 

“I’m the baby  , i’m actually working in a shop owned by my two older brothers and top at my job not as exciting as being a aviator for the navy though” she winked . 

“ nah i’m impressed least i know if my truck ever  has trouble i know who will take care of it for me” he smirked leaning forward honestly he hated how much he was going to be hearing nat gloat because he was already hooked  this woman was perfect although she was a decade younger but fuck she was making him feel like a teenager.

The date was good he laughed a lot she was funny , she seemed interested in knowing him and   kept the conversation light nothing was felt pushed or awkward . it was perfect date  he hated he would have to tell phoenix  as much he didn’t want that night to end ,  they even made out in the back of his truck  so why was it two days after the date and everything was radio silent . only thing that he was told was she got home safe and would contact him again .  he never had that much fun on a date especially one that didn’t end in sex , he wanted to be respectful , he also didn’t wanna text and come off desperate so he was wondering what hell went wrong .  maybe he could ask nat and swallow his pride at the fact she was good but clearly not good if he was ghosted . 

She wondered what went wrong did she come on too  strong , did he not like her .  the date was perfect and yet she never  got text back after she told him she got home safe .  it was all good even making out in the back of his truck til he stopped it now she was slightly annoyed he ghosted her .  burying herself in the overflowing work she could of been doing instead  when the familiar sound of an engine . to see natasha trace coming her way all smile probably ready to hear about how it all went . 

“ i’m mad at you “ y/n huffed tying her hair up before diving back into the hood of the corvette that needed dire attention.  

“ what did he do ?” she groaned now holding the coffee she brought like a peace offering instead of an early celebration . 

“ ghosted me  , i thought we had a great time  , even made out in his stupid truck and boom nothing even when i offered him to follow me “ she grumbled looking up . 

“ wait what javy said jake had great time i was here to rub it in both of you “ . 

“ well i’ll do that rubbing in your matchmaking skill ain’t all that .. but i love you and you didn’t know this was gonna happen so i guess i ain’t actually mad at you… my vagina might be “ she laughed finally taking the coffee. 

“ i’m gonna find out what going on cause something is  not adding up “ nat brows furrowed as she head off ignoring the protest that came from y/n mouth . 

She couldn’t make sense of it , according to javy he was smitten  like really smitten so what the hell was going on .  she knew y/n was younger than jake by ten years was that it but then she was thinking jake would date younger than himself maybe not that gap but again it didn’t seem to bother him . it wasn’t even to do with the match making anymore ..ok maybe it was could that be it , he was ghosting y/n in his own need to be right.  Now she was pissed  as she drove a little faster ,  parking her car and storming down the halls. She didn’t even look at the guys when she got to jake staring up , eyes narrowed  and hands on hips . 

“ what is your problem how come your ghosting y/n ,  she said she had a great time with you and what  is it your need to be right because that fucked if you don’t like her least be a man and tell her “ she gritted . 

“ what are you talking about  , she ghosted me nat  she should grow up and tell you the truth “ he scoffed . 

“ she looked upset although she wouldn’t show it …  she thinks you don’t like her she offered  her place ?” nat said even more confused .

“ believe it or not i was being a gentlemen because i actually did like the her.. The date “ he corrected pulling his phone out to show the fact he ended up texting her couple times . 

“ oh you stupid man , it concerning your still flying that not her the name is similar but you’ve been texting another woman no wonder she didn’t answer … idiots “ she scoffed as jake looked at his phone he didn’t even realize that name was still in his phone  he just saw the first three letters and was currently cursing the device in his hand .  it all connecting in his mind only for rooster to say it all out loud. 

“ shit you actually ghosted her after all” .

“ where she work  cause she not gonna believe me if i text her now ?” he asked chasing after nat  who honestly was done with life at the moment. 

“ if i  tell you , you gotta wear a shirt that says i was right for three nights of my choosing in hard deck ?” nat mused even though she was gonna help him either way but didn’t mean she couldn’t have fun too . 

“ you know what i’ll let you have six , come on “ he pleaded  ready to dart out knowing he’s morning was free . 

“  don't make me regret this “ nat smirked texting the address . “ make sure you check the right message “ she called as he ran off flipping her off . 

 he didnt know what it was but he was hooked on this girl like some sort of spell was cast on him  . he usually didn't bother texting after the fuck boy tendency  was strong he knew it himself but shit he was so disappointed and turned out to be his fault his fuckboy ways or some sort of self sabotage  .  already losing something so good before it even started he wanted to delete all the contacts in his phone maybe change his number start a new leaf. He was just hoping he wasn’t too late as he got into his truck nat sent another message telling him  the  coffee and baked good  peace offering to bring  as well as his size  maybe he would wear the shirt  an extra night for that. It was a race for what he didn’t know but he wanted to find out.   

She was tired but finally she gotten on top of the overflow of repairs  ones even her brothers were impressed she managed to pull of maybe the frustration of being ghosted was working in her favor , she was ready to grab her coat and head out . 

“ hey kiddo truck coming in can you sort this while i sort something in the office” her brother mikey called . 

“ you gotta be shitting me i’m heading out deal with it yourself” she scoffed. 

“ do it and i’ll give you rest of week off and next week  paid and overtime?” he said holding phone to his ear . 

“ fine after this i’m out for a week and half   “ she rolled her eyes throwing her things down tying her hair up . 

“ yeah she going  i think a date would be a good payment huh trace” he chuckled heading into the office. 

She was huffing and puffing but hey time of and extra money she could be happy with , what she wasn’t happy with was a tall blonde aviator standing by the truck . 

“ we’re closed” 

“ says your open “ he nodded to the neon sign. 

“ busy should of called a head.. Or do you have a phone?” she scoffed hand on her hip  , burning hole in his head with the fiery gaze she had on him . 

“ can we talk please ? i got your favorites here” he held up the container. 

“ you could of talked to me before , my brother is in there i will not hesitate to get the bat from his car “ 

“  hear him out … heres your stuff and thanks for screwing up so i can get a date with nat “ mikey called placing her stuff at the door before heading in and locking the door . 

“ traitor “ she mumbled taking her bag and  only see her car keys missing . “ son of a bitch “ she grumbled .  But it wasn’t going to get her down  no come hell or nothing she would walk her ass home . so she did turning out away completely not even sparing the blonde a second look or care if he was following her or not. 

“ come on please let me explain “ jake called. 

“ explain nothing if nat sent you here tell her it’s all good “ she waved over her shoulder not only was  she pissed she was no embarrassed thinking he owned her explanation .  which he did but one of his own violation and not one her friend force him to make .   she heard his booths hitting the asphalt , she could hear the panting  behind her shaking her head she kept walking . 

“ come on please” 

“ you ghost me , i practical ask you to sleep with me i thought you were doing the whole gentlemen thing  but turned out you just didn’t like me which is fine i mean not everyone gonna like me but shit when are guys gonna be honest and be like look i ain’t feeling it   or some shit “ she snapped not caring about the group of guys walking by .  

“ dude you blind “ one commented as she just groaned walking past them all . 

“ hey hey  i did want to ok and i was trying to be a gentlemen , i wanted to take you in backseat of the pickup if i could “ he yelled only instead of the group of guys passing it was a group of elderly women . 

“ pig “ one scoffed as they hurried passed. 

“ i thought you ghosted me ok …i maybe even worse asshole to admit that i was texting the wrong number because the names were similar which i’m going to have to text that person the same thing cause i’m pretty sure she married now” he winced as she finally stopped walking . 

“ you want me believe and if i did it worse that it was a mistake dude it ok we didn’t click i mean i thought we did … oh shit “ she said as he held his phone up showing her the messages her name but the contact was similar . “ is it safe for you to be flying “ she asked .

 “ yes i  made a dumb mistake but my eyesight is fine “ he snorted shaking his head nat previous statement . 

“ so you didn’t ghost me ?” she blinked up slightly  still trying to piece the new information slightly relieved since lets be real being ghosted is never fun . 

“ i didn’t ghost you be a fool to  ,  if  your in a forgiving mood since i cleared it up would you maybe wanna go on another date ?” he stood not the usually confident or cocky way he was used to he was almost shy when asking a definite new feeling that he would ( would not ) out loud . 

“ i guess since you got me a week and half off work i could least do that “ biting her lip , wanting to kick herself at the urge to twirl her hair in her finger like some smitten school girl . 

“Well then lets get going “ he winked wrapping his arm around her only for the same group of guys from before walking by looking barely 16 . 

“ dude kiss her “ one  not so hushed whisper yell  . 

“  man i was gonna ask her out” another whined. 

“ y’all watching this whole time ?” she snorted while jake was looking like the cat that got the cream having her at his side . 

“ tiktok was done … if things don’t work out with old man  heres my number” the guy winked as jake took the piece of paper instead . 

“She wont need it son “ was all jake could say leading her back towards the shop , back where his truck was least if her brother was doing him the solid he could have a small drive thru  date . he was new to it all actually wanting to see the one person actively and exclusive ( not that he told her , he wasn’t bradshaw ) but he was willing to show it in future .  He also learned never to doubt nat and her matching making skills again well how could he went he was going to be wearing the visual proof .

[lara4eclipze]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT i know your bio says you like angst but no one has sent you anything except fluff and smut skfkskfkskf so could i pretty please req an unrequited love trope w/ lara? (or who you prefer) like maybe she has feelings for reader but reader is with another member already or somerhing like that? 🥺

“love is a drug that I quit”

sypnosis -» each passing moment, each heartbeat — guilt gnaws lara knowing she had a crush on her best friends girlfriend

beware! -» angst , touch of fluff , breakup , established relationship, toxic/cheater!sophia , swearing, crying, eventual mutual liking , guilt, I think reader is also kinda toxic in here

talks -» hey babes idk if you wanted a good ending or bad one so I give you a somewhat okay one , also thank you for requesting angst!!! , lovesick girls reference on the title, I think I went off the request a. tad bit hope it's okay though :((

taglist (open) : @nyssalvr @ohmyhaely @vrtualstar @jellaaa @c-yerim

knowing lara she would never ever ignore you on purpose — yet here she was being distant , it didn't bother you much since she was only a friend , right?

sophia invited you to stay the night in the girls house , it wasn't out of the normal — what was out of the normal was a lipgloss that sophia and yoonchae didn't use, it was near sophia's bed , at first you didn't look into it thinking maybe it was lara's or maybe megan's lipgloss

yet something in you tingled , something that told you it was someone elses

so without thinking much you asked the girls around the house if they used this specific brand of lipgloss

"manon— do you like rare beauty lipglosses?" you ask the eldest "no.. I kinda like lip oils better" she replied after so you thanked her

"hey do you guys use rare beauty lipglosses?" you ask the youngest duo while they play a video game "nope!" they both replied after so going back to their game

the same response was heard from the middle kids aka lara and daniela , now your actually seething who the fuck owned this gloss then

"sophia elizabeth laforteza—who the fuck owns this gloss and don't try to lie to me!" you scream startling her to stop using her laptop , your hands were fisted , everything felt warm or too hot as sweat dripped down from your forehead

"baby I don't know—maybe it's megan's" her voice trembled as she focused on other things rather than looking at you — she was fucking lying "are you fucking with me?! — she doesn't own this! she told me earlier!" you scream at her , she stood up and tried to calm you down but you swat her hands away

"baby—its no ones I swear" sophia tries to reason out using her soft voice that could've worked but god your tired of her lying to you, "soph don't fucking lie to me—ill find out one way or another"

you snatch her phone opening it , she tries to get it back but you push her off you , scrolling thru her dms you stumbled upon a mysterious number opening it you were not so warmly greeted with a exchange of heartfelt messages , between your girlfriend and some bitch named gabbie

"sophia I'm not gonna do this anymore — why the hell are you talking to gabbie? and why the fuck are you both so lovey dovey?" you angrily threw her phone to the floor — she looked pale almost as if she saw a ghost

"baby it's not what it seems!-"

"no sophia I'm done with you and everything — I thought maybe just maybe giving you a second chance would work , yet here you are back to your old schemes" you cut her off , your eyes blur as tears start to threaten leaving your eyes , you couldn't think properly, you packed up your things with sophia still trying to defend herself , trying to stop you from leaving

she wasn't the sophia you fell in love with certainly not the sophia you're gonna stay with

"I'm sorry — I love you but if you love me too sophia you would let me go" you said trying your very best just to look or even sound composed

now sitting in your car crying like a kid — you couldn't even bear going home when all you can think about is sophia , her hugs that made you comfortable, her kiss that made you melt especially the moments you both cherished

♪

nights passed — sleepless ones even and you still think about her , it wasn't getting any better , the more you cave in the more you became a wreck

the girls all heard the conversation — honestly it was very sick and twisted for sophia to even think of cheating on you, the girls especially lara who was very close to sophia started to distance themselves often times only getting close for fanservice

each passing moment, each heartbeat — guilt gnaws lara knowing she had a crush on her best friends girlfriend

well now ex best friend and ex girlfriend , lara didn't know what to do , whether to pick you or sophia

she wanted to approach you , to talk to you not even in a way to date but just a way to make sure your okay

so she did with her not so impeccable social skills chatting you one random night

freedom girl: y/n? can we talk? I know you're not fully healed yet but I would love to just sit down and talk with you even for a few minutes

you: sure , meet you at the studio?

freedom girl: yes be there in 30

you got ready , you knew damn well that you needed to talk to someone even if that meant it was lara — just because you didn't like her friend doesn't mean you didnt like her

driving there was quiet, no music just the gentle breeze of the air-conditioning in your car , your comfort was soon just silence

"hey how are you?" lara greets you as you park infront of the studio

the weather was cold yet in her presence everything felt warm and comforting

"I've been okay—how about you?" you replied as you both walk in the studio , soon sitting down in front of some equipment as you talk heart to heart

♪

it felt like you two were dodging the obvious topic , the break up or was it that? , or the obvious liking towards you by lara

you noticed it the minute sophia introduced you to the rest — yes you found it icky but when you first broke up with sophia she was the one to reconcile you two now for the second break up she was the one who also talked to you

she was the only one who truly cares more than sophia, the one who would actually go to war for you

yet you couldn't find it in you to date her or even confess the confusing feelings you felt , "can I tell you something?" lara suddenly stops you from thinking

"yeah anything" you replied , you look at her face trying to analyze even the smallest tug of her lips or the blink of her eyes

"you changed my perspective on a lot of things—the time you told me that love can be found anywhere, or maybe the time you helped me in my dark times" she then follows "even when you didn't have to"

you felt like a billion bricks were lifted off your shoulders — at this moment you even forgot about sophia, time was stuck and everything was right

"I'm glad I made you feel that way—you make me feel the same , I really hope this doesn't sound weird but I really love you" you mumble not thinking about the words that spewed out of your mouth and frankly you didn't care , you felt safe with her you felt like living again

"I love you too" she replied in a whisper like tone

the line was crossed , boundaries were broken and you're thankful you did

[starclancy]

How would the Straw hat crew react to female reader singing “Carry on wayward son” (from Supernatural) but she is singing it in a soft calming tone like if she is doing something, like cooking, or cleaning, or doing some work, and they think she has a beautiful voice?

Tysm for this ask it was so fun to write!!

~ Calming Melody ~

PAIRING: Reader/Luffy, Reader/Zoro, Reader/Sanji, Reader/Robin, Reader/Nami, Reader/Brook, Reader/Franky, Reader/Usopp,

CONTENTS: 🩷 - fluff

WORDCOUNT: 1110

Request status: Open

Luffy

Luffy was sprawled across the deck, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his skin. The faint sound of Y/N’s voice drifted through the air as she hummed and sang while cleaning the galley.

He perked up immediately, sitting upright. “Whoa, Y/N! Your voice is so cool!” he shouted, barging into the galley without a second thought.

“Luffy!” Y/N laughed, pausing her scrubbing. “Don’t just yell at me like that!”

“But it’s true!” he insisted, grinning ear to ear. “Sing it again! Sing it louder this time!”

Before Y/N could protest, Luffy started singing—or at least tried to mimic her tune with his own enthusiastic (and tone-deaf) twist.

Zoro

Zoro was in the training room, lifting weights when he heard it. At first, he thought it was just his imagination, but as Y/N’s voice carried through the corridors, he stopped mid-rep to listen more closely.

Her soft, calming tone reminded him of the peace he felt during a quiet afternoon nap. Curious, he followed the sound, finding her calmly chopping vegetables in the kitchen.

“You sing a lot while you work?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Y/N looked up, slightly startled. “Oh, sorry. Did I bother you?”

“Not at all.” Zoro smirked slightly, crossing his arms. “It’s… nice. Keep going if you want.”

Though he wouldn’t admit it, he found himself lingering nearby, pretending to check his swords just to hear more.

Nami

Nami was mapping in her corner of the ship when Y/N’s song reached her. At first, she didn’t pay much attention, but the melody wormed its way into her focus. The soothing tone helped her relax and concentrate, drawing a soft smile to her face.

“Y/N,” she called out, stepping into the kitchen. “Are you trying to put us all in a trance with that voice of yours?”

Y/N laughed, wiping her hands. “I didn’t think anyone could hear me!”

“Well, we can, and it’s gorgeous. You should do it more often.” Nami leaned against the counter, smirking. “Though, don’t be surprised if the others start making requests.”

Usopp

Usopp was tinkering with one of his gadgets when Y/N’s voice wafted through the open deck. He froze, his hands mid-motion, as he strained to hear better.

“Is that… Y/N?” he whispered to himself. A grin spread across his face, and he quickly abandoned his project, heading to the source of the music.

“Y/N! That was amazing!” he burst into the kitchen. “Your voice is so good, it could probably charm sea kings!”

“Don’t exaggerate, Usopp.” Y/N rolled her eyes with a laugh.

“No, really!” Usopp gestured dramatically. “With that voice, you could tell an entire story and make everyone cry by the end!”

Sanji

Sanji was already in the kitchen, working on the crew’s next meal when Y/N started singing. He froze mid-stir, the spoon clattering into the pot as he turned to watch her in awe.

“Y/N… your voice is incredible,” he said softly, his usual flirtatious tone replaced by genuine admiration.

She blushed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were listening.”

“Listening?” He grabbed her hands dramatically. “I feel like I’ve just heard an angel! Please, Y/N, let me cook to your beautiful melody forever!”

Y/N laughed, playfully pushing him away as he swooned. “Get back to work, Sanji!”

Robin

Robin was reading on the upper deck when Y/N’s soft singing reached her ears. She closed her book, her lips curving into a gentle smile as she let the soothing tones wash over her.

Finding Y/N in the galley, she lingered in the doorway, not wanting to disturb her. When Y/N paused, Robin clapped softly.

“Beautiful as always, Y/N,” she said, stepping into the room.

“Oh, Robin, you’re too kind!” Y/N said, feeling shy.

“Not at all,” Robin replied, her eyes twinkling. “Your voice brings a rare peace to this ship. Thank you for sharing it with us.”

Franky

Franky was busy hammering away at a repair on the ship when he noticed the mood shift around him. Something in the air felt… calmer. He set his tools down and followed the sound, eventually finding Y/N humming as she worked.

“Y/N, that’s SUPER!” he exclaimed, striking a pose.

Y/N chuckled. “Thanks, Franky.”

“Your voice is like… the soul of a rock ballad but way more chill!” he said, grinning. “You ever think about starting a band?”

“I think one noisy ship is enough for me,” Y/N teased.

Brook

Brook was the most thrilled of all. As a musician, he had an ear for talent, and Y/N’s voice captivated him immediately. He practically floated into the room where she was singing, his violin in hand.

“Yohohoho! Y/N, your voice is music to my ears—quite literally!” he said.

“Thanks, Brook.” Y/N smiled. “Do you want to play along?”

“Of course!” Brook started playing a gentle accompaniment, his notes harmonizing with her voice perfectly. By the end of the song, the whole crew had gathered to listen.

“Encore!” Brook declared, bowing dramatically. “Your voice deserves to be shared with the world, my dear!”

[polargemini]

So I have a plot for a fic where Wade believes Peter Parker is experimenting on people (like on the comic) and this is like part of the scene when Wade attempts to kill him.

————

Wade doesn’t go right away after he shoots Parker. He stays there, right in front of him, seeing how his face morphs into a new expression. One full of affliction.

“W—“ Parker tries to say something. But his chest moves erratically, hindering any attempt to speak, and the bloods flows out of the injury, staining his lab coat.

He doesn’t have a lot of time left. That much is evident. He’s minutes away from dying, painfully, feeling each second the excruciating agony of the bullet near his heart — until it stops beating.

The fact that Wade isn’t taking the time to prolong this, to make Parker feel the same torment of the people who suffered at his hands, it’s a small courtesy to Spidey. Even if he never discovers that Parker was taking advantage of him, using him to cover his wicked purposes, Wade hopes that making it fast will make it better.

Because he isn’t supposed to be killing anyone. Less Spidey’s boss, the guy Spidey idolizes.

Wade had promised himself he wouldn’t kill again. Not after he changed. He was finally able to be someone different, someone worthy of being near Spidey. But after he found out Parker was behind the experiments, it was impossible to stand still and believe that Parker deserved a second chance. He’s probably throwing out the window all the progress of these few months.

But he has to do this.

Parker’s death will be fast — as fast as the bleed out takes — but he’s not leaving earth without suffering first. That’s why Wade aimed purposely to a spot near Parker’s heart and not directly at it.

He looks how Parker puts his hands around his chest, like he could somehow stop the bleeding just with that. What an idiot. For someone who is famous for being a scientist, he must be aware anything he does will be useless. There’s no going back.

And yet.

“W—“ Parker tries again.

He should be on the floor by now, but for some reason he keeps wanting to talk. It really is bothering Wade.

"Why? Are asking why? Gonna keep pretending til’ the end? You aren't fooling me, Parker. You know exactly what you did,” Wade snaps and Parker flinches at his words. Like they hurt more than the wound on his body.

"Wa—" Peter insists.

Wade grunts. “Is it wait now? C’mon, Parker. Not gonna spent my time trying to guess your last words. And if you’re really asking me to wait, think again. I bet they asked the same, and you—“

Wade groans, and then he aims the gun at Parker’s head, to his forehead. There’s no reason not to pull the trigger. Even if Wade spares him the pain ending things now, there’s no way for Parker to survive. He will accomplish what he came to do.

Wade analyzes the face behind the muzzle, and to his surprise, Parker doesn’t have the face of a murderer. There’s no guilt, not even a hint of anger for being discovered. Or that shame and sobbing that Wade has presence sometimes, when the people he had killed realized it was time to face the consequences of their actions.

If something, there's an indescribable pain in Parker’s eyes. He looks hurt, and it’s a different hurting, not the one he must be feeling from the bullet. It’s like he can’t understand why Wade did that to him. And not for the whole experimenting-on-people-matter. Nor the bullet matter. Its seems deeper, which doesn’t make sense.

Spidey talks a lot about Parker’s job, but Wade never got to meet him. Not until now. This is the first time they’re looking face to face. How should he take that expression? It’s feels personal, but there’s no way for it to be.

“Whatever,” Wade says as he holsters the gun. He isn’t wasting more bullets on this asshole. He turns his back, and walks away. He isn’t giving Parker the satisfaction of having someone to hear his last words — if he even manages to talk at some point.

All the time on his way out of the building, he tries to shake out of his head the look on those brown eyes.

[nast--ana]

PART 13

"EVIL IN A FURRY BODY"

"While the new girl was running to Ragata to return the missing body parts to her, Jax was watching her from around the corner, squinting and crossing his arms over his chest. When her short figure disappeared into the corridor with rooms, he only smiled bitterly, then went to a small door and, bending slightly, went in there. From the outside, the door seemed completely unremarkable, but in fact it led to a cold and dark basement, where the torture of the participants took place.

The bunny looked at the usual view for the basement: knives, saws, axes and other torture tools were everywhere, there was a large table in the middle for dismembering bodies, the heads of the participants were cheerful on the walls like trophies, on whose faces genuine fear and horror were read, and at the end of the room stood the owner of this "Hell"—Entertainer Caine. He was flying in the air, talking about something with his faithful friend Bubble, but as soon as the rabbit cleared his throat, announcing his arrival, their conversation immediately fell silent, and the entertainer looked at him and exclaimed joyfully:

- Hi, Jackie!)

- grrrr! I told you not to call me that - Jax showed his sharp teeth in displeasure at hearing such an unpleasant nickname for him.

- Oh, come on, don't be so mean) - Caine grinned and, patting the rabbit on the cheek, continued - Well, what brought you here? Do you need something?

- You probably noticed that from the moment this "new girl" appeared in our Circus, all sorts of "devilry" began to happen! And it is not yet known what this may lead to...-But before he could finish, Caine immediately interrupted him.:

- I can handle everything easily! Don't worry, Jackie. Think about it—would any newbie dare to contradict me?)

— well...As if... You've changed the circus a lot, and no one knows why...

- And no one should know! So it's better not to bother your stupid bunny head) - Caine playfully patted Jax between the ears, which only made him more angry and grabbed him by the collar.

- YOU MAY HAVE MY SOUL, BUT I'M NOT YOUR TOY!

- A toy! What a toy!- the entertainer replied sarcastically, after which he removed the rabbit's hands from his collar and, shaking himself off, headed for the exit from the basement. The vial followed him, clinking its chain.

Jax was not at all satisfied with this answer. He cast a contemptuous glance at Kane's back, feeling himself shaking with anger.

- It's funny to hear this from someone who is also being controlled!

Hearing such audacity, Caine immediately stopped and slowly turned around. His eyes flashed with a bright red light.

- Bubble... Grab him!

Hearing the master's order, the Bubble was at Jax's side in an instant. The chain rang—and now it was wrapped around his neck with a loud clang, hanging the bunny as if on a gallows.

- F@#k! I-I'm sorry, I'm not-GRH! Jax croaked, desperately trying to break free, to which the Bubble began to choke him even momore

-If I hear that again, I'll tear your heart to shreds! And I will show your torture on stage so that EVERY CREATURE WHO DOES NOT RESPECT ME KNOWS WHAT CAN HAPPEN TO HER! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! Caine muttered angrily through his teeth, abruptly grabbing Jax by the chin and looking him straight in the eyes.

The entertainer began to change right before our eyes, becoming more and more like a monster: his mouth distorted and with many sharp teeth, his eyes turned completely red, becoming predatory and evil, his whole body became very massive, a hump grew on his back, his arms lengthened, and his clothes tore in some places. Pinning his ears, the bunny quickly nodded his head, making it clear that he understood everything.

- It's wonderful... Bubble, let him go...The chain's grip immediately loosened and, falling to the floor, Jax began to gasp for air, trembling all over with fear. The entertainer took on his former form, as if nothing had happened.

- Great conversation, Jackie! It seems that we have a job)

Caine snapped his fingers and disappeared into thin air along with the Bubble.

After regaining his breath, the bunny carefully sat down on his knees when he suddenly heard Caine's voice in his head.

"Throw the new girl off the cliff into the void," he repeated over and over again.

-no! I'm tired of being your toy! I don't want to! No.... No!-Jax clutched at his ears, trying to resist with all his might, but Caine was stronger. Soon, everything swam before the bunny's eyes and he collapsed on the floor unconscious.

Waking up in the same basement, he slowly got up from the floor:

-I'm going to kill her...-The bunny's smile became even more insane, his eyes flashed with a red sparkle, and his fur darkened. Jax hopped out of the basement and, climbing the stairs, went in search of the new girl..."

[afreakingdork]

Writing Request - Reader x Josh (Until Dawn) Body Shots🫗

Y'all thought I only did rottmnt? Nah, and @mermmarie tapped me for some reader x Josh Washington body shot goodness! We're in the last day, people! I might not get too man more of these done but encourage your friends to vote!

From now until the poll closes, if you can prove to me that you voted Hassan/Mikey in this poll then I will do any short story writing request like the one below or draw you any doodle of your choosing!

ᴰᶦˢᶜˡᵃᶦᵐᵉʳ: ᴵ ᵃᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᶦⁿ ᵃⁿʸʷᵃʸ ᵃˢˢᵒᶜᶦᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵒʳ ᵉⁿᵈᵒʳˢᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵉᵗᶦᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵒʳ ᶦᵗˢ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉˢᵗᵃⁿᵗˢ.

We got a little mature content down below, but not explicit! Enjoy~

The party was in full swing. The house was bursting at the seams with people and every step had to be taken by the side. You squirmed past others, not bothering with apologies and only trying to find a sliver of enjoyment in a sea of decadence. The Washington's had always been known for their ragers, but hearing tale and seeing them in person was something else.

You needed a drink.

You were trying your best to get one, but you kept getting boxed out. Between the multi-room mansion and the throngs of people, you were just about done with getting shoved. A crack opened up between two people making out and you made a dash for it. They stumbled for inebriation and made waves which resulted in a parted sea. It was a clean trip to an embarrassingly large kitchen and a drink selection that would make a bar jealous.

You held your cup close and the liquid went down sweet with the mixture with a satisfying burn on the back end. It was perfect in knowing exactly how much intake you were getting and you mingled as your body loosened. A song you liked came on and you swayed with its motion. The thump settled into your brain and its bass took your body.

It helped you slip into a satisfied trance and forget that your friends had dipped last minute. In any other scenario you might not have gone alone, but you had spent all that time getting ready. Fuck it, you thought, you looked too good to waste it on another night at home so you'd gone out.

You would be careful enough, you long decided. Your drink was never out of sight and if it did, they had more than enough liquor for you to pour another. You had nothing on you to pinch beside your phone and that was safely tucked away in a place that you would know in an instant if anyone was copping a feel.

Such a thing was happening now as someone ground against your ass in rhythm and you lolled your head back in time to see who it was. A mediocre man was a little too bold behind you, but you supposed that was to be expected. It was always those guys who had just enough to their facial structure that sloppily thought they could reach above their standards.

This was the main fare of the party, the average masses. You danced with him before you felt his hand ghost over your arm. It felt a little more leading and you thought he might grab your and to finally face you, but instead he shot away. The warning signs went off in your mind and you clearly saw your cup blocking the way. With a dreary glance you knew that meant it was time to dump it and left whoever behind to go refresh your beverage.

Someone screamed out something about a chance of hail and there was a shattering. You looked up where you were pouring a bottle and could sort of see out of a kitchen window through overly floral curtains. Outside some boys had proudly torn their shirts off and were just as busy peacocking as they slammed back shots. It was entertaining enough and you sipped as you headed out there.

You watched on with some amusement as a violent game had been concocted. You never did figure out whatever rules they had set, but the clear goal was drinking and then hucking the small glass receptacles as hard as possible at some gaudy sculpture. It was a movie set piece, you vaguely knew, from the Washington's dad, that had taken root in the garden with a few other ugly pieces.

"Where's Josh!? He's got the arm! He could hit peak, I know it!"

"Yeah, man!"

"Where's our Party Poobah?!"

"What the fuck!?"

There was good natured ribbing and you concealed your mouth as you turned away from the games.

Josh.

It wasn't like you expected to see the man of the hour. He was legendary for hosting these parties, but he was just that. He was there for the purpose of getting lost in himself. The action was where he was and everything around that was a merry hurricane. He was the epicenter and since he attracted only level five events, he was an anomaly.

You wouldn't just be lucky to see him, it would be some kind of miracle.

It was about on par as getting into a VIP section. Skinny girls with pale skin were guaranteed access and that alone bored you. Men's picks for stereotypical hot chicks as about on par with the audacity of the large swathe of average guys. It was all an exhausting back and forth game of mediocrity that you would have no part of.

"Move aside! We're on a mission!"

That was Josh.

With your arm crossed to more comfortably hold your cup, your head rose high.

Speak of the devil and he doth appear, you amused yourself as you tried to place which direction he was. The music just swallowed up noise enough that it happened to throw voices. It filled in space you might have hoped to delineate, but said man had the power to conjure storms.

"This is the party police!" Josh came in with sharp eyes and a face splitting grin. "Prepare to be strip searched!!"

He was flanked by lackeys that weren't Chris, but you doubted the other man was far behind. The others weren't so easy to manipulate into Josh's little schemes and you watched as he, the boss among, them signaled them to fan out in a military manner.

They took on the role of dogs, something you had a feeling Josh had told them to do beforehand, and you watched them howl. They then fanned out, sniffing up skirts and startling men with a sharp gab to their asses. All manner of reaction was had, but when a man on all fours snuffed his way up to you, you looked down at him with enough disdain that he moved on with his tale between his legs.

"Idiots." You heard Josh say in a voice that almost seemed like he hadn't meant it.

You looked up and found him staring squarely at you.

Your gaze grew dull as he must have meant that insult for you.

There was a flash of attention in his eye before he surged forward.

"They say you can't teach old dogs, but I think that's true of all animals!"

You almost looked behind you because if he was talking to you, you weren't sure what he meant.

"Humans too." He came squarely up to you. "Don't mind them, beautiful. I've been running around looking for you all night."

"Me?" You asked him with a tip of your cup.

"Oh yeah!" He grinned with something that had a malevolently edge.

Confused signals failed to spark in your mind as he circled you.

"I mean..." He was behind you. "... look..." He came around your side with a slink. "... you..."

It oozed palpable desire and your skin lit even though he hadn't touched you.

"Gorgeous. Supple. I need you. I've been looking for candidates."

Your guard went up. "Candidates?"

"Yep." He swept up from your body and leveled with your eyes. "I'm scouting. Needed a ringer. Be mine?"

There was a boyish tilt to his last question that straddled the line between his devious nature and honest begging.

Your stomach bubbled and you shifted your hips to quell it.

Josh watched on like he picked up every micromovement. "I wouldn't just say this. I've searched the whole party. You're the one."

The whole party.

There were hundreds of girls here.

You?

It was flattering, but you still weren't sure what you were signing up for.

"And what exactly is this for...?" You lowered your cup.

Josh positively beamed. "You're the perfect glass."

Your mouth rounded out in confusion and you were about to ask when he caught your wrist.

Your hand shot up like a flag. "I've got mine!!! Let's do this!!"

"Finally!"

"Let's go!!"

"Hell yeah!!"

"Shots! Shots!"

Before you could do anything else, you were being ushered through the house. Not quite carried, your feet only hit the ground once every few steps as the mob steered you. The only constant was Josh's cuff around your wrist and besides that was the roving pack of men that puffed like slobbering sled dogs.

You were soon in a room with four massage tables set up and for the first time, you got enough ground to snap back on your tether.

"What the fuck!?"

"No, baby shh...!" Josh came around you with cautious hands. "Just look. Look!"

He moved so you could peer around him and watched as three men broke from the pack. They escorted girls of their choosing in different manners. One took one gentlemanly by the hand while another hoisted a squealing girl up in his arms. All their destinations were the tables though and they each laid down with smiles plastered to their faces. They men tended to them with hungry eyes and you watched as each of them rolled their shirts up to expose their stomachs.

"We're having a little competition." Josh said as he also surveyed the scene. "Drunkest wins."

"No, thanks." You responded instantly.

"Not you." He gave you only his profile. "Unless you wanna...?"

Your cup had disappeared in transit and you cocked a hip at him.

"Alright, alright!" He held his hands up defeated and addressed you. "I'll explain."

You cocked a brow.

"Body shots."

Both words popped off his lips and pounded in your ears.

"You see them..." He came around you like sharing a secret and used the arm over your shoulders to point at the others. "They're the idiots. They don't care about the competition. They don't even care about getting drink. They picked all these twigs and for what? You can't hold liquor in that! I'm here to party and I'm here to drink. Make sense?"

You meant to think with reason, but you saw one thing.

Josh's tongue.

Ever since he'd uttered the phrase, you had been watching it.

It rolled around his mouth.

It caressed every letter.

It tongued every nook.

Every cranny.

It was going to run over you.

The superseded reason and you held out for one last complaint. "Typical. You just want me for my body."

He recited your name so clearly that it almost seemed like he tapped some nefarious database.

You gaped at him.

"Partly true. That body is banging." His eyes dip purposefully before re-locking onto yours as he continues. "But believe me, I made sure you were invited. I'm sorry your friends couldn't make it."

It felt like there were a hundred things wrong with that statement, but the way he looked at you, like you were the only being in the world for him, shot straight to your core.

You belly button.

Where he was going to jam his tongue.

"Fine." You managed to make it seem just blasé enough.

"Excellent." He was all teeth and for a moment you feared you'd be devoured.

Instead he took your hand in a firm grip and lead you to the table. In his own fashion and unlike the others, he didn't try to force you. He stood beside and bowed for you to take the table like this was your competition to win. It made you feel all the more important as you hopped up.

He pressed along side you and his eyes never left yours as you wriggled to get comfortable on the firm table. You got as settled as you could before you went for your shirt. There was chatter all around and you thought Josh might ogle you, but he kept his gaze nothing but reassuring. He quirked a brow when you were settled and ready before he brought his head up to announce the rules.

There was a designated pourer who would come around so no one could cheat drinks. They alcohol would flow as necessary until someone tapped out or if the liquid ran out of bounds. That meant not getting slurped up before it leaked off someone's body and with that Chris walked through with a bottle held high in demonstration.

Cheers and bets were placed behind you, but Josh gave you his eyes again. "Just you and me, gorgeous."

You lowered your lashes at the all too obvious flirt and it only made him smile wider.

The competition commenced.

You couldn't really see the other tables, but you heard a loud sucking along with a girl giggling out of her mind. The next person went and the guy complained for both his girl to suck it in which earned him ire. He demanded Chris pour more, but the guy only approached you with his bottle tipped.

"Ready?"

"Always, Cochise."

Chris poured the shot into your belly button.

It pooled up and with a healthy glug and you tried not to shiver at how the room temperature drink chilled straight through your body. A little streaked through the folds in your stomach and Josh shot forward with his tongue extended. It scraped wet and warm over your skin before teasing around your center. He flicked his gaze up, making hard eye contact before his tongue retracted and his lips puckered. With the expertise of someone who had clearly done one too many hands free shots, he drank you dry.

Your stomach flipped, but he wasn't done. He circled his tongue as a moat around your belly button and licked inward for the sake of it. it spoke of what else he could do with the appendage and you arched a little off the table. He kissed down into your soft belly to ease you and you vaguely heard Chris come around again.

"That's one out!"

You blinked as you hadn't heard any dissent.

To your immediate right, the girl and guy there were fighting about how she hadn't told him she had an outie.

More booze was poured into you in your distraction and you squeaked at the chance it would be lost. Josh swept wide, drinking in your skin and catching both sides of leakage in an expert arch. Your lips crinkled a squiggled line and he lifted up with shining lips. "Doing alright there?"

"Fine. Totally fine." You hiccuped.

"Very fine." He lobbed back.

Your head flew back to the table and you heard him chuckle in a way that sounded like it was all around you.

"We're down to two!"

You didn't bother looking.

Josh had found your hand beside the table and squeezed it as he readied himself.

It was just a little mortifying, as if you needed to be soothed, but he refused to let go as Chris appeared once again.

"Bottom's up!" The glasses-clad man chuckled.

"To the top, my good man!" Josh cheered.

"You sure? The other's spilled that way" Chris glanced at his best friend.

"Oh, she can handle it." Josh looked at you.

You believed him.

Flat out, without question.

You were stupid and you liked it.

You readied your stomach in your best flex and Chris poured.

You felt yourself fill and the bare arch you were doing pushed your breasts further into the sides of your cups. The weight held heavy and parted so you had the best view for the moment your stomach overflowed and Josh dove in.

With unsightly slurps, his tongue darted fast and he sucked with all his might. He caught your skin up into his mouth in puckered moments that didn't linger because there was more booze to drink. It spilled a messy burn around your belly and he was apt to lick the plate clean even while it soaked his face.

A single drop escaped down a fold.

"Josh!" You gasped.

He was at the pinnacle of the cup and looked up at you under his euphoric lids.

The drip tickled your side before it disappeared onto the table.

"That's out!" Someone called.

An upset tore through the crowd.

Josh lazily finished his drink and you felt heat pulsing straight down your body.

When he finally came up, it wasn't to accept silver, he had only gold in his eyes.

The winner was celebrated, but Josh tucked closer into you. "You know... I feel like I've only gotten a taste..."

You held out for a single second before matching his darkened gaze. "Get ready to drink up then."

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 6.9 K Warnings: none Prompt: Why is it that potions is always so problematic? Not proofread

Chapter 68: Mysteries and Mayhem

Friday, 14th, 1977

“I think we have to tell her,” Evan said as he threw the quaffle towards the canopy of the bed and caught it again. 

“We don’t have to tell her anything,” Barty retorted. He was working on Evan’s desk and had his back to him. He always revised Evan’s essays since Evan had mild dyslexia and a tendency to confuse the names of some ingredients along with the position of TH and HT at the end of some words. Evan was brilliant at Potions, but the memoir writing had always been tricky for him. 

“She would tell us if she knew about something like this,” he said as he caught the ball and threw it upwards again. Regulus’ snitch was floating around the room since it had accidentally gotten out from its chest when Evan opened it to take the quaffle. It always helped him destress to play with it, but he never bothered with the snitch, he thought it was too small and a pain in the ass to chase.   

“She wouldn’t tell us shit,” Barty responded. “She doesn’t like to meddle.” 

“But she has meddled, and in our favour, you know this!” 

“Please stop it with the quaffle,” Barty said with a sigh. Evan stopped throwing it and placed it on the side of the bed, now rolling it around with his hand. “It’s none of our business what they do behind closed doors. And we would be outing those two if we told her.” 

“How would you feel, I was cheating on you with Dorcas?” 

“I’d break her neck,” Barty retorted without hesitation.

Evan wasn’t entirely sure if he meant it as a joke or not, but chose to believe he did. “Right, see? She should know!” 

“She’s the dumb one for not noticing.” 

“It is not something you normally expect. Especially not if you were born in the wizarding elite.” 

“Evan,” Barty whined. “Why should we care? We’ve done our good deed of the century by shutting stupid Severus up about it.” 

“I’m gonna tell her,” Evan said with determination. 

“And you’ll just accomplish what Severus wanted.” 

“I know you don’t like her–” 

“You don’t like her either.” 

“Well, she’s conceited and loves to rub how good she is at flying but… I never expected her to help me the way she did.” 

“So what? You’re gonna go braid each other’s hair, is that it?” Evan threw the quaffle at Barty’s head, the latter got the hit unexpectedly and turned around to him as he gasped. “You’re such a git! I’m trying to check your homework.” 

“You’re no better,” Evan retorted. “It’s just– I wouldn’t want people laughing behind my back.” 

“Maybe she knows and they’re using her as a cover,” Barty said, although he didn’t believe it.

“Impossible. She’s for sure in love with that dick. I mean I knew he was an asshole but–”  

“Not to the point of using someone like that?” Barty offered. “I think we really shouldn’t meddle. We’ve somehow reached a ceasefire, you don’t want to start shooting again, do you?”

“She helped me! Even after the fire, my dad seemed pleased at the insinuation that we– you know.”  

Barty sighed, standing from the desk and walking towards his bed, the same bed Evan considered as his own most of the time. “If you really want to tell her, then I’ll come along with you.” 

Evan smiled and lifted himself up to press a short kiss on Barty’s lips. As they were pulling apart the door busted open and Barty appeared a book on his lap and started saying something about a spell. 

“It’s just Regulus,” Evan said as he tilted his head to the side. “Didn’t you see the busy sign on the door?” 

“I did,” Regulus responded. “Decided to ignore it, though.” 

“I swear it runs in the family,” Evan said with an eye roll. He liked Regulus, but that didn’t stop him from thinking he was a bit of an entitled prick, much like his brother. 

And Evan himself, according to Barty. Who in turn, was also considered one by the rest of his class. Either way, they consider themselves an acquired taste, after all, Evan had hated Barty’s guts before falling in love. 

“Shhh...” Regulus said as he lifted his hand. “I think I hear something?”

“What?” Asked Evan.

“The sound of two tossers who are about to go use someone else's room to make out.” 

“Bitch,” Barty said as he threw the quaffle his way.

Regulus was fast enough to dodge and then noticed his snitch floating around. “For Salazar’s sake! How many times have I told you not to let the Little Star out?” 

“Little Star?” Evan asked. 

“The snitch,” Retorted Barty a little exasperated. 

“You named your snitch little star?” Evan asked in disbelief. “Is that because you’re the big star? You’re such a nerd!” Regulus flipped his wand, the green covers on Barty’s bed slipped from beneath him and threw him on the floor. “A mean nerd.” 

Fridays could have been your favourite day of the week, your first class was at 9 rather than at 7, which meant you didn’t have to wake up remarkably early, even if you were still doing practice flying with James and Sirius. And although classes didn’t end early, your last class was among your favourites, and the one before lunch was Magic Theory, which meant more time to spend playing around. The real problem was the 9 am class, divination. 

You’d gotten used to Spellman, and it seemed like he had also gotten used to you. The pressure that he seemed to be putting on you at the beginning of the course had slowly dissipated, and even if you still had good grades in his class, since you’d seen most divination techniques with your previous teacher, he seemed to focus a lot more on Sybil, which you were insanely grateful for.

And unlike you, Sybil seemed to actually want to pursue a career in divination, which Spellman supported as dutifully as any good teacher would. 

“Hey!” She said as you walked inside. You had a bottle of almost boiling green tea in hand since the day had been pretty chilly while flying and even after Lily cast that warming charm over your coat, you were still shivering slightly. 

“Hi!” you retorted with a smile as you sat beside her. Since that one class when you’d gotten paired, you had been working together on every single class, which you thought was excellent. 

Sybil’s father, Deplhus Trelawney, was an unofficial member of the order, and he’d told Sybil what’d happened at the party. Besides, it didn’t take an empath to notice how it had flipped your world almost upside down. So she avoided the basic “How did your break go?” question since she knew it would be a terrible one. It was obvious that it had gone mostly like shit. It did make her feel better that you looked like you were coping, whoever it was that you were. 

“Want some tea? It’s got a little bit of milk.” 

“Sure,” she said with a smile and pulled a mug from the cupboard. Those were technically for divination, but some students used them every once in a while for their morning coffee, and since that was the one thing that kept some awake, Spellman allowed it. As you served she noticed the wand you’d placed on the side of your desk. She stared at it for a second and then turned back to you. 

“I can explain that,” you rushed out, almost stumbling with your words. 

“I’m glad you have it,” she said with a smile. “I’d hate it if it had been lost at their hands.” 

“You know about–” 

“I know enough,” she replied. “We don’t have to talk about that, though.” 

You nodded with a small smile, “Thanks.” 

“Nothing to thank me for,” she said simply. 

“How was your break?” you asked. 

“We stayed home,” she responded. “We had dinner and then a small tea ceremony at New Year’s. Grandma thinks it’s the best way to start the year.”

“Doesn’t she read your star chart? Mine used to do that.” 

“Oh certainly.” 

“Anything good?” 

“She said this might be the year my talents finally bloom,” Sybil said sceptically. “She’s a brilliant divinator on everything else, but she’s been telling me that since I was 13.” 

You laughed. “My mom she–” There was a small hesitation before you continued. Still not used to living in a world where she didn’t. You’d been in boarding schools since you were eleven, and although you were relatively used to her absence, it had never been this long without a letter, or a message, or any type of contact. “She used to say that it was going to be the year I got good at herbology every year.” 

“Did it ever happen?” 

“Still waiting,” you retorted with a half smile. “She, on the other hand, is– was really good at it. We used to have a stunning garden, and she’d often get angry about me plucking her stuff for make believe potions.” 

She was about to say something when Professor Spellman walked inside the classroom, his robe trailing behind him in that elegant manner that it tended to have whenever he walked inside a room. “This is not a picnic Miss Doxon, please put your cookies in your bag or I’ll vanish them.” 

“‘M sorry,” she retorted as she placed one of the cookies in her mouth and placed the rest on her bag. 

Spellman nodded, walking straight to the middle of the classroom before eying everyone. “How long have we kept this sitting arrangement?” he asked. 

“Most of the year,” responded a Ravenclaw boy. “I was actually wondering if we would change soon.” 

“Divination is often done better when you keep your partner, it becomes easier since you already know a good deal about them,” Sybil said.

“So we’re not changing?” asked Beth.

“Not quite,” Spellman said later. “Although we have had some wonderful pairs so far, for this class in particular it’s better to work with someone to whom you’ve never divined before.” 

You threw a look at Sibyl who just shrugged. She was curious about who she’d be divining for. Hoping it wouldn’t be someone to closed off to the art, which was, unfortunately, rather common.

“What are we going to work with, Professor?” asked Tom. 

“Spanish Deck,” he replied rather somberly. 

You looked up at him as if you were a deer trapped in headlights. Reading someone’s cards was something you thought you’d ever have to do again. Sybil looked at you apprehensively. “Sir, can I keep working with my partner? I think we’re both quite–” 

“I’m sorry Sybil, It is not possible, your deep knowledge of each other might taint the cards.”

“But we’re all friends,” said Tom. “We all have a pretty deep knowledge of each other.”  

“Not in divination,” said Spellmam calmly. “Please, stand up and make two lines. The left will take runes from this side and the right from this one.” 

You walked into the line in which Sybil wasn’t, but Spellman caught it and put the two of you in the same line seconds later. “I’m sorry, but you cannot be in the same team,” he said to you as he placed his hand on your shoulder and lightly pushed you to the other line. 

As you walked through the line, you crossed your fingers, almost begging the gods of chance that you didn’t get anyone you were close to.  You took your stone, it was one of the trickiest characters in the Norse Alphabet. Two lines with an X in the middle: degaz. 

“I’ve got Isa,” said Sybil, who got paired with Lily. 

“I have Jara,” said Sirius, and ended up with Tom. 

“It’s an R,” said Peter. 

“Do you mean Raido?” asked Remus as he showed him his stone, the two of them got together. 

Marlene and Mary were paired with some Ravenclaws and Beth with one of her roommates. You thought you were safe, that you wouldn’t have to read the fortune of any of your friends when James pulled his stone up in the air and asked. “Does anyone have Degaz?” 

You closed your eyes in defeat, a small frown adorning your face as you opened them again. “Me,” you said as you lifted your stone.

“Lovely,” James said as he approached you with a smile. “Have you ever read the Spanish Deck?” 

“Yeah,” you responded. “But I’d much rather be the one that gets a read and not the other way around?” 

“Sure,” James said with a shrug and a nod. He could tell there was something that made you uneasy, and while he didn’t really care for getting his cards read, it wasn’t a huge deal for him to do the reading. 

Spellman flipped his wand and the chairs changed their places, they were now one in front of the other instead of side by side.  “Please take your seats,” he said. “The books on Spanish Deck will be on your desks shortly.” 

Since Lily and Sybil took the chair you normally used, James and you walked towards the one in the back where he usually sat with Sirius. 

“Please shuffle the cards, Madame,” he said after he dug his finger into the flap of the side of the small box, pulled them out and moved the whole deck towards you. “These are kind of worn, though,” he said as he spotted some scribblings on the side of one and flipped it back into place. 

“It’s better when they are,” you said as you took them in your hands. You started to shuffle them mindlessly, not bothering to look at them while you spoke. “The more time they’ve been shuffled the more magic they’re imbued with. Of course, it’s better when the deck belongs to one witch and not the entire school, since that can make them a bit unpredictable but either way, the older they are, the better they become at–” 

“How are you doing that?” James asked as you flipped the cards from one side to the other, he seemed completely enthralled by the way you were shuffling them.  “Since when can you shuffle like this? Why didn’t I know?” 

“Oh,” you said as you finally noticed what you were doing. “They made me read these a lot in my older school. I got fidgety sometimes. Tarot too, but you can’t shuffle them as much since they’re thicker.”

“Still they’re easier to read,” James said as he flipped through some of the pages in the book that had floated towards the table a few minutes earlier. “These all have so many different meanings. I mean the 2 of clubs means that you might travel but the third means love, and the 6 means despondency and destruction. It makes zero sense.” 

“The third kind of does,” you said as you pulled out the card for him to see. Three clubs tied to each other with a thick ribbon. “Doesn’t it remind you of the ties and connections related to love?” 

“I don’t know…” James responded with a shrug, “I guess it kind of does.” 

You flipped the card back into the deck and shuffled it by splitting it into two smaller lots, placing them on the table, taking one end and allowing cards from both sides to fall on the table at the same time, having them entwine together, and then turning your hands and flipping them all into one single stack. 

“That’s it,” James said as you handed them back to him. “You’ll be the dealer next time we play cards, no objections.” You laughed and shook your head as he looked back at the book. He placed them on the table again. “Please divide them in three.” 

You did, and afterwards knocked on each stack once as you said “For me, For my past and for what I’d like to know.” 

“Oh, thanks,” James said when he noticed what you’d done. “Uh… Which type of throw was that for?” 

“Gypsy, that’s a 9 by 4.” You responded. “You throw them starting on the left, and when you’re done with that row you continue on the right, making a long chain, or a snake, I suppose.” 

James gave you a small side smirk and started placing the cards one by one, facing him. When he was done he looked up at you, adjusting his glasses and biting the side of his cheek. 

“Well go on,” you said. 

“It says you can assign cards to people…” 

“I’m the 8 of swords,” you told him. “I’m always the 8 of swords.”

“Why?” Asked James curiously. 

“I’ve been told it represents me,” you retorted.

“Ah, it’s because you’re stubborn,” he said as he found the page with the card’s explanation. 

“It’s perseverance, Prongs!” 

“Perseverance, tenacity, stubbornness… they’re all the same thing in different degrees of intensity.” 

You laughed as you shook your head. “Fine then, you’re here,” he pointed at the card. “And this throw is about your past, right?” 

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “At least on this technique, we’re supposed to make three throws.” You looked back at the cards. “What do you see?” 

“Eh, well… you look… sad,” he said as he noticed the sheer amount of clubs beside your card. There was a 6 right next to you, and on the other side, there was a four of swords. “That means trouble, right?” He asked as he pointed at it. 

“Yeah,” you said, being completely appalled and in deep sorrow was quite on par with how you’d been not too long ago. 

“There’s also a– a trip,” he started, pointing at the 2 of clubs below you, and just under that there was a 6 of cups. “Cups!” he said excitedly. “Cups are meant to be good, right?” 

“Not those,” you said. “It’s a trip to melancholy, sadness over bad memories,” you explained, which was also quite accurate, and not new to either of you. 

“Right, but next to these swords we have a three of clubs, that means love, yeah?” 

“But it’s next to the swords that indicate trouble,” you said as you pointed at the swords next to it. “It means trouble with relationships. And that 5 of swords on the other side, with the middle sword pointing straight towards the clubs? It means break up and changes.” 

“Are you kidding me?” he asked in disbelief. “Is there anything good on this throw?” There was a small minute of silence before he spoke again. “This one has to mean something good, there’s a lot of gold at the top. And sixes are bad, but that’s to the top left, so it means that the bad stuff was in the past, right?” 

“Yeah, 6 of gold means problems, but it’s next to an 8 that’s right on top of me.” 

“That means–” he flipped through some pages. “thought and reflection, and that has a 5 of gold afterwards, which means settlement, and resolution. And… you have to hear this: The discovery of a significant emotional bond.” 

“Must have been the mirror,” you said as you looked at the coins. “And the fact that I figured the whole thing out with Remus and Sirius.” 

“Are they here?” he asked as he looked at the cards.  

“Probably,” you responded as you looked around. “Must be these two, look,” you said as you pointed at the gold knight, whose face was turned towards you from your down left, and the knight of swords who was next to him. “See how the horses are looking at each other but they’re avoiding each other’s gaze?” 

“Mhm,” James nodded. 

“It’s because they’re in love, the horse represents their heart’s true desires, I think. The 4 of cups under Remus represent his… um… desire. And the 4 of clubs under Sirius represent his resistance to it.” 

“You really are good at this,” he said as he stared at the throw. “You see anything else?” 

“No, you?” 

“Well this Ace of clubs and 9 of swords together mean something bad,” he said pointing at the cards that were beside the 6 of cubs you got at first. “And there’s a person right above them, a Jack of Gold, that represents a woman, right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “9 of swords and ace of clubs can mean a life-altering situation.” 

“And if they’re next to a 4 of swords,” he read, “It can even mean dea–” 

“Must be Nina,” you said, pointing at the Jack. “Jack of Gold often represents a fair woman, clever. Suits her, doesn’t it?” 

He looked at you, apprehension in his eyes as he rolled his tongue over his cheek. “Should we go for the next throw?” he offered. 

“Yes,” you said, turning back to him. “These are not the fondest of my memories.” 

“You can read mine if you want instea–” 

“No,” you said almost too quickly, interrupting James mid-sentence.  “I mean, this is fine. I much prefer being on this side of the deck.” 

“You never liked divination much, did you?” He asked as he gathered the rest of the cards. 

“Not much,” you admitted. “It’s a family thing,” you said. “Nan always divined for bad things, my mum for goods, and I always get the bad stuff too.” 

“Maybe you don’t look for the good?”

“Trust me, I look for the good. But for some reason, I still get the bad stuff.” 

“Well then, I’ll be your seer,” he said as he passed you a bunch of cards. “Please, shuffle them again,” he added solemnly.

“You really could open your own reader stand,” you said with a laugh. “He didn’t look much like a “seer” but with the right clothing? Perhaps switching his school robes and his go-to red Converse with something like Professor Spellman’s clothes. Maybe some gold bracelets and a fake earring. He could definitely pull off the look. 

“You’re staring at me weird,” he said as you placed the cards on the table and divided them into three smaller stacks. 

“For me, for my present, and for what I’d like to know,” you said while knocking on the stacks and then turned to him. “I was just imagining you on a dress.” 

“Why?” he asked as he narrowed his eyes on you.

“For the authentic seer look,” you said with a shrug.

He hummed unsatisfactorily in return and started throwing your cards. “You know,” he started as he placed a king of clubs, “I look delightful in a dress.” 

“Bet.” 

“Honest,” he said as he placed yet another card onto the floor. “I have mean calves and a nice waist.” 

“Yeah?” you asked, trying not to laugh. 

“Some need corsets for a nice waist, I got mine with hours of quidditch.” 

“Fascinating!” 

“Yes and–” he turned to you, noticing the small smile creeping on your lips. “Are you making fun of me?” 

“I’d never dream of it,” you retorted. 

“You ARE making fun of me,” he said with a pout, and placed another card on the pile. He was near the beginning of the third row. “Ah look, it’s you.” 

“James,” you said and he turned to you while keeping another eye on the cards. “Have you ever worn a dress?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a simple nod. “For Halloween, and I also once lost a dare with Sirius.” 

“The two of you wore dresses?” 

“Mhm, medieval stuff, Peter and Remus made us do a catwalk and we had to wear them for a whole Weekend.”

“I would pay to see that,” you said with a laugh. “Are there any photos?” 

“I think Remus must have taken some,” he said with a shrug. “Okay, done.” 

You turned to look at the cards and almost laughed at the fact that both Remus and Sirius were right beside you. Their horses looking at you, and right on top of the three was the three of clubs. “Well, seems like you have quite a happy relationship,” he said. 

“Yeah, you said, looking at the cards. This time around there was a lot more Gold and cups around. That meant good things. 

“That’s Victory, right?” he pointed at the ace of golf right underneath you. 

“Indeed, and it’s next to–”

 He checked the book, “–5 of gold, which means well-being and on the opposite, there is, oh,” he frowned. “A 7 of swords…” 

“Those are good, actually,” you told him. “It means hope, and it’s right under Remus, so…” 

“Right,” James said as he remembered, his hazel eyes almost sparkling. “It means you’ve found someone who gives you the confidence to believe in a better future.” You smiled. That was certainly who Remus was for you. 

“There’s also a cup next to the love clubs,” he said as he tried to remember what that meant. “The Ace.” 

“It stands for home, and family. The fact that it has the three clubs on the left and the 7 of cups on the right also means good things.” 

You agreed with a small “hum” as he revised the book. 

“It also says it means fullness of plenitude.” He read something and smirked. “Do you feel like your deepest darkest desires have been fulfilled?” 

“Prongs.” You warned.

“I mean I’m just asking based on what I see here… Talking about cups, do you know what this one means?” he asked as he pointed to the 4 beside the nine of clubs.  The card in question had 4 gold and red cups, one in each corner, and read “Naipe Color Oro” in the centre. 

“Instincts,” you said almost a little too fast. 

“And carnal desires,” James added with a smirk. “And this one right here,” he pointed at the clubs, “it’s satisfaction… and would you look at that, right beside  you and the boys. Now I might be getting carried away, but does this not mean that you’re all giving each other satisfaction in regards of carnal desires?” 

“Prongs, please!” you whined as you covered your face with your hands. 

He chuckled and then raised both hands in defeat. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that this one looks much better than the previous one.” He then cleared his throat. “Right at the top of this line,” he pointed at the one with you on it. “There is a 4 of gold. The fact that it’s crowning the love cubs, you and the ace of golds right at the bottom means that there is an overall wellness in your love life.” 

“And the three of swords beside it?” 

“I think it’s a bad card, but not with what’s surrounding it. “It’s in between two positive ores,” he said as he checked his notes. “Gratifications, success and wellness, so I think it means, in the long run, you’ll be all right.” 

“Am,” you corrected. “This is about the present.” 

“But isn’t this one about the future?” he said as he pointed at the three of swords. 

“Not in the present throw,” you said. “It’s tricky, it can mean anything from years to days.” 

“But at least for now, it does mean good stuff, right?” 

“Yes, it does,” you said with a small smile and a nod. 

“Could this victory also be about quidditch?” He asked as he pointed at the ace underneath you. 

“I guess,” you said with a shrug. “But there’s still some time before the match, isn’t it? We’re not playing until May, depending on the sores they get in February and March.” 

“Shh,” he said as he shook his head. “I’m the seer, I think it means a Quidditch victory.” 

You shrugged, “Whatever you say Prongs… Just don’t write something like that on the quizzes.” 

“Have you been doing the dream interpretation homework?” he asked as he continued staring at the cards, trying to find something else. But he couldn’t find anything else that would be relevant, so he started gathering them in a single stack again. 

“I haven’t had many dreams lately,” you said. “Not since the darkness in the Ravenclaw tower.” 

“You… you dreamed of darkness in the tower?” 

“Yeah, I thought it was my imagination, but I guess it made sense… I’m making up most of the rest, though.”

“You’re making your dreams up?” 

“I found this book on dream interpretation in the library and I have been using it as inspiration,” you said with a shrug. 

“It’s time for the throw about the future,” he said as he offered you the stack again. 

“I’d rather not,” you said as you shook your head and pushed the cards back at him. 

“Things look good now, I’d rather not worry about what the future may hold.” 

“But–”

“If I had gotten a throw like the one I got in the past 5 months ago, I would have been scared shitless…” you said. “You know what I mean, right?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “Maybe we can make something up for the report?” 

“Like what?” you asked with a smile. 

 “I definitely see a quidditch win in your future,” he said with a smile.

“And how does that look?” 

“Wait…” he said as he looked through the stack and placed the 8 of swords on the table, followed by a knight of clubs, who he then switched with a jack of swords and added a knight of ores to your right. “So that’s me,” he pointed at the clubs. “Marlene and, of course, Padfoot,” he explained. 

“Aha…” you said with a smile. 

He then flipped through the cards until he found the two of clubs and placed it next to himself. “I am leading you all,” he added the ace of gold right next to that. “To victory.” 

You laughed and took a bunch from the stack in his hands. “This is Lily,” you said as you took the Jack of cups and placed it under him. You’re both standing over the love clubs,” you said as you raised your eyebrows at him in a teasing manner. “And look what’s above you, two of cups, you know what that means?” 

“You can’t predict Lily and I having children in your future!” 

“What do you mean I can’t? They’ll be my nephews and nieces, of course, I can predict that!” 

James humped in reply. “Well then,” he said as he spotted Remus and placed him underneath you. Then, on your top right corner, he added the four of cups. “You and the boys are having mighty fun as well.” 

“You’re such a dumbass,” you said as you looked for another card to add. Next to the victory you placed the ace of cups. “Means we’re a family.” 

“And,” he placed the 5th of cups under the family, “we’ll celebrate the victory tremendously.” 

“With gratification,” you said as you placed the 7 of gold underneath it. 

Your little game went on until the two of you had designed a wonderfully looking future. Your friends were all around you, Beth. Peter and Tom had been added close to the celebration, and most of the clubs and swords were as far away from all of you as possible, except for the few that weren’t. 

“Why are there so many cards missing? asked Spellman as he approached your table. 

“Ugh… because…” Prongs started. 

“It’s a celt-fae throw,” you said. “It’s a little tricky to make, and I’m trying to remember how to do it, teaching James in the process.” 

“Celt-fae?” he asked with a frown. 

“Yeah, my Nan taught me,” you nodded confidently. 

Spellman placed a hand under his chin and hummed thoughtfully. “I’ll see if we have some books on that in the library,” he added before walking towards someone else’s table. 

“You just made that whole thing up, didn’t you?” James asked you in a whisper. 

You laughed as you nodded, “I most definitely did.” 

“How long do you reckon he’ll be at the library looking for it?” 

You shrugged and then remembered that Sirius and Remus had told you about Spellman going to the forbidden section that one time. “More than one night, at least…” 

James shook his head while the two of you finished the future you’d like to have. “Does two cups mean two children?” he asked casually. 

“Just means children in general,” you retorted. “Why?” 

“I don’t know, I quite fancy the idea of having two of them.” 

“Yeah?” you asked as you tilted your head. “Boys or girls?” 

“I wouldn’t care,” he said with a shrug. “Wouldn’t mind one of each I guess. Imagine me braiding a little Lily’s hair.” 

“If it’s anything like our Lily, she might not let you touch it.” 

“She wouldn’t let anybody but me, touch it,” he retorted confidently. “And Lily, of course.” 

“Of course,” you laughed at the way he’d added that, almost as an afterthought. 

James scribbled something on a sheet of parchment and then passed it over to you. “What do you think?” 

You reviewed the parchment, it was a rather detailed writing of everything that you’d done that day, he had even made some stuff up regarding the fae-celt technique that was so realistic you had to do a double take “Oh, wow,” you said. “It looks like taken from a book.” 

“Thank you,” he said with a pleased smile. “Even if he doesn’t find anything, he’ll still think it’s a thing.” 

“Who knows, perhaps we’ve just made up a new way of predicting the future,” you added with a shrug.

You added just a few more details that you’d seen on the past and present readings, with some drawings of the most relevant or telling cards and looked at the page once more, pulling it back and showing it to James, “What do you think?” 

“It’s great!” he said with a simple nod, and the two of you stood up and walked towards Spellman’s desk. You handed over the paper while James placed the deck, and the book, along with the rest of the stuff. 

“How did it go?” asked Spellman, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“Good,” you replied with a simple nod. You knew it hadn’t been his choice, but having been paired with James perhaps had been a saving grace. With his constant teasing and fooling around, and the fact that he was the one reading and not the other way around, you’d managed to escape what would have otherwise been a torturous situation.

He nodded at you calmly and told you and James that, since you were finished, you could exit the classroom. You stopped by Remus and Peter on the way out. Peter was incredibly confused as he looked in between the cards and the book, biting the side of his cheek as he looked at Remus completely appalled. 

“What does this even mean?” 

“May I?” you asked as you approached him, “Whose reading for whom?”               

“I’m the seer,” said Remus. “I’ve told him it’s nothing but he’s worried he’ll die.” 

You frowned and leaned over the cards, looking at them with a small analysing frown as you placed yourself beside Remus, your side brushing against his shoulder. “Present?” 

“Future,” answered Peter. “See those two? those are death!” 

“Are you supposed to be the Knight of Clubs or the Jack of Gold?” you asked as you looked at the two cards underneath the apparent death. 

“He’s the Knight of Swords,” Remus said, there was a slight hint of exasperation in his voice as if he had already told Peter the exact same thing. 

“But even then, not in a much better situation either, am I?” he asked as he pointed at his spot, near the top middle, leaning to the left.  “I’m surrounded by bad cards!” 

You sighed, “It looks like there are some weird things going on, like you’re going to have a fallout with some friends,” you said as you pointed at the Three of Cups being pointed at by an Ace of Swords from below and a Seven from the side. “That could make you or others feel dejected and upset. 

“But, even if you are a little upset, or perhaps sick, it seems like in the end, you’ll be somehow fulfilled with the choice you made,” you continued, studying the cards again. It was as if they were trying to tell you something. Peter was right, there was certainly something ominous about his throw but you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, and you weren’t sure you wanted to know either. Your worst predictions often came true, and you didn’t want anything bad to happen to Peter; he was your friend. 

“You think?” 

“Yeah, and look,” you said, pointing at the diagonal line from his left. “It seems that you will eventually submit to something or someone, and you won’t feel too sad about the stuff that went down either, since you’ll still have a friend you consider home,” you said pointing at the King of Gold and at the Ace of Cups at the end of the line. 

“That means I’ll be fine?” 

You looked at the cards again. There were dark things in them that you didn’t want to think too much about, something baleful that you could feel and not quite see. If you had thrown them, perhaps it would have been easier, and although your magic had always been compatible with Remus’, readings were extremely delicate, and only the main seer could predict things with accuracy –if they were good. 

“Yeah,” you said reassuringly. “You’ll be fine, Pete.”  

“Told you so!” Said Remus as he rolled his eyes and wrote some things down in his notebook. “You’re perfectly safe in this throw.”

“That’s quite reassuring,” Peter said with a sigh. 

“Yeah,” James said as he looked at the cards with a smile and patted Peter’s shoulder cheerfully. “See you in Magic Theory in a bit, yeah?” he said as he looked at the two of them.

“Sure,” Peter said as he started writing down the throw he’s gotten. 

You smiled at the two of them, turning to Remus with slight complicity before giving his shoulder a soft squeeze and walking outside with James. It was a simple way of telling him you loved him, and you knew he’d gotten the message with the small smile he returned.

“You think I showed up on Lily’s read?” He asked as he turned back to take a look at her once you reached the doors.

You looked at the way Lily was looking at her cards, there was a light tinge of red in her cheeks and you couldn’t help but smile, “She must have.” 

“That’s good,” James said as he turned back towards the hall. “You should ask what she got at lunch.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“So you can tell me all about it in practice later,” he said as if it were obvious. “Now that you’re dating Moons, I’m your best friend, which means it is your duty to help me.” 

“I’m not going to tell you everything that Lily says about you, James.” 

“I can tell you everything that Sirius and Remus say about you in exchange–” 

“No thank you,” you interrupted with a half laugh. “If either of them want me to know something, they’ll tell me themselves. And so will Lily with you.”

“I don’t know about that…” 

“James,” you said, turning to him, causing the two of you to stop. “Do you really think she would stay quiet if something was bothering her? Lily Evans?”  

He tilted his head to the side as he exhaled. “But what if her cards mentioned about us having children? What if they told her whether it’d be a boy or a girl?” 

“I think your imagination is getting out of hand, Prongsie.” 

“Is it impossible?” he asked. You were now near the stairs. 

You thought about it for a second. A Two of Cups plus a character person could definitely predict at least some of the basic traits of a future child, but it would be too complicated to spot, and it would require a lot of suppositions. “Well, technically it isn’t impossible but–” 

“See! She wouldn’t tell me that!” 

“Because then you wouldn’t stop talking about it, Prongs, so it makes sense that she–” Suddenly you were yanked by the arm from the side. Perhaps it was more like an intentioned pull, but since you were walking so intently while looking almost solely at James, it felt like a way sharper pull than intended. 

You turned to look at the hand grabbing onto your arm before looking at the owner. “We need to talk.” 

“Hey!” James said as he snapped Evan’s hand from your arm. “That’s no way to treat a Lady!” As if he hadn’t yanked you way harder on multiple occasions while playing Quidditch. His dislike for the Slytherin was obvious, and any excuse would do. 

Evan looked at James dismissively, as if he was nothing more than a nuisance, which was a lot coming from someone who had shied away from him with one look. “Don’t meddle, Potter,” Evan hissed. He then called your last name. “We need to talk.” 

He had said that last bit in such an urgent manner, that you felt compelled to listen, even if Barty leaning against a wall with his arms crossed over his chest and his annoyed expression hadn’t made you any more eager to do it than you were to go back and read someone’s cards from scratch.

“Just leave us alone, Rosier!” James said as he took a step forward.

“It’s okay, Prongs,” you said with a nod. “I’ll see what he has to say.” 

“Sure?” 

“Yeah,” you replied confidently. Prongs stood by your side, waiting. 

Evan cleared his throat. “Do you mind?” he asked, trying not to sound as annoyed as he was.

James threw Evan a look and took a few steps backward, crossing his arms over his chest as he spotted Barty walking towards you. 

You hadn’t talked to either of them since Christmas, regardless they had saved you, and since they had, you assumed the chances of them attacking you outright, were minimal. “So?” 

“Hope you’re feeling better,” Evan said, as politely as he could. Then he hesitated and turned to Barty, as if he wanted his help with whatever it was he had to say. There was a rather tense silence, Barty rolled his eyes and turned to you. 

“Your boyfriend is cheating on you.” You were startled by the information, so much so that you didn’t even react before he spoke again. “With your best friend.” 

Evan turned to Barty, with what looked like shock. “We weren’t gonna tell her that!” 

“I thought we were,” Barty said with a shrug. 

“What?” Was the only thing you managed to respond.

“Remus and Sirius,” Evan said, he looked apologetic, like he thought it wasn’t right to tell you but at the same time it was the only right thing to do. 

“Snape saw them, they were shagging in the Prefect’s Bathroom.” 

Oh, you thought, you had been there. You couldn’t possibly tell them that, could you? 

“Snape told you this?” 

“And he wanted to tell the entire school, make you feel miserable in the process,” Barty said. 

“You’d understand why we couldn’t allow that to happen, right? Same reason you helped me with my father?” 

“I–”

“We obliviated him,” Barty said with a small proud smirk, almost imperceptible. He knew it was a complicated spell. “I didn’t want to tell you, but Evan insisted.” 

“Right,” you said with a breath. “I– uh… I knew about that.” 

“You knew they were cheating?” Evan asked, surprised, but in a whisper. 

“No, I mean… They weren’t cheating.” 

“So you’re their cover?” he asked, still confused. “I thought–” 

“Not quite,” you said, before realising you could have just left them with that thought. 

“What?” 

Barty narrowed his eyes at you, and then he let out a breathy chuckle, sliding his tongue on the side of his cheek before looking to the side and shaking his head. He knew. 

“Evan, Luv.” He said, the smug smile he had did not disappear as he spoke. “It seems she has an arrangement with them.”

“An arrangement?”

“The three of them are into each other,” Barty said confidently. And then there was another sharp intake of breath. “Now that I think about it, she was more surprised that Severus told us than about the fact that they’d been shagging.” He smiled. “Why do you think that is?” 

“She knew,” Evan breathed. 

“Perhaps,” Barty said as he took a step closer. He wasn’t as tall as Evan, and even Reggie was taller, but you suspected he was still going to stretch. “She was there.” 

You kept your face as stoic as you could. Two more people to add to the list of those who knew, or rather, figured it out. “I appreciate the fact that you decided to tell me about it.” Barty raised an eyebrow. “And the fact that you obliviated that snake–” 

Evan hissed, and Barty mouthed “careful”. 

“–Severus,” you corrected. “For me.” 

“You’re welcome,” Barty retorted cockily. 

“It was nothing,” Evan said, much more politely. 

“I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t talk about the thing that we– you know, the thing.” 

“That you’re all fucking each other?” Barty asked nonchalantly and got a small slap on his arm from Evan. 

You didn’t respond, just looked at him with slight exasperation. He knew how to get under your skin. 

“We won’t say a thing,” Evan said with a small nod. “We’ll follow your example.” 

“Thank you,” you said, looking at him and nodding slightly. He shrugged in return. You turned towards James, who was looking at the two of them with a mix of hatred and curiosity. “I have class, now,” you added as you pointed towards James. 

Barty smiled. “Tell them to fuck themselves from my part when you see them,” he said as he waved. You turned to him with a rather pissed look and he smiled, adding, much lower this time, “Or each other.” 

“Everything all right? What’s that all about?” James said as soon as you reached him.

“They know,” you said with a tired sight.

“They know what?” 

“The details of my relationship,” you finished. 

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: Hey kiddos! I'm finally back! Took me some time but GC is returning with it's regular schedule at least until the middle of December. Also, I wanted to inform you guys that there is a proofreading position open for GC (Proofreaders usually get to read chapters a week in advance, so DM me if you're interested).

Leave a comment telling me if you wanna be tagged on Gilded Constellations

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Read more Marauders Fiction

[ripdragonbeans]

Love In The Darkest Of Places // Modern!Aemond x Reader

Chapter 4: Freedom

Summary: You and Aemond are in college now, which presents itself with its own new challenges. One you didn't expect, however, was cutting off your family.

TW: unhealthy family dynamic

Masterlist

Chapter 3 // Chapter 5

The thought of jeopardizing your relationship with Aemond was too scary to even consider. As much as you wanted to say yes, to be his, you knew there was no way to guarantee you would stay together. At least with this friendship there was no way of messing it up. Or at least you hoped. Your heart and soul yearned for him but your brain was terrified. The risk that came with being in a serious relationship was too great, according to your brain. Your heart and soul said to hell with it, to jump into the deep end, but in the end you were too afraid.

For the rest of high school that’s how you two were: best friends. Never once did either of you waver. Not once did either of you date. There was an unspoken arrangement that you would wait for each other. Of course, since Aemond made his move after that regrettable double date, it would be up to you.

“Do you wish we could be together?” you asked him one night. You were spending the night in his dorm room. It wasn’t the first time you’ve asked the question.

“You know my answer,” Aemond replied, never looking away from the television screen.

It was movie night and as per usual, you stayed in his dorm. High school seemed so far away yet it was almost as though it was yesterday. The double date with Cregan had always stayed in your mind. That Monday afterwards did, too. 

“I feel like I'm playing you,” you admitted to Aemond. 

“If you actually were, I don't think you'd be worried about it.” He looked at you and smiled. “I'll wait however long and if we only stay friends then that's okay too. You're my best person in the world. Together forever, remember?”

“Yeah, together forever.”

Silence.

“What if…” you started, “what if there's someone else out there for you?”

“The only person I want is you. If someone else finds me then maybe you ran out of time.”

“What if… what if I find someone else?” 

“Then I'll let you go. I'll do whatever to make you happy.” Aemond reached for your hand and squeezed it. He looked out the dorm window. “It's getting late. Do you want me to walk you back to your house or?” He left the question hanging.

“I think I'll go back to my house alone” you replied. It hurt your heart to leave him but you did so anyway.

Aemond’s face fell when you gave his answer. He simply nodded and got up to let you out of his dorm. 

“You know I -” you began to say.

“Don't worry about it,” Aemond said with a tight smile. “I understand.” 

And with that he closed the door.

You couldn't help but press your forehead against the door. You knew you should head back to your own dorm but you couldn't bring yourself to do so. Your feet refused to move and the thought of leaving Aemond alone in his room hurt your heart. 

So you let yourself stay there. 

You could hear Aemond through the door a tiny bit. You wondered if he felt as conflicted as you. A small mirthless laugh left you. Of course he felt conflicted. You were the one making him wait. Taking a deep breath, you pulled yourself up and headed out of the dorm and to your family’s house.

Unlike Aemond’s loving family, yours refused to pay for a dormitory. You had to walk or grab a ride home at the end of every day. Normally you would ask Aemond or Helaena for a ride but you wanted to be alone right now. Asking Aemond after this movie night was out of the question as well. So instead, you basked in the brisk cold night as you made your way back to the house.

When you arrived at the house you didn't bother announcing your presence. It wouldn't have been met with anything kind anyway, if it even received a reply. While the interior was warm and welcoming to everyone else, it was cold and lonely for you. Stepping inside the building, you toes off your shoes and shrugged off your coat before retreating into your bedroom. It was your safe haven in this place. 

Plopping down on the bed, you let out a groan. The day had been going perfectly well until you told Aemond it felt as though you were playing him. You were just too scared for yourself and for him. You didn't want either of you to get hurt in any way. Gods forbid the pain is caused by you or him. You hugged a pillow, wishing it was Aemond. Soon enough, sleep found you.

You walked down a cold, empty hallway. Your footsteps echoed against the walls. You didn't know where you were going; you were just walking. One thing you did notice, however, was the deep pit in your stomach. Something was going to happen but you didn't know what. And it would be something big. 

Soon, the walls became grand. Wallpaper were plastered on and large portraits of your family lined them. Your parents looked regal, of course. If it were another time you thought they would even be royalty. Then came the portraits of your brothers, Jace and Luke. 

Ever since Luke took Aemond's eye, you’ve cut him off. You avoided him, refused to talk to him, and have even left buildings if you found out he was there. There was no love in your heart for Luke, even if you were siblings. You could never forgive him for what he did. Yet here, in his portraits, he looked like a carefree child. So innocent. So wrong.

Jace’s portraits seemed accurate, in your opinion. He was still as charming as ever but you could see underneath him, how he loathed you, how we always craved the attention from mother and father. You smiled cruelly at that thought. He would never have their full attention. It was always on themselves but you let Jace believe that maybe one day their focus would be on him. To an extent you pitied Jace but not enough to make room in your heart to love him. He did nothing while Aemond was hurt and he constantly ridiculed you. No, there was no love.

Soon, there were pictures of Mrs. Alicent, Mr. Criston, Aegon, Helaena, and Jason. Unlike the photos of your family, these were candid, happy photos. They were real and genuine. No fake smiles or practiced poses; just silly faces and love. As you approached each of their photos, you couldn't help but feel joy. You were so happy for them and you wished desperately to be part of that. 

But something was off.

In the bundle of photos with Aemond was another person. Their face was covered or they were always facing away from the camera. Aemond was either grinning ear to ear or looked at that person with…love. The person in question had long, dark, flowing hair. You didn't recognize this person but it did something to your stomach. A pit dropped and it made you want to throw up. 

You kept walking down the hallway.

Suddenly, you heard laughter. Laughter and voices. You pinned down Aemond's but didn't recognize the female one. You didn't like this one bit. Could there be someone else for Aemond?

No. No, that can't be.

You raced down the hallway to find Aemond and this mysterious woman locked in an embrace.

“Aemond?” You asked quietly.

Aemond turned around. “You're too late,” he said. His voice echoed. “I waited for you but you took too long. I found someone else.”

“No!” You cried. You had woken up in a cold sweat. Looking around, you tried to ground yourself. There is no hallway, no portraits or pictures, no Aemond with some other woman.

You sighed as you heard someone come up to your door. You had an inkling it was one of your brothers.

“Hey, can we talk?” Jace knocked on your door.

You opened it only to reveal your older brother. “What do you want?”

He looked down at his feet. “I wanted to apologize. I've never been the best big brother and that's on me.”

“Okay…” you were confused as to why he was doing this.

“I was talking with my girlfriend, Sara, and she said that we needed to talk so here I am.”

You crossed your arms and leaned on the doorframe. “Talk about what?”

Jace shrugged. “Everything, I guess.”

“...Okay. Give me a minute to get dressed and we can go to the Dorne Café.” You closed the door behind you and got ready.

Within ten minutes you and Jace were out of the door and in his car. The ride to the café was silent. It wasn't tense or anything, just quiet. When you arrived at the café there were a decent amount of people there but not too many. After both of you placed your orders you went to claim a table outside.

Sitting across from each other, you waited for your brother to say something first. You simply looked at each other. In contrast to you, he was waiting for you to speak first. Once again in your life, you were at a stand still with your brother.

Not being able to stand the silence, you broke it. “Okay, I'll bite. You, Luke, mother, and father never wanted to do anything with me. I was always on the side and when I wasn't I was teased and ridiculed.”

“That’s a pretty heavy way to start this,” commented Jace.

“Well, you wouldn't talk first, so I did.”

“I teased you because I was mad. I was upset that you were closer with Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond and not with us. You're my sister. You should've been with me and not them.”

“You weren’t the most welcoming type when it came to me, Jace.”

“That's because I didn't know!”

“That’s a shitty excuse. We could have been closer. We could have had a better relationship.”

“I know and I want to fix it!”

You sighed and put your head on your hands. “Jace, it might be best for us to just go our separate ways. Damage was done and it was constant. I just can't forget all that.”

“Yes, you can. We can start over, pretend that nothing ever happened.”

“But it did happen. My childhood was filled with your constant teasing and mother and father’s neglect. It's forever burned in my mind.”

Jace threw his hands up in the air. “Then what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, Jace.” You could feel a lump growing in your throat. You didn't know what to expect on your way to the café but it wasn't this.

He nodded his head. “Okay, then.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I wasn't a better brother. You deserved to be treated better.”

“I know.”

Silence enveloped the air. No one talked. Only distant conversations and cars speeding by were heard by the two of you.

“I think it’s best if I just go to Helaena’s,” you whispered.

“What about us?”

“What about us? We're ruined Jace. We were never truly brother and sister.” You paused. “I was planning on moving in with Helaena, anyway, she needs a roomie for her apartment. I'll pack up my things over the next few days and I'll be out of everyone's hair.”

“If that's what you want.”

“I'm sorry, Jace. I truly am.”

Both of you were slow to pick up your trash. It was as though you were savoring these last few moments. When Jace dropped you off at Helaena’s apartment he walked you to the door.

“Maybe one day we’ll get better,” he said.

“Maybe.” You were hesitant but you gave him a hug. “Goodbye, Jace.”

Once he left and his car had gone out of view, you knocked on the door.

“Coming!” Came Helaena’s dreamy voice. She opened the door and wrapped you in a big hug. After letting you go she said, “I read your text, I'm so excited for you to move in! It'll be just us. No boys to stink up the place.”

“Believe me, I'm so excited.” You tried to smile but it faltered.

Helaena furrowed her brows. “What's wrong?” She pulled you into the apartment.

Once you were seated on the couch you told her everything that had transpired between you and Jace. 

“It was a goodbye and it was upsetting but it was also freeing in a way.”

Helaena nodded her head. “I understand.”

“I’m not looking forward to moving all my stuff out. I just don’t really want to go back there.”

“I’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise,” Helaena said. “And we can ask Aemond and Aegon to join us, too. They would keep your family away from us.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “You know, my mother still thinks Luke was in the right. She thinks that Aemond deserved to lose his eye. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m related to her.”

“That’s sick,” Helaena agreed.

“Gods, what even is my family?”

“A mess. They’re a giant mess. But,” she paused. “You have us. You have me, my mother and father, and Aemond and Aegon. We will always be with you.”

“I used to be so scared that you guys would push me away; especially after Aemond lost his eye.”

“Why would you think that?”

You shrugged. “I felt responsible and guilty. I blamed myself and believed that you guys would later blame me, too.”

“Don't be ridiculous. That will never happen. I promise.” Helaena pulled you into a hug.

Gratefully, you returned it. “I talked to Aemond this morning.”

“And?”

“I'm just so torn, Hel. I want to be with him but I don't want to risk our friendship.”

“You know I think you should take the leap but I can't make that decision for you. You have to do it yourself.”

Your thoughts moved to your dream. “What if there's someone else for him? Someone better than me?”

“I honestly can't see Aemond with anyone else but you. You two have been through it all. And,” she paused and obviously glanced at your collar bone. “You're still wearing the necklace after all these years.”

You brought your hand up to rub the gem between your fingers. It was an action that you developed whenever you got stressed. 

“Look, you even mess with the necklace whenever something is wrong because it calms you. Aemond calms you.”

“It’s all so much.”

“You know what I think, but I want you to do it on your own terms. If you need more time, then take it.”

You took Helaena’s hands in your own. “Thank you.”

She squeezed your hands before letting them go to clap them together. “Now, shall we start moving in now or tomorrow?”

You huffed out a laugh. “I think tomorrow will be fine. We can give the boys a heads up tonight and just chill.”

“I love that idea.” She looped her arm through yours and led you to your soon to be room.

Moving in with Helaena was a breeze, thankfully. You didn’t have much to take out from your parents’ house. Jace actually stepped in to help a little bit but said nothing when doing so. When you left with your things, all he did was give you a small nod. 

You had officially cut ties with your family.

You were free.

The air felt fresher. The grass was greener. Your mother, father, and brothers no longer loomed over you. Taking a deep breath, you smiled as you looked around your room. No one would steal anything from you. You had a whole apartment you shared with one of your closest friends. Everything was right. Everything except the hole in your heart.

Pacing the room, you went through the war in your head, trying to choose if you should talk to Aemond or not. The worst he could say was no but that would be too much. Even though the chances of him saying no is almost nonexistent. Still, the risk was there and that terrified you. Putting your gears aside, you dialed Aemond’s number and called him. 

The phone barely rang before Aemond answered.

“Are you okay?” he immediately asked.

“Yeah, I'm okay. I guess I just wanted to talk to you,” you admitted. 

“What's up?” He asked again. When you didn't respond he said, “I know something is wrong. You don't call me unless something is really messing with you.”

Sighing, you nodded your head until you realized he couldn't see you. “Can I come over?”

“Yeah, always.”

You could hear his smile. Aemond always loved it whenever you came to his dorm.

“I'll see you in a bit, Aems.”

“In a bit,” he repeated.

When you asked Helaena to drive you to Aemond's dorm she gave you a knowing smile.

“Are you finally going to tell him?” She asked you.

“I…I don't know but it's in the realm of possibilities,” you said. It was true. You played with the idea of telling him today but you were still scared.

The car ride to Aemond’s dorm was uneventful. Helaena gave you words of encouragement and tried her best to keep you calm. 

“You're going to be okay. Both of you. I've never seen two people who meshed as well as the both of you. Whatever bond you have with him is unbreakable,” Helaena told you.

You wrung your hands together. “Yeah.”

When Helaena pulled up to Aemond’s dorm building he was already out in front waiting for you. His tall frame making him stand out in the emptiness of the walkway. With his hair down and flowing slightly with the breeze he looked ethereal. You could never get over how beautiful he was. 

When Aemond saw you, a smile brightened up his face. You smiled back. It was going to be a good day, you thought to yourself. Stepping out of Helaena’s car, you gave her a quick thank you and tried to control yourself as you walked to Aemond. As soon as you were by his side he pulled you into a hug.

“You've had me worried these last few days,” he admitted.

“And why's that?” You asked him.

“You've pulled away a bit.” He was quiet.

Your eyebrows pinched together. “What do you mean?”

“Once you moved in with Helaena you didn't call or text me much and didn't offer to visit until now.”

“Oh.” You couldn't tell him everything. Not yet. “There's been a lot going on.”

“You don't have to take that on alone,” Aemond reminded you. “I'm here for you. Together forever, yeah?”

You smiled. “Together forever.”

That night you spent the entirety of it with Aemond. You put on a movie, popped popcorn, and simply enjoyed each other's company. It was as though there was no lingering feelings between you two. It was just you guys. Anyone from the outside would have assumed you were together, and gods, did you wish it was true. Aemond, for sure, wished it was. 

You and Aemond say against the wall on his bed. His arm was casually around you while you snuggled in close. At some point in the night he pulled his hair up in a messy bun. When you tried to braid his hair he swatted your hands away with a goofy grin on his face. 

“Just once!” You pleaded.

“You've already done it once!” Aemond laughed.

“When?” You put your hands on your hips.

Aemond sighed then explained, “Back when we were fourteen. You convinced me to let you braid my hair. It was in knots afterwards.”

Crossing your arms over your chest you muttered, “It wasn't too bad.”

“We needed Helaena’s help.”

Nudging Aemond with your shoulder you told him, “Fine. I won't braid your hair tonight. But let's do something!”

“What if I braided your hair?” 

You raised an eyebrow. “You know how to braid hair?”

“There's a first time for everything,” he shrugged. “It's your turn to have knots,” he bumped you back with his shoulder.

You huffed, “Fine,” and plopped yourself in front of him.

When Aemond ran his hands through your hair, you couldn't help but lean back into him. He gently massaged your scalp before carefully dividing your hair into three sections. 

“Are you sure you know how to do this?” You teased.

Aemond tugged on your hair, sending shivers down your spine. “We're about to find out,” he whispered in your ear.

You couldn't help but flush at his words. Aemond braiding your hair shouldn't be as intimate as this and yet it was. Your relationship has changed since you've both moved on to college. Now, you simply danced around each other.

As Aemond braided your hair, he would tug on it every now and then, causing a bolt of pleasure to shoot through your stomach. 

“Am I hurting you?” Aemond asked when he tugged it for the fourth time.

“No,” you let out breathlessly.

When Aemond finished braiding your hair, you turned around only to find each other nose to nose.

“Aemond?” Whispered.

His violet eye bore into yours before quickly dipping down to your lips and back. “Yes?”

You looked at him and slowly leaned forward. Meeting you in the middle, Aemond captured your lips in his. It was soft. It was tentative. For a second you froze, not knowing what to do, but then Aemond reached up to cup your face and you kissed him back. You moved so you were on your knees in front of him, just now slightly taller than him sitting down. His hands went to your waist and he held on like he never wanted to let go. 

Sitting back on your haunches, you placed your hands on his shoulders. Aemond tensed up slightly but relaxed quickly. The kiss wasn't heated or rushed. It was very slow and calm. You were both waiting and now you finally had each other.

[fernsnailz]

Take this with a grain of salt because I never bothered with the Knuckles series, but considering that both movies felt it was important enough to have a human plot as the anchoring point [Even to the detriment of the titular characters], I feel like the series is intended as an extension for that. For better or worse, they wanted that to be the focus, and analyzing it from that angle might be interesting

i agree! i think i've decided to go ahead and rewatch the knuckles series because of this - despite its quality and (likely) lack of relevance to sonic 3, i still think it's an important part of the scu's identity (which is the main thing i'm trying to dissect and understand before sonic 3).

to me, the human aspects/plots of this particular series always felt like a bit of a compromise in the first and second movie. focusing on the human cast saves on the budget, extends the runtime a bit, and is the main justification for these movies being "live-action" at all. despite being a major part of these movies though, there is some effort to make sure they're not the main focus (at least when it comes to character development/arcs, and especially in the second movie).

but the knuckles show is really fascinating in how it turns this compromise into the main reason the show can exist at all, and how it deepens every single crack this series has. it elevates the ever-present themes of copaganda (and manages to tie it further to themes of zionism), it sacrifices a lot of knuckles' character to fit him into a thor-like "warrior" trope, and it ends up having very little to say at all. and i think that from the very beginning, from pitch to final cut, this was always going to happen. because this show was intended to stick to that human aspect - there was never any chance of removing it from this show's identity.

it sucks. it's fascinating. i have to watch it again. the devil is calling me.

[gtzel]

Winter and Claus (title TBD)

Chapter 3

first/previous/next

The human looked down at the borrower with something that would have resembled sympathy, realizing he might’ve done serious damage to the little guy. He reached into the box, causing Winter to scramble back and yelp in fear, obviously still vulnerable form being grabbed so roughly the first time.

Nevertheless the human, oblivious to Winter’s fright, scooped him up. This time he was more soft with his movements, and kept the borrower in an open palm. Winter struggled weakly as one of the human fingers drew down and pinched the borrower's thin torso, lifting up his dark blue striped shirt to view the bruising on the borrower’s body. It obviously wasn't a pretty sight, the finger shaped markings that had started to bloom on the tiny borrowers form. But the human finally got a good look at the person he was dealing with. 

Winter gave up with the exhausting attempts at fighting, which were fruitless anyways. The human fingers gently caressed Winter’s lean torso, which looked concerningly underweight for the borrower's age. 

“Gods do you eat at all?” the human said quietly, the cold tone still hanging in the air, but a twinge of concern hidden underneath. As the human continued to poke about at the borrower's body. The boy looked human enough, but the pointed ears and thin tail proved a challenge to the human's intellectual curiosity. 

Winter gulped nervously, pulling his bandaged arms to his chest protectively, not allowing the human access to that part of him. Though it seemed that the human was disinterested by the movement. Instead lightly pinching the borrower's black tail and rubbing the fuzzy hair at the end. WInter suppressed a moan, knowing what would follow if that ensued. He wasn't about to let the human humiliate him further. However, he couldn't hold back the guttural vibrating noise that came with the feeling of being petted, a light soft purring not unlike a cat’s. The human, to Winter’s much disdain, perked up and smirked coyly at the noise, gently rubbing and stroking the creature’s soft tail.  

“So you like that?” the human said, an undertone of playfulness pulling at him as he spoke. WInter blushed hard and pouted away, a soft ‘humph’ escaping his lips as his tail moved on its own to wrap around the human's finger. The human made a soft chuckling sound and relaxed his finger to the borrower’s voluntary touch, counting it as a win. 

“S-shut up *human*” Winter spat, quite obviously flustered at his body’s natural reaction. Though he didn't ever admit it, the human could deduct that the borrower was a bit on the touch starved side. 

“Fine then, but you have to actually make conversation with me” the human started, looking into the borrower's grey eyes. Winter reluctantly complied. “So~ starting off, what are you? I thought you were like…a shrunken person but you don't look very human.” the human said factually, not bothering to be subtle.

“Geez, straight to the point. Don't you want to at least know my name first?” winter said, slightly put off by the humans sudden burst of energy. 

The human nodded thoughtfully “yes, well i'm Claus. Claus Woodm-i mean Evergreen.” the human said the last bit with a frown. Maybe he didn't like the name or something, winter didnt know nor bothered to ask. “And you would be-?” 

“Mhm…yeah uhm…im Winter…Ivus” the borrower said quietly, his fingers subconsciously moving and tracing the subtle markings on the human palm. “And uhm…i can't tell you what i am” winter muttered, a sharp tone at his lips. “I already said that” 

Caus frowned “what? But I was nice to you?” he said in earnest. Zeal scoffed internally. This human seriously believed that just being a bit more gentle- while still manhandling him mind you- was “nice” absolutely unbelievable. 

“Yeah well being ‘nice’ won't cut it. Rules are rules” Winter muttered. Despite still being scared, the borrower found that he could talk back to the human relatively well, not making him completely terrified. 

“Oh? And what kind of rules are those? Why are they so important?” the human said sassily, but genuine curiosity ebbing away at him.

“Well for one, No being seen by humans, or caught. Or talking. Unless its a threat to life. No revealing the secrets. And no fraternizing, speaking of which, you can kindly set me down and be on your way” Winter demanded with a not-so-scared tone of voice. 

The human chuckled “well it seems like you've already broken 3 of those rules, if i'm counting. And I don't want to let you go, not when ive just caught you, "Claus said, a sly smile pulling at his lips. Something about the tone of voice by which the sentence was delivered sent shivers down the borrower’s spine. 

“b-but …” winter felt his nerves spike with his fear. “But you have to let me go-” winter said “i-i have a-” he caught himself. He couldn't reveal anything, not the fact that he had family, or that he lived in the walls. He had to keep the secrets. “-a uh…a” he stuttered, blanking at a false excuse to escape. 

“Well i think you don't have any reason to leave. Don't worry, now that i know how breakable you are, ill be much more gentle” the smile on his face made the borrower ring his tail anxiously “after all, if i let you go, who knows what kind of things would happen to you. You could get stepped on, or eaten alive by a cat, or-” 

“Stop!” Winter interrupted him promptly, already shaking at the visualization of what the human had described “j-just stop it…i-i get what you're trying to say,” 

The human looked down, a twinge of guilt pulling at his heart, realizing how shaken up the little guy was.  “Ah-o…okay” he said softly. He sighed, slightly frustrated with himself for screwing this up. 

Just before they were going to continue their conversation, a loud yelling- a man’s voice- called out from downstairs in the house. Winter noticed the way Claus flinched at the voice. But before the borrower could ask, he was promptly dumped in the box. Winter cried out, startled and confused as he was jostled around and shut into darkness. 

The box finally stilled and Winter heard the thudding of footsteps as the human suddenly left, thudding as they walked downstairs. 

Muffled yelling ensued for the next hour or so, Winter chewing at his hands anxiously as he waited for the human to come back. It was getting late. Winter was in too dark a place to tell, but the sun had begun to set when the sharp sound of a slamming door rang out downstairs. 

Winter waited….and waited and waited. The human didn't come back. The yelling ceased and minutes turned into hours, and still no sign of the human…finally, Winter caved to exhaustion and passed out in the corner of the warm cardboard box, wondering absently what had happened, and where the human had gone now. 

[persicipen]

₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝓒𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒏𝒆𝒕. TAMSY CAINES ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

ৎ୭ — · · 1.9k ノ gn reader — title is quite literally the plot. tamsy has weird feelings towards you. likewise. reader described by him as awkward. a very subtle case of mutual pining. ropes and bruises are involved, but it’s completely sfw. just a casual day with other characters mentioned. spoiler-free — there are some hints tho. before relationship. maybe a pinch of clueless flirting, but only if you squint lol

There are many unexpected mornings at the Cleaners’ HQ. A fact that no one dares to undermine, a reality that greets them all with every new day.

If not a sudden attack of the trash beasts, then maybe Delmon hitting his toe against the bed and screaming at the top of his lungs, or Enjin coming back from the city after a frivolous night and stumbling into every obstacle because he’s certain that another love of his life just decided to end their relationship (how long has it been this time? Barely a month?), or Follo and Gris hitting the clogged pipes with every tool they have in the bag because someone messed up the hydraulics and there’s already a queue of people wanting to use the bathroom.

Yes, there are many unexpected mornings at the Cleaners’ HQ. Tamsy is well aware of the antics and misunderstandings happening between the members, but at least he’s glad that usually no one bothers anyone until they leave their rooms — pitiful is what awaits after one decides to venture out on the corridor and is not ready for the challenge.

But it’s his day off work, so he can enjoy the solitude of the four walls in peace.

Except this time he hears an impatient banging at his door, directly. Nothing of great strength, so that at least confirms it’s no one with the extreme personality (like Delmon) who otherwise would soil his lovely start of the day.

Well, it’s you.

“Good mornin—”

“Hi Tamsy!” You interrupt his slow greeting, followed by a questioning raise of his eyebrows. But you’re quick, too quick, and continue immediately, almost putting your hands straight into his face. “Please, please, you gotta help me!”

“Calm down, first. What happened?”

“See?!”

He sees, clearly. One of your arms, from wrist to shoulder, is wrapped up in a total mess — a good quality rope or a net of some kind, whatever — and your skin already lost a fraction of its colour. Looks painful, that’s for sure. And, unfortunately, complicated. There’s barely anything he can deduct in just a few seconds from seeing you in front of his room to having to hold your elbow so you stop wriggling your shoulder, so he may examine the situation further.

“Why didn’t you just cut it off?”

“Because I can’t! I just can’t! Semiu said it’s something expensive that the boss had bought a few years ago, but the kids started playing with it while cleaning the main hall and then they bumped into me, and then— well, nevermind! Can you please get it off me before I lose my arm and Semiu comes for my throat next?”

There goes his peaceful morning.

He takes a deep breath, ignoring that first wave of annoyance after being disrupted so early when it’s his day off, and lets go of you so he can retrieve some tools from the drawer. Probably a needle or a pin, anything of that sort, will have a use in that case.

“Come in. Untangling you shouldn’t be hard, but it might take a while…”

“Aren’t you well-oriented with the ropes and stuff like that? Isn’t your vital instrument a distaff?”

“Heh, I guess I am well-oriented with the ropes and stuff.”

You watch him curiously, sniffling and fidgeting all over the place with your nails scrambling the coarse threads in hopes that maybe you will get out of them by yourself.

After a moment, Tamsy drags you across the room, nudging you to sit on the bed.

“Yeah, this will take a while.” He mumbles out, eyes already focused on the task. “But you won’t lose your arm.” He chuckles at that. Mayhaps a subtle joke will take your attention away from the bubbling anxiety.

“What about my neck?”

“Working on it. At worst, we’ll both lose our heads.”

You hum under your nose, entertained and not so stressed anymore, and lean to look at his hands. Working carefully on the rope, unwrapping one by one, all this while trying not to poke the pointy end of the pin through your skin. To be honest, it looks more like you’re a bird caught in a net left on the wind for at least a year, but if he considers how chaotic Guita and other teenagers can be, let alone running around together, then maybe it’s not that impossible to cause such a disaster in the first place.

The moment you feel Tamsy’s fingers pull out of the loops and brush against your skin where the short sleeve doesn’t reach, you lower your head as if it’s suddenly forbidden. You get the feeling, again. The one you dislike because it makes you act like that, like you cannot just enjoy being casually acquainted with him.

This is not love. No. Love doesn’t exist for people like you. Not on the Ground, not at all. But the idea of it lingering at the edge of your consciousness doesn’t leave you alone and brings shivers down your spine every time he so much as glances at you.

This is the worst.

“I’ve never noticed that you’re missing a part of your little finger. It’s not causing you any problems?” You pick up the most random topic, your stupid brain just letting anything get on your tongue.

Tamsy doesn’t even flinch when you mention it.

“I forget about it all the time.” He admits in a heartbeat.

“Oh. Well, good that it’s nothing serious then. Sorry…”

“It’s okay.” He sighs.

Really, it’s hard to be angry at you, especially that this isn’t your fault you got into whatever happened in the main hall, but he doesn’t want you sitting on his bed, in his room, acting so awkward. It would be annoying if it was only him treated this way — could suggest you’re developing certain feelings for him, regardless if positive of negative — but you’ve always been weird when interacting with others, unable to get the clue even after working with them many times and even befriending some of them.

Sure, you’re all over the place, but you’re not the only one among the Cleaners. However, Tamsy considers you a complication and a distraction. Only you. It’s entirely on him that he’s starting to like you, against his own rules. But then again, do you even notice that, or are you just enjoying the quiet company? He wants to make sure he isn’t wrong, because he could use an ally, yet… You don’t seem to think of him that way. It’s too risky to even consider sharing the truth with you.

“Ouch!” There’s a sudden rush of pain down your shoulder that gets you to squeak and jolt in place. Distressed once again, you look at your limb and then at Tamsy, and back at your limb.

“Don’t worry. The circulation is back, but you’ll feel sore and ticklish.” The lukewarm fingertips trail up to your elbow, just to make sure everything’s back to normal, and he stares at your expression for a moment with an absent gaze. “I’m almost done, so try not to move too much for one more minute, okay?”

You nod, a bobblehead toy, hot in the face, unable to hold the eye contact anymore. Instead, you fixate on his palms (yes, again, how obvious), on how delicately he holds your wrist while he takes care of the last tangles. It’s just too funny, the sensation of a pulse returning to your arm; you giggle and shiver, but try your best to remain calm despite the numb tingling rushing down your nerves.

Along with the last loosened loop, Tamsy pinches at your skin on purpose until you laugh and shy away from his grip. That one time you look back at him, you get the feeling again, the same he was wondering about earlier. What a fool you are.

“And everything’s alright again.” He announces, that pretty face of his softening, like he’s comforting you after some traumatic experience and not just a small predicament. Although you were, in fact, seriously scared for a moment there. Well, if it came to that, you would just cut off the ropes in the last resort, much to Semiu’s displeasure.

“You sure?” Still doubtful, you examine your limb, worried about the splotches of bruises and angrily deep imprints waved into the soft flesh.

“Just be careful. It looks… hmm, that’s expected given how tight this net was digging in.” He cannot say what’s actually on his mind. The wince doesn’t escape you, and Tamsy immediately regrets that he let his voice falter. The next second, he covers his mouth and scratches his jawline instead, trying to keep the smile off his face, but failing miserably at it.

“I don’t get it. Why are you smiling?” You pout at him, attempting to sound offended by his reaction. “It hurts and looks awful.”

“I’m sorry. I really hope the pain goes away soon. It’s such an absurd way of starting the day. It’s funny.”

No, Tamsy isn’t cruel, it’s just… he really finds it amusing. He will never say it out loud that his face got warmer after having the chance to look at your arm, unable to not imagine that this is exactly how you would end up if caught in the threads of his vital instrument.

Give him a break, damn.

With defeat, he has to admit in his thoughts that it looks pretty on you. He likes the image of it. Not the fact that it’s painful for you — or precisely because of that, but he wishes not to ponder on that possibility — but it was probably inevitable in this case.

Maybe he’s becoming a sadist? No, no, not at all. If anything, he would prefer you unharmed and untouched. No, what is he even thinking about now? He should know better than this.

“Try not to get caught in more nets.” He gets up from the place beside you and puts the pin away. “I will help you take it back to Semiu and the boss. But I wouldn’t recommend using your hand until the marks disappear.”

“Thanks…”

“Are you sure you can work, though? Maybe it would be better if you take the day off as well?”

“No, I’ll be okay. There are things to be done, so I’ll just focus on something easy until that numbness goes away.”

Tamsy isn’t pleased with that answer, but shrugs that off. Instead, he walks back to you to grab the neatly untangled net (it’s quite heavy, which wasn’t so noticeable when it was still wrapped around your entire arm) and guide you back to the exit.

There’s a limit to how much time you can spend alone with him in his room, and this one comes to an end. A pity.

“You’re a lifesaver.” You let out a tired sigh, the stress that weighed you down finally dissipating.

“No problem. I’m glad I could help you out.”

It would be such a waste to give up that opportunity, he thinks to himself, almost caving in to pull you close enough for a brief hug; he eventually gives up on that idea, biting his tongue and only putting a palm flat against your back. A friendly gesture to gently push you forward, like he often does with other members, whilst he’s busy locking his door behind you two and following your steps.

You’ve been nothing but trouble, occupying his mind when he should have a clarity; that memory of ropes digging into your skin engraved just as deeply in his brain.

[perpetualcontrolleddrowning]

Zui Xian Peak Fic

alright, that's enough, let's get you home

JRaylin441

Summary: Liao Qinglan spends her days making wine, drinking with Shang Qinghua, and having a good time. Surely, this will never be disrupted.

Written for the Gotcha for Gaza prompt "would love a fic about Zui Xian, the Cang Qiong Mountain devoted to...alcohol. What are they doing over there?"

Content Warnings: there isn't much here beyond a LOT of drinking and getting drunk. It's not presented as an unhealthy coping mechanism but please just take care of yourself. Also Liao Qinglan has some bias against demons that she works through. It's not a whole deep thing and I keep the tone light, but be aware of that too.

Read it on ao3 here (x)

Cang Qiong Mountain Sect has twelve peaks. That's something they don't talk about a whole lot. Well, okay, so they talk about the fact that there are twelve of them, all the damn time. Twelve peaks. A nice, round number.

But who can actually remember all the peaks? Who could actually name them? Sometimes it feels like the literal members of the sect can't do it, let alone any of the common folk or the people from other cultivation sects around them.

Sometimes, Liao Qinglan lets this get to her. Sometimes, it really bothers her, that no one seems to give enough of a shit about her peak to even remember that it exists, let alone the names of its peak lord and disciples.

Usually, though, it kind of kicks ass. Like, all of the benefits that come with affiliation with the most prominent and highly-revered cultivation sect in the jianghu but none of the actual obligation, expectation, or responsibility. Not too bad a deal, when you think about it.

"I'd take that any day. Please, someone come and give me a single day when some peak lord or another isn't pounding on my door, begging me to come fix another thing, give them more money to replace the wall again, and they pinky-promise that this time, this time they definitely aren't going to break it. I mean, fuck, you know? What am I beyond a money purse, if you think about it?" Shang-shixiong flops his head down into his arms, resting against the fine oak table in Liao Qinglan's home and groping across it to take another sad sip of his wine. It drips down the side of his mouth and onto the wood, since it's almost impossible to drink when you're laying down like that. Liao Qinglan can do it, but she's kind of an expert, when it comes to things like this.

"I mean, what was I thinking? Why does a money purse need to have feelings and the ability to be tired? Could have just made it a magical, floating cave full of riches. Psychically read the mind of everyone who comes and gives them the money they need if they deserve it. Fuck. But no, had to go and make an overworked lackey of it all. Should have known, with my luck."

"Truly, your suffering is never ending," Liao Qinglan drawls, reaching out to refill Shang-shishu's cup, because she's nice like that. He's not making any sense right now, and he'll start making even less sense if he drinks the new cup, but that's fine too. What kind of peak lord could she call herself, if she wasn't prepared for such things?

Liao Qinglan, peak lord of Zui Xian Peak. Specializing in alcohol.

You might be wondering how it is that a person can ascend to peak lord status on alcohol alone, but anyone who had ever partied with Liao Qinglan back in the day wouldn't dare. She knows how to hold her liquor. Can really put it away. Will trounce your ass at literally any drinking game, just come and try it.

And then, of course, they all ascended, and suddenly the other peak lords were so busy being all prim and proper that they forget about the person who literally ascended with them from the force of their partying together. They're pretty much all on her shit list, if she's being honest.

Well. Not everyone. Shang Qinghua is fine. He comes by every couple of months to get rip roaring drunk and then cry on Liao Qinglan's table, and that's not too bad. Certainly isn't a change from how he always used to behave. Pretty much the only change she's seen in him since they first met is the increase in workload and, subsequently, the volume of tears he can produce when three sheets to the wind.

Shen Qingqiu was as stuck-up and reserved as ever, but he never really talked to her in the first place, certainly never went out drinking with them. So, you know, he was fine. Didn't drop her when he achieved notoriety because he never really picked her up in the first place. Can't be too pissed off about something like that. Then, in the last decade or so, after the huge change in personality (Liao Qinglan is still betting on possession, fuck what the relics and artifacts all said), he mostly just smiles vaguely when he notices she's there. Harmless and inoffensive and unremarkable. She's pretty sure he doesn't know her name.

And, you know, Huang Qinghao. Fuckhead of all fuckheads. The stuck-up asshole who has never had a drink in his fucking life, certainly never went out partying with them. Where Shen Qingqiu has always been a distant and vaguely superior presence, Huang Qinghao has always been the vocally judgemental and holier-than-thou dick who Liao Qinglan kind of wants to push off the mountain. Over on his all-male, ascetic peak. Sure, fine, to each their own, fucking enjoy it. But don't come over to Liao Qinglan's peak to give her another fucking lecture on why everything that she has built her peak on is stupid. Just because he's sworn to be a lonely and boring stick in the mud for the rest of his life doesn't mean everyone has to.

She's complaining. Again. It's fine. Shang-shishu is drunk as a skunk and definitely not processing anything she's saying. There's no one else around to overhear, because she always clears them out before he gets drunk like this. Says a whole lot of shit that might freak out the other peak members. Better to keep this kind of thing just between them.

Liao Qinglan has a few working theories. She isn't dedicating any particular effort to investigating or anything, but she toys with them now and then, notices when something happens that adds more evidence to one column than the other.

Theory One is that Shang Qinghua has fully and completely lost his mind. He's living in a daze or lost in some memory of a past life or something else equally disorienting, and it's making him think he designed this world. Sure. He seems to be managing the finances fine and hasn't died yet. If this is what that does to a man, then she's just glad An Ding was never for her.

Theory Two is that Shang Qinghua is actually a fucking god. Like, fell from the heavens, currently walking among them, had a hand in the creation of the world kind of god. Which, obviously, is completely stupid and impossible. He's literally laying on her table right now and drooling while he tries to work out the very complicated technique behind taking a drink while keeping your head flat on a horizontal surface. That's barely even advanced disciple shit.

So, of course, it's impossible and ridiculous. Still, though, she's been around him drunk more than probably anyone else in his entire life. People say things, when they're drunk. And, you know, while those things are almost always ridiculous and dramatic and overblown, they're also often true. Rarely the whole truth. It's all base emotion and instinct. The things you don't say on a day-to-day basis because some other part of you is blocking it. Whether that's common sense, shame, manners, morals, or some horrifying combination thereof. That's a part of people too. It's not like the things people say when they're drunk are the whole truth. There are other parts of them that matter as well and are also true and are the reason they haven't said this before.

But it's really, really rare. Rare, like, the peak leader of Zui Xian Peak has never seen it happen, for someone to get drunk and then start just spouting off reckless lies without any kind of truth behind them.

If Shang Qinghua is here, drunk at her table every few months, murmuring about the fact that he should have designed the world in a different way, well. That's something that someone as smart as Liao Qinglan has learned to pay attention to. Besides, she didn't get to the point of Theory Two just because he likes to talk like he's a god. If that were true, she would probably think he just has some kind of heart demon that's twisting his perception of reality. But, beyond mumbling about design choices for the world, Shang Qinghua has an uncanny ability to mention future events, that he couldn't possibly know about, that come true. He has a tendency to casually throw out very secret and personal details about people that they never would have told him but that also turn out to be true.

Like she said, Liao Qinglan isn't the type of person to go digging into mysteries like this. She's found that things in this world mostly unfold in the most dramatic way they possibly can but have the good-nature to ignore her peak and her disciples. Zui Xian Peak tends to mostly sit back, watch it happen, and make drinking games out of the events. Nothing she does either way has much of an impact, so it's more about just keeping her head down and keeping her peak safe.

Some people might think it's shameful. Huang Qinghao certainly makes it clear that he thinks so. But he's been slamming his tightass head against the solid wall of the higher peaks' indifference for literal years and has made exactly no progress. It's kind of pathetic to watch. He can feel as superior as he wants, over there on his all-male peak where Liao Qinglan assumes they sit around telling each other what a good job they're doing and punishing anything that even looks a little bit like pleasure, every hour of the day.

Liao Qinglan provides a service, here. Sure, night hunts and Qian Cao Peak's Dragon-Bone Cantaloupe seeds help bring in a lot of the income that the sect relies on. But that's all external stuff.

Liao Qinglan has been in charge of the alcohol peak for long enough that she knows the truth of things. Cang Qiong Mountain Sect is enormous, practically a small town unto itself, between all the peaks. There are a lot of people who need to live in the same space, endure incredibly physical training, experience upsetting things.

They may not be the source of income for the peak, but Zui Xian Peak is the thing that keeps all the members of the sect able to talk to each other. They keep conversations calm and civil, provide a break from all the work, set a framework for socializing.

What Liao Qinglan knows, and Shang Qinghua knows, and no one else on this entire mountain range seems to know, is that this whole place would collapse without the work that they do. So, you know, every now and then, when it all gets to be a little too much, she and Shang Qinghua meet up and get absolutely wasted and complain about what it's like to be the two most underappreciated and easily-forgotten of all the peak lords.

Which, of course, brings her right back to this little tableau.

"Shang-shixiong," she calls, laying her head on her arms, so that they're both looking at each other, sideways on the table. "I have a question for you. How do you think this is going for you?" Even as she asks the question, Shang Qinghua tries to tip his cup into his mouth and ends up dribbling onto the table and his chin in a way that is definitely going to drip down onto his robes. Liao Qinglan isn't even sure that he managed to get any of it in his mouth.

Because she's always been competitive and a little bit petty, and because this is her best buddy Shang Qinghua, which means he's her most frequent victim, she reaches for her own cup and tips it gracefully into her sideways mouth. Advanced techniques. Like she was saying.

"Your elder sect brother thinks that you haven't been doing your part to drink this wine." He pushes the jar in her direction, and Liao Qinglan is more than happy to refill her cup. He's not wrong. They've been drinking the same amount, but her tolerance is much higher than her dear Shang-shixiong. It's going to take some work to meet him where he's at.

"As my Shang-shixiong says," she demurs, then reaches out to take a hold of the jar, raises it in his direction, and knocks it back.

There's another jar beside the table.

They're just getting started tonight.

*~*~*

After that lovely night, it's an unusually long time before they have the chance to visit again. Shen Qingqiu, who was always kind of distant and tragic after the loss of his most treasured disciple, just recently died in some dramatic self-destruction. Right in front of the disciple that was, supposedly, dead all this time. Which sounds like a whole lot of drama that Liao Qinglan knows literally nothing about and will probably never get answers to. The way that they do things in this sect, though, with not appointing another peak lord until everyone is ready, means that Shang Qinghua probably just had to take on a bunch more work to adjust. She's waiting to offer a warm smile and listening ear, when he finally finishes figuring out just who will be in charge of what, but that's going to take a long time and they both know it.

Until then, she supposes she should focus on her own disciples.

Yan Yazhu is her head disciple, and she knows better than to think for even a second that the place would survive without her. Sure, Liao Qinglan's got the whole charismatic-leader and maintaining-relationships-with-other-peak-lords thing down. And she generally has some pretty spectacular ideas about how to make everything run even better than it was already, but that's, sadly, not all that it takes to run a place like this.

Sure, you can have all these fabulous ideas, and even start them up, but a lot of time they require ongoing and consistent daily check-ins, after that, and the minutiae of things like that is not at all where she tends to shine. So, when she picked her head disciple, she picked her carefully.

"It's been a while since our friend Shang-shishu came around for a visit. Who else is supposed to be sympathizing with me about all of this work we have to do?" Yan Yazhu sits upright at the same desk that her peak lord is currently slumped across, because she's also one of the most proper and polite people on the entire peak. Sure, Yan Yazhu can cut loose with the best of them when it's time, but she tends to enjoy things like gently plucking out the notes of flavoring in an expensive liquor, and sipping slowly, rather than getting involved in some of the proper games that younger disciples on the peak like to make.

"You could always come and complain to the cruel peak lord who assigned you so much work," Liao Qinglan drawls, because this is how this conversation always goes.

"Ah, but how could this lowly one dare to do such a thing, when surely her peak lord has assigned so much work in order to better manage her own, much larger workload?"

"Yes, yes, the head disciple of Zui Xian Peak is humble and devoted." Liao Qinglan nods sarcastically in Yan Yazhu's direction and she grins the same smile that she does every single time they have this conversation. Liao Qinglan has tried to delegate the head disciple's workload before. Yan Yazhu ends up claiming that no one else is handling it correctly and taking it all back anyway. Liao Qinglan has also tried to do more of her own tasks. Yan Yazhu doesn't tell her that she's doing them wrong, but she does follow along behind her and redo all of it anyway. So, for now, she lets it be. "This Peak Lord will have to drag Shang Qinghua back to this peak by his ear if he does not come back to visit soon."

Yan Yazhu grins and waves her out of the room before she can distract her further.

Liao Qinglan takes a leisurely stroll across her peak. It was so thoughtful of the sect to claim these twelve lovely mountains for themselves. Sure, the scenery and environment are perfect for meditation and cultivation and all that. More importantly, though, the view kicks ass, and it makes for a lovely backdrop to all sorts of activities, no matter the time of day.

There are disciples training in one of the fields, since it is late in the afternoon. She watches as some of the older disciples guide the younger in slow drills. Some focus on combat, but most of the efforts are focused toward learning how to properly circulate qi through the body. A good way to burn off alcohol as you drink it. A good way to stave off a hangover. A very good way to recover from a hangover, should you forget to do any of this in the middle of all the fun.

There are disciples napping in the sun, just beyond the training fields, draped in the dappled shade from some of the trees. Some of them might be sleeping off a long night. Others may simply be joining their friends in a lazy way to pass the time. Liao Qinglan lets them be, either way.

Deeper into the peak, and there are a few of the elders sitting in a hot spring. A cup floats between them. When it drifts within reach of someone, from the natural current, they raise it to their lips, drink, and then utter a line of poetry. The cup goes back to floating toward the next person, who will have to drink and then add a line to the verse. Liao Qinglan knows that, when the other players judge a line to be insufficient, someone will have to drink the entirety of the cup and go to refill it. She also knows that, after playing games like this for as many years as they have, that will rarely happen. They can keep this kind of lazy game up for shichen without tiring.

Other members of the peak, crouching together before barrels of liquor as they debate over tastes and notes and distilling techniques. A visit to the class where some of her most precise and attentive students are teaching others the art of drinking and appreciating a fine rice wine. Checking in for just a moment on the juniors who are only just about to reach full adulthood, pretending not to notice as they hide the disastrous and far-reaching impacts of the newest drinking game they have tried to invent.

It's a mess, and it's silly, and it's her favorite place in the whole fucking world. Liao Qinglan still wonders, sometimes, what possessed Cang Qiong Mountain Sect to have a peak like this. She suspects it was simply a group of twelve friends, there at the beginning, and they let everyone do what they wanted and went back and made it sound mysterious and important later. That's her favorite theory, and so it's the one she chooses to believe.

No other sects have anything close to this. They take themselves so seriously, focus on meditation and fighting and ridding the world of evil. That's good and all, but is that really all that they want to focus on, throughout their whole life?

Liao Qinglan's cultivation is legendary in its fine technique. She can take effortless control over her own body. There's always been a bit more trouble, though, when it comes to pushing it outside of herself, in a fight or with some kind of seal or talisman.

So, maybe she's not out ridding the world of evil. But she likes to think, sometimes, that she's putting a little bit more peace and comfort into it. And that's always been enough for her. The world is chaotic, and the struggle for power is endless. She isn't strong enough to go out and make anyone stop what they're doing, but she guards a peak in the shadow of the strongest cultivation sect. They are secure, protected, and forgettable. The trials and tribulations of the world may lap against the edges of the sect, but they rarely ever touch Zui Xian Peak. There's something good there, for the disciples that live here.

Maybe she keeps an eye out, when the kids are out there in the dirt, digging their little holes. Everyone else watches eagerly for the ones that are particularly strong, particularly determined, particularly strategic. Liao Qinglan tends to focus on finding the ones that seem frantic, desperate. The ones with arms a little too thin, or marked up with more than just dirt.

It's not everything. She can't offer them strength or notoriety or the ability to fight back. She can build the kind of peak where people like that can come and rest in the sunlight all day, learn to take care of their own bodies, and pass the time away with games.

It's nice, to see them working to perfect the taste of alcohol. To watch them teach each other the ways and methods they have for preparing such things. It's even nicer to see them lazing together in the sun.

So. It's nice. It's a good time. She likes it. Fuck off, why is anyone interrogating her about this shit anyway? Liao Qinglan can be whatever kind of peak lord she wants to be and she doesn't have to explain herself to anyone. That's one of the many great things about being a peak lord in the first place.

Shut up.

*~*~*

"You know, I really should turn you in. You're not supposed to be here." She's teasing, a little, with her tone, but only because she doesn't know how else to talk about something like this, with her oldest friend. With someone she could genuinely get in trouble for seeing. With Shang-shixiong.

"You wouldn't do that to poor, little old me, would you?" Shang Qinghua slumps across her table again, a perfect mirror of his previous positions from every other time they've done this, even though he's defected from the sect and run away to join up with the demons and shouldn't have been able to get through the wards in the first place.

"You shouldn't be able to even get onto the mountain." She wants to send him away again. She wants to be the kind of person who holds the line and cuts him off, after it was revealed that he had betrayed the sect to the demon realm. She wishes that was all that it took for her stupid, soft little heart to leave behind all the years of shared friendship.

"No one else knows how to go through the process of banishing someone from the mountain except for An Ding Peak, and they still keep reaching out to me to help make sense of my notes and shit." Shang Qinghua throws back the wine in his cup. Liao Qinglan doesn't refill it. When it becomes clear that she's not going to do that, Shang Qinghua sits up and focuses a little bit more. Maybe the break in their routine is making it clear enough that she's certainly not happy with him. Maybe they won't have to talk about feelings at all, and he can just leave, and then she doesn't have to learn that she's not the kind of person capable of sending him away.

"You know, my Yan Yazhu is ending up with more work, now that you're not here to take it on. She already works hard enough." Liao Qinglan is holding onto the parts of this that are easy to be angry about. That make more sense. She doesn't know how to make the version of Shang Qinghua that has fallen into drunken sleep on the floor of her home make sense alongside the version that apparently colluded with demons to plan the massacre at the Immortal Alliance Conference.

She doesn't know how to make those two things make sense. She is maybe hoping that this evening will help with that. It's almost definitely a wasted effort.

Still. She reaches out, grabs the jar of wine, refills his cup. Hers is still full. She hasn't even touched it.

"It's not my fault I was banished! Besides, if the sect wanted to be able to carry on without me, then they shouldn't have made me the one in charge of literally every single thing." He drinks from the cup. Shang Qinghua has been sloppy in his movements and whiny for the past hour, but she is suddenly aware of the focus of his gaze. He is not nearly as drunk as he has been behaving. It's a trick she's pulled on people before. She doesn't particularly care to have it reversed on her now.

"I would argue that there is no one else we could blame for your defection. If you didn't want to be pressured into leaving the sect, perhaps you should have pondered that prior to causing the death of hundreds of children."

Shang Qinghua flinches at the unsheathed steel in her voice. If he hasn't been able to talk to anyone in the Human Realm, other than his own disciples begging for his help, then she might be the only person who has taken the time to address this with him. Or, maybe no one else has tried to do this because they know better than to think it will make any difference. Maybe she should listen to their wisdom.

"Ah, well, I could see how you would say that, yes. I definitely could see why it would look like all of this was my fault. And why you would blame me for, you know, all the things that...happened."

"The child murders." She refuses to let him run away from this. If she is going to let him sit at her table, if she is going to be the kind of person who cannot send him away, then he is going to explain himself. She needs an explanation for the fact that she still sees him as a friend.

"Yes, ah, the child, ha, the child murders." She lets the laugh slide, because Shang Qinghua has always been the sort of man to laugh when he is feeling uncomfortable. It still pisses her off, though.

"So. You're seated at my table. You're drinking my wine. Are you going to offer any kind of defense or explanation for yourself?"

He looks a little cornered, a little frantic. She watches his eyes dart around the corners of the room, stare off into the distance for a bit. Maybe he's swept up in the memories of it all, feeling guilty. Maybe that's her soft heart again, and he's just putting on a show to manipulate her. Before she can get an answer, he starts to shift like he's getting up.

"Ah, I can see that Liao-shimei is upset. Rightfully so, rightfully so. Maybe it wasn't the best idea, for us to try and meet up for drinks like this. I'll see myself out. Don't worry, don't worry. I won't be seen by anyone else on the peak."

He's got a jade token in his hand, carved with a sigil she is unfamiliar with. It strikes her, suddenly, that this is likely an artifact of the Demon Realm. It strikes her, suddenly, that he is so casual with such a thing because it is familiar and rote to him. It strikes her, suddenly, that she does not know much about her friend at all.

Still. This is her friend. She wants to cast him away, but she cannot just yet. When he moves toward the door, she rises to her feet and steps in his path. They pause there, staring at each other, neither of them as drunk as they have been pretending to be. Neither of them drunk at all, really.

"Sit back down, Shang-shixiong." He sits, unable to avoid following the command in her voice, even though he outranks her. Outranked her. It doesn't matter. He sits. "You are seated at my table. You are drinking my wine. For many years, I have considered you a friend." She meets his eyes, raises her cup, takes a long drink for the first time since he walked through her door. "Show that friendship the respect that it deserves. Explain this to me."

She is not pleading. She is ordering him. It's the sort of thing he usually folds beneath like a golden foil palace. This time, he acquiesces, but his eyes are still and clear while he takes a drink himself.

"Our friendship is important to me. I will not be able to explain the Immortal Alliance Conference in enough detail to set your mind at ease."

"Shang-shixiong has yet to explain the Immortal Alliance Conference at all. Perhaps he should try before he determines what would be enough for this peak lord." She can't believe this happened. Her friend betrayed their sect and then succeeded in hiding that for years, while she was still meeting with him for drinks and gossiping with him late into the night. It's been years that they've been doing this. At least seven, since everything happened at the IAC. How is she meant to reconcile that?

There is something strained and tense held in the air between them. This is not what their friendship looks like. Liao Qinglan will cry about this, later, if it remains like this all through their evening. This will be enough to make her stay up the rest of the night, weeping alone in her room, as she almost never does. But it is not her job to fix it. She is not the one who broke it.

"Ah, yes." He takes another drink of his wine and she stares at him unceasingly, feeling rather like a snake watching a mouse, quivering in the grass before her. She does not like feeling like this. She reminds herself that it is necessary. "Well, there is very little that this humble one can say." She bares her teeth at that, tired of him pretending to be helpless, tired of the equivocation, and he flinches at the face she is making. "This humble one knows that his actions are unforgivable. He cannot explain why it was necessary for the Demon Realm to attack at the Immortal Alliance Conference. Would Liao Qinglan accept the explanation that this was what fate decreed was necessary?"

He is cringing underneath the insufficiency of his words, and Liao Qinglan is sick to see it. The decree of fate, as if that would be enough to explain the death of so many Cang Qiong Mountain Sect disciples. So many Huan Hua disciples. Zhao Hua Monastery and Tian Yi Overlook.

And yet, despite it all, she cannot help but look closer at her dear friend. He looks shifty and suspicious, knowing that his words are not enough to explain his actions, just as he said they would not be. Beneath that, though, he looks sad. He looks resigned. As if he has already accepted that there is nothing he can say to convince her.

She cannot help but think again about Theory One and Theory Two. Fully lost his mind or a fucking god. It was funny, to think about, for all those years while they were building a friendship and nothing was serious and no one's life was at stake. Back when it didn't really matter one way or another, because he was doing his job just fine and it was more of a fun thought experiment than something that she actually wanted or needed to solve.

And then, the Immortal Alliance Conference.

And then, the death of hundreds of children and young disciples.

And then, defecting from the sect.

Now, her friend is sitting before her. He didn't even have to sneak back onto the mountain, because no one knows how to stop him from coming and going. He is telling her that this was fated, and already looks like he is preparing to lose her over that explanation.

Maybe he should lose her over that explanation. It's not enough. Of course it's not enough. There would never be something that could justify actions leading to this kind of atrocity.

Fully lost his mind or a fucking god. Sitting before her and saying that it was necessary. If this is all part of some great delusion, pushing him to do this because he thought it was right, then he has the potential to be someone very dangerous. If he is a god, and he knows this was right, then he absolutely is someone very dangerous. In either situation, he should not be sitting at her table.

So, what, is she meant to kick him out? Send him back to the Demon Realm, so that he can live among demons and never interact with another human again, except when his own disciples reach out to him for help? In what way will that help to prevent him from hurting anyone else again? In what way could any of her actions prevent him from doing something like this again?

Perhaps she should not allow him back on her peak. It is a space that she has built to be calm and safe and unremarkable. A place to protect the members of her peak. If there is someone dangerous and unpredictable, perhaps she should prevent him from ever setting foot here, for all the danger he brings with him.

But to what end? So that he could wander alone, only talking to those who might agree with his actions? And, if she starts removing anyone who could potentially be a threat to her peak, where does that stop? Does she throw off her own disciples, when they are teenagers and angry at the world and lashing out at everyone?

"I want more of an explanation than that. I want to know why you think fate required you to do such a thing. I want to know if you will ever do something like that again."

He is shrinking down smaller and smaller with each word, cringing in on himself. He glances again at the corners of the room, the door out of her home, vaguely into the middle distance. When he looks back at her, finally, Shang Qinghua's eyes are cold and distant. His voice is a dead thing.

"I cannot answer why I did what I did. I cannot tell you how I knew what fate required. I can tell you that I have no intention of doing such a thing again."

"And, if Fate were to suddenly make such a demand again? Would you take such an action then?"

It's his turn to grimace and hang his head, an answer unto itself.

"Would you be able to tell me, warn me, if Fate were to make such a demand of you again?" At least this, maybe this much, and then she would be able to set her mind at ease. Feel like she isn't betraying the whole of her sect due to her soft heart.

He hunches in even further, so small now that she can barely see him over the low rise of the table. That is an answer. That is a perfectly clear answer, and she should throw him off the peak right now, before her heart has any more of an opportunity to argue with her.

"Do you regret it?" She cannot help it. The words are stone cold, but they come from a desperate place and they both know it.

"How could this one even deserve to regret something like that, when it changes nothing of the actions he took?" He still won't look at her, but he's speaking now, and the words are drenched in distance and emptiness. Cold. His words are a windswept tundra. This is not how her friend speaks.

"That is not an answer. Do you regret it?" Her voice is hardening, the fury boiling up within her, that he will not give her anything at all to hold onto and justify the fondness that still lives within her.

"It is the only answer that I can give."

And that is not enough. She slams her palm against the table, frantic, breath heaving through her like the flame of a dragon. Her sword is in her hand and she is across the room, holding its point to his throat. She is not an incredibly strong cultivator, but she is stronger than him, and they both know it. They have dueled a few times, when they were both still disciples, and then as a game when they were older. Shang Qinghua has reached again for that token around his waist, but he has not done anything with it. He is watching her, calm and steady, waiting to see what she will do next.

"Shang Qinghua, banished peak lord of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, do you regret the actions you took, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of disciples across the jianghu?"

She wants to see him break. She wants him to cry and fall into a kowtow, apologizing and begging her to forgive him. His eyes, when he finally responds, are flat, dead things.

"Of course this one regrets. What would that matter to the disciples lost? What would that matter to their families, their friends, their sect? It is the action this one took, and there is nothing this one can do to bring them back, and so what would anyone care about whether or not this one regrets?"

Is that enough? It shouldn't be. It really, really shouldn't be enough to justify his return into her regard. It certainly has not erased all that he has done. But, in all of this, what would be gained by casting him out now? What could she do to punish him that has not already been done by his sect? That he has not already done to himself? To leave him alone now, how would that accomplish anything other than to put more pain into the world?

Many would say that she is wrong to do this. Many would disagree with her actions, and perhaps they would be right to do so. But she has spent so many nights with this man, and they are friends, and he has done something horrible. She wishes that would wipe away all the good that exists between them, but it doesn't and it won't. Not when a friend of hers looks like that. Not when he is sitting calmly and dully at the end of her blade, waiting for her to decide his fate.

"Leave my home," she bites out, because she cannot look at either of them, knowing the choice that she is about to make. She needs some time alone, some space from him, to make sure that this really is the decision that she's going to make. (She knows herself, though. She knows what she is thinking and feeling. She will take him back as a friend, and she needs some time to come to terms with this fact. Come to terms with the fact that she has just learned what kind of person she is, and she's not proud of it.)

He stands without argument, drawing back from her naked blade and moving toward the door again. He makes it only a step before she reaches out to take his arm.

"I will expect you back in a month. Just because you are living in the Demon Realm now does not mean you can neglect your friendships here in the Human Realm. If it's so simple for you to enter this sect, then there is nothing preventing you from continuing our meetings."

She watches the words hit him, a physical force in his eyes. Shock, then confusion, then a creeping hope and wonder. What does it mean, what does it mean about her, that she is happy to see something like that? Is she willing to accept this about herself? What else is there to do, now that she knows it?

"This one will return." The words are faltering. They both pretend not to notice.

"See that you do. And next time, maybe you could bring some wine with you. I have heard about the spirits of the Demon Realm, but no one has ever been willing to retrieve such a thing for me."

He stares at her for a moment longer, nods once.

He steps through the door. By the time she moves to the window to watch him walk away, he is gone.

*~*~*

"You shouldn't have him around. It's not safe," Yan Yazhu scolds when she comes in the next morning, tiding up the room even though that very much is not her job.

"I don't know who you're talking about," Liao Qinglan replies, because she's the peak lord and also because she doesn't want to talk about any of this until she has had at least another week to ruminate on it. Late at night. Without anyone else's input, thank you very much.

"I know what it looks like when Shang-shishu has been to visit." The tone is chiding and frustrated, because this is the dynamic they have made for themselves after decades of shared leadership. Yan Yazhu is trying to lean on their trust in each other to get more of the answers that she wants. Too bad. She is underestimating Liao Qinglan's ability to avoid thinking about things.

"This peak lord does not know why her head disciple would be so daring as to imply that this peak lord is violating the banishment of that traitor Shang Qinghua."

Yan Yazhu, who had been stooped to pick up another empty jar of wine off the ground (something Liao Qinglan may have drunk all by herself after Shang Qinghua left), straightens up. She stares, dead-eyed, at her peak lord for a long moment. Liao Qinglan tilts her head innocently back. Yan Yazhu quirks an eyebrow. Liao Qinglan smiles winningly.

"Okay," Yan Yazhu says. The doubt on her face smooths into the perfect expression of a filial disciple. She smiles the same sort of smile Liao Qinglan has seen her give to members of other peaks when they suddenly remember that Zui Xian Peak exists, just in time to come and acquire the alcohol they'll be needing for this or that ceremony.

"Great."

"Then, Peak Lord Liao, this humble disciple would like to discuss the plans for the upcoming ascension celebration."

What a good head disciple. That's more like it. The ascension celebration. The annual commemoration of when this generation of peak lords stepped into their positions.

"Sect Leader will be wanting his mulberry wine," Liao Qinglan ponders. Yan Yazhu wrinkles her nose and she cannot help but sympathize. "How are we stocked in that?"

"The batch from several years ago should still be available and prepared. It is not as though anyone else in the sect will be drinking it."

Their poor sect leader and his poor, terrible taste in alcohol. What a shame, what a shame. Yan Yazhu and Liao Qinglan spend the rest of the day talking through the annual plan to pretend as though everyone is drinking the same wine while working to provide a much more palatable option to everyone else at the banquet.

Here. She's competent at this. It's all fine.

It's going to be fine.

*~*~*

The next time she sees Shang Qinghua, it's been exactly one month. She is fairly sure that he counted down the days. She is only able to make that kind of guess because she definitely counted down the days, and so she can't bring it up at all, because then that would show what she had done.

Okay. Maybe the point of this is that she's trying to repair the relationship and everything. Maybe it would be helpful for him to know that she was eager to see him again, worried that he wouldn't come back. Too fucking bad, though. If he wanted her that open and vulnerable, then he shouldn't have betrayed the peak in the first place.

It takes a while. A long while. That first visit, they end up sitting mostly in silence. They keep trying to start the conversation up again, complaining about their days and the kind of people they have to put up with, but the rhythm's all off, and they keep getting distracted by thoughts in their own heads, so that they're missing the natural flow of when it would be their turn to talk again. Liao Qinglan is a sharp, vicious thing at times, and she wishes that weren't the case but she doesn't know how to make herself stop. Shang Qinghua is cringing and anxious, sweating and laughing too loudly at jokes that aren't funny. It's terrible. She wishes it weren't like this at all.

He brought some of the most expensive wine available in the Demon Realm. It's delicious, made from wolfberries grown in the Human Realm but fermented with methods that are legendarily secret to the one particular family that makes it. It's light and delicate on the tongue and burns like a song down the throat. She would normally spend hours talking about the finer details of it with Shang Qinghua. He might not have been brought up on Zui Xian Peak, but after all their evenings together, he is more than able to keep up in a conversation about wine.

It's even worse, then, that they're just sitting here, drinking the best wine she's ever tasted, and they're not even talking about it. They're not talking about anything. Nothing that matters, anyway. Or, maybe, too much that matters and not enough that feels like the way that they have always talked in the past. Whatever it is, it's awful, and it's turning this beautiful wine into tar in her mouth, and she wants nothing more than to crawl out of his skin and fly away from all the vulnerability and discomfort of this.

They sit and drink until morning, then both go their separate ways to sleep it off.

She wakes up without any of the effects of a hangover, and by then she's furious.

*~*~*

"We haven't even thought about other kinds of fruit wine that we could have at the Ascension Celebration."

"Right," Yan Yazhu drawls in a way that she clearly stole from Liao Qinglan. They are walking through the peak together, today, even though there are never really any emergencies on Zui Xian Peak that would require the presence of both the peak lord and the head disciple. There's never really any emergencies at all. That's kind of the whole point. "Because we both agree that the peak lords are much more willing to accept a rice wine and that fruit wine is rarely worth the effort it takes to prepare."

"Of course," Liao Qinglan replies absently, still thinking about the delicious way that the demonic wolfberry wine had sat on her tongue and left no after-effects. "Unless, of course, we've been neglecting fruit wine because of that and haven't actually figured out the way to prepare it correctly."

Thinking about it, this is a glaring oversight on Liao Qinglan's part. Who knew that it was possible for any fruit wine to be so delicious? Especially for it to leave no hangover or negative effects the next day? But, then, who else on this earth should have known, if not the peak lord of Zui Xian Peak herself?

Yan Yazhu is staring at her questioningly, as though she has just opened her mouth and let out a donkey's bray instead of words, but Liao Qinglan barely notices it. She's distracted, too busy running over the exact taste and notes that she detected in that demonic wine. It's hard to remember, because everything was tainted by how stiff and awkward the conversation was. She was too busy tasting the stilted air to notice what she could detect of the specific flavor profile and techniques used.

They continue their walk through the peak, resting for a while in the sun with those who are circulating their qi and napping. They check in on the little junior disciples, which is one of Liao Qinglan's favorite parts of her job. They aren't allowed to be drinking much yet, but that doesn't mean that it's too early to begin developing a discerning palate. The juniors spend much of their morning cultivating and learning various techniques for the circulation of qi, and then much of the afternoon cooking and tasting and working on developing the ability to channel their qi to their mouth. Tasting at a level most people could never dream of.

It's important, when you're working on creating new drinks. Just because a normal person, or even another cultivator, might not be aware of the nuance, it doesn't mean that it won't influence their experience of the drink. Even if they can't put their finger on what it is that they like, the Zui Xian Peak disciples should be able to take account for every note of flavor in something they produced.

It's fun, to sit with the juniors and talk through every detail of what they are tasting in the food and drink that they're eating. It's fun, to watch them start to find the perfect words to describe things, even if it means making up new words or metaphors. It's fun, to show off a little when she takes a turn at their little tasting game.

Best of all, it's easier to focus on something like this than all that nonsense going on with some big-shot traitor out doing who-knows-what.

*~*~*

The month after that, Shang Qinghua comes to visit again. It's still stilted, and it's still awkward, but it's a little bit easier, because at least this time they both knew what to mentally prepare for. Also, he brings more of the wine, and Liao Qinglan sets one of the jars aside without providing anything close to an explanation for her actions. Shang Qinghua, wisely, stays silent and allows her to do as she will.

*~*~*

"Yan Yazhu, did you know that we have an entire section of the peak that is set aside for making fruit wine that we've been neglecting?" She is slumped across the cluttered desk of her head disciple, because this is the proper pose for bothering one's head disciple.

"I believe that we have a section dedicated to fruit wine that you have been neglecting. If I'm not mistaken, some of the older peak members have been teaching a few of the previous class of juniors about how to use it. They gather there every few nights for a club that they think is secret." Yan Yazhu sits at her desk and casually ticks off another number on her incredibly comprehensive rota. She's a little bit terrifying, the kind of head disciple who can keep track of the schedule of every other member of the peak while also keeping up to date on secret goings-on. Every few weeks or so Liao Qinglan lets herself get smug all over again at how clever it was to pick this one for this position.

"Right, well, that's only because fruit wine is a waste of time compared to the other kinds of alcohol we could be making." The words jump to her tongue with the practice of the thousands of times she's said it before.

"As you have said before. Repeatedly," Yan Yazhu says dryly. "Which, again, might make someone wonder why it is you are suddenly speaking of it so much."

"Just because something doesn't taste good doesn't mean that it's a reasonable excuse to ignore it! How can we call ourselves Zui Xian Peak if we are neglecting such an enormous sector of alcohol production?"

"An inspired question, Peak Lord Liao." Yan Yazhu isn't even looking at her anymore. Might not even be listening. "Truly, your wisdom is endless."

"When did you say that secret club was meeting, again?"

"Every three days, with their next meeting tomorrow evening, shizun."

"Ah, good, good. I knew there was a reason I keep you around, Yan Yazhu."

Without looking up from her rota, Yan Yazhu throws an ink stone in her direction. It misses, because she wasn't looking. Liao Qinglan yelps like it hit her anyway, and she bustles herself out of that room to go find a place where she is more appreciated and respected.

*~*~*

Don't get it confused. Liao Qinglan's whole life does not consist of staying up late in the night and engaging in drunken gossip with an old friend! Just because she's been spending most of her time thinking about Shang Qinghua, recently, doesn't mean that she doesn't have a whole lot going on. She's a very important peak lord for the most prestigious cultivation sect in the jianghu!

No, she also stays up late in the night to engage in secret preparation of fruit wines! See? There are layers here. She's a complicated person.

She does eventually make it over to the part of the mountain that was set aside for fruit wine. She's known it was there since she was a very young disciple, and she did her lessons on fruit wine when they were required of her. She's been here before. It's just been a while.

Pretty much as soon as she had enough power to make such decisions, Liao Qinglan left the fruit wine life behind. She hasn't missed it for even a moment. The rest of the peak, following the example of their dazzling and charismatic peak lord, also left the practice alone. Maybe she should feel bad about all the ancient techniques that would potentially be forgotten by an entire generation of Zui Xian Peak ignoring research on fruit wines. But, well, there are certainly more than enough records, for anyone who might choose to take it back up someday! That's a central part of Zui Xian Peak! Even if every disciple tends to guard their personal recipes with the kind of possessiveness and ferocity of a dragon before its young, there are still a great many peak-wide records and references for the recipes everyone follows.

There are records of the teachings, and there are elders who have been here since long before Liao Qinglan took control and that will remain here long after the next generation steps up. The practice of fruit wine preparation won't die. Besides, she never forbade anyone from coming here. It was merely that, again, she knew what the correct opinion was and was not afraid to share it. Once everyone else was shown the error of their ways, what could they do but sing her praises and fall in line?

Well, she supposes, the thing they could do was form a secret club and continue to do it anyway. There is evidence of their efforts all over this room. (Though, the workspace in the building remains spotless. Good. Her disciples know better than to allow any kind of rot or decay or disarray to develop in their preparation spaces.) It's all so dramatic. She wouldn't have actually stopped anyone from doing what they wanted. The elders didn't need to go this far. That said, it's a little bit cute. She kind of wants to keep letting them have their fun. Besides, it's fun to feel like you're sneaking around and conspiring. Really, she was helping her peak by giving them the opportunity to have a secret club.

This is why she's here on a night when no one else is supposed to be. She's here at this time because she wants them to keep their cute little secret. It has nothing to do with the fact that she has been ranting against fruit wine for literal years and can't stand the blow her face would take if she were suddenly spotted here in the building they have fully devoted to the preparation and fermentation of fruit wine.

Liao Qinglan, peak lord of Zui Xian Peak, would never go back on her word. She still hasn't. If it wasn't for that fucking demonic fruit wine, she wouldn't have to be here at all. It's really all Shang Qinghua's fault.

She knows what she tasted in that wine, and she's made more than enough wolfberry wine herself, over the years she's been in this sect.  Liao Qinglan knows how to work with wolfberries. She doesn't know how to make them taste like that, though. She's done everything that's done with wolfberries, even preparing the pulp and residue to be used as feed or fertilizer across the peaks. It's all part of the approach to cultivation on the peak. She's experimented. She's labored. She's done this shit before. It's unfair, that someone else figured out how to make them taste like that before she did.

Wolfberry wine usually just tastes like almost nothing at all, slides down your throat, and leaves you without a hangover. Fine, sure, but what's the point? This demonic wine, though, still had all the positive effects of a wine made with wolfberries, but had somehow turned into something that she actually wanted to drink! She needs to break down the barrier between the human and demon realms so that she can pressure the demons into telling her everything she could ever want to know about their techniques.

There was other stuff in there, of course. She could taste it. She's trained her whole life to be able to taste it. The demonic wine was, at its core, a simple wolfberry wine fermented with a base of rice and qu. There were notes of du zhong, gancao, camomile, and lilyturf. She's fairly sure she identified them all, sitting alone in her office and taking slow, meditative sips of her pilfered jug of wine while circulating her qi through her mouth.

It should be simple, to make such a fruit wine. She has all the ingredients on hand. Even the wolfberries, since they often will use them to flavor some liquors or to brew medicinal tonics for Qian Cao peak. No one in the sect will notice that she took a few baskets of the dried fruit for herself tonight.

All the minor, long-term steps of the process have already been done. That's what a lot of the juniors do, to practice their cultivation. The peak makes meditation out of all the preparatory steps: sorting through fruits and grain to pick out any detritus, bugs, leaves; grinding steamed rice down into the finest powder and mixing it with water to pack into qu; preparing the base rice wine that is used as a foundation for so many other steps in more complex processes.

It means that, tonight, it might be possible for Liao Qinglan to move through the process and start something fermenting before anyone on the peak even wakes up to see her.

She prepares the flavorings first, just as she detected the notes of them earlier. It is an automatic process to begin adding the dried ingredients to a large pot. She throws in some dried leaves and roots from the wolfberry plant as well, to allow more of the flavor to come through. It is a long, slow boil to draw out the flavors. She knows that she's not going to get the proportions quite right, not without a few more attempts and failures, but she'll never know what she needs to change until she's already fucked it up once! So, she measures with her heart and writes down what she did, boiling the ingredients until the water is a rich, dark color like over-steeped tea.

While that is boiling, she also starts the dried wolfberries to boil in another pot, so that the bright red color pops out again and the water starts to take on some of the flavor as well.

There's time to pause after that, because she needs to allow the berries, the water they're in, and the steeped flavorings to all cool. It's easy to stay calm and meditate through the long cooling process. She's actually really good at stuff like this. It's how she ended up as the peak lord here

Simple, simple. She's done this thousands of times.

It's dark in this building. She has brought a lantern with her to light the way, but it is dim so that the light does not move beyond the circle of her work space. It would ruin everything, for someone to see her light from somewhere else on the peak, come to investigate, and find their peak lord in the one place that she had sworn never to go again!

In that circle of dim light, she waits for her first few steps to cool. Liao Qinglan pours the water with the flavorings through a cloth as it cools to filter out any of the bits left over from the dried roots and flowers and leaves. Finally, when there is no difference between the temperature of the berries, the brewed ingredients, and the air around her, she mixes the two together and begins making a large, fresh batch of rice.

Calm and patient. There is so much waiting in this process, so many starts and stops. That's a large part of the beauty of it. She has something she is focusing on. It will take as long as it takes and she will patiently wait throughout that time. Liao Qinglan breathes deeply as she feels her mind empty out of any thought but this one. It has been so long since she took the time to prepare something herself. She can't remember why, but that doesn't matter at the moment. All that matters is the project before her.

The rice is done. While it is still steaming and warm, she spreads a cloth across the floor of the building, in the space cleared and cleaned for this exact purpose. The rice spills warm and steaming and cloud-like across the wide swathe of cloth.

She breaks apart the cake of qu that she has brought with her. The dried, malted rice crumbles apart under the firm pressure of her fingers and she sprinkles the resulting crumbles out over the expanse of fresh rice. Mixing the two together was always one of her favorite parts of this process. The rice is warm and giving under her hands. It is a slow, repetitive motion to knead at the ingredients until the two separate parts become one, uniform mass. The qu was mixed in at just the right temperature. She knows it was, because she has done this before.

After that, it is nothing to pull over one of the enormous, smooth wooden bowls that the junior disciples have carefully and diligently carved. Their elder sect siblings have checked over every bowl for cracks or flaws anywhere in the process, before they are distributed throughout the peak.

Into the bowl goes the base rice wine, the fresh mixture she has just created, the combination of wolfberries and brewed water. This is a different motion, a different technique, but she combines all of these in the bowl with a rhythmic kneading as well. Then, all of it into a large clay pot, enough water to rinse out any residue in the bowl and fill the pot to just the right level.

She can easily lift and carry the pot out to the place where they set such things to wait and ferment, out in a large field and marked with the name of the disciple working on whatever is inside, as well as the date it was placed there. She is a cultivator, after all. It is no effort to pick up her large pot, carry it into the woods, and creep around the outside edge of the peak so that she can come up near where they brew their baijiu. From there, she finally starts making her way toward the fermenting field. Just in case anyone sees her and tries to guess what she's been working on. They'll never be the wiser.

No one does see her. They all seem to be settled in with their friends and their games or well asleep by now. Good for them, good for them. Liao Qinglan sets down the pot, labels it under today's date and Yan Yazhu's name, and then heads back to the the woods. She slinks back around to the building set aside for the fruit wines and cleans up thoroughly after herself.

As the sun is starting to just peek over the edge of the horizon, she knows that not a soul on her peak will be awake. The building is clean and the only things left behind are the fruits stolen by the secret fruit wine club and the pots they have secretly fermenting out at the back of the building.

Now that she has gone back through the whole process all over again, Liao Qinglan can admit that there are maybe a few parts of fruit wine making that are pleasant and enjoyable. She still stands by her belief that they are more effort than the product could justify, when there are so many other fantastic alcohols that could be created in the same amount of time.

Her final project, that wolfberry wine she just dedicated her whole night to, should be ready to be tasted in just 20 days. Of course, she could leave it to clarify for six months past that, but just those 20 days should show whether the taste will be worth justifying all that extra time spent to refine it to perfection. Given the fact that nothing she did tonight was any different than things she has done in the past, she probably won't go through the effort.

She doesn't have high hopes for any of this. She has made wolfberry wine more times than she can count. Of course, some of the flavors are different this time, and the proportions have been shifted. Maybe that will miraculously be enough to change the taste into something sweet and mellow and refreshing instead of watered-down juice with a little bit of medicine hidden in it. It shouldn't be, though. It wouldn't make any sense.

There is no way to make wolfberry wine taste like that. It is impossible. The very peak lord of Zui Xian Peak cannot make it, so it cannot be done!

She will wait the 20 days. And then she will try the wine.

Hopes are not high.

*~*~*

It's a simple thing, to sneak back into the fenced-in fermentation field where they leave their clay pots to sit. The peak has never been particularly active during the night. Or, that is to say, they are much more likely to be settled in by the night and are rarely out running across the outdoor work areas of the peak. That's left for the daytime hours, while the evening is for fun, resting, spending time with friends.

Liao Qinglan is quite proud of the culture she has created for her peak. She was proud of it even before she realized that it makes it very easy for her to sneak around on secret, fruit-wine-related missions.

It's been 20 days since she left the pot to ferment and the qu to work its magic on the liquid within. When she pulls off the lid, it's to see the thick, pale gruel of the rice and wolfberries that has gathered at the top. She stirs it up a little and then wedges a close-woven reed basket into the center. The thin spaces between reeds filter out any of the larger particles in the wine and allow only the foggy wine to gather in the center.

It could still be clarified, and it will take longer than just a few minutes for the wine to separate out from all the detritus. Still, she knows what wine tastes like at this point in the process. She knows how to taste for the flavor it will develop into.

She uses a small hand bowl to scoop out some of that clouded liquid in the center of the basket. It is dark. There is no one around to see that she is doing this.

A small sip, swirled in the bowl before it is raised to her lips. The wine sits light on her tongue. There are hints of wolfberry, the rice wine base. She can tell that there is camomile, du zhong, gancao, and lilyturf. Just like she could taste in the demonic wine that Shang Qinghua brought.

The notes and flavors are all there. It should be the same as the wine that her friend brought. If anyone in the world should be capable of recreating a wine, after having tasted it multiple times, it should be the peak lord of Zui Xian. In fact, the wine that she prepared should be even better that whatever dreck the demon realm is making.

So why, then, does it still taste mostly of diluted, slightly medicinal rice wine?

It's exactly the same thing that she is always complaining about, when it comes to any kind of fruit wine. Sure, it tastes fine. But why bother with something like this, when there are much more flavorful versions of liquor available? Why bother with something like this, when it is so much more satisfying to pull out the subtle notes of flavor in a well-prepared batch of simple rice wine?

Fruit wine, as far as Liao Qinglan is concerned, is rather like striking yourself over the head with a bludgeoning club of flavor. There is so little subtlety or nuance, when compared to the rich and various ways that one can bring out notes of flavor in rice alone. And then, even worse, once the fruit has drowned out all the nuance, it doesn't even have the decency to stick around. It hits you in the face and then leaves you with no aftertaste at all.

This batch is boring, even for fruit wine. She has never particularly enjoyed the taste of wolfberries. It isn't a surprise that she doesn't enjoy this. As far as the actual technique behind fruit wine goes, the flavors are delicately balanced. She has never tasted something prepared better than this. She should be able to walk away from all of this with her dignity intact, having proven that she can make a perfect wolfberry wine that she doesn't have a taste for.

But, if it were so simple as that, then she wouldn't have even been in the fruit wine building in the dead of night in the first place. No, the point of this all is not that she is doubting her ability to follow the steps and her own artistic ability to create a delicate and perfectly balanced wolfberry fruit wine. Her resulting product is as high quality a wine as any that might be purchased in the human realm.

The problem, is that, somehow, that anxious disaster of her best friend has brought her a version of wolfberry wine that sits mellow and sweet on her tongue and sparks along her senses as she swallows it down. He brought her wine that tastes rich and verdant, with a scent stronger and more alluring than any fruit wine she has ever encountered before.

She is the peak lord of Zui Xian Peak, dammit, and if there is a technique to making wine that can be learned, then how could she ever let herself rest without learning of it?

She does not pour the wine out of the pot and directly onto the ground, even though she really wants to. This is the field where so many other alcohols are fermenting in their pots in the sun. It would be careless to invite pests to the sweet residue the wine would leave behind, or to risk any kind of cross-contamination to some other wine that a disciple has been perfecting for years on end.

Instead, Liao Qinglan channels all of her anger at this situation into her arms, in order to hoist the pot of fruit wine over her head and haul it back out into the woods, where she can pour it out upon the ground without feeling any kind of guilt about it.

Well, okay, maybe there is the smallest amount of guilt. Someone might have benefited from this wine. It was perfectly fine the way it was prepared, by anyone else's standard. Perhaps it would have been more logical and reasonable to keep the wine and clarify it until it could be distributed out like many of the other products on this mountain.

But, unfortunately, every export of Zui Xian Peak goes before the careful eyes and thoughtful brush of Yan Yazhu herself. As the only fruit wine currently leaving the peak is the result of the secret club and the mulberry wine they prepare specially and specifically for the sect leader every few years, there is no way she would not notice the sudden export of several small jars of wolfberry wine.

There would be questions. And Yan Yazhu has an uncanny ability to sniff out any lie or deception on the part of her peak lord. It makes things terribly inconvenient for her, if Liao Qinglan is being honest, but that's the price one must pay in order to have a competent and self-sufficient subordinate. Think of all the work she would have to be doing herself, if Yan Yazhu weren't there to do it for her.

So, the wine, mixed all together with the pulp and residue, spills out onto the forest floor, far away from where any casual wanderer might come across it. Liao Qinglan lugs the pot to a stream nearby to rinse it out until it no longer smells distinctively of wolfberries, at which point she can place it with all the other pots that need washing by the younger disciples. They like to make a game of singing and cleaning them up, and she allows them this one chance to have fun with the tasks rather than turning it into meditation. Cleaning should be fun, anyway.

She's going to think about her cute little juniors and forget all about the infuriating demonic wine that she cannot reproduce even with centuries of research and experience and wisdom on this exact topic behind her.

It's fine.

She doesn't even care.

It's literally fine.

*~*~*

Months pass. Recently, it had turned out that Shen Qingqiu wasn't actually dead and was instead running around the jianghu causing problems. This had very little to do with Liao Qinglan's life, and seems to have recently settled down a bit, but she heard the rumors.

The fifteenth month after their falling out, Shang Qinghua doesn't visit at all, even thought they've been sticking to an unspoken, very strict schedule. Liao Qinglan does not worry, because she is a peak lord with a thousand very important duties to hold her attention. If that means that she spends the entire evening sitting in her home and completing any paperwork she can find, just so that she can be present and available should anyone else arrive, that's her own business.

Well, her business and Yan Yazhu's business, since she's the one who comes through the house the next day, gathers up everything that Liao Qinglan did, shoots her a very passive-aggressive glare, and redoes all of it to her own specifications. But, well, that's what she gets for being the kind of over-controlling head disciple who won't allow anyone to help.

Maybe Liao Qinglan's in a bad mood. Maybe she didn't sleep well the night before. Who can say for sure.

When Shang Qinghua finally arrives, three nights after the time when he was scheduled (not actually scheduled, but they both fucking know that he was) to arrive, he looks harried and panicked. There are no bruises or cuts visible on his body, because such things never trouble immortal cultivators for more than a few minutes, but there is blood on his robes, bright and still fresh and blooming out from a point on his shoulder. Not the way that blood tends to look when it's coming from someone else.

Liao Qinglan hasn't been worried about his absence for days, and she certainly isn't worried about him now, so she walks at a very normal pace to greet him and ask how his day has been. She can hear the ice in her voice. She still does not know how to go about melting it, even for a friend.

Shang Qinghua accepts her worried hand-patting like he knows what it means, anyway (which, rude, how dare he), and they stand in front of each other awkwardly for just a moment before moving this whole embarrassing display of emotions indoors and over to the table. Where there are cups that can be filled with wine. If this happens to be a convenient excuse to avoid eye contact and conversation for another second, no it isn't.

"Ah, it's been a few days longer than we scheduled. This one apologizes for upsetting Liao-shimei."

"Why would I be upset?" She snaps. "We didn't have anything officially scheduled. I didn't even notice if you missed the night, like you're saying."

"Of course, of course. This one apologizes for the presumption."

They sit in silence for a little bit longer, because Shang Qinghua is the talker between the two of them, and she is not going to ask about any of his injuries when he's been so secretive about his life over in the demon realm. She doesn't actually know where the lines are anymore. It fucking sucks.

After twitching and growing more and more visibly uncomfortable, Shang Qinghua finally speaks.

"This one genuinely didn't mean to be late. There was an uprising in the North, and we've been so busy on the front lines that I lost track of days."

"You've been fighting?" She can't help the skepticism in her voice. It's not fair, maybe, but it is also valid. She and Shang Qinghua always pair up for the showy spars between peak lords, because both of them are absolutely terrible at cultivation with the sword. She knows the kind of prowess he would be bringing to the table. They both know that neither of them are built for the 'front lines.'

"Ah, no, not me, not me. I have been attending to and advising My King, as he leads the charge."

"There's blood on your robe." Her voice is as flat and hard as the oak table between them. She doesn't know how to make it softer than that. She's furious. She's so worried. She had no idea any of this was going on.

"Ah, well, yes. Not from the front lines. There was an..." he trails off, gauges her reaction to all this talk of his new life, continues, "an assassination attempt on My King. Just before this, after the fighting had mostly wound down. There were some minor members of a noble family that we deposed and they were...less than satisfied with the results of the battle." He pauses again, still so hesitant to speak in anything more than vague generalities. One of his hands has come up to rub absently against the blood stain at his shoulder.

"I fail to see how an assassination attempt against a demon king would result in your injury." Unless the king had thrown his servant in front of the blow, in which case Liao Qinglan is worried that there will be no force in the human or demon realms capable of stopping her from going on a furious rampage. Even if she would likely be killed quickly, due to the aforementioned lack of martial prowess.

"That would be because I may or may not have gotten in the way of it. My King was asleep, you see, and he hadn't rested in days. I thought it best for him if I just...took care of it." There is a flicker of darkness in his eye as he says that last bit, and maybe this is the part of him that is able to be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of children and keep on living?

None of this is painting the kind of picture that Liao Qinglan was expecting, whenever she thought about her friend's life in the Demon Realm. Which she doesn't do. None of this is full of the kind of abuse, violence, horror that she has always heard, when listening to stories about the Demon Realm before now.

Shang Qinghua, in the months that they have been repairing their friendship, has not talked about the Demon Realm. Not really at all. It's been an explosive array that they have both danced around on the floor without ever allowing themselves to touch it. They could, presumably, do that forever. It's also, probably, fairly impracticable, considering everything about her friend's current living situation.

It doesn't make any sense. Nothing is matching up with her expectations. It doesn't make sense, until she starts listening back to everything he has said so far. Particularly, the emphasis that he has been putting on the words My King.

Liao Qinglan has shared a sect with Shang Qinghua for years. She knows what it sounds like when he says their sect leader's name.

This is, Most Definitely, not the way that he says their sect leader's name.

This is something very different. Something reverent. Something soft. Something overwhelming.

And she wasn't paying close attention before, because she was too busy making sure that her friend wasn't fucking dying. But, now that that's all resolved and put away for now, she can really dive into the fact that that's not how anyone says the name of their boss.

That is, rather, the way that someone talks about someone they are desperately in love with. Someone they idolize and worship.

She is starting to get a picture of what may or may not be going on here, and it is absolutely ridiculous, and it is far beyond anything she could have ever known to prepare herself for.

"Oh," she drawls. "So it's like that, then."

Shang Qinghua's head whips up, and the cup of wine in front of him teeters on its side, almost tipping over and spilling everywhere before it spins its way back to center. Guilty, guilty, guilty. He's already completely given himself away.

"What do you mean?"

And it's against everything she expected, when her friend was heartily encouraged to leave the sect. When he ran away to live in the Demon Realm. She's always heard that demons are cold and cruel and violent. But, then again, demons are also always coming in, spouting all sorts of nonsense about cultivators. It seems that the hatred and misinformation might be going both ways. Either that, or her dear friend Shang Qinghua is more unwell than she ever considered before.

She never expected anyone might feel this kind of fondness for a demon, especially not a demon king. That said, Liao Qinglan likes to think that she is the kind of person who stands by her friends. Some might even argue that she stands by them long past the time when she should have left them behind. Those people may even be correct in that statement, but it's never stopped her before and it certainly won't stop her now.

"Tell me more about this king of yours, Shang-shixiong." He flushes underneath her knowing look, looking around all panicked again. At least, this time, it's not the kind of cornered panic of someone worried his life is in danger, or that his friend is about to throw him off the mountain or report him for crossing back over a rainbow bridge following his banishment from the head cultivation sect. She knows what that kind of panic looks like on her friend's face.

This is the much more familiar, much more damning, look of a person who has been caught out on a secret they very much hoped that no one would notice they were keeping.

Too damn bad. This is what he gets, for maintaining a friendship with the peak lord of the drinking peak, even after cutting almost all ties with the Human Realm.

Liao Qinglan reaches out and refills his cup, even though he hasn't taken a drink from it yet. A little of it spilled when it twirled earlier, and she's not really doing it for the practicality of the thing. Rather for the drama of it all. The unspoken implication.

They are going to get drunk tonight. They are going to get absolutely shit-faced and she is going to hear all about this king of Shang Qinghua's. It is her god-given right as one of the only humans that he still talks to and one of the few friends who has stuck around. This is the reward for all the effort they have put forward these past few months, rebuilding the relationships and finding all the new boundaries and limits within it.

And, miraculously, it all sort of goes to plan. Shang Qinghua talks to her about the king of the Northern Desert, his king, his Mobei-Jun. He doesn't provide details about tactical information, or the exact specifics of how they came to know each other. She can tell that he is still wary of giving her any kind of information that may be used against his precious king, but that's not what she's interested in anyway.

She wants to know what they talk about. How he makes Shang Qinghua feel. If they are together yet.

And she gets to learn all of it. One blustering, stuttering, blushing sentence at a time, she gets to hear about the story of a young disciple of the An Ding clan and the relationship that he built with the young, not-then-king of the Northern Desert in the Demon Realm.

Of course, it's not quite as simple as all that. She is a master of obtaining information from other people, and not all of that information is from what people will tell her directly. Shang Qinghua, as much as he likes to talk and ramble, isn't actually the sort to provide endless information about his life. The drink certainly helps with all that, as it always has with him, but there is also much to be inferred from the places he pauses, the information he omits, the look on his face while he's talking.

It's actually, strangely, kind of sweet. In a confusing, paradigm-shifting kind of way. Liao Qinglan would never have thought, for even a moment, that this would be something that her friend would want, but the more he talks, the more it makes sense. He's always been the type to need someone to ground him, stay calm while he sprints from one panicked task to another. She had thought, if he chose to have anyone, it would be a human, but there's really no reason it needed to be.

If this Mobei-Jun is capable of caring for Shang Qinghua in the same way that Shang Qinghua so obviously cares for him, well, then she supposes that she wishes them all the best. She just needs to take the time to make sure this demon king is treating her friend kindly.

"Are you actually his advisor, then?" She asks, because it's starting to sound like much more of a soulmates, best friends, lovers sort of situation.

"Oh, no, not officially or anything. I'm just a servant for him. A spy, for a long time," he cringes at that but they both continue on as if he hadn't said anything. "I guess, now, I'm not even that. Mostly I follow him around and do all the busywork that comes with running a kingdom that no one else wants to bother with."

And, well, that doesn't sound accurate at all. Not with the way that Shang Qinghua has been going on about his king. That can't be right.

"It doesn't seem like he's the sort of man to put up with someone if he doesn't enjoy being around them."

"Oh, god, no, not at all. You have no idea the number of times I've had to follow behind him and clean up all the messes he makes while speaking to the other members of demon royalty. My King will just say whatever he's thinking or feeling at the time and doesn't care at all about how that might impact the very delicate balance in the Demon Realm. Sometimes, if he's in a very bad mood, he'll just kill someone who frustrates him, and then I have even more work to do." He's wringing his hands, clearly still very caught up in his worry about all of this, now that he's been reminded that it exists. "Honestly, I almost never leave him alone. Can't be trusted not to go off and do something ridiculous. The nights when you and I hang out are probably the most amount of time I spend away from the court."

"Right," Liao Qinglan drawls, because she's starting to put a few clues together and it's not looking too good for poor Shang-shixiong. "So why would he spend time with you unless he was enjoying it? It sounds like you spend nearly every moment together."

The shock of the words slaps him right across the face and leaves Shang Qinghua's cheeks burning.

"What are you talking about? No, that's not. No, it's not like that. He tolerates me because I take care of all the things that he doesn't want to have to deal with."

"Sounds like a lot of trust to be putting into a random subordinate."

"No, it's not. It's really not like that."

"And he listens to you, when you tell him not to do something?"

"I mean, sometimes." Shang Qinghua is viciously uncomfortable, clearly. Too fucking bad. He made her reevaluate her entire opinion on what it means to be friends with someone. He can take some teasing.

"He doesn't sound like the sort of man to listen to someone's input if they don't matter to him."

"I mean, no, of course not, but that's not-" His voice is shooting up an octave, hands in his hair and tugging at the loose strands. It's all falling out of his bun at this point, and he looks scattered and frayed. Honestly, as far as Liao Qinglan is concerned, it's about damn time he be the one to feel that way.

She takes another long sip of the delicious demon wine, paying close attention to savoring the notes and flavoring and technique of it all. If that has the added bonus of making Shang Qinghua stew in the ideas she's been putting before him, then good. That was the fucking point in the first place.

"He wants to be with you. And you want to be with him. You should probably do something about that." She gestures toward him with the cup of her wine, but quickly tilts it back to make sure that not a single drop of it spills on the table from such a careless motion. Damn her tendency toward dramatic body language. Sure, it gets her point across, but the number of drinks that have been lost to it are far too high. If only she didn't look so cool doing it, she would think about stopping. Instead, this is where a significant portion of her effort as a cultivator goes: in maintaining perfect balance of her drinks until she is too drunk to keep it up.

"I can't talk about this." Shang Qinghua stumbles to his feet. "I have to go. This isn't-. I can't talk about this anymore."

He doesn't look like he wants to stop talking about it. He's wringing his hands and glancing at her in between every word, and there's something in his eyes that is desperate to talk about this further. This is similar to the look he usually gives her when there's some fabulous gossip about another peak lord and he wants her to drag it out of him. What kind of friend would she be if she didn't comply?

"Are you going to go back to the palace, then? Perhaps your king is wounded as well and needs someone to tenderly nurse him back to health?" He makes some kind of horrified, shrieking squeak but, importantly, doesn't argue. "If you leave now, I'm afraid that's the only explanation I'll have."

"I can't talk about this. I really can't. You don't understand, it's not like that." He's shaking and mumbling a little bit, which is cute, if he thinks that's going to be enough to deter her. He still doesn't actually look upset. More like a man who is being forced to talk about a thing he hasn't allowed himself to think about for years on end. What is Zui Xian Peak for, if not something like this?

Liao Qinglan leans over the table and refills Shang Qinghua's cup. It actually was getting a little bit empty this time but, more than that, this is a well-established message between them. It is not time to leave yet. Shang Qinghua watches the wine pour from the jar into his cup with wide, round eyes. When she sets the jar back down, he lowers himself to his seat along with it.

They sit there until late in the night. The wine flows freely. Shang Qinghua's words are blocked for a while, but everyone's tongue loosens under the pressure of enough liquor, and Shang Qinghua is a beautiful accomplice in accomplishing that goal. By the time the rest of the world has been asleep for a shichen, they're both drunken messes and Shang Qinghua is finally willing to go into depth on just how desperately he yearns for his king. By a shichen after that, they have compiled a list of evidence that this king might see him the same way back. Perhaps some of it will even continue to make sense in the morning light.

It's strange, whenever she takes a step back to realize that she is helping her friend in his efforts to seduce a demon. That they are evaluating the behavior of another person as a potential romantic option, and it's a demon, and that's really not making all that much of a difference, beyond the fact that they're having to do all kinds of hasty research on demonic courting rituals and culture.

A year ago, she never would have even considered something like this. It was not simply taboo, or repulsive, or any other negative word. More truthfully, the thought would have never even entered her head for her to have a reaction to it. This reality is so incredibly unthinkable that there hadn't even been the precedent to establish a taboo.

Or, well, that can't be quite true, can it? Because the most recent story that's been flying through the jianghu is that the little disciple over on Qing Jing Peak actually turned out to be some kind of big-shot half-demon. So, presumably, at least one other person has violated the not-yet-a-taboo before. Strange, that no one ever really talked about that. It would have been super convenient for her to get the chance to start changing her opinion on demons years ago.

And then, now, that disciple is supposed to be in a relationship with his shizun. A little scandalous, perhaps. Liao Qinglan tends to live and let live when it comes to love and politics. As long as no one seems to be hurt, and just looking at them shows how pleased they both are with the arrangement.

Why has she been okay with hearing about that side of things? If that Luo Binghe is half-demon, why did she not have a problem with Shen Qingqiu's relationship as well? Would she have considered that relationship taboo, if she'd thought about it further?

This is stupid. And it's not the point. And she's drunk. It doesn't matter whether or not it's a taboo, because the point is that it's not taboo, or at least it doesn't feel like it. It feels like talking to any of her other friends about someone they are interested in. Not that it happens all that often, considering she has something of a reputation on her peak for being unsympathetic. As if that could ever be the case. She simply knows exactly what everyone should be doing and finds it ridiculous when they decide to do something other than what she said to do. Is that so wrong?

The point is that her friend, one of her closest friends, went off and fell in love with a demon king. Something that was completely unheard of and now it seems to be happening to two different peak lords of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. And it doesn't actually seem to be that bad of a thing at all, when she gets to hear some of the details about it.

She's drunk. This is ridiculous and she is so drunk and so is Shang Qinghua and they shouldn't be having any kind of revelations like this when it's this early in the morning and they still haven't even gone to sleep.

With that thought, and with their written-out evidence spread on the table between them, Liao Qinglan tips over and falls asleep. Presumably, Shang Qinghua follows suit, since he is still there when she wakes up hours later to a throbbing headache and scribbled sheets of paper she can barely read.

*~*~*

The next batch of wolfberry wine is remarkably similar to the first one. Because she knows how to make wine and she knows how to do it well, so why would she have created anything other than the most perfect result possible on her very first attempt?

She had changed some of the proportions of ingredients around, switching out some of the camomile for the lilyturf and adding in more of the wolfberry leaves and roots to deepen the flavor a little. She knows what she's doing. She knows how to create a delicious fruit wine, even if it's objectively inferior to all other kinds of wine. She knows what she's doing.

This time, she doesn't even taste it when it's first done fermenting out in the field. She filters it, just as it is meant to be, and leaves it to clarify for another month before she even touches it. Maybe that's what it will take for the flavor to develop. Maybe that's what's necessary for the taste to develop the same way that it does over in the Demon Realm.

When it is finally ready, she sneaks out at night to find where she has hidden her pot, separate from all the others and out in a clearing in the forest, because she cannot find a way to keep hiding this under Yan Yazhu's name without her finding out and getting suspicious.

Instead, she's become some kind of common, sneaking criminal. Apparently. There's a secret pathway out from her house and a secret setup and everything. It's ridiculous. She can't believe she's going this far for something as simple as wolfberry wine.

She sneaks out at night and brings a little snack along, because wolfberry wine pairs well with salty, light, fried things. She knows her shit. She knows how to make these things taste as good as it's possible for them to taste.

The drink pours clear and settled into the little porcelain cup that she brings with her. Liao Qinglan sits peacefully on a small cushion that she has brought with her and sets the cup and the food out on a folding lap table. If she is going to enjoy this drink, then she is going to set herself up to properly enjoy it. Perhaps that is the problem at the root of all of this. Perhaps it is not that the wine is better-tasting, just that she was drinking it while comfortable in her home and happily talking to a good friend. That's got to be why it tasted so much better than any other wine before.

When she sips the wine, the balance of flavors are delicate and much closer to those that she tasted in the original wine. She knows how to balance flavors.

It also has about one tenth the potency and richness of the fucking demonic wine.

It's not even worth it. She pours the rest of her cup out onto the ground and throws the pot with every bit of cultivator strength in her body. It flies through the air and smashes to pieces against a tree at the edge of the meadow. The wolfberry wine runs down the bark of the tree.

It's perfectly prepared. It's perfectly paired. It's perfectly balanced.

It's bullshit.

She goes back inside.

*~*~*

"And how has my friend been faring this month? Have you successfully seduced your demon king yet?"

"Ah, ha ha. Not yet. But, um, no, what have you been spending your time on this month? Anything interesting here?"

"Oh, no no no. Nothing interesting going on here. Besides, I asked you first, and I'll be needing more detail than that."

*~*~*

"I cannot help but notice that my shizun has been spending more time than usual outside of the house, particularly in the late hours of the night."

"Is there something you're implying, Yan Yazhu?"

"This lowly one would never dare to do such a thing. This one merely wondered what the peak lord could possibly be doing, to return home last night so covered in stains."

She returned home last night so covered in stains because this whole fucking fruit wine experiment is fucking bullshit and no one should ever try making something like this ever again. What's even the point, when the Demon Realm can come along and so effortlessly and indisputably crush any one of your efforts right into the ground?

She returned home last night so covered in stains because another one of her attempts to recreate the wine had matured enough for tasting and had turned out to be the same faint, inscrutable mess as the batch before it and the one before that.

She returned home last night so covered in stains because, after tasting the results of her weeks of effort, she had punched straight through the heavy clay of the pot so that the wine had spilled all over her. She was covered in the light pink-orange wine that smelled undeniably of wolfberries. And maybe she ran into Yan Yazhu as she was trying to sneak back into her home after that event. Maybe she could smell the guilt and secret missions all over her. Who can say? Liao Qinglan certainly won't. And, if she doesn't confess to anything, then no one can prove that any part of this is happening.

"This peak lord wonders what her head disciple's work load must be like, to have so much time leftover to wonder about her peak lord's personal business."

"Ah, of course, shizun."

*~*~*

"Did you hear? Shizun has been working with fruit wine again!"

"Do you think that means she'll start teaching us how to make it ourselves? I've always wanted to make loquat wine for my mother. She says it's one of her favorite things in the whole world, and I wanted to join this peak to make some for her."

"I heard that she's been working on a special project and that she's going to show it off and share it with the whole peak when she finishes! Maybe we'll have to wait until then before she's willing to share any of her techniques with any of us?"

*~*~*

"Liao Qinglan, I would like to officially introduce you to my friend, Red Tree." Shang Qinghua gestures between her and the enormous demon that towers behind him. He is quite a bit different, like this. Liao Qinglan had, of course, noticed the changes in his outfits as he became more willing to talk to her about his life in the Demon Realm. He has slowly and gradually taken to wearing more furs, more deep blues and soft silvers and greys. The cut of the clothing itself is a little different, even if he never tends toward some of the more revealing styles that can be popular among some of the demons Liao Qinglan has encountered.

Apparently, even the changes she saw were significantly toned down in an effort to make Liao Qinglan comfortable during visits, because that is not at all how her friend is dressed today. Sure, there is some of the same essence, but Shang Qinghua is carrying himself so differently. The overall picture is so different.

His simple cultivators robes have been set aside. Instead, he is draped in layers of thin blue fabric. They are all see-through on their own and, when layered together like this, make a beautiful scale of deepening blue as it moves away from his throat. As the color deepens, so does one's ability to see through the fabric itself. All this to say, she can definitely see much more of Shang Qinghua's chest than she has ever wanted to before this moment.

Over top of the thin blue fabric, he is wearing a luxurious cape with a thick ruff made from some kind of monster pelt that shines the brightest white and is flecked with little spots of black. It looks like it cost about the same amount as the entire budget for her peak in a year. As if that isn't enough, Shang Qinghua's wrists and neck and ankles all tinkle with the weight of dangling silver bangles and charms. Even his guan is elegant and detailed silver, dripping with diamonds and sapphires.

This is still her friend. He doesn't carry himself like this is the natural way that things should be, or with the elegant lines of old royalty. Instead, and even more unnervingly, he wears them with a kind of patient exasperation. She watches as her dear friend talks, occasionally huffing in frustration when one of his hand movements jostles his bangles in the wrong way. His irritated adjustment to the way they lay is practiced and automatic.

Shang Qinghua may not have been raised in this kind of luxury, but this is not a new way of presenting himself. Truly, there is much she has not known about her friend's life.

Liao Qinglan takes the time to look away from her friend. There's no more time to analyze all the ways that he is different when there's something much more important to focus on.

Her frustration had boiled over the last time he came to visit, several weeks ago and several hours into their drinking of the delicious wolfberry wine. She never would have allowed any of her shame to show itself without at least a jar or two of wine in her. But, when it had, and she took another sip of that damned wine, she couldn't help but explode her frustration all over Shang Qinghua, about how ridiculous is was that someone in the Demon Realm could come up with a recipe for wine like this when she, the peak lord of Zui Xian Peak, wasn't able to even replicate it. It was keeping her up at night and bringing shame to her entire peak and he had better take responsibility for the crisis he had caused by bringing it into her life.

She hadn't thought it would actually go anywhere. That's pretty much how their drinking nights have always gone. The two of them get drunk and shoot the shit and complain at length about anything that is pissing them off in the world. Then they yell at each other a bit and pass out on the table. It's great.

When Shang Qinghua had shown up at her home in the middle of an afternoon, long before he was due for another monthly visit and dressed like he was born and raised in the Demon Realm, she had been suspicious as hell. She is also very much not the kind of person who can leave a mystery alone when it arrives at her doorstep. Or, well, she's actually usually very good at ignoring mysteries, but not when they involve her friend.

Now, less than a shichen later (after a short flight through a hidden gap in the border between the realms), here she is: standing in the middle of a small plateau in the center of a desert in the Demon Realm. There is a pagoda nearby, a demon standing behind her friend, and very little else to be seen.

"A pleasure to meet you," Red Tree (the demon in question) says, through lips that are really more like a beak than any other kind of mouth Liao Qinglan has ever seen. The hands that are raised in a mocking salute are lightly feathered along the knuckles and fingerbones, with longer, showier feathers sprouting from the wrist like wristguards. Red Tree is huge, several heads taller than Liao Qinglan could ever hope to be. The feathers crest like hair atop their head and flow down their back. The feathers themselves are bright red and glaring in the afternoon sun. With so many feathers about them, there is very little need for clothing. They are wearing a few wrapped layers of thin red fabric in a shade that matches the feathers. Rather than the bangles that Liao Qinglan has seen so many demons wear, Red Tree seems to prefer golden jewelry that wraps closely against their skin. Likely in a way that keeps anything from interfering with their work. They would maybe be fascinating to look at, if they weren't so clearly uninterested in anything Liao Qinglan has to offer.

"And you, Red Tree," Liao Qinglan replies, dipping into a proper and sincere salute, because fuck you, that's why.

"Consort Shang has shared that a cultivator has developed quite a taste for our wolfberry wine." Liao Qinglan wants to roast the hell out of Shang Qinghua for the fact that people are running around calling him "consort" and he still doesn't know if his king is interested in him.  Instead, she shoots him a betrayed look, deciding to focus on the fact that he is going around telling everyone about the things that they discuss in confidence. "This recipe has been in my family for many generations. To think that such a great cultivator might take interest in our humble wine."

The words themselves are humble, but the tone is scathing and sarcastic. Red Tree watches Liao Qinglan with a fire in their eyes. The eyes are small and black, like a songbird's. Liao Qinglan can't believe Shang Qinghua brought her here for something like this.

"It would be this lowly demon's honor to share such a treasured and secret family recipe with Liao Qinglan, great cultivator of the Human Realm, at the behest of someone so renowned as Consort Shang himself." The smile that stretches across Red Tree's beak reveals that there are razor sharp teeth behind it.

"This is ridiculous," Liao Qinglan snaps, because it is clear that this demon does not want to do this and that Shang Qinghua is out here making some kind of political move that he doesn't even know he made. Liao Qinglan doesn't even want to be here in the first place. Also she is not the kind of person to go around taking someone's secret recipe when they clearly don't want to share. She has more honor than that. "Why are any of us here? Take me back home, Shang Qinghua."

She turns to leave but, before she can take another step toward her traitorous friend, the towering figure of Red Tree moves between them. They have returned to their mocking salute and the sharp smile on their face is so ingratiating that it loops back around to being threatening. Shang Qinghua cowers behind the figure of Red Tree, as if this entire situation is not of his construction in the first place. Liao Qinglan is going to kill him.

"Surely, Liao Qinglan would not depart so soon after Consort Shang went through all the difficulty of arranging such a meeting." Those sharp teeth are incredibly close to Liao Qinglan's hands. She grips tighter at the sword that she brought with her. Only she and Shang Qinghua know that it's a bluff. She is not competent with the sword. Red Tree doesn't know that. "This lowly one has prepared such a thorough tour of the process we use."

There is something going on here that Liao Qinglan does not understand and that no one seems willing to explain to her. Which, whatever, fine. It's a tour of a wine-making process. She knows how to do this sort of thing. And, besides, she has been trying to recreate this flavor for months on end. If the demons want to give away their secrets, if they're insisting on it even after she gives them an out, then that's not Liao Qinglan's problem.

And so, she smiles back, just as gratingly and insincerely. Red Tree gestures her over to where the materials for wine-making seem to be gathered, and Liao Qinglan goes without comment. Fine. If this is what her day is going to turn into, then she might as well get something out of it.

Red Tree, when they aren't threatening humans, does actually know quite a lot about the wine making process. It seems that they were right to say that their family had perfected this recipe over many generations. Liao Qinglan's knowledge of alcohol is broad and sizable, spanning all the various forms that it can possibly take. Red Tree's knowledge isn't wide, but it is deep. Clearly, their family has dedicated much of their time to the study of this sort of thing.

"I didn't know that demons spent much time on the preparation of food and drink," Liao Qinglan remarks, as Red Tree shows off their stores of preserved, dried wolfberries, shipped from the Human Realm. Red Tree doesn't have skin around their nose to wrinkle, but their brow furrows in a way that suggests a similar bad smell.

"Humans are unable to consume raw meat and remain safe. Of course you would develop ways to prepare food in a way that is pleasurable and safe to you. Don't look down on demonic cuisine simply because we are able to enjoy our meals with less effort required."

Liao Qinglan snaps her mouth shut, feeling chastised, even though that didn't actually answer the question she had been asking. Well, maybe she hadn't phrased the question as a question at all. Still, Red Tree doesn't seem like they would be much in the mood to answer no matter what she says, so Liao Qinglan decides to simply listen now and interrogate Shang Qinghua later.

Red Tree seems to have batches of the wolfberry wine sitting at all stages of preparation, as most families do, when they are responsible for meeting a demand. Red Tree shows how they prepare the malted rice and form it into qu. They show the store rooms where the qu sits until dried and ready. They show the rehydration of berries and brewing of additional flavors. The preparation of fresh rice as well as the base rice wine. They mix it carefully and store the entire thing in a pot, explaining that it will sit for 20 days before it will be filtered and left to clarify.

And.

It's.

The.

Exact.

Fucking.

Same.

It's the same. It's the exact same process that Liao Qinglan has been completing over and over and over again. She watches every single step. She takes visual measure of every proportion. She compares every timeline Red Tree mentions with the ones used by her own disciples. It's all the exact same damn thing that she has been trying for months with no result to fucking show for it.

"Is this some sort of trick?" She demands, when it is impossible to stay quiet for a moment longer. Red Tree, who is actually fairly pleasant in demeanor when they are so focused on their craft, straightens to their full height and turns their fathomless black eyes back on Liao Qinglan.

"Surely Liao Qinglan misspoke." It's a warning, and Liao Qinglan isn't going to listen to it. If this is the whole process that they're going to go through and she isn't even going to get the secret to the recipe out of it, then what the fuck are they doing here?

"Liao Qinglan did not misspeak." She gets up in Red Tree's space, even though they could easily crush her and they both probably know it. "The honorable Red Tree is speaking of the basic steps of the wine making process, as if this peak lord would not already have extensive knowledge of such things." Liao Qinglan is hissing with the fury of a thousand nights of secret wine preparation. "This lord has followed the exact process laid out today and the results taste nothing like the wine that I have tasted from this very winery."

A sneer starts to spread across Red Tree's face. "Has the great peak lord Liao Qinglan considered, perhaps, that it is not the process that is flawed, but rather the craftsman?"

Liao Qinglan is not the type of person to become upset easily. She could never survive as the peal lord of Zui Xian Peak if she were the kind of person who needed everyone to remember her and think she was great. But, she is good at one specific thing, has built her life around one specific thing, and it is unacceptable to her that Red Tree might challenge her here. Without another thought, Liao Qinglan draws her sword.

The razor sharp sneer grows even sharper, and then Red Tree is flying toward her and Liao Qinglan is discovering that, beneath those feathers, there are talons. She is discovering this as she feels them dig into the flesh of her bicep and press her flat on the dirt ground. There are razor sharp teeth pressed right up alongside her neck, a promise of retaliation for any further efforts. The fight is over before it even starts, with Red Tree so soundly defeating her that it would be heinously shameful were anyone else around to see it. Speaking of-

"Where is that coward Shang Qinghua," she huffs.

"I do believe he left us to ourselves ages ago, oh mighty cultivator. And," the teeth draw even closer. Liao Qinglan can feel the heat of breath against the join of her neck and shoulders. "I do believe you have more pressing concerns."

They're right. Liao Qinglan definitely should be more afraid right now than she is. Why is that? She supposes it just seems difficult to be scared of someone after you have just watch them talk for several shichen about a craft that they are passionate about. Red Tree has their teeth pressed right to Liao Qinglan's jugular, and it would be very difficult to kill her like this, but not impossible. Liao Qinglan is good at circulating her qi and healing herself quickly. Is she good enough to heal a torn-out neck before it kills her? She should definitely be more scared than she is.

"If you were going to kill me, you would have already done so." She's pretty sure. At least 60% sure. Red Tree certainly has every opportunity and hasn't taken it.

"You seem sure of that."

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

Red Tree huffs a scathing laugh before pulling their teeth back. Just far enough that their unnerving bird's eyes can meet Liao Qinglan's own. They stay there for a moment. The talons dig deeper into Liao Qinglan's shoulder, drawing up blood onto her robes. When nothing changes, when Liao Qinglan doesn't make another move, Red Tree finally pulls away, flopping to sit in the dirt next to her. Liao Qinglan hauls herself up so that she's mirroring the position, circulating her qi so that the punctures in her shoulder are already almost healed.

"That's a handy trick," Red Tree murmurs, gesturing toward the place where the skin is already showing fresh and new through the blood.

"There is actually a reason I have managed to survive this long. A very good reason I don't have to be afraid of you."

"You are alive only by the influence of your friends, you know. Horrifying as it is that the king of the Northern Desert has taken a human as his consort."

Liao Qinglan can't argue much with that. She had felt much the same about Shang Qinghua's choice of romantic interest.

"Where did that little rat go, anyway?" She glances around before following the line of Red Tree's finger where they point at a small figure, dressed in blue, laying down on a flat rock and tossing and catching a pebble above his head. While they watch, Shang Qinghua fumbles the catch and it slaps down onto his face. He rubs at his nose, glances around to see if anyone noticed, misses them watching him, and returns to his little game.

"He stepped away just a few minutes into the explanation of the process. It seems not everyone is as interested in the noble process of wine making as you and I."

"You are hiding something," Liao Qinglan persists, unable to leave the point alone, even if much of the anger has left. "I've been trying to replicate your recipe for months now and I've done the exact same things. It does not carry one third the flavor of the wine you produce here."

"And it could never be true that the Demon Realm is simply better at wine production than the Human Realm?" It's the same conversation again, but some of the poison has been drawn out of it.

"It's not a matter of demon versus human. I am not upset because I think a demon has done something better than me," Liao Qinglan explains, realizing as she says it that it's the truth. "I am the peak lord of Zui Xian Peak. It is a peak dedicated to the production and consumption of alcohol, and I have labored my entire life to master the craft. There are generations of research and similar experts behind me. How can it be that I cannot even detect where your recipe might differ from my own?"

"Your crisis of identity isn't my responsibility to solve." Red Tree huffs again, and it rustles some of the feathers on their face and neck. "Doubt me or no, I would not dare to lie or conceal information when it is at the request of the King of the Northern Deserts."

Liao Qinglan flops back into the dirt and stares up at the way the bright sun of this realm turns the skies red.

"What did Shang Qinghua threaten you with, to make you so willing to share a secret family recipe?"

"Your little rat did not do anything," Red Tree says drily. "It was his king that came to visit, threatening to wipe out the entirety of my family home if I did not follow his consort's every request to the letter."

"So you're doing this out of fear for your life?" Liao Qinglan cannot believe that she is feeling protective over this demon she tried to attack only a few minutes ago, but this is not something she would have thought Shang Qinghua capable of. Red Tree waves a dismissive hand through the air between them.

"It is not an unusual thing. With demon kings, that's just how life is. They're powerful. Demons feel their emotions so strongly, when they fall in love, they might be willing to do anything at all to keep the one they love happy. It's best to just follow along, when there is someone stronger than you, asking for something on behalf of someone they love. I should be thankful he asked at all."

"Still, I didn't know that your family home was in danger." Liao Qinglan is waiting for some kind of further response, but Red Tree just kind of grunts a little and goes back to looking around them. There are more questions bubbling up inside Liao Qinglan, and this might be the only chance she'll have to ask any of them. "Where is your family home?"

Red Tree laughs again, clicks their beak mockingly, and gestures grandly to the dirt ground they are sitting on.

"Oh," Liao Qinglan murmurs, wrong-footed. "Right. It's beautiful."

"You're stupid," Red Tree snipes, spitting onto the ground. "Demons don't build above ground. The grand mansion of my ancestral home extends for stories into the ground beneath our feet."

"Right." Liao Qinglan shuts up again. She keeps fucking this up, so she's just going to shut up for the day.

"I'm not hiding any part of the recipe," Red Tree finally says, after they've sat in silence for what feels like half a shichen. "I don't know why the wine tastes different here. It simply does."

Liao Qinglan sits with that for a moment.

"I don't think I can accept that."

"Accept it or not, it is the truth." Red Tree stands up, brushes the dirt off their clothes and shakes it off their feathers. "And the time we are scheduled to speak is up."

Sure enough, Shang Qinghua is walking back from his perch on the rock. He's gaping and gesturing frantically about the dirt on both of their clothes, as if that was something they did on purpose.

Liao Qinglan shares one final commiserating look with Red Tree, and then they leave, mystery unsolved.

*~*~*

"So, oh honored peak lord, is there going to come a day where you start to explain to me where all of our spare budget is going, or am I going to have to go talk to Shang-shishu myself?"

Yan Yazhu comes striding into the room as if they are continuing a conversation, even though Liao Qinglan has been happily enjoying her time alone in her room, reviewing the notes she took so many months ago. When she returned from the Demon Realm, Liao Qinglan had copied down every single step of the wolfberry wine making process that she could remember, before it left her head. Every single thing that Red Tree did and said and showed, to see any moment when there may have been an opportunity to do something secretively.

It's possible, of course, that they had merely intentionally done a step incorrectly while Liao Qinglan was there, willing to throw out the results of that particular demonstration, so that there would be one ruined batch and no way to worry about the secret of the recipe escaping into the Human Realm. Which means, of course, that Liao Qinglan needed to write down not only everything that they did, but also everything that she saw while walking around the preparation area.

She had done all this right from the beginning, but there really wasn't anything that caught her attention. Now, two failed batches later, she figures it can't hurt to look through all of it again. The notes are...significantly lacking. In her defense, Liao Qinglan isn't accustomed to running spy missions like this, or actually putting effort into solving all the mysteries and theories she quietly forms in the back of her mind.

Also, and this is something she just realized the other day and has been incredibly frustrated about ever since, Red Tree had pointed out that all of their family's infrastructure was underground. Meaning that there was actually very little for Liao Qinglan to notice, visually, beyond the flat dirt plane and the roof under which the wine was prepared. There was an entire mansion's worth of places to hide the things actually used in the recipe.

"Right, so, is this how we're going to be playing this? You're just going to ignore me until I go away?"

"Huh?" Liao Qinglan realizes quite suddenly that her head disciple had definitely asked her a question earlier, and she hadn't done anything even close to acknowledging it, let alone answering.

"I asked if you were going to provide an account for where all of our peak's money has been going, recently." Yan Yazhu's voice is as flat and dry as the dirt in the Demon Realm where Red Tree makes their home. Maybe that has something to do with why the wine tastes different...

"Ah, no." No, Liao Qinglan is not eager to share things like the answer to that question with everyone. Shameful enough that it's officially become impossible to hide that she has been working with fruit wine. This can't get out too.

"Okay, so I'll just go ask Shang-shishu, then." This is possible because, infuriatingly, Shang Qinghua has recently been reinstated as the peak lord of An Ding Peak. After all that work that Liao Qinglan had personally done to decide what she thought of him, her friend was welcomed back to the sect as if nothing had happened in the first place, all because no one could figure out how to do the things that he does.

Yan Yazhu strides from the room before Liao Qinglan can stop her.

*~*~*

The money, of course, is going toward the very expensive process of sending letters back and forth between the Demon and Human Realms. With the improvement in relationship between the realms (mostly due to several specific members of demonic royalty), recently, it seems that a few enterprising demons have seen the opportunity for moneymaking and have started a business conveying letters through the few borders where the boundary between realms is weak.

It's not cheap, though. It's a very specialized service.

It takes Yan Yazhu a few more weeks before she comes back with the answer to her question. There is no reason that Shang Qinghua should have known the answer, but Liao Qinglan accepted, when processing through all the shit that came out, that her best friend is a sneaky, conniving snake who always knows more than he should about everything. So, when Yan Yazhu starts looking at her significantly and sighing loudly every time she sees her peak lord sitting at the desk in her room, scribbling away at another sheet of paper, well. It's pretty obvious that she's figured out what's going on.

The first time that Liao Qinglan sent a letter to Red Tree, it was mostly full of pleasantries and thank yous and politeness, because that was the only excuse she could think of for writing a letter in the first place. And because that was how a peak lord probably should write a letter to someone from a realm they were recently in a sort of angry stalemate with. And it also seemed like Red Tree had agreed to the tour in the first place because of the influence of someone from royalty, so why not remind them that Liao Qinglan also has a title and some level of clout?

She wrote the letter in her best calligraphy, with the finest ink, on her heaviest paper. She signed it with her full title.

When that hadn't worked, Liao Qinglan had sent another letter every day for a week straight, so that they all arrived one after the other. She had to pay extra to make sure the post didn't pile up and arrive in one big lump. She wanted there to be a letter arriving every day. She wanted Red Tree to feel pressured.

When the first return letter finally arrived, with simply a bold fuck off written across the thick paper, Liao Qinglan knew that she was starting to have an impact. It was a reaction. A response.

The next letter she had sent merely said no.

The one after that involved a breakdown of every part of the process that she had noticed Red Tree following during the tour, along with a request for them to edit any part of it that was incorrect.

It took a few more tries for Liao Qinglan to realize that Red Tree tends to ignore any letter that comes right out the gate asking about wine. But, if she just rambles on about this or that from her day to day, she can sometimes get a brief response. If she asks a question or two about Red Tree's day, she will sometimes even get a few word long response directly answering those questions. It helps when she includes enough of a payment for a return letter as well, because it is (again) not a cheap process and Red Tree could easily use that as an excuse.

It had taken months. It really had. But! As of yesterday, Liao Qinglan can finally say that it is starting to pay off! Entirely separate from the potential friendship that she may or may not claim to have with a demon, she also officially received a package of the specific dried wolfberries that Red Tree uses in their wine.

They may be from the Human Realm initially, but Liao Qinglan has tentatively given up on the idea of there being a secret ingredient that Red Tree is refusing to tell her. They are close enough now that Liao Qinglan can say that they are probably not the sort of person to maintain a lie for such a long time.

If there isn't some secret ingredient or technique, that means that there is a larger secret, unknown to both of them. There is definitely something different between the two recipes. If it's something that Red Tree genuinely doesn't know, then it's something hidden either within the ingredients or the process. Which means that Liao Qinglan has chosen to start by focusing on isolating which of the specific ingredients is causing the change in the flavor, since the process is (as far as she can tell) the same. No ingredient can be above suspicion.

So, Liao Qinglan finally managed to convince Red Tree to send her their wolfberries. She'll make a batch of the wine with this and see if it changes the flavor at all. It shouldn't, because, again, these berries are from the Human Realm and Zui Xian Peak already receives the best fruits available, but there's no way to know until she's experimented, and Liao Qinglan is not willing to leave any stone unturned.

Maybe Yan Yazhu figures out just what is going on, and maybe she sends a few dark glances over Liao Qinglan's way every now and then. She can't blame her. It would be confusing to her as well, to see the peak lord suddenly reverse her opinion on fruit wine in general, dedicate herself to the production of a very specific kind of fruit wine, and spend all the extra budget on communication with the demon realm, when that has never been an interest before now.

Maybe Yan Yazhu would understand better if she would just get a taste of Red Tree's wine. But that's not going to happen, because Liao Qinglan is not willing to share even a drop. The wine is too delicious, too rare, too precious for her to go sharing it around with anyone who's interested.

The important thing is that she's finally managed to convince Red Tree to share some of their materials, even if it's just one thing at a time, with the requirement that Liao Qinglan share any findings she makes as soon as she makes them. That's the part that matters.

She keeps sending the letters, though, even while the wine is fermenting.

*~*~*

This is an absolutely terrible idea, and Liao Qinglan is pretty sure that everyone here knows it. If they are all smart enough to know it, then it really shouldn't have happened in the first place, but they can't seem to actually live out any of that wisdom everyone says that these immortals are bestowed with.

All this to say: Liao Qinglan is sitting at a table in her house. Not the one that she usually sits at for the monthly bitch-sessions she has with Shang Qinghua, because that one would be too small. Instead, Yan Yazhu helped her cart in a huge table earlier in the day. Seated at the table are Shang Qinghua, his emotionless ice demon king, Red Tree, Yan Yazhu, and Liao Qinglan.

They've been here for almost half a shichen at this point, and you would think that would mean that some of the tension would have died down into a calm pattern of conversation. Not so. Not at all. Liao Qinglan is the most charismatic of them all by far, and they all know it, which leaves her to chatter away while almost everyone else sits in silence. Shang Qinghua is talking too, because he's literally never not talking, but he's so anxious and uncomfortable that his voice is two octaves above where it usually is, and it's just drawing everyone's attention to how weird this is.

Red Tree is sitting calmly on their cushion, sipping leisurely at the cup of wine before them. Liao Qinglan was maybe, potentially, showing off a little bit when she was planning this, so she set out rice wine and fruit wine and liquor and baiju and this delicious mixed drink that one of the older juniors has been trying to get everyone in the sect to drink. There are options and cups within reach of every single person at the table, and Liao Qinglan has been graciously pouring for anyone who indicates a preference.

Red Tree had brought a jar of their own wine and is drinking that. Yan Yazhu took the opportunity to finally try this drink that her peak lord has been trying to recreate and has been expressing her appreciation with little happy noises and praise. Mobei-Jun asked for tea and indicated that he did not intend to drink while he was here. Shang Qinghua has been trying the mixed drink and keeps talking about how delicious it is, even though he grimaces every time he takes a sip, and he's not drinking nearly as frequently as he usually does when he comes to visit.

Liao Qinglan has been sullenly drinking one of the rice wines that she takes the most pride in creating and that she believes is the finest drink produced by her peak. She is also moments away from slamming her head against the surface of the table until she passes out and wakes up once everyone has left.

"So glad that we all got together like this." Red Tree's voice is as dry as the desert they live in and Liao Qinglan considers wrestling them to the ground right there, even though they've already shown exactly how a fight like that would go.

"Yes, well, this lowly one thought it might be time for all these friends to have the chance to get to know each other." She can play this overly polite, shit-eating game as well. Take that, Red Tree. As if anyone wants to be here.

"Ah ha ha," Shang Qinghua, the motherfucker who actually planned this whole disastrous event, pipes in. "Yeah, there have been so many times where one or two of us has been talking to another and talked about someone else here. I though it might be good to all get to know each other, that way everyone has a little more context for the people everyone else is always talking about. In a good way! Like you do when there's a bunch of people who you think would all get along!" Liao Qinglan smiles at him and inclines her head in a graceful acknowledgement. It is a threat and they both know it. Shang Qinghua laughs again, even more uncomfortable.

"I had no idea that a peak lord of a righteous cultivation sect was spending so much time talking about the Demon King of the Northern Desert," Red Tree snarks.

"And I had no idea you spent so much time talking to Shang Qinghua about me." Liao Qinglan may not be able to win in a physical fight, but damn if she is going to let Red Tree get away with that when they're on her peak. "Had I known you thought of me so often, I would have been sure to write more. Although, I cannot blame you for being fascinated by someone who is an expert in your field." She smiles at Red Tree this time, a knife's blade in her mouth.

"Pretty sure Red Tree isn't the one spending all of our peak's budget on sending letters back and forth between realms." Yan Yazhu adds, the traitor.

"Can confirm." Shang Qinghua raises his cup in Yan Yazhu's direction and they both take a long drink in solidarity with each other. Shang Qinghua's nose wrinkles up when he remembers that he's only pretending to be enjoying his drink. Good. Suffer. Mobei-Jun doesn't say anything, but reaches over to refill Shang Qinghua's cup from the teapot sitting before him. Shang Qinghua glances up at him in worshipful gratefulness.

"Well, it would be quite rude to expect someone else to pay for such an expensive service. Of course this immortal master is more than willing to assist Red Tree in this method of communication."

"Of course, as someone capable of creating a wine that is so thoroughly enjoyed and treasured by so many," Red Tree gestures around at everyone except Mobei-Jun, "this one has never been lacking in funds. Perhaps, if someone finds that they are the only one putting forward all the effort to engage in communication, that may be a reason for that other than money."

"If the honorable Red Tree has something to say, then perhaps they should be so principled as to state it clearly."

"Oh, I'll speak clearly when I-"

"SO!" Shang Qinghua jumps to his feet to interrupt, speaking loudly and quickly while clearly unaware of what the next word to leave his mouth at any moment will be. "I'm just so happy that we all get to spend a time in community like this! How lovely, to be able to unite the Human and Demon Realms over something so simple and universal as a good drink."

"A very good drink," Red Tree mutters under their breath, at the same time that Liao Qinglan hisses out "as if anyone has even tried the drinks." They scowl furiously at each other before Shang Qinghua sidles over to stand directly between their line of sight.

"And how lucky we are, that the night has only just begun, and we will have the chance to try so many new things. There may be a few bumps in the road, but community can only grow stronger over time. Perhaps, next time, we could even invite Liu Mingyan and Sha Hualing, or Shen Qingqiu and Junshang!"

And that, the idea of the absolute catastrophe that would result from something like that, is overwhelming. The thought of that terribly shameless couple, one an immortal and untouchable peak lord, the other his adoring younger disciple who also would outrank everyone in the room in terms or status and power, sitting at this table and in this terribly uncomfortable moment with everyone else, it's so funny that it pierces right through all the tension and frustration that Liao Qinglan has been feeling all night. She finds herself suddenly slumped with her cheek against the smooth, cool surface of the table and giggling uncontrollably. Across the table and out of her line of sight, Red Tree lets out a single, derisive snort.

"That would be such a terrible, awful idea. I really can't think of a single idea worse than that," she stutters out between helpless giggles.

Shang Qinghua blusters a bit, but Red Tree backs up Liao Qinglan with "If you invite them to something like this, I am afraid I will fall suddenly and terribly ill and be unable to attend." Mobei-Jun doesn't say anything, but calmly pulls Shang Qinghua back down to his seat beside him. The message is clear enough.

Shang Qinghua slumps in defeat for a bit, but something about that really cleared the air anyway. And, suddenly, it isn't quite so awful to sit with all these people that she doesn't know very well. The night goes on, and Red Tree actually tries some of the wine that Liao Qinglan made, after all the wine that they brought runs out. Yan Yazhu seems to strike up an easy and cutting rapport with Red Tree, which is a horrifying thing that Liao Qinglan needs to keep a very close eye on. Shang Qinghua seems to actually calm down a little bit, once everyone else starts to, and Liao Qinglan gets to see the quiet and unspoken way that he and Mobei-Jun look after each other. The way that Shang Qinghua effortlessly directs attention and conversation away from him, and the way that Mobei-Jun pours him a cup of tea between every few drinks and makes sure that his cantaloupe seeds are always within reach.

And maybe Red Tree, at the end of it all, makes a quiet comment about how the rice wine wasn't all that awful. And maybe Liao Qinglan treats herself to one cup of the wolfberry wine before it all goes away. And maybe the night isn't actually that awful after all.

*~*~*

It has been months. Months and months and months of meeting up for drinks in any combination of the original five at that first night. Of making all kinds of wine. Or, more accurately, of making the same exact wine from the same exact recipe over and over and over again. There shouldn't be any difference in taste. There hasn't been any difference in taste, even as she substitutes in every ingredient from the Demonic Realm, one after the other. At some point, she started to come to terms with the fact that she is going to have to figure out what to try next. Nothing is changing and there is very little else that could be a secret factor. She is starting to prepare to travel to the Demon Realm herself for every step of the process, to see what individual stage contributes to the unique flavor.

She's tasting this most recent batch because it's the last one and she needs to check every option off the list before she starts trying something else. The only thing they changed this time is the qu, and that's barely anything at all, so she's not expecting any impact on the taste. It's not involved in the actual ingredients or flavorings, really.

That's why it's the last thing she tried. That's also why it's such a surprise when she draws a bowlful of wine from the woven reed basket straining out the pulp and rice from the actual wine.

The taste hits her at the tip of her tongue and floods along her taste buds. It's light and mellow and sweet, but the flavor is richer and more complex and layered than anything she has ever managed to draw out of a fruit wine in the decades of her residence on Zui Xian Peak. It's ridiculous. It slides down her throat like a song, leaving a warm tingle behind, followed by the sharp cold of alcohol.

She has, at this point, drunk enough of the wine produced by Red Tree to know that she has perfectly recreated it. She's the peak lord of Zui Xian Peak. More than that, she has trained for almost her entire life to taste every note in a beverage, beyond what any other human, demon, or cultivator could. If she can't taste a difference, then there isn't a difference.

This is a perfect recreation of the wine produced by Red Tree.

It's perfect. It's exactly the same. She takes another careful sip, cycling her qi through her mouth as she does so, just to make sure. Then she takes a deep gulp, because she really has to make sure.

And it is. It's the same.

She lets out a loud whoop.

Her project stopped being a secret ages ago. She has thoroughly trampled her pride and eaten her previous words about fruit wine, and all the peak already knows about it. Embarrassing, sure, but it means that she can shout one more time and then leap to her feet.

She's in the fermentation field, surrounded by so many other deep brown pots full of various fermenting things. It makes for a lovely little obstacle course. Liao Qinglan leaps on top of the jar that her wine is in, jumps from the lid of one to another, landing light as a fluttering bird's wing. She keeps throwing her hands in the air, shouting and howling, stomping the ground.

It's been over two years, at this point, that she has been so focused and fixated on this one thing, and it's finally done. She finally did it. Fuck yeah, she's literally amazing. She did the thing that no one thought she could do.

The qu. It was the qu all along. Fascinating, because she has managed to get Red Tree to write out the whole process at this point, if only to make her shut up about it in all her letters. Liao Qinglan knows that Red Tree makes theirs the same way that the disciples of Zui Xian do. Or, well, because they make so many different types of alcohol here, they have multiple techniques for creating various types of qu. The one that Red Tree uses, though, the one from malted rice, is prepared exactly the same way that their malted rice one is. It's the one that both of them use in their preparation of wolfberry wine. There shouldn't be a difference. There really shouldn't be a difference here.

However, the qu is the part of the recipe that takes the longest to prepare. That's an important part of the process, allowing the malted rice cakes to sit in the dark until they color and dry out. It can take months before it is ready to be used. Out of any ingredient, the qu is the one that has the most time to take in the qualities of the environment its in, if you think about it that way.

Red Tree had said something about that, right at the beginning. That merely being in the Demon Realm made them better at this than Liao Qinglan. Actually, Shang Qinghua might have said something too, back when she was hearing about this amazing wine for the first time. Something about the location of the winery being the reason that it was so famously perfect.

Yan Yazhu comes running before Liao Qinglan can think any further on this, presumably because some disciple or another went to her and told her that the peak lord looked like she was having a qi deviation in the middle of the fermentation field. Tattle-tales.

Still, this is a good day, and she's happy to share. She doesn't need to solve every problem right now.

"Yan Yazhu! Come try! I figured it out!"

She can finally stop worrying about it.

*~*~*

She can't stop worrying about it.

If it's the qu that's causing the wine to taste as good as it does, then that's complicated. If it's the fact that the qu came from the Demon Realm that makes it taste so good, rather than some technology in the preparation or some secret ingredient, then what does that mean about the wine that Liao Qinglan finally managed to make?

If the thing that finally makes her wine good is the qu from the Demon Realm, then does that mean that she's going to be taking credit for a taste that she is actually incapable of creating?

Or, is it just like ordering a very special and rare ingredient from somewhere else? Maybe the act of incorporating it into her recipe means that she is making it her own, and can still take credit for it.

But, then again, the actual process of making the wine is no different between them. Red Tree does it the same way. There's no difference at all between the art the two of them are making, except that Red Tree's is better. Because it was made in the Demon Realm.

*~*~*

Red Tree,

If I pay you for some of the qu that you make and then start properly making my own wolfberry wine (instead of just as an experiment), what are the odds that I end up being attacked in the night by a very offended demon? Just trying to get an idea of how much of this would be considered stealing your recipes.

Liao Qinglan

Qinglan,

I get wolfberries from the Human Realm. This is stupid. Stop worrying.

Red Tree

Red Tree,

Got your letter. Can't believe you're being so quick to dismiss this. If I start making the same exact wine that you do then you'll lose a lot of your income. This is serious. I don't want to take a step and then realize later that it was a mistake.

Liao Qinglan

Qinglan,

I'm telling you it's fine. Everyone who makes wine has a similar recipe. If you're paying me for the qu, then I don't know why this is such a concern.

Red Tree

Red Tree,

Is there something I could provide in exchange? Feels like this is going to make a strange imbalance between us. We have a supplier for our wolfberries that provides high-quality fruit as long it is in season. I am willing to send you the name, as well as potential access to our base rice wines. Additionally, we could compare closer notes on the exact proportions of flavorings you're adding? See if we can perfect the combination together?

What are your thoughts on this?

Liao Qinglan

Qinglan,

Holy shit. I'll just talk to you about this in person tomorrow.

Red Tree

*~*~*

Shang Qinghua still isn't quite sure how he got to a place in his life where he is cleaning up after a wedding ceremony between himself and the Demon King of the Northern Deserts. It all feels like something of a whirlwind, even though they have spent the last few decades knowing each other better. Even though there is not a single part of their relationship that moved quickly.

Still, he feels somewhat in shock, as he starts to sort through all of the gifts and tributes that arrived to the palace. They were piled onto several large tables in the receiving room of the royal suites. The wedding was several days ago, but this is the first chance that Shang Qinghua has had to actually start going through everything. There will need to be thank you notes sent out and appropriate appreciation shown to the clans that actually impact their political standing.

Mobei-Jun is lounging on the bed in the other room, with the door wide open, so that he can watch and throw judgemental looks in Shang Qinghua's direction. He is not thrilled about the decision to begin doing important work again, rather than spending another day in bed.

It's several shichen into the work before Shang Qinghua stumbles across it. He's been picking through each table methodically, writing down detailed notes on each item as he encounters it, as well as who it is from, what he thinks should be done with it, and potential implications of this particular choice of wedding present.

The jar of wine, when he comes across it, is elegant but, overall, quite unassuming when compared to all the other presents. It isn't eye-catching all on its own. Simple and light brown, with a detailed impression of a wolfberry vine on the outside. It looks, at first glance, exactly like the jars of wine that Shang Qinghua procured so many times to bring to the monthly hangs with Liao Qinglan. Expensive, but worth it in the effort to rebuild one of the only friendships he was actually able to make. (He'd put so little effort into writing Liao Qinglan, when he first made the world, that meeting her in person was actually like getting to know a real person, for once.)

He only notices, after setting the bottle to the side and catching an inconsistency from the corner of his eye, that a new seal has been added to the rim of the bottle. Rather than the simple red wax seal with a tree pressed into it, it now features a high mountain peak, with a tree growing from the top.

When he checks the letter that came with the bottle, he sees that it is from both Liao Qinglan and Red Tree.

[occasionallysiren]

chat do we remember that one pyrite and captain flower fic i was writing last month? WELL I FINISHED IT!!!!!!!!! its like 1.4k yippeeeeee

ALSO I DREW A BIT FROM IT!!!!! /sillydram

"Oi, helmsman--"

"That's helmsman and quartermaster to you, dock worker."

"Sure, whatever--"

"But please, call me Pyrite."

Pyrite flashes the dock worker his most cunning smile. The man's easily double his age and just grimaces at him. Unperturbed, he goes to open his mouth again but Calypso knocks him upside the head as she walks down the gangplank.

"Hey." Pyrite frowns at rubs at the back of his head, dock worker all but forgotten. "Calypso--" he jumps the railing of The Undertow, not even bothering with the gangplank that's barely a foot to the right, and lands cleanly on his feet before stumbling to catch up with Calypso, whose combination of power walking and knowledge of how to move through a crowd has put him almost a quarters way down the city's crowded docks already.

Pyrite eventually catches up to them, a couple of silver richer, at the fork between the leftmost side of the docks and what seems like the beginning of the market district.

"Don't forget we're supposed to run this errand together, Calypso," Pyrite teases, brushing past her and into the market district, "you can't leave me in the dust this time."

"You'll have to walk faster, then."

Pyrite rolls his eyes and very pointedly walks directly in front of them.

----

Pyrite's eyes dance from stall to stall as he and Calypso walk through the packed street, squeezing past fellow pirates, commoners, hagglers, and more dockworkers. He lags behind them a bit. Calypso's not one for window shopping, Pyrite's learnt this evening, she knows what she's getting and where and how to get it, nothing else really matters in this case. Pyrite is quite the opposite.

His gaze once again catches, this time on a colourful little stall with wooden slats as the overhang, selling flowers. They're gorgeous, and his heart aches, just a bit. Captain would like them.

He slows to almost a stop, people in a rush brushing past his shoulder, as he weighs his options in his head, finger absently tapping against the handle of his dagger at his hip.

Calypso vanishes further into the crowd up ahead. Stolen silver pieces burn a hole in his pocket. The shopkeep notices his lingering and gives him a friendly, beconning wave. Pyrite bites at the edge of his lip, glancing once, twice, between the back of Calypso's head, getting steadily further away, and the blooming flowers.

The bouquet doesn't end up costing much, maybe a gold or two, but Pyrite smiles so sweetly and says they're a gift so that it only costs all of his recently stolen silver (like all of the money to his and the ship's name wasn't stolen).

He pays happily and bids the shopkeep farewell. He holds the bouquet close to his chest as he hurries after Calypso, a warm feeling crawling its way up his throat, making his face break out into a grin that he doesn't even bother to try and smother.

Calypso's no more than a clank of a sword in the wind at this point, but Pyrite knows where they'll be easy enough. And, in fact, when he finally finds the old stone storefront in this twisting kelp forest of a town, Calypso's stepping outside, package tucked under his arm.

Her eyebrows raise as they spot the flowers and Pyrite ignores her in favour of giving a nod in greeting.

"Got the goods?"

"Yes, I have it," he says and Pyrite smiles, relieved. Calypso walks down the stone steps and follows Pyrite's lead back through the swerving streets.

"The uh... guy didn't give you any trouble did they?" Pyrite asks as they walk, not so subtly eyeing her sword over the flowers blocking half his vision.

"No, it went smoothly."

"Good! That's good." Pyrite stumbles over his words slightly as they tumble out. He pretends that they didn't.

"How come you're so jittery?"

Pyrite snorts. "I'm not jittery," he says, like a liar.

Calypso thankfully doesn't elaborate and they walk the next 30 seconds in silence.

"The Captain will love them," she says, as if it were the only option. 

"Who said they were for Captain?"

"...I'm not even going to bother answering that."

"Rude."

They make it to the start of the market district in one piece, the bouquet only slightly jostled and Pyrite makes a sound in the back of his throat, it sounds an awful lot like he's thinking something through. 

"Mm, wonder what that dock worker wanted."

"The one you flirted with?"

"I wasn't flirting."

"Pyrite."

He tightens his grip on the flowers in his hands, paper scrunching slightly before he catches himself. "Shut up."

"...He was probably just asking for the Captain."

"...Who?"

"The dock worker."

"Oh. Probably."

The crowd around them surges as the docks come into view, the shouts from working people drowning out whatever conversation the two of them might have, and Pyrite might normally pay attention to them, but he's a bit... distracted.

His heart tugs as he spots The Undertow, half hidden behind others sails and ships. If he squints, he can see Captain on the deck.

Nervous. 

Why is he nervous? 

Pyrite's known Captain for most of his life, four years together, now. Three and a half with just the two of them on The Fathom, traipsing across the seas, and now a couple of months with The Undertow and more people on their crew then Pyrite's known in his entire life, which isn't saying much, but hey, the point still stands.

They kissed, once. Both of them had vowed to never speak of it again. Captain hated it. Pyrite thought they weren't half bad for just a moment before he saw their face.

"I'll go report the package to the Captain," Calypso says, slightly more audible, as they step aboard and Pyrite nods.

"Right."

There's very few people on the top deck, just him, Atti, and Egret, with the both of them fiddling with the sails and rigging. The rest of the crew must be below deck or with Captain in their quarters, Pyrite figures, only three of them left for errands today, so the rest are treating this as down time.

He doesn't follow Calypso, instead Pyrite hovers by the railing of the ship, facing the open sea, fiddling with a pink petal with his thumb and forefinger. He shouldn't be nervous, but for some reason his heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest and his stomach feels like it's going to explode, full of wriggling fish.

Pyrite smothers a groan in his throat and unceremoniously buries his face in the flowers. A couple of petals break off into his hair and drift away. 

It seems dumb to say it, but Pyrite really hasn't done anything extravagant for Captain outside of buying them this bouquet. He should change that. Gift things to them more often. He thinks they'd like it.

"Pyrite?"

Pyrite jumps, nearly dropping the bouquet in his haste to look up. It's Captain, because who else if not them?

"We need to get ready to leave port," they say immediately. "The High Flags are catching on to us."

"Shit, really?"

Captain nods, face steely. "Help out with Atticus on the rigging and then get ready to steer us out of here the second Cecile is back on deck."

Pyrite nods, a little teasingly, but no less meaningful. "Roger that, Captain." Captain offers him a small, mocking scoff and he grins.

They turn away and Pyrite's about to do the same to find Atti but the bouquet that he's forgotten makes itself forefront in his mind again, stopping his hands from reaching out for the rigging. 

"Oh." Captain turns back around, brows furrowed. "Right. H-here." Pyrite thrusts the bouquet into Captain's hands. "I bought them. They're for you."

Captain looks at the bouquet, head tilted down so he can't see their expression. Some traitorous part of him says to run. He ignores it. 

"You... bought me flowers?" Pyrite nods.

Captain considers the flowers for a moment, fish bubble up in Pyrite's chest.

They pluck a single flower from the bouquet and reach up to tuck it behind his ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek as they do so. Freckles pop and bloom where Captain kisses him as they step away. Pyrite ears flick and his nervous smile morphs into an admittedly far more lovesick one.

"Thank you," they say, taking a step away, coat moving around them in the soft wind, dislodging a petal or two.

"Of course," he says softly.