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heraxic · 11 months ago

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re8 as classical music

badly explained cause its 2am and i dont know musical terms.

Btw if anyone has any notes or other songs that would fit them id love to see it-

Ethan: Tchaikovsky - Marche Slave

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Slow start, Ethan is unknowingly ensnared in a trap. As he realizes the danger Rose (and himself) are in the song becomes tragic and determined. Fastpaced strings, frantic beats —like prey escaping from predator— keeps escalating into something more and more insurmountable. A hopeful jingle is heard as Ethan finds out he can still save his daughter. A heroic theme plays as he overcomes the horrors despite it all (a sense of control over the situation is marked by highpitched anxious flutes superimposed by a deep stable horn). Then comes the first faceoff with Miranda who taunts him and Ethan’s tragic hero theme comes to a grinding halt as his heart gets pulled out of his chest. The drums pick up again and the little soldier is off to his final battle.

Mia: Claude Debussy - Clair De Lune

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Sadly the real Mia doesn’t appear much. In the Winters home, Ethan writes that Mia doesn’t want to talk about what they went through in Louisiana, which leaves him with a lot of questions unanswered. In the flashback where she desperately tries reaching out saying ‘𝘺𝘰𝘶 matter’, she still can’t help keeping secrets- maybe out of fear that Ethan wouldn’t let it go (being extremely persistent) and they’d never return to normal. The song is heartbreaking and sad as she struggles coming to terms with the guilt and grief over what she’s done and what the one she loves went through because of it. On a last somber note, her child, who takes after her father both in looks and unresolved powers, is all she has left.

Rose: Saint-Saëns - Le Cygne

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A little girl whos only ever known unconditional, all encompassing love. Even before her birth, it was known that her life would be full of uncertainty. Though stolen away for possessing powers she’s not even aware of yet, she continues to live and provide a beacon of hope for her family.

Chris: Richard Wagner - Ride of the Valkyries

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Comes in the dead of night and rains hell on the Winters home. In his eyes, he’s doing the right thing, but has made himself the villain to the one he was trying to protect (victorious trumpets superimposed by high fearful strings). The transport gets intercepted by Miranda and the music falls. Once Chris finally explains himself to Ethan they’re allowed a brief bit of victory (steadier horn) as their combined efforts take down Miranda’s last line of defense (Heisenberg). In the end, Chris has to live with the victory of taking down the megamycete, the guilt and grief over Ethan’s death/sacrifice, and the troubling news from BSAA. A tainted victory.

Alcina: Tchaikovsky - Swan Lake

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Appears first as a noble elegant socialite. She’s at the height of her power, owns a castle and three daughters and believes herself to be Miranda’s favorite. It’s business as usual, calm serene music. Suddenly an outsider has made his way into her home, killing her daughters one by one. She reaches out to Miranda, who only cares about the stupid ceremony, and realizes everything she knew was a lie. Anger and frustration builds. The music deepens, falls and rises again as she transforms, tries taking revenge on Ethan and fails, having lost everything in one evening.

Bela, Cassandra, Daniela: Rimsky Korsakov - Flight of the Bumblebee

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Self explanatory. Hurried, manic and playful.

Donna: Tchaikovsky - Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy

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Entrancing but with eerie insidious undertones. Fitting for the childlike dollmaker and her little porcelain friends. Ends with a fast and chilling theme for the twisted game of hide and seek

Moreau: Edvard Grieg - Hall of the Mountain King

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Quiet, lumbering and slow. Ethan takes the Rose flask back easily; threatened with losing Mother Miranda it very quickly escalates as panic sets in and Moreau throws everything he has at him. The music swells and ends with a bang.

Karl: Aram Khachaturian - Masquerade Suite

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A bold start. Right from the beginning he exudes arrogance, charisma and danger. He plays nice in front of Miranda with a waltz that picks up in intensity when putting Ethan through his first gauntlet. Then the tone gets deeper and quieter for a moment, as he plots in secret; it’s finally time to set his plan in action. It’s a race to the finish line as Ethan tears through the other lords, unknowingly playing right into Miranda’s plan. Realizing he could be a particularly useful asset/ally, Heisenberg puts him through the second gauntlet. The music is sadistically playful as he tests his will and endurance. Upon failing to recruit Ethan, the music picks up for the third gauntlet and ends with a bang, as Karl dies at the hands of Miranda.

Duke: Georges Bizet - Votre Toast

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A friendly face unfitting in a place such as this. The upbeat and energetic theme sticks out like a sore thumb among the others. Whimsy and grandiosity acts as a brilliant facade for his enigmatic true nature. Though the jolly merchant schtick may be a lie, he always delivers on service.

Miranda: Sergei Prokofiev - Dance of the Knights

https://youtu.be/bBsKplb2E6Q?si=jnSpMO-bIhEcjJzb

Immediately imposes a sense of authority and dread. The dark theme plays over and over as she performs the same cruel experiments expecting different results, though it only succeeds in remowing her further from humanity. She imagines a world of pure bliss in acquiring her child, which at this point is as illusory as chasing the holy grail since she’s never satisfied. When she hears of Rose she schemes her way into the Winters home, elated to find the perfect vessel after a century of searching. She steals the child away, leaving behind a trail of destruction that finally catches up to her.

#re8 #re8 ethan winters #ethan winters #re8 mia #re8 rose #re8 chris redfield #re8 alcina #lady dimitrescu #re8 donna #re8 moreau #re8 karl heisenberg #re8 heisenberg #re8 duke #re8 mother miranda #classical music

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gravitywonagain · 4 months ago

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Sake and Cider at Sunrise

(a Fresh Powder in the Pine Trees story)

“Tomorrow morning, what are you doing?”

Lan Zhan is sitting at his desk in the middle of reading through something that looks exceedingly boring. Probably budget reports or something equally dull. Wei Ying isn't interrupting him so much as saving him.

Wei Ying half-sits on the edge of the desk as he grabs the paperwork from Lan Zhan’s hands and skims it. It is a budget report.

“I --” Lan Zhan reaches to take the report back, but Wei Ying is faster, pulling it away as he interrupts whatever Lan Zhan was about to say.

“Nope. The answer is ‘meeting Wei Ying at Dafan for fresh pow.’”

He grins as Lan Zhan lets out a small sigh, his shoulders slumping under the burden that is being Wei Ying’s friend.

In the most deadpan manner possible, Lan Zhan looks at Wei Ying and repeats, “Meeting Wei Ying at Dafan for fresh pow.”

Wei Ying bursts out laughing, almost falling off the desk, “You should say ‘pow’ way more often. I’ll die. It’s amazing,” he says, getting control over himself again. “Okay. But really. You wanna go?”

“I… sure. What time?”

“You’re gonna love this: Meet me there at five-thirty.”

The confusion on Lan Zhan’s face is understandable.

“In the morning?”

“In the morning.”

The skepticism is... also understandable, if a little dramatic.

“You, and I quote, ‘hate waking up before dawn with the fire of the noonday sun which is way better than the dawn sun anyway.’”

Wei Ying laughs again, “I can’t believe you remember all that!”

Lan Zhan’s expression shifts to one part it’s true so what the fuck are you on about with this five-thirty nonsense, one part am I being pranked?, and one part I listen to the things you say and Wei Ying isn’t quite sure what to do with any of that.

“But, yeah, that’s true. Unless it’s for powder. I will do many things for good powder.”

Now Lan Zhan looks like he’s filing that bit of information away for later, which is not concerning in the least. He turns his body to face Wei Ying and gives him his full attention. It’s a lot.

“Okay. What should I bring?”

Right. Backcountry.

“Any gear you would want for hiking and powder skiing. You can borrow Wen Ning’s skins and bindings, I already asked. They won’t be perfect, but they’ll do for now, and I’ve got beacons and shit that I can lend you. You’ve done avalanche safety, right?”

“Every year since I was twelve.”

“Wow, say that with a little more disdain, Lan Zhan.”

“It was a requirement in school and now a requirement for my certifications.”

Wei Ying chuckles at the weird contempt Lan Zhan has for his many certs and their annual requirements. “Okay. Well, maybe this will make it feel more worth it.”

“If you say so.” Lan Zhan does not sound convinced.

“I do! The snow report looks epic!”

“Epic?”

There’s a small quirk in the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth that makes Wei Ying’s heart beat faster.

Wei Ying nods, “Epic, Lan Zhan.”

“I hope you don’t mean that in the alpinist sense.”

In the alpinist sense, “epic” would mean that they hike, get lost, someone’s binding breaks, a freak storm hits, they have to dig in for the night, they leave at least one piece of gear on the mountain to be found in the spring, and, eventually, they make it back to the cars, hungry, tired, and probably after running into their own search party on the way down. This is absurd. Lan Zhan is such a fucking nerd. Wei Ying has no idea what he sees in him.

He rolls his eyes but can’t quite keep himself from smiling, “When have I ever meant anything in the alpinist sense?”

Finding out Lan Zhan was a budding alpinist had been almost as bad as the minor panic Wei Ying had over the golfing scare with Jin Zixuan. Who wants to freeze their ass off, crossing crevasses on stupidly unstable ladders and getting hypoxic, just to stand on top of a mountain? Lan Zhan, apparently.

“I will get you on big mountains one day.”

“Only if I can ride down.”

“Hm.”

Lan Zhan narrows his eyes, calculating but smug. Like he’s just won, or figured out how to win but needs to adjust his strategy.

Wei Ying kind of hates it. But it’s kind of captivating, too, and hot. Very hot.

Especially when Lan Zhan leans in slightly and Wei Ying mirrors him, caught in the gravity of Lan Zhan’s sharp gaze. Lan Zhan’s eyes flick to Wei Ying’s lips and Wei Ying is about to say something about them being in the fucking Ski School office when, suddenly, Lan Zhan snatches the budget reports out of Wei Ying’s hands and leans back in his chair.

Smug, indeed.

It’s still dark when Wei Ying pulls into the Dafan parking lot in his and the Wens’ well-loved, mostly-red ‘98 Subaru Outback. Did he make fun of Wen Qing for being a stereotype when she bought it? Yes. Does he love driving it around the mountains because it is, objectively, a good mountain car? Also, yes. Of course, next to Lan Zhan’s clean, white 2018 Jeep Cherokee, it looks like an absolute beater.

Wei Ying looks at the clock on the dash as he cuts the engine. 05:27. Fuck yeah. He zips up his jacket, grabs the two thermoses from the passenger seat, and gets out of the car to meet Lan Zhan where he’s lifting the Jeep’s hatchback.

It’s cold and quiet. Dark. The sun hasn’t even really started lighting the sky yet. Wei Ying breathes in the mountain air, pine trees and snow and granite, and lets it freeze his lungs for a moment. His shoes crunch on the snow and gravel as he walks toward Lan Zhan.

“Good morning, Sunshine!”

“Good morning, Wei Ying. You’re… awake.”

Wei Ying smiles at Lan Zhan’s surprise, “Yeah, well, I drove here, so I sure hope so.”

“Mn.”

Their breath condenses in the air and swirls in the light from Lan Zhan’s open door.

Wei Ying hands the cleaner, less dented, stolen from Wen Qing thermos to Lan Zhan, then turns to open his own hatchback to begin sorting through his own gear.

He can see Lan Zhan out of the corner of his eyes as he does. Standing as if frozen, with the thermos held out in front of him, confusion radiating off him like body heat.

“A Wei Family treat for the top!” says Wei Ying.

It doesn't seem to clear up Lan Zhan's questions.

“Okay, well, yours is just tea, you fucking lightweight." Never. He will never let it go. "But mine is sake and cider!”

Lan Zhan's eyebrow pops up, but it's an expression of curiosity rather than confusion. Wei Ying doesn't let himself think for too long about how well he can read Lan Zhan's silences these days. Or how fucking sculpted Lan Zhan's cheekbones and jaw are.

“My dad used to make up thermoses for my mom when she was backyard touring. He made them when we were all together, too, and let me have sips at the top.”

“Of sake?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t much, just a taste. But now it’s a tradition.”

Lan Zhan nods and sets the thermos down on the bumper of the jeep as he gathers his gear. He, as it turns out, already had touring bindings and skins, or his brother did, so they’re actually more prepared than Wei Ying had planned for, which is perfect.

“You’re gonna have your own gear by the end of the season,” says Wei Ying with a grin.

“Am I?”

“You are. And it’s going to be all the really nice, expensive stuff and I’m gonna be so jealous.”

“Hm. We’ll see.”

—

The hike starts out smooth, though Lan Zhan struggles a bit with the grade of the climb. Wei Ying cheats a little by putting his own climbing bars up, "Stiletto mode," he calls it, and Lan Zhan grumbles even though he's not the one breaking trail.

“Have you ever actually worn stilettos?” Lan Zhan asks.

“Oh, Honey, just wait until you see me in drag. You will lose your gotdamn mind.”

Lan Zhan is mostly silent as they hike. Wei Ying lets the quiet linger.

It's early. They're surrounded by soft, fluffy powder. The air is still and freezing.

By the time they're halfway up the hill, they can turn off and stow their headlamps, the cold light of dawn shading everything blue. When they reach the top, the sun is peeking over the ridgeline, painting the sky and snow with pinks and purple, gilding the moutnains across the valley, sparkiling on the calm lake water in the distance.

Wei Ying drops his pack, fishing out his thermos and watching Lan Zhan do the same. He takes off his gloves to unscrew the cap, to press the release and pour himself a little cup of nostalgia.

The hike wasn't particualrly long or arduous. He feels his legs engaged, not tired. They still protest when he sits, though the chill of the snow through his snowpants eases some of their complaints. The sake eases them further.

Lan Zhan's eyes fall closed as he sips his tea, still standing, skis and poles stabbed upright into the snow next to him.

"This is nice," he says, and Wei Ying thinks he's not talking about the tea.

He's so beautiful in the morning light. It might be worth waking up early just to see him like this: serene in the cold, lit gold by the sun.

Steam rises from his thermos cap, turning his nose pink.

"Yeah," says Wei Ying, "yeah, it is."

After a calm moment, they begin to strip the skins off, the ripping sound loud in the near silent valley. Wei Ying shows Lan Zhan how to fold them in on themselves so that they won't stick to anything and everything in his pack.

When Wei Ying grabs his toolkit and gets to work switching his bindings around, Lan Zhan asks if he can try Wei Ying's drink.

Well, no. He asks if he can try the "Wei Family treat," but Wei Ying can't think about that too hard right now. He just grins and asks, "You gonna pass out on me at the top of this mountain, Lan Zhan?"

"Just a small sip," Lan Zhan says, taking the proffered thermos.

The face he makes rivals the cute scrunching of his nose when he tried beer for the first time.

“This is not sake or apple cider," he says, disdain and distrust in his voice.

Wei Ying laughs, “It is!”

“No, this is brewed rice alcohol and instant cider mix.”

“You’ve seen my car. You think I can afford good alcohol?”

“I think this is closer to a cleaning solution than food grade,” he says, sniffing the thermos, wincing dramatically, and then handing it back to Wei Ying.

Wei Ying takes the thermos laughing, “Not all of us own a mountain, Lan Zhan!”

He loves bitchy Lan Zhan. He does not understand how Lan Zhan has managed to convince everybody that he’s all serious and stoic all the time.

“Real sake need not be expensive,” Lan Zhan says, sounding exactly as rich as he is.

“Like you’ve ever even tasted ‘real’ sake,” Wei Ying shoots back with a smile.

“I’m not sure I’ve tasted any sake.”

Wei Ying snorts into a new bout of laughter and drops to his knees in the snow next to his splitboard. He giggles his way through configuring it back into a snowboard shape while Lan Zhan adjusts his ski bindings.

“Alright,” says Wei Ying when he calms himself enough to speak, “Are you going to keep making fun of me? Or are we going to get some sunrise fresh tracks?”

“Just waiting for you to finish minor surgery on your gear.”

Wei Ying has to stop strapping in because he can’t breathe. It’s the deadpan snark that just fucking kills him. That bone-dry delivery. That playful glint in his honey-brown eyes. That deep, smooth baritone. Getting off track.

“Okay, punchy,” he says with his arms resting on his knees and his lungs labored with his amusement, “Is this what alcohol does to you before you pass out? Do we need to wait for you to sober up from your single, tiny sip?”

Lan Zhan makes a face that is somehow haughty and embarrassed and unimpressed all while saying fuck you with his eyes.

Wei Ying loves it.

“You’re so fucking cute,” Wei Ying says to no one in particular as he stands and clips the chest strap of his back pack together. He checks himself, looks around their spot. Nothing looks out of place.

He shakes the adrenaline into his arms, feeling the moment shift. Lan Zhan, too, seems to feel the change in mood as he adjusts his goggles on his face. They share a look, a nod. It feels as natural as the smell of pine trees on the breeze.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says with a smile, “let’s go.”

Wei Ying hops his board once, takes a deep breath of cold mountain air, drops his nose into the bowl, and floats.

Riding in untracked powder down a steep, open slope is one of his favorite things in life. He carves into the mountain and feels it carry him. His toe-edge cuts through the powder and he leans into the slope, dragging his hand through the snow just to catch it on his glove. It’s light, airy, cold. The wind rushes in his ears and he hears his own heartbeat.

His shoulders roll with the turns and his hips follow, easy as anything, used to this from years and years of muscle memory. He cruises down the slope, big easy turns, powder spraying in his wake. The sun is still lancing its rays across the mountain and it sparkles with the colors of dawn. He flows with it. His knees bend into the stretch, toes curling in his boots, weight shifting without him ever having to think about it.

He sees Lan Zhan fly past him and the cold stings his lungs. Lan Zhan is beautiful in motion. This is not the first time he’s thought this. But, here, in Wei Ying’s world of quiet mountains and fresh powder, Lan Zhan is beautiful. His turns are clean and graceful, a slow rhythm building when he plants a pole.

For a moment, Wei Ying sees his baba.

When he meets Lan Zhan at the bottom of the hill, Wei Ying is smiling so hard he can’t control it. He, very carefully, does not spray Lan Zhan with snow when he stops, choosing to stop down mountain on his toes. There will be more laps. This one he wants to be as smooth and perfect as their first tracks. He wants so badly for Lan Zhan to be happy, to be enjoying this with him.

“What do you think?” he asks, trying not to let his anticipation color his voice.

Lan Zhan turns toward him, then looks back up at the mountain, then back to Wei Ying. It’s not easy to see behind the goggles, but there’s a fire lit inside him.

He smiles at Wei Ying. It’s small, a twitch of his lips, but real and young and happy. The same almost childish exuberance colors his voice when he says, “Again.”

The second lap is excellent, not only because Wei Ying gets to stare at Lan Zhan’s ass for the entire hike up, but also because the ride down is just as floaty, just as soft and perfect and breathtaking as the first. He does manage to spray Lan Zhan with powder this time and Lan Zhan’s unimpressed face kills Wei Ying for a second time before 8am.

The sun shines bright in the sky on the third hike up and already the heat is rising. They begin to strip layers even before they start the climb -- jackets stowed in backpacks as they each drink some water and reset their gear.

Wei Ying’s shirt comes off about halfway up the mountain.

At the top, Wei Ying finds that Lan Zhan’s insulation layer has been tied around his waist and that there’s a silver necklace chain barely visible under the collar of his henley.

When he asks about it, Lan Zhan takes his gloves off and pulls it free. It’s a family necklace, he explains, a diamond and aquamarine accented platinum snowflake on a platinum chain. His brother has a matching one, so do his father and uncle.

He trails off and Wei Ying thinks there’s more to the story, but he doesn’t want to press. Not now. Not the time.

They glide down the slope, crossing nobody’s tracks but their own. It’s quiet and peaceful and it’s just them. Only them. A perfect kind of solitude.

It’s not until the fifth hike up that Lan Zhan finally gives in to the heat.

Their muscles and bodies are warm from exertion, midday is truly upon them. In the rising temperatures Lan Zhan stops climbing, plants his poles and starts removing his pack.

The sudden cessation of hiking noise and the sliding plastic sound of a backpack buckle behind him causes Wei Ying to stop and turn. When he does, he sees Lan Zhan, gloves stowed on his grips, shirt coming off over his head, winter-pale skin shining in the high noon sun. (Best sun. Best sun for so many reasons now.)

Wei Ying’s brain breaks a little.

It’s one thing to know that someone is an athlete. It is another to see the sculpted muscle and lean lines that that entails. It’s a third to see all of that for the first time surrounded by mountains and powder and pine trees and perfectly lit by winter sunlight and the surrounding snow. Wei Ying wishes he had his camera.

“The Heavens have blessed us this day.”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan sounds both pleased and annoyed as he tucks his shirt into his backpack. The gemstone snowflake hangs between his collarbones, askew from his movement.

“Seriously, Lan Zhan. Holy fuck. How is that fair?”

The man has a six-pack and sex lines and still manages to look genuinely confused by Wei Ying’s reaction. The audacity.

“I bet you have a gym in your house, don’t you.”

“I do,” Lan Zhan says easily, putting his gloves back on and drawing attention to his forearms. As if Wei Ying weren’t already absurdly attracted to him.

“Oh, fuck off.”

Lan Zhan’s shoulders and chest and arms flex as he pulls his poles out of the snow and gestures with one up the hill. It doesn’t even look deliberate which drives Wei Ying crazy. His snow pants sit low on his hips and Wei Ying wants, almost desperately, for a reason to make Lan Zhan go first so he can check out his back muscles as he hikes. Nothing comes to mind. He settles for maybe, possibly, getting a repeat wardrobe change on their next lap.

Fuck, he wants to see those muscles work.

“Yeah,” Wei Ying lets his eyes drag over Lan Zhan one more time before turning back up the trail, “I’m gonna go bury my head in the snow to cool off now. Thanks. Where’s an avalanche when you need one?” He stabs his poles into the snow and grabs his t-shirt from his waistband.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting my fucking shirt back on. I have enough self-esteem issues, thank --”

“Don’t.”

There’s something in Lan Zhan’s voice that forces Wei Ying to turn and look at him. Something vulnerable and raw.

“Don’t?”

“Please,” he says softly, “I like looking at you.”

Wei Ying feels speared open by that. He feels… The blush that creeps up his chest is bared already.

“Aiya, Lan Zhan. How are you so fucking sincere?”

Pink graces Lan Zhan’s ears as he holds Wei Ying’s eyes. He says nothing. He doesn’t look away.

Wei Ying gives.

“Okay. Okay, the shirt’s staying off.”

When they reach the peak and start stripping the skins off their skis, Wei Ying does, in fact, stick his face in the snow. It only helps a little.

They finish after a sixth lap.

Lan Zhan does take off his shirt again as he leads the hike up.

Wei Ying, somehow, doesn’t die about it.

The next day, after lessons are closed, Lan Zhan meets him by the instructor lockers and hands him the thermos he’d taken home. When Wei Ying grabs it, it’s heavier than he expects and it sloshes like it’s full. He quirks an eyebrow at Lan Zhan, but Lan Zhan just nods at it, clearly waiting for Wei Ying to take a sip. So he does.

It’s hot and sweet and… alcoholic? It’s smooth and thick, but not syrupy, and smells spiced.

“This is delicious, Lan Zhan!”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan looks smug as hell and says, “That is sake and cider.”

Wei Ying’s laughter can probably be heard all the way in HR, he shakes so hard with it.

He loves it when Lan Zhan is a bitch.

#wangxian #mdzs #the untamed #fanfiction #ski resort au #fpitpt #my writing #shitty sake and cider is a my family tradition and yes my dad did let me have some even when i was pretty young #ours was indeed cider packets mixed with really awful sake #i have since had a better version #but this will always be the best version for the top of the mountain right before you strap in and ride down

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officialleehadan · 5 months ago

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Light the Beacons

This isn’t HGE but it’s got a similar flavor. No idea where it came from. Might or might not continue it.

+++

“Enough of this.”

The battle was all but lost. Ice crept towards the castle in an oncoming wave of daggers, controlled by enemies that no mage could hope to face. The cruelties of winter, whispered about in the oldest stories, had revealed themselves at last.

To think, humanity once told stories of the walking trees, of the ancient monsters that hunted the furthest northern forests, and laughed to themselves that they had conquered the world.

That was before a war no one remembered any longer blackened the skies. Before the bombs fell. Before the summer became a story that they told in the same breath as fairytales. Before sunlight became rare, and precious, and barely warm enough to feel, but still so welcome.

That was before the monsters of legend crept back out of hiding. They ended the fight with their own glee at the scattered, broken, people who now fought to survive. People-eaters, many of them. Eager for new, weak prey that knew not how to battle them back.

Not all of the monsters were cruel though, and a few, a very few, were the saving of humanity in those early days.

Dryads could be bribed, sometimes. Them and the beings of the gentler lands. Cradled in humanity’s few bastions of light, where the sun showed itself sometimes, beneath the great swirling dust storms. Greenhouse domes provided food the world desperately needed, tended by people who once spent their lives on other things.

The monsters though, they returned as well, and they were a threat that humanity was not prepared for.

But even in the end of the world, love will find a way.

Helix, whose real name was unpronounceable by anyone with a human tongue, appeared first as a human among the masses of people seeking refuge in the great walled cities that rose up as humanity fortified. He was not the only inhuman creature to slip through the hasty safeguards that were put on the gates, but he was by far the most dangerous.

After all, a dragon was a formidable force and not one that could easily be faced, even by the few weapons the city still boasted.

It was fortunate that he was injured when he arrived, and the first person he met was the son of the mayor, who had been a doctor before the bombs fell, and survived the fallout only to spend his days working to help the needy who desperately prayed for any sense of the lives they once lived.

With gentle hands and kind jokes and an easy smile, Alexi made friends with what he thought was just one more person beneath his hands. With a softness few allowed themselves, he fell in love with a ragged young man who joined him in the medic tents and promised, oddly serious, that the city would never again need to fear the monsters beyond the walls.

It was an empty promise, Alexi thought at the time, but he accepted his new friend’s promises, and later his kisses when friendship turned to stealing what little happiness was left to them between long hours and desperate times. Alexi held his lover close when monsters stormed the walls and took comfort in the strange heat of Helix’s tall body as their death came towards them in unspeakable, howling throngs.

Until Helix turned, a strange, sad smile on his face as he kissed Alexi, slow and sweet and heartbreaking in a way that Alexi could not truly name.

“I promised you,” he had whispered, and then he stepped forward to the edge of the wall. “I promised this city would never fall.”

Alexi screamed his name when Helix leapt from the walls and screamed again for a different reason when his lover, tan-skinned and broad-shouldered, always too warm and with eyes that seemed to glow when the light hit them, wreathed himself in flames as he fell.

When he rose again, it was as a creature of myth, with fire between his teeth.

For all Alexi’s imaginings as a child, as he read books and watched movies that spoke of dragons, he never truly understood the power of a dragon in full rage.

Helix made pass after pass on blue wings, marked with ripples of silver that followed the edge of each scale until he almost resembled a flying treasure trove of sapphires, set in silver.

At least, he was silver, until he unleashed the fury of the fire in his chest, and turned his glittering silver edges to liquid gold, dancing in the heat of his flames.

The land around the city burned as he swooped low, white flames trailing from his jaws. The monsters cringed back and tried to flee, but he chased them, ignored the way they flung great spies at him. ignored the ruby blood that showered free when they scored hits that bit through even his sapphire armor.

The sky was orange now, the hot flames reflected off the ever-present haze until all the world seemed to burn.

It wasn’t until the monsters finally retreated, their numbers devastated by the flames of a single dragon who would not allow his home to fall, that Helix finally came to ground.

His cry of pain pushed Alexi through any fear he might have had, and he ran to his dragon’s side, his medical kit in one hand, and a blanket, for all the good it might do, in the other.

When Helix trembled, bloodied and exhausted but triumphant, at his approach, Alexi knew he made the right choice.

(Are you afraid of me now?) Helix whispered in his mind as Alexi tried to find some way to stem the blood from Helix’s many wounds, taken defending the people who now watched him in terror from the high walls. Walls which would do nothing against a dragon, but for that dragon’s love for them and the people within. (I am a monster like the ones you fear.)

“In scales or skin, you’re mine,” Alexi promised, surprised by his own fierceness and the truth of his words. He knew this man. This dragon. He knew how Helix kissed, and the way his blue eyes went soft when he played with the children, and the shine of fire on silver and sapphire scales. “I know you, in this form or any other.”

Helix huffed, something like a laugh if it was in a smaller body, and trembled again. At first, Alexi feared he was giving in to his injures, but instead, he was shrinking down, his scales fading away until there was nothing but torn clothing and tanned skin behind and Helix looked as he had when Alexi first met him, down in the hastily-built medical tents.

“This city and the people here are my Hoard and my treasure,” he whispered when Alexi wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and held his lover close despite the blood, and the way his skin was fever-hot with the fire inside him. “But you are my heart and I swear to you, no monster will ever come to this place again.”

#Writing #Lee Hadan #fantasy #scifi #spilled ink #writing prompts

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selmasemlan · 5 months ago

Text

Moonlight Conversations

Summary: A conversation about the future shows us how much Marcel and Luna love each other.

Pairing: Marcel Gerard x Luna Salvatore (OFC)

Author note: Don't you just love when a couple is healthy

Warning: nothing

Word count: 1099

Series Masterlist

Moonlight Conversations

The cool night air slipped through the open window of Marcel's loft, carrying with it the distant hum of New Orleans nightlife. Inside, the world felt still. The soft lighting bathed the room in a warm, intimate glow, casting gentle shadows that swayed with the breeze.

Luna had been away for months, traveling the world with Isaac and Stiles, searching for peace amidst the chaos that always seemed to follow her. And now, she was finally back.

Marcel had been waiting, counting down the days until he could see her again. The moment she walked through the door of the loft, it was like the missing piece of him had returned. He pulled her into a tight embrace, never wanting to let go.

Now, they were curled up on the couch, a cozy blanket draped over them. Luna’s head rested on Marcel’s chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles against his shirt. His arm wrapped securely around her, holding her close as if to remind himself that she was really here.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here,” Marcel whispered, his voice soft with a mixture of relief and contentment. He gently ran his fingers through her hair, savoring the feeling of her warmth against him.

“I know,” Luna replied, her voice equally tender as she tilted her head to look up at him. “It feels like forever since we’ve been able to just relax like this.”

Marcel smiled down at her, his eyes filled with affection. “Tell me everything,” he urged. “I want to hear about every little detail I’ve missed.”

Luna’s lips curled into a soft smile, her eyes sparkling with love. “Well, Beacon Hills is as chaotic as ever,” she began, settling more comfortably against his chest. “Isaac’s learning how to control his emotions better, but Stiles… well, he’s still Stiles.”

Marcel chuckled, the sound a deep rumble that Luna felt beneath her cheek. “I never doubted you’d be able to handle them. You always do. You’re strong, Moonlight—stronger than you know.”

Luna smiled, leaning into his touch. Hearing Marcel call her "Moonlight" never failed to warm her heart. It was a name only he used, a reflection of how he saw her—a guiding light in his life.

As they continued talking, the hours slipped by unnoticed. The conversation flowed effortlessly, their words a steady rhythm of connection and shared memories. Luna recounted her adventures on the road, the supernatural threats she had faced, and how she’d missed the familiarity of New Orleans. Marcel, in turn, shared stories from the Quarter, about the shifting dynamics in the vampire community, and how things had changed while she was away.

“You know,” Luna began, a playful smile tugging at her lips, “I still remember that time we got lost in the bayou.”

Marcel’s laughter filled the loft, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “How could I forget? We thought we’d never make it back. That’s when I knew I was in trouble,” he teased. “That’s when I realized I was falling for you.”

Luna’s heart fluttered, her cheeks warming as she reached up to cup his face, her thumb tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “I love you, Marcel,” she whispered, her voice filled with the depth of her emotion.

Marcel’s eyes softened as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. “I love you too, Moonlight. More than you’ll ever know.”

They stayed like that for a while, exchanging quiet words and gentle touches. Their connection was deeper now than it had ever been before—a bond forged through time, trust, and love. Even after months apart, they felt closer than ever.

As the conversation slowed, the two shifted positions, Luna now lying with her back against Marcel’s chest, his arms wrapped securely around her waist. She sighed contentedly, feeling safe in the strength of his embrace. The world outside was distant; in this moment, it was just the two of them.

“Do you ever think about the future?” Luna asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she traced patterns on his arm.

“Every day,” Marcel replied, his breath warm against her hair. “And you’re always at the center of it.”

Luna’s heart swelled at his words, but she could hear a note of uncertainty in his voice. She lifted her head slightly to look at him, her expression tender. “What are you thinking about?” she asked, her tone gentle, knowing that whatever it was weighed on his heart.

Marcel sighed, his fingers tightening slightly around her as he searched for the right words. “I’ve been thinking… about us. About settling down. Maybe having a family.” His voice was quiet, as if he wasn’t sure if the idea was even possible.

Luna’s heart skipped a beat. She turned fully in his arms, their eyes locking. “Marcel, we can make that happen,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “We’ll figure it out together.”

A shadow of doubt passed over Marcel’s face. “But I’m a vampire, Luna. I don’t know if we could ever…”

Luna placed a hand on his cheek, silencing his worries with a gentle touch. “We’ll find a way,” she promised. “Whether it’s adoption, or maybe there’s something else we can do. We’ll explore every option. Together.”

Marcel gazed at her, his heart swelling with hope. The way she spoke, so sure, so full of love and determination, made him believe that maybe—just maybe—they could have the future they dreamed of.

“You really believe that?” Marcel asked, his voice tinged with hope he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before.

“Absolutely,” Luna replied, her eyes shining with certainty. “I love you, Marcel. And there’s nothing we can’t face together.”

Overwhelmed by her words, Marcel leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender, lingering kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the love and promise they held for each other, a silent vow that no matter what the future held, they would face it side by side.

Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms, the world around them quiet and still. The conversation turned to lighter topics—memories of the past, dreams of the future, plans for the coming days. The hours melted away, their laughter blending with the soft hum of the city outside.

Eventually, as the moon climbed higher in the sky, they drifted off to sleep, still wrapped in each other’s embrace. The night air filled the loft, cool and refreshing, but inside, all was warmth and love.

In the quiet of the loft, their hearts beat in perfect harmony, their shared dreams of a future together closer than ever.

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darksaiyangoku · 2 years ago

Text

RWBY: Patience

Jaune laid on his bed after rough day of training. Ozpin took control of Oscar today and ramped his and Noctis's training tenfold. Even with his fast healing, he still felt sore. Sitting next to him was Yang, staring at him quizzically.

Yang: Jaune? You okay?

Jaune: Huh? O-Oh yeah, I-I'm fine. *sits up* W-Why? What's up?

Yang: ...that's what I was gonna ask you. You invited me to your room and didn't say a word to me since.

Jaune: Oh. Um, well, I... I kinda wanted to talk about what we're dealing with.

Yang: The Haven situation?

Jaune: Not just that. It's everything. I mean, just last year, the only thing we had to worry about were Team CRDL being a bunch of jerks. Now we find out there are gods, girls who can do magic, these relic things and a witch to top it all off. *deep sigh* I'm starting to think we're in way over our heads.

Jaune felt an oddly warm touch of metal and looked down to see Yang holding his hand. He looked back up and saw her frowning. Her lilac eyes looked dull, as if all the joy had left her.

Yang: To tell you the truth, I think so too. All I really wanted to do was get Ruby back. But now we're dragged back into this mess and it's not gonna get any easier.

Jaune: Well... what's stopping us from walking away from this? We don't have to do this, you know? We could all just start fresh. Let Ozpin deal with this himself.

Yang shook her head. She couldn't believe how selfish he was sounding right now.

Yang: Jaune, listen to me, *turns to face him* if we really could walk away from this, don't you think we would've done it already? This isn't exactly how I imagined ending up. But if we're not gonna stand up to Salem, who else is there?

Jaune: There has to be some other huntsmen and huntresses more capable than us, though. Why would Ozpin put his faith in a bunch of kids?

Yang: Because we've faced these dangers and we know it better than they do. Think about what we've lost. Vale, Lucis, Beacon. It's all gone now. *clenches fist* If we don't join him, all of Remnant is gonna end up just like them or worse... and that's not a world I want to live in.

Jaune stared into Yang's eyes and turned himself to her. A newfound fire was burning in his heart.

Jaune: I don't wanna live in that world either. I'm just scared.

Yang: So am I. *smiles* But we're not facing this alone. Haven won't fall like Beacon did.

Jaune and Yang continued staring into each other's eyes. They leaned in closer and Yang closed hers. Jaune was about to do the same, but hesitated and dragged himself back. Yang momentarily opened her eyes and gasped faintly. What were they doing?

Yang; Oh no. J-Jaune, I'm so sorry-

Jaune: N-No, that was my fault. I shouldn't have-

Yang: No don't say that I- I should probably go.

Jaune: Yang, wait!

Yang shook her head and reached for the door, frantically leaving the room. Jaune's arm was still outreached. Clenching his fist, he growled quietly. What was he thinking? He didn't mean to scare her like that. His chest was aching at the thought that Yang would hate him. Tears fell from his eyes as he sank to the floor. He didn't want to face it, but the truth was that he started to fall for her. It had been a month since they arrived in Mistral and he and Yang had been through so much together. He wanted to be with her so much. But in the back of his mind, he thought of Pyrrha and the pain that casued him was unbearable. It was tearing him apart.

Jaune: 🎶Just have a little patience.

Still hurting from a love I lost

I'm feeling your frustration

But any minute all the pain will stop🎶

Outside the door, Yang was sitting down, crying to herself.

Yang: 🎶Just hold me close inside your arms tonight

Don't be too hard on my emotions🎶

Jaune/Yang: 🎶'Cause I need time

My heart is numb, has no feeling

So while I'm still healing

Just try and have a little patience🎶

Yang: 🎶I really wanna start over again

I know you wanna be my salvation

The one that I can always depend🎶

Jaune: *pounds ground with his fist* 🎶I'll try to be strong, believe me

I'm trying to move on

It's complicated but understand me🎶

Jaune/Yang: 🎶'Cause I need time

My heart is numb, has no feeling

So while I'm still healing

Just try and have a little patience, yeah🎶

Jaune: 🎶Have a little patience, yeah🎶

Yang: 🎶'Cause these scars run so deep🎶

Jaune/Yang: 🎶It's been hard

But I have to believe

Have a little patience

Have a little patience🎶

Jaune/Yang: 🎶Woah, 'cause I, I just need time

My heart is numb, has no feeling

So while I'm still healing

Just try, and have a little patience

Have a little patience

My heart is numb, has no feeling

So while I'm still healing

Just try and have a little patience🎶

The two of them breathed in deep and stared at the door between them.

Jaune: Yang...

Yang: Jaune...

Jaune/Yang: I'll wait for you.

youtube

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khr-guilded-cage · 1 month ago

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They thought they could manipulate her, that her bloodline and connection to Ieyasu would be enough to pull her into the fold. But Yuka wasn’t Tsuna. She wasn’t someone who could be swayed by sentimental gestures or the promises of "family" or a civvie easy to make bow if scare them enought

In the eyes of the Vongola, she was a valuable possession—one they thought they could claim easily. She wasn’t a lamb to be led to slaughter; she had been raised in a world of survival, and she was more than willing to make the Vongola fight for her, not the contrary.

As a Uchiha and a shinobi, she had learned from the bloodshed and the power plays of their world that if you don’t stand your ground, you end up as little more than a tool for someone else's rise. She wouldn’t fall into line for their whims, and she definitely wouldn’t fight their battles without gaining something more than empty words and demands in return.

Vongola’s attempt to claim her, to bend her to their will, was nothing more than a joke. And the longer they pressed, the more she saw them for what they truly were: desperate, entitled, and blindly caught in their delusions of control. Yuka was nobody's pawn. She had nothing to prove, nothing owned to them and she would make sure that the Vongola understood it.

Their thoughts on Yuka’s existence were driven by desperation and a twisted sense of entitlement. From the moment they learned about her, they saw her not as a person, but as a commodity, a resource —an asset that could restore their broken family and stabilize the Famiglia after Tsuna’s death. Her bloodline, tied to Tsuna, was an untapped well of power they were determined to claim. But unlike Tsuna, whose loyalty and kindness had allowed them to control him with ease, Yuka was different. She was untamed, untrusting, and refused to be molded into the image they so desperately wanted.

Timoteo, ever the manipulator, initially saw her as a means to consolidate his power, thinking that if she could only be properly guided, she could take up the mantle of leadership and tame his wild son, Xanxus. His view of her was clouded with the same naïve hope that he had for Tsuna—that she would be the next "Sky," gentle and unifying, a shining beacon for the Vongola’s future. But Yuka’s rejection of their family ideals shattered his delusion. Instead of embracing the warmth of their family, she rejected it, and his attempts to force her into Tsuna’s role only drove her further away.

Gokudera Hayato called her a selfish bitch once, Yuka agreed.

Iemitsu, with his fractured ideas of family, was even more deluded. He clung to the hope that Yuka could replace the hole sweet and soft Tsuna left behind, and worse, he tried to use Nana as a bridge to force this familial bond. But his view of her was warped—he wanted to mold her into the “perfect niece,” hoping that with Nana's mothering, they could recreate the “happy family” that was lost with Tsuna’s death. Yet, his manipulations were transparent, and Yuka saw through them. She hated being treated like an object to be possessed or controlled, which was exactly how the Vongola treated her.

Nana saw her darling Iemitsu's unhealthy interest on Yuka, his attempts to claim to be her uncle and her lack of a living mother and saw a chance to fix her broken marriage and family. The woman was mentally unstable and its pitiful how she looked physically now.

Their obsession with possessing her, molding her into the new heir, and making her part of their “family” was not born out of genuine care, but rather out of fear and desperation. They needed her, not as a person, but as a tool—someone to restore their image and power. But they underestimated her strength, her autonomy, and her disdain for them. The Vongola, now realizing the mess they’d made, found themselves trapped in a web of their own making, with Yuka the final thread they couldn't weave into their control.

"Just because you found me, don't men you can keep me, Vongola."

Yuka refused to be used to continue the bloodline and secure the future of the Famiglia as Nono wanted

.......

Timoteo’s voice cut through the tense air like a blade. “I can’t let you do that.” His tone, though measured, betrayed an edge of desperation as he regarded Yuka from across the grand hall. The guardians and high-ranking mafiosi seated at the table shifted uneasily, their eyes darting between their boss and the fiery young heir standing defiantly before them.

Yuka’s smirk was slow and deliberate, her red eyes gleaming with amusement. “You can’t, senile old man?” She tilted her head, the light catching the intricate designs of her armor-like dress. “And who are you to order me so? Last I checked, I don’t answer to you—or anyone here.”

A murmur spread across the room. Timoteo’s expression darkened, the gentle façade he often wore cracking just slightly. “You carry the blood of this family,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Your actions reflect on us all. There are traditions—expectations—that must be upheld. We need you, Vongola needs its heir.”

Yuka laughed, a sharp, cutting sound that silenced the room. “Need me? Still not giving me a reason why should I care? Spare me the lecture, Nono,” she said, the title dripping with sarcasm.

The tension in the room was suffocating, and the silence that followed her words was deafening.

“Exactly,” Yuka continued, her voice like venom. “You don’t care about me. You care about what I can do for you. For your legacy. But here’s the thing…” She leaned forward, her smirk widening. “I don’t care about any of you. And I’m certainly not going to play by your rules.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, girl,” Iemitsu finally said, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying a weight that demanded attention.

“And yet,” Yuka said, her tone mocking, “it’s my game, isn’t it?” She straightened, brushing off the invisible dust from her clothes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have no intention of wasting my evening with relics who think they can leash me and steal my freedom.”

#raw end of the deal #katekyo hitman reborn #khr #uchiha yuka au #escapism 2.0 with Uchiha Yuka #Iemitsu loves tsuna in a twisted possessive way

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hershelchocolate · 9 months ago

Note

How about one OC for each month of the year 😏 If that's too many, just the months with major holidays!

Oh I'm doing all of em babey

January:

(Art+design by hotchocolategalaxy on toyhouse)

Glace! The prince of the Winter Kingdom, constantly using the kingdom's resources to search for his parents, who had been lost in a blizzard. He keeps his head up though, and is a beacon for others who are also grieving the loss of their rulers

February:

(Art+designs by @arcaneyouth !)

Cabriel (blue) and Darciel (pink)! You get two for this one because You Cannot Separate Them. Not only were they from a valentine's themed adoptable set but they are also the gods of love who gained the title through how pure and wonderful their love for each other is. They would literally tear apart the universe to protect each other

March:

March makes me think of plants, and plants make me think of Raven! The leader of the mind control monsters, who uses vines/seeds/plants as their method of control. Very stoic and hardly ever shows emotion, but actions speak louder than words and sometimes they fuck with people for fun and it's awesome. In some sort of genderqueer toxic relationship that's lasted centuries that even I don't know all the details of and will refuse any knowledge of it if asked

April:

(Art+design by minuhime on toyhouse!)

April! Yes yes it's her name but she's also a cute bunny! She went with all her friends on a school field trip and had such a wonderful time until monsters started attacking and she was one of the first to be transformed into a creature representing her deepest fears. She was simply too sweet and soft and absolutely refused to believe she was in a horrored game

May:

(Art+design by @arcaneyouth !)

SURPRISEEE ITS EYUMIE AGAIN! She makes me think of May because that was one of the months where I was making my Junior Film starring her! Springtime always makes me think of her because of this tbh alshfgskg

June:

Daniel and Jade Hillston! Daniel is the main character of the murder mystery story that doesn't have a name yet, working hard to find the killer so he can free Jade, his daughter, who has been arrested for the crime. He knows she wouldn't do it. She would never. It HAD to be someone else. But he's always worried that person might be himself. I did a lot of the development for this story in summer and that's the time of year it takes place in so it always makes me think of it c:

July:

(Art+design by @arcaneyouth !)

Jubilee! They teleport using fireworks and are a minor deity in the Locked Love universe! Not sure what they do yet but they're definitely besties with Mirri and Ulrick. Treats checking in with them like a trip to their grandparents house

August:

(Art+design by @arcaneyouth !)

Aurelius! The final boss of a metroidvania-type game I started developing after playing Hollow Knight in the summer. They have taken on the role of antagonist simply because they didn't think the previous main antagonist was doing a good enough job to earn the role. They are dedicated to the theatrics, but always holds back when actually fighting. What kind of story would it be if the hero dies?

September:

This guy needs a name if anyone has any suggestions! One of the few humans in The Hallowed who is dedicating his time to trying to figure out what the FUCK is going on in this town. Makes me think of early fall where things are cold and chilly and just a little rainy but the trees still have leaves and there's a mist in the air. Thats his gender tbh

I'm gonna continue this in a reblog in hopes of being able to add the last two images give me just a moment

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outoftheirdifferences · 11 months ago

Text

She wasn't one to complain, she really wasn't. Life with Gru, on the whole, was good: she and her sisters were dearly loved, had everything they could want, and never had to worry about pretending to be anyone but themselves - because whatever weird eccentricities they may have, Gru had just as many of his own. They might be a strange family, together with Lucy, Dr. Nefario, and the few minions who hadn't left with Dru; but a family they most definitely were.

Still. There were some days when the ex-villain game was definitely stronger than she'd like.

Such as today.

She'd barely had chance to get in from school: no sooner had she got in the door, avoided Kyle's mad rush of greeting and was just checking if there was any mail for herself or her sisters, when there'd been the sound of an eruption from the front yard. Of course, Margo had instantly run to the window, and had seen the little drill robot, in chrome colours with a very familiar 'G' logo stamped on its back, burst from the yard and scamper off down the street before drilling its way back beneath the ground again. Only a moment later, Gru and Dr. Nefario had burst up from the lab; while Gru had raced for the door, Nefario had grilled her about if she'd seen anything. Apparently a little project had gone awry, and neither man was at all keen on Lucy finding out about it until they could corral the little runaway.

"No need to worry her" and all... Margo rather thought, instead, that the project was something that her new mom might not approve of, and that they didn't want to get in trouble with her.

Whatever the case, it had resulted in the girl getting drafted into their search. Abandoning any hope of just unwinding after her day, Margo had reluctantly committed to helping. On the plus side, the doctor had built a tracker into the little robot and had several devices that could pick up on a signal he'd set it to broadcast.

On the minus side? That signal wasn't strong enough to penetrate the ground: it would only pick up when the robot resurfaced. Each of the searchers had raced off to one of the most likely locations it might head for, based on its programming; Margo had drawn the tech lab of the local school, reasoning that a robot might be drawn to something resembling its own kind.

Clearly, she could tell as she pulled her bike up to curb, she'd chosen the right place. Not only did the beacon flare, she could see with her own eyes the little robot skittering its way towards the school. There was also some fight going on in the park across the way; but for now, that was none of her business. Throwing off her cycle helmet, Margo sprinted after the machine, pounding the deactivate button on the device... which did nothing. Of course. But her focus on that meant that, for a moment, she was too slow to react to anything else happening.

"--WHOA!"

She skidded as someone a little taller than she was cut in front of her, almost lost her balance and, flailing desperately, barely managed to catch herself before a fall. She bent over, hands on her knees, as she worked to regain her breath; and, once she'd done that, noticed the boy looking at her.

"Uh-huh. Close." More so than she'd like, quite honestly. Carefully straightening her glasses, which had been jarred askew by the near collision, Margo took another breath and looked at him. If he was indeed chasing the robot too... well, the first question was, why? Surely most people wouldn't head after something unknown that might be dangerous?

That said... she wasn't going to turn down the help, if he was offering.

"That's right. It's, ah..." What explanation could she give that wouldn't sound weird? Margo's lips pursed into a frown, before she decided on at least a slight variation on the truth.

"It's one of my dad's toys, they're a hobby of his. But the controller's broken, so this one's running wild. You couldn't help me grab it, could you?"

Definitely was starting to look like a task easier said than done...

@outoftheirdifferences liked for a Jay starter (somewhat plotted!)

"Hey, anybody want to take me on? If you can beat me, I'll give you fifty bucks! ...That's what that person just said!"

He stood there, pointing dramatically at a white-haired boy some distance from the park's fountain. The look on his face conveyed the shock in his tone as he'd spoken. No one seemed the wiser to the fact he'd been imitating the other boy's voice to the best of his ability at first.

Okay. Maybe Jay was having a little bit of fun causing a bit of mischief for someone in the park. There was a new kid in his class, and Jay hadn't gotten a chance to try and poke at him while they'd been in classes that day. He'd wanted to see what sort of person the new boy was, and when the newcomer had been blatantly ignoring his attempts to make conversation... well, that just wouldn't do. Jay wanted to know about him. Needed to know. Since the other boy had refused to help him learn, this just seemed like the best course of action.

The pure confusion on the other boy's face was all Jay could have asked for. Fortunately, it didn't take long for someone to take the newcomer up on his 'offer.' It was another one of the boys from their school. Moses, Jay noted just from his red hair and attitude. He stepped back, giving the two room to do their thing. Honestly, Jay didn't need to stick around to see how it played out. Someone would break them up eventually. This mostly was a means of poking at the newcomer and also just entertaining himself. Perhaps not the... healthiest form of entertainment, but given everything? Acceptable enough compared to things he could have been doing.

Things were relatively quiet in his life now, all things considered. It had been a few years since he'd been adopted by the Oreson brothers, and for the most part Jay had settled into his life. A marked improvement from where he had come from. Also a marked improvement from potentially being dead. On all accounts, it looked like Jay lived a pretty normal life now. If that meant he felt the need to cause some problems for classmates or potentially getting into fights with the likes of Moses at school? All par for the course. He couldn't have been happier.

It looked like things were relatively peaceful in the park, too. Some people were watching the shenanigans between Moses and the other boy, but for the most part there wasn't much of a turnout. Go figure. Oh well, he thought. He'd gotten what he wanted.

Then, all of a sudden, there was a distinct rumbling sound that filled the air. Jay tensed. That wasn't normal. People were looking around for what was causing it, and he was right there with them. The smart thing to do would be getting home and avoiding trouble, but that need to know what was going on itched at the back of his mind. So he lingered, purple eyes darting this way and that as he tried to look for the source.

At last, he saw it. From the ground, a drilling device of some kind emerged. Some kind of robot? Jay squinted as the thing emerged and seemed to come to life. It wasn't tiny by any means, but no bigger than a small dog. The device looked almost akin to a mole or something of that sort. Whatever it was, it was doing something. It looked like it had some kind of camera on the front of it, and now that it was out of the ground it was moving. Moving toward the path leading out of the park and toward the buildings.

Well. That wasn't good. His mind screamed at him to go home. His adoptive family wouldn't want him getting involved. Something beckoned Jay to do so, though, and so the pale boy followed the robot while other people in the park headed in the opposite direction.

He was able to follow the robot for a bit before something happened. Nothing involving the robot, but instead happening to catch sight of a girl from the corner of his eye. Instinct took hold. Jay hopped back, narrowly avoiding colliding with her, and when he straightened himself out he looked her way.

Huh. Jay didn't remember seeing her before. She looked like she might have been a little younger than him at the very most, so there was a chance they went to the same school. That wasn't a bad thing, of course. Just curious.

"That was close. Don't tell me you were following that thing, too," he said. Why else would they have been going in the same direction?

#talesofourworlds #guest muse: Margo #ic #long post #Looks good to me! :D #I'm gonna try and keep to a bit shorter posts after this #I just can't do that thing when setting the scene xDD

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palaceofpassion · 3 years ago

Note

Last one!

Jaune hate fucking Emerald, with a Pyrrha in a cast, & May watching from the sidelines, whilst telling her that Cinder is getting broken by the students of Beacon

(Obvious thing is obvious in failing to kill Pyrrha)

Emerald's throat burned as she gagged upon a semi flaccid lump of meat. The twitching hot sausage expanded within her mouth forcing her jaw to lock into place. Tears burned her eyes as she tried to fight back, but found herself bound to back down on a wooden table. The collar around her neck released another pulse of electricity as she tried to use her aura, nullifying the burst of spirit as well as inflicting her body with another powerful pulse.

She could feel the air leave her lungs as the dick hardened once more, reaching past her tonsils andd threatening her air passageway.

"You little bitch, getting what you deserve."

If anyone had told Emerald that May Zedong, the Vacuan sniper, the shy little bitch, would be able to use such vulgar language. Well Emerald wouldn't have believed them, nor would she have believed that Pyrrha Nikos, the still living now Full fall Maiden, could be so violent with her semblance.

The chains tightened around her wrist, threatening to cut her blood supply at any moment.

THough she could only make out the once lost champion from the corners of her eyes, she could tell she was just as unhappy. Her leg in a cast from where Cinder had taken away her ability to walk.

The other girl, May, was just as bad, her face covered in scars and her hair messy and shorn short. A tussle with Grimm had nearly cost her, her life. Apparently it had taken her teams life instead. She would have joined them, had it not been for Jaune, who had shown up in the locker that Pyrrha had initially sent him off in.

This had proven to be an unfortunate hitch in Cinder's plan. Jaune had gotten to someone that could help him, someone who owed him her life.

They'd gotten on a building, prevented Cinder from finishing off Nikos, and that Rose brat had gotten there in time to do whatever that bright light was!

Everything had fallen apart from there. She didn't know where Mercury was, and for Cinder?

"The bitch is being used by a bunch of Beacon students. Alot of poeple lost their teams, friends and family... it's what she deserves."

May huffed, having been one such person.

She didn't know how Cinder was alive, and Emerald could only fear for her safety, but apparently her maiden powers had been stolen, placed in Nikos now...

Emerald's red eyes only grew puffier as her eyelids became heavy.

Eventually the Arc kid pulled his stupidly large cock out of her mouth. A thick rope of cum connecting her loosely hanging tongue to the pulsing purple tip, flush with a rush of blood.

She tried to swallow, to clear herself, but a lump of semen flooded and clogged her esophagus, making any attempt to do anything rather tough.

A black hue covered the chains once more raising and picking her upwards so she was now straddled upon the Arc boy. He said nothing, instead opting to eye her with hate and disgust.

This idea had obviously not been his.

"You'd be out with your leader and that little minx of hers, if it wasn't for our mercy."

Though Nikos spoke of mercy, Emerald shuttered at the vitriol in her voice. After all, she was the one controlling her like a puppet.

"Pllle...asee... do...ont..."

THey didn't listen to her pleas, instead with another swift motion of her hands Emerald dropped herself upon the massive cock. Her virginity, precious and only usable once, swiftly taken not by Cinder but this loser of a man.

She felt her insides push upwards, and for a moment she was worried that her guts would flood out of her mouth.

Her hips twitched, legs burned, and arms tightened as Pyrrha FORCED her down. She couldn't move, couldn't fight back as the sticky left over cum rubbed against her cervix, a cervix that had been shoved upwards and practically into her womb.

Then... then she was forced to move. "P...please...cough...stop...!"

She could feel her insides tightening up against her will as they practically latched onto his cock. For a moment she was afraid she was going to be pulled inside out as her pussy tugged upon the shaft, unwilling and unable to let it go.

The burning sensation only grew hotter as she was forced to pump her legs. Fatigue quickly taking over as her muscles began to tire.

She cried and begged them to stop again, "Pe...ple...pleaseee.!"

"No! You didn't give Penny the chance, so-"

She opened her eyes as Pyrrha used all of her power to push her down one more time. This time everything felt like it shot upwards. The added force from the sudden expulsion of semen flooding rushing outwards, a torrent of white thick cum pushing its way into her womb, was enough to send her over the edge. Before she knew it she was knocked out cold.

"Get used to it, you're ours now..."

#Emerald Sustrai #Pyrrha Nikos #May Zedong #Jaune Arc

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targaryenimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Just Wait

Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,989

Summary:

Notes: I hope this is all right.

Dialogue Prompt: “Try and stay calm, okay? Help is coming.”

The wind was howling through the air. Snow whipping past your face and obscuring your view. All that you could see were the elegant spikes of Rhaegal’s neck. The pebbled scales being the only comfort to your numbing hands. You wince as the winds howls were intersected by the wails of the damned. Glowing blue eyes appearing before your eyes as you blinked.

Glancing down, you could see nothing but the unending swirl of white in the pitch blackness.

How many of your friends had already perished below you?

How many would you never see again?

How many would you never be able to properly bury?

The questions only cause the growing pit in your stomach to become that much larger. Your hands clench around Rhaegal’s spike. Trying your best to keep your breath steady as he took another sharp turn. Your body pressing against his neck in order to stay upright. Squinting doing little to alleviate the temporary blindness the action caused.

Craning your neck, you look up in hopes that the moon would be able to guide you to where you needed to be. You were only met by even more suffocating darkness-- even the clouds having lost their glow. Curses fall from your lips as you angle Rhaegal down into another dive. Getting too close to the ground could prove to be fatal but you had no choice; images of Viserion’s lifeless body falling from the sky comes unbidden to your mind at the thought. Your heart breaking all over again as you remember his pain-filled cry. How Rhaegal had echoed it as you both tried to desperately save him. Your gentle boy being swallowed by ice and snow; only to be awakened by the very thing that had cursed him.

You hadn’t seen Viserion yet but you had heard his roars. The once gentle and calming sound turned ragged. A mournful howl for everything that was lost and that had to continue to be. In the same manner, you hadn’t seen Drogon or Daenerys since the battle had begun. Both you and Rhaegal taking to the outside defenses to make sure there wouldn’t be any stragglers. Even now you couldn’t hear the sounds of Drogon’s mighty roars or the cries of battle.

You and Rhaegal were completely alone. In the ghost filled sky that promised nothing but despair when it used to offer nothing but freedom.

That is until a sharp cry from above you caused every hair on your body to stand on end. Your head snapping up towards the sound, even as you made Rhaegal dive to the side, and nothing could have prepared you for the sight of seeing Viserion.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight of seeing him so broken. His scales, once so vibrant, turned ashen and lifeless.

His gentle face devoid of any emotion except for the mind-numbing coldness that seemed to be in constant supply in the North.

Once golden eyes, that always reminded you of the sun, turned blue. Fire turning to ice.

The only thing rivalling the horror you felt at seeing Viserion in such a state was seeing the thing that was riding him. The Night King’s cold eyes were watching your every movement as Rhaegal dipped lower and lower in the sky. Your attention diverted from his icy gaze towards Rhaegal as his wings narrowly escaped the tree tops. His body jolts as he tries to avoid the imminent collision.

With your mouth pressed into a line, you force yourself to relax and remember everything you had learned over the years with Rhaegal. Every minute movement of his body and what that told you. Even if the Night King could control Viserion, he would never be able to fly like you could. You just had to get to Daenerys, to Drogon, and everything would be fine.

Chancing one last glance towards him, you couldn’t help the sardonic smirk that pulled at your lips. “If you want me you’ll have to catch me you sick bastard.”

-----

In retrospect, taunting the Night King wasn’t the smartest plan. While you had the advantage of experience atop dragons. He held the advantage when it came being able to see where you were going. Which, in the grand scheme of things, was a very useful tool to have.

As it wouldn’t be the first, or second, time you had almost slammed into something as you made your back towards Winterfell.

“How did we get so far out?” You hiss as you, yet again, dip Rhaegal into a dive to avoid Viserion’s talons. His disjointed shriek causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. You didn’t remember flying this far out from Winterfell but as each moment ticked by you could tell that you had somehow gotten turned around. We were only supposed to be a few minutes out at most. How did this happen?

Feeling the sudden breeze of air on your head, causes you to duck. Your head almost collided with Rhaegal’s neck as Viserion made another dive towards you. Feeling the slick feeling of liquid running down your neck, you raise your hand to the base of it. Letting loose a soft hiss as a sharp stab of pain is the response your body gives to the prodding. You know you didn’t have to look at your fingers to see that your glove was stained red.

Catching sight of the beacon fires almost causes you to sob in relief. Your eyes welling up at the brilliant sight of light after spending so long in near darkness. The sounds of battle resounding out towards you like a choir.

“Only a bit longer, Rhaegal,” you murmur against his neck. Feeling the way his breaths had gotten deeper. You don’t know how much longer he would be able to last if the pace continued like this. The constant bobbing and weaving through frozen air. Squeezing your eyes shut, you send a silent prayer to R’hllor to get you through this-- to get Rhaegal through this. “You’re doing so well. Just a bit longer and I promise you’ll be able to rest.”

Only a small snort was your response. The reaction caused a small smile to quirk your lips despite the situation you were in. His tenacious spirit hadn’t dimmed in the slightest even as his energy was so clearly waned. That’s my boy.

Angling Rhaegal into a steep dive, you make your descent towards Winterfell. Your eyes desperately searching for Daenerys. Your breath catching when you finally caught sight of Drogon’s familiar form. His looming black shadow shifting over the battlefield as he and Daenerys dealt with the Wights. The Unsullied fight valiantly underneath their Khaleesi. You think you could even see Jorah shifting about with Jon Snow’s direwolf-- Ghost.

Viserion’s sharp cry causes you to wince. Your head is already bowing as you twist Rhaegal into the opposite direction. Hoping that you would be able to be fast enough but you hadn’t reacted fast enough. Not as you felt Viserion slam into Rhaegal and press you down against his back. Your breath escaping you in a harsh exhale as Rhaegal tried desperately to free himself. His angry shrieks like daggers through your heart.

Knowing that there was little else you could do; not when you and Rhaegal were so tired. You call for Daenerys-- hoping that your dragon would be able to get to you. Your eyes search for her violet as you begin your descent towards the snow covered ground.

“Daenerys.”

------

“Daenerys.”

The sound of her name ripped through the air. Louder than any scream from the undead below her. Louder than any cry of the dying that would forever echo in her head. Louder than even Drogon was at his angriest.

Her head snapping up in the direction the scream, no plea, had originated from. Her own beginning to form when she saw her mate and son in a spiral. She had known that Viserion was a slave of the Night King’s now but she had never truly prepared herself to see him.

She had never thought it would be when he was clutching onto Rhaegal’s back. His talons like anchors against Rhaegal’s green hide. Rivulets of red already became obvious as her son struggled to break free. Struggled to protect his mother, his rider, from harm. She could even see your face from here. See the pain that was so clearly etched across your beautiful features. The blood that was becoming apparent through the stark white of your cloak.

It was a sight that forced her into action. Nudging, Drogon in your direction as fast as he was able to go. Her heart hammering in her chest as Rhaegal let loose another cry of pain. As Viserion echoed it back with one of his own demented shrieks. Her two boys, that were closer than even she could comprehend, enemies because of the vileness that Westeros held. It brought tears to her eyes as Drogon finally got a hold of Viserion. His much larger form easily being able to overpower his brother. Claws ripping and tearing through brittle hide as he was tossed to the side. Little decorum being shown for what used to be his brother.

Glancing down, Daenerys’s heart almost stops at the sight of Rhaegal’s still plummeting form. His wings weakly trying to keep him afloat but nothing would be able to stop his descent. She could see the wounds in his wings and the way his head was drooping which each second ticked by. Angling Drogon into a dive, Daenerys does everything she can to stop his descent. To stop him from hitting the ground but it was all in vain.

Her widened gaze watching as Rhaegal was weakly able to run across the surface before crashing down completely. The form of his rider being thrown from his body into a heap on the icy landscape.

Not thinking of much else, Daenerys jumps off of Drogon the moment his feet make contact with land. Her hand ran against Rhaegal’s neck in a quick search to make sure he was all right; relieved when she felt his heavy breathing through her glove. His steady warmth is still there despite everything.

With that task accomplished, she makes her way over towards the form of her mate. Her knees hitting the ground with preamble and she brought you into her arms. A worried gaze taking in every bruise and scrape that made up the expanse of your skin. Blood trickling down slowly from open wounds that didn’t look to be too deep. A relieved sob leaving her lips when she notices your breathing; while shallow it was something.

Closing her eyes, Daenerys sends a silent thank you to whatever deity helped keep her mate and son safe. Her mouth pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as she pulled you tighter into her embrace. Very much aware of Drogon’s presence wrapping around her. His protective stance warmed her heart.

“Try and stay calm, okay?” She murmurs softly to herself as she pulls you tighter against her. Wanting to keep you as warm as she possibly could. “Help is coming.”

Glancing up, Daenerys could no longer see the various shadows of war against the landscape. Her heart thudding against her chest at what that could mean. Though none of it mattered if it meant that she lost you.

Looking down, she presses another small kiss to your forehead and smiles despite the tears in her eyes. “I love you. If you hold on a bit longer I promise I will never leave your side again.” She nuzzles into your neck; needing to be surrounded by your scent. “You’ll be stuck with me. Just wait for help to come.”

Unbeknownst to Daenerys the slightest of smiles curled your lips at her words. You could never imagine not waiting for your dragon.

#daenerys targaryen x reader #daenerys x reader #daenerys targaryen #daenerys #queen daenerys #got imagines #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones #daenerys imagines #daenerys targaryen imagine #just wait

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sundayswiththeilluminati · 4 years ago

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Continued from this post, Part 3 of my discussion of Essek Thelyss in the context of real-world espionage. This time: what happens to espionage assets in the long run? Do they break contact, and why? What might have been in store for Essek?

At the treaty meeting Essek tells Ludinus to his face that he wants no further contact with the Assembly, not even to learn what the Assembly discovers via their own beacon. He’s far from the first asset to try to sever their relationship, and it ends in one of three ways: they don’t manage to break contact, they break contact but voluntarily return, or (rarest of all) they end the relationship permanently.

Most attempts don’t go beyond option 1, because intelligence agencies are not in the business of respecting their assets’ choices. Handlers are skilled in keeping the upper hand in their asset relationships and will take any further opportunity to gain leverage by compromising the asset. For instance they’ll often pay for information even if the asset hasn’t requested it, because money changing hands makes it far harder for an asset to frame their activities positively to their own side if they attempt to confess (”You expect us to believe they were blackmailing you when you got $10,000 to hand over the secret manual?” etc.) And when push comes to shove most people aren’t willing to accept the severe punishments for espionage. An asset’s threat to confess is more likely a negotiating ploy than a serious option.

Some assets, especially nervous or ego-driven ones, get the carrot: the KGB did a strong line in awarding secret medals to convince them they were doing important, well-regarded work and that the KGB would protect them - not an empty reassurance, as highly-placed moles like Aldrich Ames warranted elaborate ops involving double and triple agents to avert suspicions. And some assets get the stick: the handler tightens the screws using whatever leverage they’ve gained, implies that they’re already “too far in to go back,” or gives some time for those who were blackmailed into spying to think about the consequences of exposure.[1]

Those who get as far as option two, breaking it off and later returning, are usually driven away by fear but back by finances. Fantasy spies have all sorts of motives but in real life the majority are in it for the money. Assets, as you might imagine, make bad choices. About half start selling secrets just to stave off massive debt from overspending and poor financial decisions (the rest feel underpaid.) So even if these assets stop temporarily, the circumstances that drove them to espionage in the first place are still very much present. In these cases all a handler has to do is shrug and say, “You know where to find us.” Infamous FBI mole Robert Hanssen broke off contact with his Russian handlers when the Soviet Union collapsed, fearing he might get outed in the chaos, but linked back up with them just 10 months later when, surprise surprise, he needed some cash.

And then there are the rare handful who stop completely. There’s a bit of survivor(?) bias here because anyone who passes along secrets, breaks off the relationship before being caught, and manages to get away with it is by definition someone we don’t know about. Those who do manage to break contact long-term are usually able to do so because they left the situation that gave them access to interesting secrets and therefore the controlling agency determined they were no longer a useful resource and not worth pursuing. But even if an asset stops working for an agency, they’re far from forgotten - and far from off the hook. Names and evidence of their espionage would be kept on file for potential use as blackmail, leverage in state-to-state negotiations, or expendable material to prove bona fides in ops involving fake defectors or triple agents. A surprising number of spies are caught/outed years after their espionage ended.

Very few assets permanently sever their espionage relationships the hard way: making a genuine confession and accepting punishment. But it’s not unheard-of, especially if the espionage was brief and the asset believes the damage can be repaired. In 1989 Army signals analyst Michael Peri disappeared from his post in West Germany along with a portable computer containing numerous classified documents. Eleven days later he returned to his previous post with the computer and voluntarily confessed to the theft and sort-of defection to East Germany. When interrogated, Peri - who had been a model soldier until that point - said he felt overworked and underappreciated by his superiors, though he couldn’t entirely explain his decisions either to leave or to return (a sexy female Russian agent might also have been involved). He received a 30-year sentence.

Marine Clayton Lonetree, a guard stationed at the US Embassy in Moscow in 1985, was blackmailed over an affair to hand over details on the embassy compound for a year, but his conscience finally got the better of him and he confessed in late 1986. Being a Marine he faced the very real prospect of death by firing squad, but the court martial ended up giving him a 30-year sentence. It was later reduced to 15 after the Marine Corps Commandant wrote a letter to the Navy Secretary on his behalf attributing the young Marine’s actions not to treason or greed but to loneliness, naivety, and poor judgement.[2]

Going back to Essek’s case, he’s already in the minority of espionage assets because he doesn’t want money in return for the secrets he passes along; though the knowledge the Assembly promises him in return fulfills a similar desire, Essek doesn’t need that knowledge to pay off the equivalent of debt or to maintain his lifestyle. He has no pressures at home that force him to continue spying. With the beacons returned, the fall guys in place, and their tracks seemingly covered, he tells Ludinus that all he wants is to be rid of the entire affair. That rules out option one (he sincerely means to cut the Assembly off) and option two (he won’t be driven back by need.)

Essek is also in an unusual position in that the worst of the damage he caused is repairable - just return the beacons.[3] A secret, once compromised, can’t be un-compromised. If an asset hands over a cipher machine they can’t fix the situation by stealing the cipher machine back; the foreign agency they sold it to has already studied the machine and learned its secrets, meaning it’s now effectively useless. But returning the beacons restores what the Kryn lost. While keeping dunamancy secret gives the Kryn a tactical edge, and I’m sure the Dynasty would prefer to keep the magical soulstones of their elite hidden from their long-time rival, the beacons don’t need to be secret to work. Essek therefore has a much better chance than most to simply repair the damage, cut off his handlers, and try to forget the whole affair ever happened. He might even think that, now that the Assembly has their own beacon, they’ll have no further use for him and will just leave him alone.

But from the Cerberus Assembly's perspective, this fruit still has plenty of juice in it and they risk nothing by continuing to squeeze. Now that they have their own beacon Essek’s knowledge becomes even more valuable. He has access to hundreds of years of dunamantic spellcrafting - and more importantly the rite of consecution, since the Assembly were probably after beacons in the first place to make themselves immortal. If Essek is caught, it’s treason for him, but the Assembly doesn’t suffer; they were doing it for the good of the Empire, learning about dunamancy to help the war effort. So if he refuses to keep spying voluntarily for the Assembly, they’ll just have to find another way to motivate him.

As part of evaluating Essek before recruitment, Assembly operatives would have noted that he’s, well, highly motivated to save his own skin. Ludinus’ goal therefore becomes to make Essek see further espionage as the only way to stay alive. So instead of confronting Essek then and there, Ludinus shrugs and goes, “Okay. Sure.” Then he activates the Volstruckers, maybe leaks a little info to the Dynasty about a traitor in their midst, and sets up Essek to stew in fear, feeling isolated and attacked from both sides - targeted by the Assembly for his defiance, under suspicion from the Dynasty, unable to ask for help because of his crimes. Ludinus sits back and waits for Essek to re-establish contact on his own. Of course Ludinus didn’t know that the M9 had confronted Essek and gotten him to confess, making a return to spying impossible even if he tried.

While Essek’s motives revolve around ego, frustration, and rebellion, his situation is more like those of people who end up defecting because they’re unable to pursue their careers or live as they want to back home. He has virtually no social/family ties to leave behind, no loyalty to Dynasty authority, and no religious fervor to defend the Luxon, while the Assembly promises him the company of like minds and free rein in his experiments. Assuming no intervention by the M9 I think Essek would have ended up defecting to the Cerberus Assembly. If he did it early enough in the story he might have even joined the Volstruckers to complete the narrative foil transformation.

If the crew had confronted him at the treaty but not offered mercy I think he would have defected purely out of fear, thinking the Assembly were the only people who could protect him from both the Dynasty and the M9. He was already on edge watching the guy he'd set up to take the fall getting walked away in chains and with the Assembly's Wind of Aeons ship right there it would be the ideal time to make the move. Assuming the treaty confrontation went as it did (the crew makes him confess but lets him live) but the M9 hadn’t shown up in Eiselcross, Essek would likely have fled the outpost and gone into hiding in a bid to outrun his crimes (and probably gotten caught two weeks later given how awful he was at being “Dezrain Thane.”)

Essek is far from the first recruited asset to regret what they did even as they kept doing it. Those who can sell out their nation and not feel even a pang of guilt are thankfully thin on the ground. Most start off doing what seems to be a favor for a friend - or accepting a favor from a friend who wants to help with their “financial difficulties” - and end up so deep they can’t see any way forward other than to keep handing over secrets. He’s one more in a long line of those who compromised information out of frustration, especially through the appeal to shared professional interests (that’s how industrial assets tend to be recruited.)

But he’s also in a much better place to make up for it than most assets. Since he primarily compromised property, not secrets, returning said property can (somewhat, mostly) repair the damage done, which goes a long way towards buying leniency from the powers that be. And now I’m realizing that this post actually needs one final part, which is: how do you try someone for espionage, and should you charge them with it in the first place?

[1] While spy dramas love sexy blackmail, and handlers will happily collect it to leverage against a balky asset, it works far less often in reality as a main reason for espionage. Social penalties for extramarital affairs pale before actual legal penalties like the death sentence for treason. On the other hand, those with foreign relatives are sometimes coerced by threats against those relatives.

[2] Lonetree’s case for leniency got a boost in 1994 when Aldrich Ames was finally caught and some serious breaches of embassy security that had been attributed to Lonetree were found to be Ames’ work instead. In 1996 Lonetree was released after having served 9 years total.

[3] Although I did just think of a really messed-up Cerberus Assembly plan: consecute a handful of completely loyal Volstruckers, kill them, and send the beacons back so said agents will be reborn in the Dynasty and work to undermine it from within. How fucked up would that be?? Campaign 3 plot hook anyone?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

#Critical Role #Essek Thelyss #Critical Role spoilers #not really but just to be safe #CR meta #I guess #is that a thing people tag things with?#anyway let's talk about espionage!#I can't stop thinking about Volstrucker!Essek #jesus can you imagine that confrontation #Caleb staring him down? flanked by Astrid and Eadwulf?#then again I think Essek hates Trent in every timeline so #but still seriously #the narrative foils!#the foilssssssss #it's been a long pandemic

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

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The Quiet Room

- Chapter 6 - ao3 - (previous tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5)

The Lan sect’s rules said Learning comes first, and that was because learning was the root of all things.

Humans were changeable and ever-changing, molded by their heritage and their environment; it was through careful education that they learned to comprehend goodness – it was only through constant learning that they could keep themselves walking on the path of righteousness.

Learning from books, learning from others, learning from one’s own mistakes; it didn’t matter.

What was important was that you couldn’t stop learning.

You had to keep moving forward.

Lan Wangji had for some time entertained the thought that his life had stopped when Wei Wuxian’s had. It had felt as though it had: it felt as if his heart had been irrevocably shattered, like a priceless vase that had once contained all his tender feelings – all those feelings that, lacking their container, would now slip through his fingers forever, leaving him as empty as a soulless puppet. He’d thought he was doomed never to love again, never to learn again, all his mind consumed with nothing by memories.

He’d been wrong, of course.

Even with Wei Wuxian gone, he was still learning.

There were his recent meditations on the subject of silence and noise, for one.

There were his wards, for another.

Lan Sizhui was a polite and thoughtful child, inquisitive but a little shy and hesitant, a little fearful to assert himself – a little too quiet, in a way that Lan Wangji was starting to be able to recognize as being not good, a silence and reticence born of concern and anxiety rather than genuine introversion. Luckily, there was also Lan Jingyi, who was and had always been the liveliest and most spirited of children, and yet he, too, was just a little bit too loud in a way that reflected his own method of displaying anxiety, another startling realization that was brand new.

Lan Wangji had always associated quiet with reserve and self-control, noise with carelessness and recklessness, but being in the controlled chaos of Qinghe and really sincerely listening to it, accepting it, came with its own set of revelations. He found that there were people who were naturally loud and those that made themselves be loud, just as there were those who were quiet and those who were forced into quietude. Lan Jingyi worried just as much as the next person, but he displaced those feelings through distraction rather than through the force of his willpower, taking on the role of clown or hero as suited each moment, unafraid to cast himself in the role of aggressor if it would allow Lan Sizhui the chance to play the mediator. The subconscious division of roles allowed Lan Sizhui to feel useful and in control, reducing his anxiety, while Lan Jingyi got to feel taken care of, which reduced his own – it was good, in a way, but after some consideration Lan Wangji carefully took them both in hand and told them that they would need to be more thoughtful about it.

Lan Sizhui could not, should not, always have to be the peacemaker, always yielding and kind and gentle and quiet: he deserved to be loud, too. He deserved to be assertive, to be heard, to feel entitled to take up space regardless of his utility to those around him. He should never feel like he had to pay in service for the right to exist.

And by the same token, Lan Jingyi shouldn’t feel burdened to always have to be the one to take the first step, always acting as the driving force, the loud and opinionated one. He should have the opportunity, and the obligation, to think through what he was doing or saying, to be thoughtful and careful, to sometimes yield if he wished; he should be granted space of his own to make sure that his actions were what he wished them to be rather than some impulse.

Lan Wangji only wished he’d had the wisdom to tell Wei Wuxian the same thing while he’d been alive.

He’d been so short-sighted when he was younger, at first unable to recognize how he felt about the man and then unable to figure out how to speak with him – he’d been unable to break his own habitual silence, and equally unable to see the depths concealed in Wei Wuxian’s brash arrogance, especially towards the end. Like Lan Jingyi, Wei Wuxian’s reckless courage was genuine, especially in the happy days of their youth; like Lan Jingyi, when things got bad, Wei Wuxian had taken refuge in more of the same, building himself walls made of noise that were designed to keep everyone out.

Wei Wuxian might have been noisy and loud, right to the very end, but in his own way he’d been just as alone as Lan Wangji in his excess of quiet.

The next generation, Lan Wangji thought fiercely, would do better.

He felt comforted by that thought.

The children were chewing over Lan Wangji’s words as they walked along the outmost ramparts of the Unclean Realm, already inured to the glittering barrier that hung in their sky, full of arrays and inscriptions – they were accompanying Lan Wangji on his daily walk.

The Nie sect’s doctors had a very different regimen for curing illnesses than the Lan sect’s, he’d found. Thirty-three strikes of the discipline whip: in both places he’d gotten stitched back up, but while the Lan sect doctors had allowed him to retreat into seclusion, prescribing medicine and rest and self-reflection, the Nie sect doctors insisted on coupling medicine and meditation with exercise. Intermittent and gradual exercise, meant to increase flexibility and reduce muscle atrophy – it wasn’t really that different from what Lan Wangji had been left to do on his own back at home, but he found that it was easier to struggle against his stubborn body when he had company to encourage him to take that extra step beyond his limits, their voices pushing him when his own willpower was insufficient. Even the silent presence of the two children, walking beside him, helped him find the reason to keep going.

Truly, there was much to consider on the subject of quiet and noise, of loud and soft, of loneliness and isolation and how no amount of either introversion nor extroversion could alone save you from them.

Lan Wangji was still thinking it over when he heard a new noise.

It was also an old noise, painfully familiar from all those days of war – before he even consciously identified what the sound was, his back had straightened, his legs sinking into a prepared pose, his mind already summoning his spiritual energy to the forefront in case he needed to defend himself.

Cultivators, flying on swords at speed.

Lan Wangji looked up and saw them: men and women both, a small group – a forward scouting troop, small enough to be subtle and sneak ahead to see what was happening but large enough to ensure someone would be able to return to the main force and warn them if they did find something.

They were dressed in the colors of Yunmeng Jiang, and it was Jiang Cheng leading them.

Lan Wangji’s back stiffened.

He had not seen Jiang Cheng since the massacre at the Nightless City, although he’d heard the stories of how he had turned against his own shixiong and led the greatest of the forces that besieged the Burial Mounds. He’d decided then that he’d never wanted to see Jiang Cheng ever again – he hadn’t been able to comprehend how Jiang Cheng could do a thing like that to Wei Wuxian, who he’d loved.

He still didn’t understand, but he thought, perhaps, that he ought to be a little less hasty in judging others by his own standards.

He’d done enough of that.

“Hanguang-jun!” Jiang Cheng called, seeing him, and pulled ahead of all the other Jiang sect cultivators, leaving them hanging back warily. Lan Wangji turned to face him, conscious of the two young children still clinging to his hands and now half-hiding behind his robes – conscious, too, of the shimmering but translucent barrier that divided them from Jiang Cheng, the barrier that had been raised to protect the Unclean Realm from Lan Wangji’s own brother and all the mistakes he had made, well-meaning as they were. “Hanguang-jun, good, you can tell me, what is the meaning of…”

Jiang Cheng trailed off, his eyes suddenly wide and almost bulging from the force of how hard he was staring at Lan Wangji.

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji said politely in greeting – or, well, politely enough.

“Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng said in return, his voice sounding strangled. “What…happened?”

Far too much to explain, so Lan Wangji didn’t, just waited for Jiang Cheng to continue with a more specific question.

“I mean, uh. The beacon went off,” Jiang Cheng said. He was still gawking, looking as though he were about to fall off his sword any second. “The – you know the one, the one that shows when a sect’s barrier defenses have been activated. I thought...”

He’d assumed there was an invasion, Lan Wangji realized, and had rushed over at once to try to help forestall it. It was a reasonable assumption, and a noble response: having once lost everything without being able to rely on the help of others, Jiang Cheng now sought to be the help that he had not had.

It was the sort of thing a righteous person would do, and in line with what Lan Wangji thought he’d known of Jiang Cheng’s character.

And yet…Jiang Cheng had still turned his back on Wei Wuxian.

Time and time again, he’d turned away fro him.

“I came to find out what happened, why they put up the shield,” Jiang Cheng continued. “I brought people with me to help, though I left them back a ways so it wouldn’t be an insult. And now I’m here and – and you’re here – and you’re…just…it’s…Lan Wangji, what happened to your forehead ribbon?”

Lan Wangji arched his eyebrows. “Is that your primary concern?”

Jiang Cheng waved his hands around, almost flailing, and Lan Wangji couldn’t quite help but feel a sudden stab of amusement – and then of sorrow, because the flailing was almost painfully familiar. He had seen Wei Wuxian do much the same when he encountered something unexpected, whether some threat or some new maneuver by the Wen sect or, in one notable instance, the unanticipated appearance of a fish in a place where one would not normally expect fish to be.

“I have taken a leave of absence from the Lan sect,” Lan Wangji finally explained, deciding to be magnanimous and take pity on his former comrade in arms. “The Nie sect has permitted me to remain with them while I determine my next course of action. As for the shield, there is no imminent invasion. The situation is – complicated.”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “You don’t say!”

Still, the explanation seemed to help steady him, somewhat, and Lan Wangji observed that Jiang Cheng did not look his best: tired, with circles under his eyes and an unhealthy skin tone. Too much work, too little rest, and probably nightmares…because of what had happened to Wei Wuxian, perhaps? But if so, why had he done it in the first place?

“I cannot let you in,” Lan Wangji added, even though technically he had one of the only remaining guest tokens that still functioned. Jiang Cheng nodded, seemingly having expected that. “I can escort you to the sect leader’s quarters to have your request for admission approved.”

That the person approving the request would probably be Nie Huaisang, Lan Wangji did not say – not so much out of caution, which would probably be justified, but rather out of a completely inexplicable urge to see Jiang Cheng start flailing once again upon finding out.

Was this how Wei Wuxian felt all the time?

Interesting.

He began to walk again, the children at his sides slowly coming out, and Jiang Cheng did him the courtesy of not mentioning how slow and stiff he was, although Lan Wangji thought he remembered enough of Jiang Cheng’s mannerisms to interpret the twisted grimace on his face as he glanced over time and time again as a look of concern.

After a little while in which Lan Wangji walked and Jiang Cheng floated alongside him on his sword, the Jiang sect cultivators lagging behind by a respectable distance, the children getting over their fear to start looking around again, Jiang Cheng finally cleared his throat.

“There’s a medicinal blend of herbs that can counteract the anti-clotting effects of the discipline whip,” he said. Lan Wangji glanced at him: Jiang Cheng was staring forward, not looking at him at all any more. “It makes it heal faster. I can pass the prescription along to the Nie sect’s pharmacists, if you like.”

Jiang Cheng had also been struck by the discipline whip, Lan Wangji suddenly remembered. It had been a matter of deep embarrassment for him during the war, making him reluctant to remove clothing even when they were rancid with blood and poisonous fumes.

“Thank you,” he said, and for some reason the children took that as their cue that Jiang Cheng was actually all right and burst out in a flood of questions.

Lan Jingyi wanted to know how Jiang Cheng’s clothing had gotten to be such a vivid shade of purple, while Lan Sizhui was more curious about his sword and how shiny it was – the concerns of children, unburdened by the memories or concerns of adults. Their questions made Jiang Cheng smile, and Lan Wangji thought briefly of the orphaned Jin Ling, who had been temporarily given to Jiang Cheng’s custody to pick up some of the traditions of his maternal sect. A fancy way of saying that the Jin sect wanted him out of the way for a few years until he was worth teaching their own ways to, but Lan Wangji suspected Jiang Cheng would have taken any excuse at all to remain close to his kin.

“What, now children aren’t too noisy for you?” Jiang Cheng asked Lan Wangji, and for the first time it occurred to Lan Wangji that the tossed out words, broken off and abrupt, might be meant as a friendly tease.

“I am reevaluating my relationship with silence,” he said, and Jiang Cheng smirked, amused.

“I bet you are,” he said. “Nie Huaisang alone would drive a man to distraction…”

Lan Jingyi laughed and clapped and that, and, inspired, Lan Sizhui followed suit.

And then, suddenly, Jiang Cheng frowned.

“A-Yuan,” he said, and Lan Wangji was suddenly cold from head to toe, the chattering of the children suddenly too loud in his ears: he had forgotten that Jiang Cheng had also visited the Burial Mounds. “That’s – that’s A-Yuan, isn’t it?”

“Jiang Wanyin…” Lan Wangji started, his voice sticking in his throat, then trailed off. He did not know what he could say that would work to convince Jiang Cheng that he was wrong when he was right, but neither could he admit to the truth. Even if Nie Mingjue had been kind enough to allow Lan Wangji to come to the Nie sect to stay, and to bring the two children with him, that had been under the premise that they were Lan sect children. If he ever found out that Lan Sizhui had been born surnamed Wen…

Nie Mingjue would not hurt a child, he was too righteous for that. But he might not be inclined to let that child grow up in his sect, either.

Jiang Cheng’s face was twisted in a strange sort of way, as if he couldn’t decide to be angry or relieved. “I thought he’d died,” he murmured, more to himself. “I thought…what is that?”

Lan Wangji was momentarily confused by the question, focused as he was by the terrifying implications of Jiang Cheng’s discovery, but then he saw that Jiang Cheng’s gaze went further into the distance.

He turned to look, then felt twist of unpleasantness deep in his belly: there was his brother in the sky, flying to the main gate on Shuoyue, and beside him was Jin Guangyao.

Why did you have to bring him? Lan Wangji thought, unhappy, but he already knew the answer to that. His brother trusted Jin Guangyao. Why wouldn’t he bring him?

If only he would trust the rest of them as much as he trusted that liar.

“We can discuss Lan Sizhui later,” Lan Wangji said, careful to emphasize both the surname and the courtesy name he’d given him – painfully obvious now that he thought about it, though at the time it had seemed only appropriate, the only name he could bestow that fit – and quickened his steps. “Now that my brother has arrived, things will become difficult.”

He wondered, a little bitterly, if his brother had even noticed that he was gone, or if he had been so thoroughly forgotten in his enforced ‘seclusion’ that it hadn’t even been thought of as a possibility.

“Lan Wangji!”

Lan Wangji came to a stop at Jiang Cheng’s shout. Suddenly full of anger, he turned his head back – surely Jiang Cheng didn’t hate Wei Wuxian so much that he wouldn’t let the matter of a small child go, even in the midst of a crisis?

Jiang Cheng was pointing into the distance. Strangely enough, it was not in the direction of the main gate, where Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao were even now landing, but somewhere even further beyond.

“Do you see it?” Jiang Cheng demanded, and his eyes were suddenly wild, his breathing disordered; he seemed far more disturbed than he had when he’d recognized A-Yuan. “Lan Wangji, tell me that you see it!”

Utterly lost, Lan Wangji focused his gaze on the far horizon. It was the same scenery as he’d seen there the past few days, the interspersed richness of the low valleys that quickly arced up into the mountains that surrounded the Unclean Realm. There was nothing there that was unusual…

Lan Wangji spotted a very faint glimmer.

Sun, he thought, the reflection of sun – sun off steel.

All of a sudden, he wasn’t on the ramparts of the Unclean Realm but standing beside Jiang Cheng on a rough-hewn fortress barely worthy of the name, watching the horizon grimly as the damned Wen scout’s flare did its work and the amassed forces of Wen Chao’s troops began to move inexorably in their direction. They would come, he had known, and they would kill them all if they could; it would take everything they had to stop them, and to survive long enough just to retreat once again.

For some of them to survive.

“Invasion,” he heard someone say, their voice hoarse, and only a moment later realized it was himself who had spoken. “Invasion…it’s an army!”

“It’s the Jin sect,” Jiang Cheng said, staring blankly as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him. For once, Lan Wangji understood him completely; he was similarly shocked. “They’re wearing gold, you can see it from here…the Jin sect has sent their armies here? How could they even think to dare? Chifeng-zun will annihilate them!”

Lan Wangji’s throat worked, and for a moment he felt drowned in the quiet once more, his voice not wanting to cooperate with him, his entire being willing or even wanting to return to the solace of seclusion if it would only mean that he wouldn’t have to hear the horrible din of war once more. But he was not a coward, and would do what he must – even speak of things that felt impossible to be spoken.

“That complicated situation I mentioned,” he said, and Jiang Cheng turned to look at him. “My brother has either conspired with or was duped into assisting Lianfang-zun in an attempt on Chifeng-zun’s life through destabilizing his qi and inducing a qi deviation.”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw dropped. “They did what?!”

“Chifeng-zuns remains alive, but is confined to his bed,” Lan Wangji continued, ignoring the interjection. “Nie Huaisang was the one who ordered the shield raised, saying that there might be an attack – I thought he was overreacting, but apparently not.”

“If Jin Guangshan can take over the Unclean Realm while Nie Mingjue is incapacitated, he can say that the incapacitation is worse than it really is,” Jiang Cheng said, abruptly getting it. Lan Wangji had forgotten how much he enjoyed working alongside those from Yunmeng Jiang, Wei Wuxian most of all but also in his absence Jiang Cheng, who was smart and did not require too many words to understand. “Everyone knows Nie Huaisang’s a good-for-nothing – it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for the Jin sect to claim that they came here at the invitation of the Nie sect to ‘rescue’ them, and remained in order to manage the sect on their behalf. Better that than have Chifeng-zun recover and come after you in vengeance!”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“But surely they didn’t think they’d be able to get away with it? Even if they could manage it for a while, as soon as the confusion cleared up, all the other sects would throw a fit…”

“Jin Ling,” Lan Wangji said, and Jiang Cheng blanched, seeming to realize the problem at once. His beloved nephew legally belonged to the Jin sect; if he dared to protest their actions, wouldn’t they be sure to take him away? As for the Lan sect, Lan Xichen would have been implicated through his actions – they could hold his participation over his head, forcing him to pick between supporting them and losing face for the whole sect, which would in turn weaken it. And that was assuming that Jin Guangyao didn’t somehow manage to talk Lan Xichen into thinking it was all for the best regardless…

There were only four Great Sects left, now. If the Lan and Jiang did nothing, who would be left to stand up for the Nie?

“I have to get inside. Nie Huaisang will need my support,” Lan Wangji said, but instead looked down at the children beside him.

“Go,” Lan Sizhui said, releasing his hand and stepping back away from him. “I’ll take Jingyi and hide in the room we’re staying in. You won’t need to worry about us – go, do what you need to!”

Jiang Cheng flinched as if he’d been struck.

Lan Wangji glanced at him. “The Jin sect army,” he said. “However unlikely, there’s still a chance that we are misinterpreting their motives.”

“I’ll go find out what I can,” Jiang Cheng agreed at once. “How many there are, what can be done…I’ll find out and report back.”

Lan Wangji tossed him the guest token he’d been given. “Be cautious,” he said. He still hadn’t forgiven Jiang Cheng for what he’d done in the Burial Mounds, but he was willing to wait until a better time to talk it over with him – now was not the time to try to gain understanding.

Jiang Cheng nodded and left at once, and Lan Wangji saw the children off, then hurried to do the same.

By the time he made it to the main hall, his brother and Jin Guangyao were already there, and Nie Huaisang was confronting them with nothing more than a fan gripped in white-knuckled hands and a glare.

“– dare you talk as if he’s gone mad, as if he can’t be trusted?” Nie Huaisang was shouting. “You should know how seriously we take such words here!”

“It is because of that that we are worried,” Lan Xichen said, and now it was Lan Wangji’s turn to flinch. His brother’s voice sounded just the way it always did, comforting in its familiarity: he sounded calm and patient, thoughtful and wise, sure of himself. He sounded as if he knew better than anyone else what was right and what was wrong. “Huaisang, you don’t know how much your brother has been worried about suffering the way your father did. He knows that qi deviations can be subtle as well as harsh – he understands that his reason might be the first to go –”

“And so you took it upon yourself to decide that for him?” Nie Huaisang sneered. “You keep saying that he understands, that he would understand, all that. But that’s a lie, isn’t it?”

“Huaisang, please,” Jin Guangyao said, his voice just as gentle as always. “You know we only want what’s best for your brother.”

“Do you?” Nie Huaisang said, but he was still looking at Lan Xichen. “You knew he hated the quiet room, er-ge. You knew that he’d never wanted anything to do with it – it’s not like that was anything new! That was something he’d said repeatedly, year after year, month after month, for his entire life. You knew how he felt about it, and you decided to ignore what he wanted in favor of what you wanted. How is that wanting what’s best for him?”

“I was only concerned for his health,” Lan Xichen said, sounding injured by the accusation. “I had nothing but good intentions…”

“Your intentions are immaterial compared to your actions,” Lan Wangji said, and they turned to look at him, both of them surprised – maybe they really hadn’t noticed he’d left the Cloud Recesses.

Well, he thought bitterly: they’d notice now.

He took a step into the room, then another.

“Your actions are this,” he said, ignoring the way his brother stared at his forehead, unadorned by the ribbon that had been there ever since he’d been a small child, receiving it for the first time from his uncle as a precious gift. “You did not trust or respect your elder brother’s word. You disregarded his decision, treating him like a child who can’t be trusted to make up his own mind – you put your own desires ahead of his, and in doing so, betrayed him. Did you really think he’d thank you for it?”

Did you think I’d thank you one day for authorizing our sect’s attack on the Burial Mounds without ever having to explain yourself? Even our uncle respected me enough to tell me at once what he had done and let me decide how I felt about it, accepting the consequences of his actions!

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen murmured. “You’re still healing, you shouldn’t be wandering around…where is your self-restraint?”

Where is your forehead ribbon, he meant, and Lan Wangji shook his head.

“Wangji, you don’t understand,” Jin Guangyao said, and Lan Wangji stiffened at the unasked-for intimacy of the address. “Whatever da-ge said to you, whatever he did, you cannot allow others to guide you by filling your heart with incomplete echoes of what you have lost. You will never forgive yourself.”

Lan Wangji was so furious that he could not speak. Was Jin Guangyao implying that Nie Mingjue had, what, seduced him? That Lan Wangji held his love for Wei Wuxian so cheap that he would have his head turned by the first person willing to make up to him in such a fashion?

“I should hope you know my da-ge better than that, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said coldly, still speaking only to Lan Xichen. “Or is this something else where you will believe the words of that lying dog over everyone else and the evidence of your own reason to boot?”

“Huaisang, that is unwontedly cruel, and uncalled for,” Lan Xichen said, tearing his eyes away from Lan Wangji. “Whatever Wangji has decided, I do not blame Mingjue-xiong for it.”

Implying, Lan Wangji supposed, that it was Lan Wangji that was to blame for it.

“Put the blame where it belongs,” he said stiffly, staring at his brother as if looking at a stranger. “Was I to leave Chifeng-zun where I found him, half-dead and dying in our jingshi where you left him at Lianfang-zun’s incitement?”

“You think I don’t recognize that I’ve done wrong?” Lan Xichen demanded. “I will speak to Mingjue-xiong and apologize – I will explain my reasoning and let him decide how I can make it up to him. But please, there is no call for you to be cruel to A-Yao. Do not blame him for my mistakes.”

“What about for his lies?” Lan Wangji asked. He took a breath, sharp and unhappy, and suddenly it was desperately, urgently necessary to know the truth. “Brother, tell me you didn’t know. Tell me you weren’t in on it – that you didn’t try to kill Mingjue-xiong in order to cover up your affair.”

“What, kill, you think I would try to…Wangji! Affair?” Lan Xichen exclaimed, and he seemed genuinely shocked. “No, Wangji, you’ve misunderstood entirely! It’s not like that at all. Mingjue-xiong and A-Yao, they were once lovers –”

“No, we weren’t,” Nie Mingjue said.

They all turned at once. He was standing at the door, all but clinging to the doorframe to keep himself standing; he was swathed in bandages and still stuck with needles. None of them had heard him or seen him approach – he must have heard them shouting and dragged himself over.

He sounded tired. He sounded quiet.

He looked at Lan Xichen.

“I was never Meng Yao’s lover,” he said. “Not now, not before, not ever. And Xichen…you knew that, didn’t you?”

#mdzs #lan wangji #lan sizhui #lan jingyi #jiang cheng #lan xichen #jin guangyao #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #the quiet room #you may want to reread previous chapters to get caught up

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rwby-sk · 3 years ago

Note

I'm a little relieved that the next book coming out is focusing on Neo. Puts my heart at ease that dedicating an entire book to her and Roman's backstory only to kill her off next Volume seems like a very poor and highly unlikely decision. Plus we deserve another Neo costume change in Volume 10.

If we're going to get meta, then we're going to deep dive At the end of the day, I don't think anyone is dying on the island, and regardless of any Silent Knight interactions (though I'm almost certain we'll get /something/) Neo is going to defect

RWBY has a pretty clear system regarding character deaths once you break it down Backstory characters and side characters introduced within 4-5 episodes are never safe. Their deaths are used to show how dangerous a Grimm is (like the Nuckelavee) or how heartless a villain is (like Tyrian killing Forest)

Protagonists (anyone fighting Salem) are only vulnerable at the end of a Volume. Pyrrha, Penny, and Clover. Their deaths show the antagonists winning, and the stakes raising, within the maybe 3 last episodes of a volume

Antagonists are safe at all times, until their story / motivation comes to a natural end This is the key - Hazel died after he saved Emerald (saving his surrogate sister when he couldn't save Gretchen, his motivation to that point) - Watts died after infecting Penny, and gaining control of Atlas, just like he always wanted. He didn't have any more reason to work for Salem (besides self preservation perhaps) so his story ended - Adam lost the white fang at Haven. All he had left was his drive to get Blake back / punish her. But she refused to let him control her anymore, and his story ended. - Ironwood sacrificed everyone and everything to try to keep Atlas, the floating city, safe. But when RWBY rescued the people at the cost of the city, his story arc was done. He died because he had nothing left to do anymore - Roman was a great thief. The master criminal of Vale. But Beacon was gone. There was nothing left to steal. And the story was about to leave Vale behind. There was nothing left for Roman's story. He was about to be outpaced by Gods and Relics and Magic. He didn't even have an aura. His arc, as the introductionary villain was done - Jacque Schnee played his role. RWBY returned to Atlas, saw through his deception and greed. And locked him away, giving Weiss the closure she needed from her abusive father. He was never going to become important to the story again. He was never leaving that cell. And he didn't

So Let's recap Neo is still, currently in this moment, a villain Her story arc and motivation is to avenge Roman She will get that closure on the island. She has to face Ruby at some point, and they have to work out what happened, however they do

So, then, is she in danger of being killed off as an antagonist with a finished story?

No, because she's about to become a protagonist

Neo's defection has been suggested since her return in Volume 6

Her only song in the series is about how she wanted revenge on Cinder for Roman's death (Notice how it never plays when Neo fights Ruby? Or even as a leitmotif?)

She's introduced hunting down Cinder Every chance she has, Neo glares at Cinder as soon as the Maiden looks away Neo is terrified of Salem and the Grimm creations Neo happily betrays and blackmails Cinder with the Relic to get her revenge on Ruby And now, Cinder has tried to kill Neo, knocking her off the platform and letting her fall to her assumed death

Not to mention the reframing of this scene from volume 3 The scene where Roman tells Ruby, that he never wanted to destroy Beacon, he just wanted to be on the winning side. Because if you can't beat someone, you join them

And all of that doesn't even touch on Neo's similarities and foils to Jaune Another character who lost someone they cared about a Beacon, who carries around a piece of their clothing, who still can't get over their loss And who is the only other person on the Island not on team RWBY (or those random civilians Cinder attacked)

All of this, as well as getting a new book focused entirely on Neo and Roman, as a means to better understand Neo and where she's coming from, to want to see her succeed and get what she wants?

Neo will be safe. No one is dying on the island. And she will defect to join RWBY, if only to get back at Cinder

#RWBY #neopolitan

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free-pool-trash · 4 years ago

Text

happiness - peter maximoff

yay a new peter fic <3 i was feeling a little unmotivated for a few days (since our boy wasn’t in episode 8 at all :/) but im back 😎 although im back in school so i might be on and off for a while 😩✋🏻

!!!it’s not a songfic those lyrics at the start are just my inspo!!!

word count: 5k <3 😳

warnings: maybe swearing but i dont think so i cant remember, peter being sad, angst, but mostly fluff, WandaVision spoilers maybe??? I pretty much made up this plot so idk, endgame spoilers, reader was an avenger, kissing but it’s not graphic😽 probably some mistakes yk how it is

feedback is appreciated <3

tagging: @enchantedcruelsummer (should i make a peter maximoff taglist? let me know and I’ll do it)

masterlist

haunted by the look in my eyes that would’ve loved you for a lifetime

leave it all behind

& there is happiness

Loneliness had always been something that plagued him. That and a plethora of other negative emotions.

There wasn’t a day that went by where Peter Maximoff wasn’t made to feel like a loser. Admittedly, he’d never held himself to a high standard, he grew up thinking that he’d never fit in anywhere and eventually that thought mutated into a lifestyle as he began isolating himself from the world around him, either far too good or heartbreakingly not enough to be a part of that crowd.

He liked spending time with himself. Nobody else knew him the way he knew him, and still, he found nothing but an overwhelming hollow space where his deepest most important hopes, aspirations, dreams and self discoveries should have resided.

Peter had always put this feeling of exile down to the fact that he was a mutant, it was the most likely explanation, right?

It was only when he’d decided to join the X-Men that he finally came to the conclusion that maybe the rest of the world wasn’t the problem, nor was his mutation the problem, but that he himself was the problem. For even in a school full of people exactly like him he was still the same loser that he was in his mother’s basement.

And he was under no illusions that that was exactly what his teammates saw in him; nothing. No potential. Just a space holder to bring the numbers up.

Super speed was incredible. That’s how Peter acknowledged jobs well done, he praised his speed but never himself. He just saved Charles and Erik from a room full of armed guards? No that wasn’t him, that was simply his speed. He saved an entire mansion full of people from a potentially fatal explosion? Nothing special, Kurt probably could’ve done the same.

Forget all of the good deeds and saved lives because the bottom line of it all, to him at least, was that all he was good for was cheeky one liners and hopeless kleptomania.

His life took a turn for the worse when he found himself being mind controlled in an alternate universe. And even then, he was playing the part of someone that wasn’t him, the thought humbled him, reconnected him to his roots and reintroduced him to his life long philosophy that he’d never be anything more than a social pariah. Not even an alternate reality could accept him for who he was. There wasn’t a warm welcome and despite not knowing what was going on, the definition of “imposter” or the weirder, “recast”, still shot to kill.

He settled on the notion that he was an inter dimensional waste of space. At least in WestView he could be blissfully ignorant, let the real him be drowned mercilessly in favour of being an integral part of someone’s life- to feel important, even if it wasn’t real.

When WestView fell apart he was completely lost. In every sense of the word. In a new world with no way home and as it turned out, nobody was looking for him. Although he didn’t expect anyone to care, it still stung that nobody did. He always hoped that one day Erik would step up as a father figure for him, this; getting kidnapped and smuggled into a different dimension, seemed like the perfect moment for that epic father son moment, but it wouldn’t surprise Peter if his father has yet to notice his disappearance.

But then, seemingly out of nowhere, he came into contact with a beacon of hope. A guiding star that might possibly lead him to an existence consisting of something other than misery and self loathing.

It offered him a choice; return to being the self proclaimed loser he was known as or start fresh as someone new and mysterious, with first impressions yet to be made and conclusions about him yet to be drawn. Peter had known himself to be rash in the past, when it came to making decisions he had the tendency to act impulsively, never putting too much thought into how his decisions would affect his life in the long term. The choice before him now is no different, he knew exactly what he wanted going forward, however selfish the choice may have been, the second he realised it was an option his heart was set on it.

That previously mentioned beacon of hope arrived to him in the form of a girl, in the form of you. An ex-avenger and close friend of Wanda’s, you were hired by S.W.O.R.D to help them clean up the more ‘sensitive’ fallout that the fall of WestView brought about. Obviously, they were sticking you- the only other avenger with magik- on babysitting and rehabilitation rather than letting you go after your best friend who had gone completely off the rails. Having said that though, you didn’t want anyone else handling him.

You hadn’t watched WandaVision, nor were you even aware that any of it was going on until it had reached a boiling point and you got a call from Monica Rambeau, she’d begged you to come and wait on the edge of town while she went in and act as her eyes on the outside along with Jimmy Woo.

That’s where you stayed until the hex broke down.

As soon as the barrier came down the base you manned was overrun by an armada of terribly confused and distressed citizens, Monica and Wanda were not among them but in their places stumbled in Darcy and the man playing the role of Pietro.

Jimmy appointed himself to Darcy, who in all honesty seemed relatively unscathed by the situation while you made a beeline for the dirty blonde charading as your former, dead teammate.

Peter was, to put it simply, completely enthralled by you as soon as you’d strolled over to him and in the moment he’d put his almost magnetic attraction to you down to the fact that you were the first friendly face he’d seen upon breaking free of Agatha’s possession.

But one thing in particular struck him; you’d asked him his name. You hadn’t immediately assumed him to be some knock off Pietro, as everyone else had. You acknowledged that he had his own personal identity and despite how often he caught himself hating the person he was, he found that when it was torn away from him that he wanted it back. The simple question you posed gave him the opportunity to regain his identity.

“Peter. My name is Peter.” He answered you, almost unsure of himself and you found your interest in the man piqued even further.

He remembered with perfect clarity the way you’d offered him a grin, tilted your hand, extended your hand and said, “Well it’s nice to meet you, Peter. Come on, I’ll be your babysitter for the next while.” There was something about the way you’d laughed after saying the words and the slight, yet unmistakable, glint of mischief in your eyes that had him captivated from the get go.

With you came a whirlwind of new emotions. After only a few weeks of knowing you, Peter noticed he wasn’t as lonely as he had been back home. He didn’t hate himself half as much either, he wasn’t entirely free of self deprovative tendencies and maybe he never would be, but undoubtedly, he likes himself more in this world than he ever had in his last. He thanked you and your determination to make him “a functioning member of society” for that.

It didn’t feel belittling, the way you helped him. You hadn’t dragged him to your favourite mall every weekend just to taunt him about how he couldn’t stop himself from stealing something. Even the very first time, when he’d sped away from you and returned within a second adoring a pair of freshly stolen sunglasses. Your only reaction had been to laugh and casually place your hands on both sides of his face.

“At least remember to take the tag off next time, speedy.” You’d muttered, subtly pulling the tacky stickers off the arms of his shades. No, you weren’t dragging him sight seeing or forcing him to help you go clothes shopping because you thought he was a loser who needed reforming you were doing it because you were a true friend who wanted him to succeed.

The pair of you seemed like two peas in a pod. Which to be fair, you were. Peter Maximoff intrigued you in every sense of the word. He was new, quite literally other worldly, he was kind, he was funny, he was perfectly mischievous and completely wonderful.

What caught your eye the most was the way he held himself, as if he wasn’t entirely comfortable in his own skin. It became apparent to you that he lacked confidence with the phrases he usually tacked onto the ends of his sentences. When you’d invite him to hang out in the beginning his response would always be something along the lines of, “Sure. If you want me to.” But the excitable puppy dog eyes told you that he was dying for someone to want him to tag along some place.

There was a certain understanding between you. You were both more than accustomed with the harrowing feeling of being alone and even though you’d never exactly voiced those thoughts with each other, you couldn’t deny that his was a spirit kindred to your own and he felt it too.

Since the Avengers has disbanded, one of your best friends, Natasha, was dead and your other best friend, Wanda, was gone completely off the rails and the people chasing her wouldn’t let you anywhere near her or even attempt to help pull her out of her darkness. You were being kept as a wildcard in case they needed her taken down. Peter was no stranger to the feeling of being cast aside and so he quickly responded to your frustrations, and in doing so, forced himself out of his comfort zone to be there for you. To his complete shock though, you’d been so appreciative of his efforts.

You never failed to thank him for the little things he did for you, always complimenting his mutation when he’d use it and giving him the recognition he never received at home. The friendship he formed with you was so… two sided, again, something he wasn’t accustomed to before. It didn’t involve him giving everything he had to offer and receiving nothing in return, you matched his energy meticulously and never left him hanging.

In a series of firsts, he didn’t wonder whether or not you genuinely liked him, never feeling the need or want to question it as you’d left him with no reason to doubt.

As he walked around the mall with you now, his mind brought his attention back to the question you’d asked him rather casually a few nights ago. You were both lounging on your couch, watching some ridiculous reality show (a favourite of yours and Peter’s) when you’d turned your head to look at him, a thoughtful look on your face. “Do you think when S.W.O.R.D figures the technology out to crack into other realities, you’ll go back to yours?”

The question had taken him aback for a second, in all honesty, he hadn’t thought about going home, not when he was with you at least and considering he’d become your roommate about three weeks after he got out of WestView, the thought of returning to his old life had barely crossed his mind.

Being an ex-Avenger you were fairly well off, you lived alone in a two bedroom apartment in New York that you’d bought to be closer to Stark tower. Peter had nowhere to go and aside from having a spare room to offer you’d also been sort of lost in the current of the busy city with everyone you once loved in the area either dead, on the run or busy elsewhere.

While the question hadn’t crossed Peter’s mind, it had crossed yours on several occasions. He’d been staying with you for six months and the moment you realised that he was becoming one of the most important people in your life, the thought of him leaving you too weighed on your mind but at the end of the day you wanted him to feel happy. He deserved to feel happy and if going back to his reality brought him that happiness then you’d support him.

“Dunno,” he’d replied, turning to face you, chucking a handful of popcorn at you when you looked incredulous at his response, “To be honest I haven’t really thought about it, m’way too busy babysitting you anyway.” He joked, effortlessly dodging the few pieces of popcorn you attempted to throw at him.

For the last few nights, the question haunted him, but it wasn’t just the question that was bothering him. You were at the forefront of his mind as he replayed the past six months of his life which also happened to be the best six months of his life. WestView put him through hell but coming out the other side of it and meeting you felt like heaven.

He weighed up the pros and cons of returning to his native timeline. The cons: he’d have to leave you behind, he’d go back to being the loser who nobody took seriously, his talents would be downplayed and disregarded and he’d inevitably end up revisiting his lifestyle of solitude. Then there was the pros: he’d get to reunite with his pac man machine. He couldn’t manage to think up anything else.

If he stayed he’d have everything he ever wanted and needed. You’d be there and he knew you always would be, besides he couldn’t leave you knowing that you needed him. If he left who would wake you up when you had night terrors about the catastrophe that your reality was still recovering from? There would be nobody there to comfort you when you woke up from the nightmares, reliving the deaths of Natasha, Tony or Vision and the experience of being snapped out of existence? If he wasn’t there to make you laugh when you were about to cry then who would be? In his heart of hearts he knew you had a huge support system at your disposal, he’d met most of them. Even though he was well aware that Sam visited you as often as he could, that Bucky wrote you letters on a monthly basis and sometimes tagged along with Sam on his visits, that Stephen Strange appeared in your apartment whenever the urge struck him, that the literal god of thunder invited you out for beer whenever he was visiting Earth, that the little spider-kid, also named Peter, swung by your apartment at least once a week to tell you all about school and his good deeds. Despite knowing all of this and knowing all of these people loved you dearly, Peter wanted to be your main source of support, he didn’t want to be someone who came and went, who’d love you then leave you. He wanted to be with you through anything and everything and the feeling that you’d love him for a lifetime had him satisfied with the decision he was about to make.

If leaving his old life meant he could stay here, with you, and experience happiness for more than a fleeting moment then he’d simply; leave it all behind.

“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me the other night.” He spoke through a mouthful of curly fries. You were sitting in the food court of the mall when he decided to let you in on his desire to stay with you indefinitely.

You raised your eyebrow, “You? Putting thought into an answer? Peter, I think I’m starting to become a bad influence on you.” You told him teasingly, taking a long sip of your drink as he rolled his eyes humorously.

“You’re a terrible influence which is exactly why I’ve decided to stay here and put you on the straight and narrow.” The glee you felt at his statement was undeniable, your eyes lit up and your lips curled upwards.

“You’re staying? Really staying?” Your smile was contagious, Peter’s face now painted with a wide grin as he nodded his head.

In a moment of weakness he frantically added, “Y’know only if you want me to though. If you don’t that’s completely cool.” He rushed through the words, feeling more embarrassed when the fond look on your face never faded.

“Of course I want you to stay. You mean a lot to me.” You reassured him, a gentle smile on your lips as you reached across the metal table, intertwining your fingers with his.

Peter squeezed your hand gratefully, holding it in his grasp securely and allowing his smile to return to his face, “I know. You mean a lot to me too.” It was somewhat of an understatement, he was starting to understand that you didn’t just mean a lot, but that you meant everything.

His resolution lifted a huge weight off your shoulders that you wouldn’t be losing yet another best friend. You were glad he’d be with you when everything blew over with Wanda, the two of them definitely had the potential to develop a beautiful sibling relationship and they both deserved that. Of course, Peter would never replace Pietro and having known them both it was obvious just how different the two men were, the only thing they had in common being their powers and last name. Still, he and Wanda would still be able to work on it. He didn’t hate her after WestView and you knew Wanda well enough to know that she was kind hearted and she’d be more than willing to give him a chance. When she eventually comes back to her senses, that it.

As the months went on, life with you and Peter seemed to only get better. You never stopped laughing, your nightmares died down and Peter had taken on a whole new lease of life. Yourself and Peter were the perfect example of meeting the right person at the right time, you balanced each other out and accentuated the other’s good qualities.

Peter could now say with complete confidence that he was happy and what’s more is that he was finally sure that he was making someone happy.

Up until nearly eleven months of living together your relationship had been purely platonic, save for the constant flirting but flirtation pretty much ran in yours and Peter’s blood. Peter wasn’t going to lie to himself, he’d fallen for you the second you’d peeled the security tags off his stolen sunglasses.

You, on the other hand, had been fighting with yourself because yes, you love Peter but you couldn’t have told him when there was the possibility he’d eventually leave and now so much time has passed and you’ve got such a good thing going you didn’t have it in you to ruin it.

However, all of that changed when your original Maximoff best friend came knocking on your door.

Wanda was on the run. She’d caused an amazing amount of chaos but Stephen Strange and S.W.O.R.D were hot on her trail and now she needed a place to lay low with the twins. She figured there was no place more reliable to go than to the always open arms of her best friend, who conveniently had a divinity for earth magik and could muster up a protective barrier without raising suspicions. And that’s exactly where she found herself; outside your door.

You’d been chasing Peter around the apartment when you heard the knock on the door. Peter was on the opposite end of the kitchen to you, using the bar as a shield from you. “You better get that.”

“Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you?” You glared as you spoke, it was his own fault really. What sort of idiot jumpscares a witch while she’s mid-meditation? He’d frightened you so badly you accidentally blasted a ball of your signature green energy and ruined your favourite couch throw pillow. When you were ready to pounce on the scared speedster the knocks sounded again, more frantic this time.

With one last glare towards Peter you stomped towards the door. Your anger melted away completely when you saw her. Her hood was up and she looked completely exhausted, two small hooded little boys by her side.

“Wanda…” You breathed out, relief flooding your system at the sight of her alive. She didn’t get a chance to speak before your arms were pulling her against you tightly, hugging her as if your life depended on it. Wanda returned in your embrace, allowing herself to relax for the first time in nearly a year, she sniffled against your shoulder, holding back tears as she realised how much she’d truly missed you.

Billy and Tommy watched in confusion as their mother cried into your shoulder. They didn’t know who you were, all their mother had told them was that they were going somewhere safe.

It was the yell of one of the boys that caused you and Wanda to separate, “Uncle P!” With that you felt a familiar rush of air across your leg but instead of Peter appearing one of the kids was gone.

You shared a perplexed look with Wanda, although your confusion was for different reasons.

“Hey hell raisers!” Peter responded, catching the mini speedster who all but threw himself at him barely regaining his balance before the other child had flung himself into the hug.

“Wanda? Those two… are they...?” You started, at a loss for words Wanda cut you off quietly, her tone as disbelieving as yours.

“My children? Yes. Is that…?” You nodded your head numbly, anticipating the end of her question.

“Your fake brother? Yeah.” Quickly, you realised you and a wanted woman catching up with the door wide open wasn’t ideal and you ushered Wanda inside, shutting the door when she walked in.

“Hey.” Peter greeted her simply, as if he hadn’t been used as a meat puppet in her altered reality. It wasn’t in his nature to hold any grudges.

“Hi?” Wanda replied, her voice still twinged with confusion.

“Peter, will you keep an eye on the kids for a bit? Wanda and I have some catching up to do.” You asked him with a nervous laugh, just thankful that Wanda was too tired to argue with your suggestion.

Peter ruffled the boys’ hair and gave you a grin, “Only if you stop trying to kill me.”

You rolled your eyes as you began to lead Wanda into your bedroom, “You’re on probation, jerk.” You called over your shoulder.

Once you were securely in your bedroom, the door locked and sitting comfortably you fixed Wanda with an amused look, “I’d ask you what’s new but I’m not sure I even wanna know.”

Wanda gave you a sad smile while she shook her head, “No, you probably don’t. I will tell you tomorrow, I don’t want to get into it tonight. I’m so tired.” She admitted, her voice overcome with sadness.

“I’ll pump up the air mattress and you and the boys can sleep in here for however long you need. I’d offer you the spare room but that’s where Peter’s been staying and I don’t think empty food containers are the kind of decor you’d be into.” Wanda nodded, squeezing your hand gratefully.

“So his name is Peter?” She asked, curious about the man Agatha had used to trick her in WestView.

You nodded in confirmation, “Yeah. Peter Maximoff, actually.”

Wanda’s brows came to a furrow at that, “Maximoff? So he’s a relation?”

“Yes and no. Peter is from a different reality but he’s still a Maximoff and he’s got super speed. So, and this is just my theory, while you’re not directly related he could still be your brother- if you wanted him to.” You explained, as gently as you could, not trying to push her too far but to nudge the idea in her direction.

Wanda, to your surprise, didn't seem to hate the suggestion, “What is he like?”

A genuine smile made it onto your face then, as you shot into your description of your roommate, “He’s caring, funny, a little bit of a kleptomaniac but he’s working on it. He’s understanding and moronically selfless, moronic in the sense that he doesn’t even realise he’s being selfless. Huge pain in the ass too.” Wanda had a soft smile on her face by the time you’d finished.

“You like him.” Was all she said and you let out a laugh in disbelief, standing up and opening the door.

“Go grab a shower. I’ll have Peter blow up the air mattress while I go introduce myself to my god sons.”

“I thought you’d at least wait until I actually asked you.” Wanda laughed as you walked out of the room.

Things moved fairly quickly after that. As promised you introduced yourself to Billy and Tommy as their god mother, which they seemed more than thrilled about and you assumed that excitement had to do with whatever description of you Peter had given them. Wanda and the twins were all cleaned and fed and had all but collapsed into bed, foregoing the air mattress and huddling together in your double bed instead.

“Where are you sleeping, mother Teresa?” Peter teased as he noticed your eyes drooping where you stood.

“On the couch probably. Or the air mattress.” You mumbled, cutting yourself off with a yawn.

Peter, unimpressed with your options, scoffed, “No way. Come on, you can bunk with me.”

Much like Wanda, you were too tired to argue and you let Peter pull you to his, surprisingly clean, room by the hand.

You both crawled into the bed, lying close together despite the amount of empty space on the mattress.

“How are you feeling about all of this?” Your soft voice broke through the silence and Peter turned his head to look at you.

“About Wanda?” You nodded your head, watching him intently as he rolled onto his side, facing you more comfortably.

Peter shrugged lightly, “I’m feeling ok. Just glad the twins still see me as their cool uncle.” You let out a small laugh at his response.

“Wanda was asking about you. Seemed interested in getting to know the real you.” You informed him, your heartwarming as you watched a hopeful look fall across his face.

A lull settled over the room once again and Peter caught himself staring at you. His eyes drifted over every visible part of you, reminding him of most of the points on his pros list for staying in your universe; your eyes, your lashes, your nose, your lips, you.

“What’re you thinking about?” The sound of your tired voice pulled him out of his thoughts and ultimately pushed him to bite the bullet and tell you how he’s feeling. With you curled up beside him, in his bed, fighting sleep just to stay in his company for as long as you could; he knew there would be no better time.

“Just about how happy I am to be here with you.” He answered you honestly, the butterflies in both of your stomachs fluttering in sync at his words.

You trailed a hand under the duvet and onto the bedsheets between your bodies, feeling around until you found his hand and gently intertwined your fingers. “I’m happy you decided to stay.”

“What you’ve all gone through in this timeline sucks- don’t get me wrong-“ Peter started sincerely, scooting closer to you and dropping his head back down on the edge of your pillow, leaving the pair of you practically nose to nose as he went on.

“And I hate that Wanda had to go through so much… but I’m really glad that it led me to you.” Peter swore in that moment, right after the confession left his mouth, that he could die right now and be completely content knowing that you now knew how he felt.

His heart stopped, and he thought that maybe he was about to die, when you gave him the softest, sweetest smile he’d ever been on the receiving end of and whispered, “I feel the same.”

Time moved in slow motion as he felt you moving your intertwined hands towards your lips, your lips pressed gently against the back of Peter’s hand before you brought them to rest against your chest.

It was a fact to say that Peter Maximoff had never felt intimacy quite like this before. But, experiencing it now, with you, led him to wonder how he’d ever survived without it. He wasn’t sure whether it was natural to crave more, especially when the affection you were showing him was so gentle, but he didn’t care as he let the impulsive side of him take over.

Not sparing another word, Peter closed the small distance between your lips and his. His free hand cupped your jaw while yours wasted no time in getting tangled in his silver hair.

His lips moved softly and surprisingly slowly over yours and he savoured the feeling of your hand holding his while your other got lost in his hair, your body pressed up against him, the way your jaw moved against his palm as you reciprocated the movement of his lips and the taste of your lips, promising himself he’d never let the memory slip from his mind for as long as he lived.

With complete clarity, Peter could say he had felt true, genuine happiness and he had no doubt in his mind that there was absolutely nothing Charles, Hank, Scott or anyone else from his original timeline could say to make him leave this happiness behind. Because in the process of forgetting his old life, he couldn’t deny that he has undoubtedly found himself in the position of a man who had so much more to live for.

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