#it's true we never do see him get sick but i assumed initially that he did at some point and we just enver saw

[burinazar]

yeah my take on this was always 'Waz's sense he should prioritize immune health was due to having some vague nondescript feeling that this would be important in the future/that him in particular staying healthy would be important to others' as well as 'indication the character will eat, like, anything, if he thinks it's conducive to survival'

one thing i hadn't really seriously considered upon initial viewing and analysis at first was if in fact this *worked* and was the reason we never see Waz get sick, because it just seemed too farfetched and whacky that there was in fact a way around the inescapable parasitism dilemma in the form of 'just eat cockroaches for twenty years or so first', even if the mockwater itself is a bug like life form it just seemed unlikely. but i've come around to also being open to the idea maybe it did in fact work somewhat.

Not me realizing months (months!) after watching Made in Abyss that Wazukyan eating bugs and rats in episode 1 were Easter eggs, …Chekhov loading his damn gun, ….Foreshadowing with a big F slapped on it

[unsolicited-opinions]

Bro no one hates jews for ethnicity, news are hated for faith.

If you are an atheist "jew", no one gives a shit about you.

Stop pretending to be a victim and trying to appropriate antisemitic struggles.

I'll address these point by point.

Jewish readers, please share your thoughts!

You wrote: "No one hates Jews for ethnicity, [J]ews are hated for faith."

"Hitler...defined the Jews as a race and not a religious community, characterized the effect of a Jewish presence as a “race-tuberculosis of the peoples,” and identified the initial goal of a German government to be discriminatory legislation against Jews."

[Source]

More here

As David Baddiel put it, "I'm an atheist, but that would get me no free passes out of Auschwitz."

The Jews are a people. Judaism is the traditional religion of that people. A Jew who does not engage with that religion does not cease to be a Jew by Jewish definitions OR by antisemitic definitions.

You wrote: "If you are an atheist Jew, nobody gives a shit about you."

First, see above.

Second, you're incorrectly assuming that a Jewish atheist is not engaged with Judaism.

Here's the thing:

Judaism isn't necessarily theistic.

Let's set aside the explicitly non-theistic movement of Humanistic Judaism for a moment (huge topic for another time) and just talk briefly about theism in Judaism.

Most kinds of Judaism, while certainly encouraging faith, do not require it. There are no thought crimes in Judaism, no crucibles of faith, and no requirements that one announce or perform proof of belief for witnesses. Those things are often parts of Christianity and Islam, but in Judaism...not so much.

In Jewish thought, it is not what you believe about metaphysics which lifts you up, ennobles you, improves you, or makes the world a better place. In Judaism, you pursue those things by how you behave.

Sola fide is a Christian concept which Judaism does not share. Judaism is a profoundly existential religion with ethics which are overwhelmingly humanist.

I was raised in Reform and Conservative congregations...and non-theistic/atheistic/humanistic views were very common there.

When I was studying to become Bar Mitzvah, our congregation's Rabbi made crystal clear to me that there was no contradiction between my identity as a Jew and my inability to swallow the idea of an anthropomorphic, sapient, interventionist God who cared at all about petitionary prayer. He felt that wrestling with God was a very Jewish thing to do. He introduced me to Maimonides' apophatic theology. Decades later, I'm still grateful.

Many Jews pray, I believe, not to be heard by God, but so they can hear their own hearts and minds. This is why kavanah is important and why I disliked (and still dislike) prayer-by-rote and rituals performed for the sake of ritual. It's more mindfulness meditation than petitionary prayer.

There's a famous Hasidic story, recorded by philosopher Martin Buber in his "Tales of the Hasidim," about how Judaism views atheism:

The Master teaches that God created everything the world to be appreciated, since everything is here to teach us a lesson.

One clever student asks "What lesson can we learn from atheists? Why did God create them?"

The Master responds "God created atheists teach us the most important lesson of them all- the lesson of true compassion. You see, when an atheist performs an act of charity, visits someone who is sick, helps someone in need, and cares for the world, he is not doing so because of some religious teaching. He does not believe that God commanded him to perform this act. In fact, he does not believe in Goda at all, so his acts are based on an inner sense of morality. And look at the kindness he can bestow upon others simply because he feels it to be right."

"This means," the Master continued "that when someone reaches out to you for help, you should never say 'I pray that God will help you.' Instead for the moment, you should become an atheist, imagine that there is no God who can help, and say 'I will help you."

You wrote: "Stop pretending to be a victim and trying to appropriate antisemtic struggles."

I invite other Jews to advise if I have appropriated anything which is not mine.

Your opinion, though? Your view, as a non-Jew, about what is or isn't Jewish? On what is or is not mine in my heritage? Your claim, framed by your obvious and absolute ignorance of my life, my family's history, Jewish history, Jewish theology, and Jewish philosophy, that I have not experienced antisemitism and am "appropriating?"

I don't have a single fuck to give about any of that, and neither does any other Jew

Still, thank you for the writing prompt. It helps to crystalize my own thinking and provides an opportunity to educate.

[arminsumi]

Hey! Could I request a soft fluffy Gojo where he finds out reader is pregnant and he’s over the moon excited and can barely contain himself? Seeing the Gojo crumbs got me feeling all soft for him.

PREGNANT

★ Note : ah i savored the gojo crumbs!! 🥹💗 missing that pineapple head sm.

★ Warnings : some suggestive jokes

"Sooo... I bought you a pregnancy test."

You laugh at him like he's being ridiculous, like this is a total over-reaction to you having just one instance of morning nausea that didn't even last very long.

Satoru has some weird sixth sense when it comes to you. If you're not feeling well, he knows it before you even say anything. Like this morning, when you sat up in bed in a strange way, he blinked awake and mumbled "Baby, what is it?" knowing in his chest you must feel sick. And sure enough, you were sick.

Albeit not for long — Satoru still soothed your back with his hands and gave you a thorough massage until the nausea went away.

He joked, "Are you pregnant?" while he massaged you. But that weird sixth sense told him that you were really pregnant.

After your nausea subsided, he went out to buy you every necessity he could think of. You know, pads and tampons of all sizes because he has no idea which one you actually prefer and he also has no idea why there are so many variations. So he dumped a pile of period necessities on your desk and you laughed at how he did it.

Then he unexpectedly whipped out a pregnancy test package and tapped you lightly on the shoulder with it.

"Satoru, I'm pretty sure I'm not pregnant."

"But I feel like you are." he replies suspiciously. "I mean look at you... you're glowin' like a goddess. C'mon, just take the test."

"Okay, fine — but I'm telling you, I don't feel pregnant."

You took the pregnancy test and rolled your eyes while waiting. Satoru waited outside the bathroom like an excited puppy and nearly pawed at the door to be let in, but you absolutely refused to let him watch you pee on the pregnancy test.

So he spoke through the bathroom door;

"Sooo are you pregnant or do I have to take you back to the bedroom and make your eyes roll back again?"

You laughed.

"Satoru, you don't need to take me back to the bedroom for me to roll my eyes at you."

You stared down at the pregnancy test.

| |

Oh.

You opened the door of the bathroom.

When you hand him the positive test, Satoru blanks. Then his eyes light up like you've never seen them light up before.

His jaw slacks and he doesn't have any words.

You think he's frozen in place but then suddenly he reanimates himself and attacks you with kisses.

"Babyyy!" his voice cracks with excitement.

He levels his face with your tummy and hugs it, then speaks to it;

"Hey, kid. You better have your mommy's eyes."

"Satoru, you're ridiculous." you chuckle.

Satoru keeps kissing your tummy, nuzzling and hugging it. He cries a little after the initial excitement calms down. In fact he sobs. He clings to your stomach, arms wrapped tightly around it. All his attention is plastered on you and your tummy.

He calls Suguru and Shoko and Nanami in a video call and judging by the tone of his texts (VIDEO CALL NOW. IMMINENT.) they assume something dire has happened.

And then Satoru just says;

"We're pregnant."

"We?!"

Suguru hears you yell through the phone and laughs.

Nanami sighs, "Satoru, I thought something bad happened, you idiot. Congratulations."

"Mhm!" Satoru ignores Nanami's scolding and absorbs the 'congratulations' like a proud to-be father.

"I'm gonna be a dad." he keeps saying this over and over until it even gets on your nerves, so you pop into the video call to shut up your stupid husband which makes the others howl with laughter. Satoru just happily lets you shut him up, he knows he's being an obnoxious idiot. He can't help it, he's over-excited.

He is so smug about it. But underlining that smugness you see pure excitement, real true joy that Satoru can't fully express except through subtle things.

He koala-hugs his arms around your tummy and clings to you.

On the video call, everyone sees how Satoru looks at you; he has that lovey-dovey euphoric smile stuck on his face.

"Satoru, you're glowing. Are you pregnant, too?" Shoko jokes.

— ★

Later that night, Satoru rests his head on your stomach while the two of you are laid in bed.

The initial goofiness and excitement has calmed down, and he's gone silent like he's brooding.

"Do you think I'll be a good dad?" he asks seriously. He experiences a small voice crack.

Waiting for your answer makes him nervous. He fiddles with the hem of your pajamas.

"Satoru, you're going to be the best dad." you respond.

His lips curl and he begins smiling to himself and cuddling your tummy more. It's one of those rare smiles that he feels too shy to show you. Reminds you of how he used to smile at you when you flustered him in college, when he was a love sick puppy for you.

Of course, he breaks the moment with a stupid joke; "I think you moaning "daddy! daddy!" worked magic."

"Satoru!" you have to scoldingly smack him on the head with your book.

He just giggles cheekily and crawls up to snuggle your chest.

— ★

For the following week, you catch Satoru scrolling through lists of online baby names, and beaming to his students that he's gonna be a dad. Boasting as much as he possibly can to every available ear.

When he tells anyone about you being pregnant, he phrases it very carefully; "She's going to be the mother of my children." he says proudly, chin lifted a bit, smug smirk on his face that even you want to slap off.

Yeah he's so smug and annoying. Anyways, he cries when he stares at the ultrasound.

He keeps it in his wallet. He shows it to everyone. He looks at it while he's in his office at Jujutsu High.

Seeing your tummy get rounder and fuller turns Satoru into a softer man.

— ★

Satoru always greets your tummy like the baby can hear him. He talks to it every night as if he's helping Littler Gojo fall asleep, but actually his voice is putting you to sleep.

He comes up to you, cooing carefully in case you're having a mood swing, and squishes his cheek to your tummy.

And when you come out of the bedroom in the mornings looking your roughest, Satoru smiles wide and says without fail every time;

"Oh there's my mama goddess, how'd you sleep with Little Gojo's kung fu last night?"

When the baby kicks, he's always got some funny response;

"Hey, I'm the Strongest, kid."

"Don't kick. Be nice to mommy's tummy."

"Damn, this kid's trynna beat up his dad's pretty face!"

"Wow, you're gonna be a martial artist I just know it."

In fact, talking to your tummy is something Satoru loves the most.

When he gets home from a tiring day at work, he kisses you hard and then lowers himself onto his knees and greets your tummy.

"Hey kid, how's it going in there? Gettin' stronger? Good. Good. Hey I heard that! Don't talk back to me. Gosh, you're already gettin' rebellious."

"Satoru... what are you doing?"

"Talking to our baby." he replies innocently. "She's very intelligent. Just like her mommy."

"Oh is that so? I like that. She'll be as smart as mommy and as strong as daddy."

His cheeks go a bit pink.

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

[apatura-ires]

Listen. I am not a Souvieshu fan, but I am a Souvieshu truther, in the sense that I hate how people misinterpret his character. People in this fandom seem to genuinely think Souvieshu is a guy who will chase any pretty woman, or that he’s a creep who specifically wants women who are childish, and easy to control, but like. Neither of these are true? (Souvieshu is still absolutely a creepy weirdo but like. In a different way. I’m sick of fans using the word pedophilic to describe Souvieshu, because it’s not even fucking correct in application to him, even when used as a short hand for when someone likes childish, sheltered and innocent people. Like this is a side note but you people have got to stop throwing that fucking word around.)

Souvieshu doesn’t want just any pretty woman. He specifically has only ever, truthfully and genuinely loved Navier, even if that love has become warped, and that’s a fact. Rashta is his side piece, yes, but it’s clear that Rashta is just some girl that he’s infatuated with, to fulfill his emotional needs, and eventually, for his political ones as well. He was never in love with her. It’s always been obvious that Souvieshu craved Navier’s affection, and that he has been wanting to try and not only make her happy, but rekindle their bond.

Please take note that:

1. Souvieshu knows Navier puts on a mask for people. These two used to be super close, and that likely carried on a bit into their marriage. But eventually, Navier starts putting up walls, and eventually, she starts doing it to him. There could be plenty of reasons for this, but it doesn’t matter, because they both seemed to have mutually drifted apart. Souvieshu is shown actively trying to get past her facade, although, he does so poorly, because he comes at her with a sense of entitlement most of the time.

2. Souvieshu likes Rashta, because Rashta gives him what he craves from Navier; which is to say, Rashta gives him affection, is expressive, has easygoing and light hearted conversations with him, and is able to speak honestly with him. Things that he and Navier used to be able to do with one another. His literal first observation of Rashta, is that she’s easily pleased and excited over small things, which is directly paralleled to a later chapter, where Souvieshu and Navier dine together on her birthday. Souvieshu asks Navier to smile, to which, she complies and gives him a fake one, and Souvieshu then asks her to be sincere about it. Navier makes a comment about needing to be actually happy to do that, so Souvieshu tries to make her happy by giving her a gift. This doesn’t go well with Navier, and like most of their arguments, Souvieshu ends up wishing that Navier could just be more expressive in a sincere, non-petty manner. He is always asking Navier to drop her mask with him. With Rashta, Souvieshu didn’t initially have to dig past a mask to know how she felt. Souvieshu liked her honesty and openness, and while he considered her innocence and childish nature part of her charm, it’s also implied that those traits are traits he could only handle when he was in the mood for it. It’s not actually something he likes, and we see further along the story that her childishness begins to grate on him. Furthermore, there’s a point in the story where he becomes sick, and he mentions that Rashta is not a calming presence, but Navier is.

3. This is the big one (and also me just making observations and assumptions), but both Souvieshu and Navier didn’t know that they loved each other. This is a big one for Souvieshu specifically, because he never assumed that Navier loved him, the way he loved her. I’m sure that’s probably one of the big reasons why he took Rashta in as his consort— and it’s because he sincerely thought Navier wouldn’t care beyond it being a possible image issue, and he genuinely thought that it wouldn’t hurt her. It’s actually Navier who is frequently bringing up that their marriage is one of convenience in her inner monologues— although I don’t doubt that she’s actually brought it up before as well, which probably wouldn’t help his assumptions that Navier wouldn’t be hurt if he brought a consort in.

Do you know why, it’s so upsetting to see Souvieshu mischaracterized? It’s because (outside of how people just slap on whatever term they think is fitting of him) Souvieshu’s side of the story is just as important as Navier’s when it comes to the intensity of the tragedy, that is their lost friendship and love. The gut wrenching heartbreak here, isn’t just from Navier being effectively cheated on, but it’s the fact that they both loved each other, and that all of this heartbreak could have been avoided if they both sincerely talked to each other without any hidden motives. Souvieshu didn’t seem like a bad guy before he took Rashta as his consort. As a matter of fact, I’m fairly certain that if Navier and Souvieshu had patched their relationship, and even confessed to one another, that Souvieshu would have brought Rashta in as a servant—possibly even asking Navier to make her a lady in waiting. Souvieshu wouldn’t have been so emotionally deprived to want Rashta, Navier wouldn’t have had reasons (that she couldn’t get past) to hate Rashta, and Rashta wouldn’t have had a reason to hate Navier.

And to be clear and reiterate, I do not like Souvieshu as a person. He’s a possessive, hypocritical freak, who didn’t take the time to actually get to know Navier again, and was almost always the instigator in their arguments. His love for Navier has warped and changed, and even if it’s ‘genuine’ in the sense that he sincerely loves her, it’s still not healthy. I am not an apologist, I just think he’s an interesting character. His character being misinterpreted, dilutes the tragedy of his relationship with Navier, full stop, and that is what frustrates me.

[monosanimegenericzone]

Hunter x Hunter: Gallery Fake pt 8 at least idk i lost count

bruh if there is a condition tacked onto gallery fake that i dont know about imma be pissed.

so it came to mind that gallery fake might be an ability where either the user or the object or both have to be idle to be copied.

that's a pretty powerful condition. in fact, that makes this entire ability completely useless in combat.

....

WHICH IS BULLSHIT.

I WANT TO SEE LITTLE MAN GET ACTIVE. I WANNA SEE HIM CHUCK SHIT AT PEOPLE WITH THE SPEED AND FEAR OF G O D.

but it would make sense. kortopi has an absurd amount of aura that realistically doesn't make sense unless he was a nen prodigy, an advanced user, or hacking. we don't know his age so its very hard to tell. (AHEM BACKSTORY CHAPTER PLEASE A H E M)

but i have to face the facts. we have never seen gallery fake used in combat and it was probably for this reason. THAT BEING SAID. there are exceptions apparently

(i still cannot figure out how bro copied and pasted like 50 buildings in the span of what we assume at least 6 hours. like dawg what the fuck did you do. how did you do that.)

now, kortopi using gallery fake: either of these conditions could be true. 1) he has to sit still or 2) the object has to sit still. in his little demonstration in yorknew we see both.

he is able to move the copied objects himself so the 'sitting still' part doesn't have to be very long.

a secondary example is when kortopi made the fake corpses to plant outside of the auction house but we can assume similar conditions were met when making them.

third time was on greed island copying a card to prove shalnark's theory about the island. again, same conditions could apply.

fast forward to the chrollo hisoka fight, chrollo is moving as he's making copies. but are the copied people moving?

physiologically a living person never stops moving but for the sake of the argument lets say that if a person ceases exterior movement that counts as "standing still"

the only demonstration we see (aside from the initial example of the referee's corpse) is this. chrollo, using gallery fake, is only copying every so often. Based on who i can see reacting to the fakes, these might have been people standing still.

not that it matters

because APPARENTLY. chrollo can CHANGE THE CONDITIONS OF A NEN ABILITY. because that makes sense.

so throw the entire hisoka chrollo fight out as evidence for this.

all i have to base this claim on is the two feats we see in yorknew and the minor feat in greed island. we never see gallery fake used by its original owner again.

the only two things that make me hesitate on declaring this as a personal headcanon is that a) i want this boy to box. sue me i want him to have a velocity condition on gallery fake. itd be fucking sick. b) HOW THE FUCK DO WE EXPLAIN THE BUILDINGS???

there might be other conditions like: he can never copy an object once it leaves his left hand; he can't dupe the same object until the copy disappears; or something completely unrelated like pakunoda or chrollo's specialist conditions.

i want to believe this guy is op as fuck with a near bottomless aura reserve but togashi has been introducing troupe nen lore for the last 3 years and its driving me insane. please, tell me if kortopi is secretly op and you had to kill him bcs he would have shattered the black whale in one hit or if he had a condition that throws combat gallery fake out the window.

i dont need sleep i need answers.

this is a certified nen nerd post. and a desperate plea to togashi.

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

So, like everyone else, I'm also getting eaten alive by the Arcane season 2 finale. It may even have awakened the Writing Beast from its deep slumber. Some here's some disorganized Jayvik thoughts under the cut:

Where the hell's my "They had us going in the first half" meme? Like, am I the only one who made it through episode 8 and the first half of episode 9 with the sick-to-the-stomach dread that it was going to crash and burn? I'll be honest, I did not think they had the chops to pull this off and yet! I stand gloriously evolved corrected! God damn!

And for that matter, where's my "Why We Have To Break Up/Why We Have To Stay Together/Why We're Getting Divorced/etc" meme too. I think that is warranted. True, Jayce and Viktor never really sell you on the divorce, but I think that just makes it funnier.

I can't fucking believe that hanahaki almost destroyed the universe. Like, that's canon, that's real. That's just what fucking happened, oh my goddddd. Viktor, jesus christ dude.

To be quite honest, I think there is a strongly justified argument that Jayce thought they were in a relationship the entire time. Canon does not disprove this. Think about it, he always refers to Viktor as his partner, he fucking introduces him that way to everyone he meets. If he just assumed that maybe Viktor was ace since Viktor never initiates touch or seems to ask for physical intimacy, he might have just thought this is what Viktor was cool with. Viktor never contradicts or asks to clarify the "partner" title. Jayce also doesn't go out looking for Mel, he kinda fell into it. And he might have assumed that if Viktor had a problem with it, he'd say something. Which in fact echoes one of the main problems in their relationship! Consistently, Jayce thinks Viktor will speak up for himself, for his needs and wants, for when he needs help, because he loves and respects Viktor and believes they are equals. Why wouldn't Viktor come to him if he needed something? Why would Viktor hide from him? And Viktor, equally consistently, literally would rather die than tell you he's dying. He will not, ever, disclose what he wants or needs and it has never occurred to him that Jayce would expect him to say if he needs something. Like, there's blame on both sides for why this fell apart. And they both assumed they understood each other perfectly and what's truly fucked is on an atomically intimate level they do, but on a higher practical, logistical level, they just talk right past each other. Viktor assumes partner only means professionally and Jayce assumes that Viktor would ask. The misunderstanding is literally that simple.

And then think about Skye! My god, she walks into this and takes one look at Viktor and instantly knows what's Wrong With Him™. And, bafflingly, Jayce doesn't! It's painfully clear to her that Viktor is incapable of thinking about anyone besides Jayce, that he's dying and refusing help at every turn, that he's beautiful and brilliant and never ever hears it when people tell him that. She sees all this instantly and, with dawning horror, sees that Jayce carries uncommonly strong affection for him. So how, in the name of all that is holy, has Jayce not noticed? How could he be this blind? And, this Skye probably didn't know, but Jayce is so fucking in love with everything Viktor does and is, he truly doesn't see the problems until it's too late. It's not that he doesn't care, quite the opposite in fact. And poor Skye just sits with that knowledge. It's arguable that she selfishly didn't explain to Viktor, but it's just as arguable, that if she had tried, Viktor still wouldn't have heard her. She knew him very well, I want to give her credit for that.

It's tragic, but also so fucking funny. "Well, I think I'm in a relationship? I call him my partner all the time and we do everything together. He makes me so happy. Pretty sure he's ace tho? And maybe he thinks we have an open relationship? I told him I slept with someone and he just kinda nodded? He looked real pale and sick, but he always looks like that. I dunno, maybe sexual stuff just grosses him out too much. I won't bring it up again. As long as he's happy, I'm happy." vs "Well, my soulmate is currently courting someone else. *painful cough* He's probably drinking with her, kissing her, *hack* making love to her. *spits blood* They're probably in bed right now, all warm skin and soft sheets. *more coughing* He's probably the happiest he's ever been. Much better than taking me to bed. Why would he want me anyway? I'm falling apart. *wracking cough and wheezing* So this is fine. This is fine. I'm fine. *coughs up more blood* I'm Fine." Fucking hilarious.

I love how much they're the same person. The only difference in their perspectives are their life experiences. They're both stubborn as the day is long, single-minded, principled, prone to fixation and overworking, desperate to be of use, to contribute, and utterly useless without each other. They get fascinated by the same things, but will gravitate towards different applications, different ends. They both have strong and meaningful relationships with women that are/were potentially romantic. They're both miserable when they're alone and their thinking will warp without someone to talk to. Loneliness haunts Jayce just as much as it haunts Viktor. It's just that Jayce came from a loving home and people were willing to give him a chance. Jayce learned how to be charming because he was expected to be charming, he had places to go and be charming. Viktor pulled himself out of abject poverty and fought for half the chances Jayce was given out of sheer brilliance and determination. Viktor has always had himself and no one else, he knows what he can do on his own, but his whole world changed when he found someone he could do it with. And discovered there was much more they could do together than he'd ever be able to do alone. There's nothing worse than being alone again after you've found that. They both know this.

Ugh, more later but, sdkfjhskjdhfkjsadfhjksda THEM

[nobodysdaydreams]

The Glenns were probably fine (at least okay) people. They just didn't understand Nicholas and so they treated him like a "normal child" and hoped for the best

(Also I wonder if Curtain ever went looking for them...)

Anon, please know you have my respect, because you are BRAVE for this one. I have posted polls that have been (jokingly) like "pick an mbs character to hit with a golf cart" and I'll get at least 2-3 reblogs of people aggressively demanding the Glenns get flattened. So coming in my ask box with this take was a choice, but I'm very glad you did it because oh boy do I have some thoughts™️. (ESPECIALLY YOUR THING ABOUT CURTAIN LOOKING FOR THEM!)

Forgive me but I'm about to rant like crazy.

I think some just assume the Glenns were abusive parents and that Nicholas suffered a lot as child, and that's a perfectly fine head canon to have if you want it. However, we don't really see direct evidence for that. It is true that Nicholas' parents aren't mentioned again in the show, but if Nicholas is in his 40s/50s and his parents were in their 30s/40s/50s when they adopted him, they would likely be very old or deceased by the time the show takes place, it doesn't necessarily mean Nicholas cut contact with them.

Now, the one thing I do agree with you on is that they are flawed parents. The most obvious flaw we see is them only adopting one twin and never taking Nicholas to even visit his brother. However, there are a few things about the scene of them meeting Nicholas that stand out to me. And honestly? I think we as a fandom need to be giving the orphanage director a lot more attention then the Glenns, because evil or bad-but-well-intention, people barely mention her. And I'd be happy to explain why they should.

In the scene of the Glenns adopting Nicholas, the orphanage director originally leads them to Nathaniel. Obviously the parents are uncomfortable with the way Nathaniel introduces himself and his monologue, but looking back on it, I don't just think it's because they found his monologue cringy and decided right then and there to adopt the other twin. I think the Glenns were uncomfortable because when they heard Nathaniel's name, they realized the orphanage director had accidently led them to the wrong twin and this wasn't the one they were planning to adopt, and they didn't want to seem rude. But then Nathaniel started doing his pitch to them, and asked them to take him and his brother, which likely made them feel really guilty. Why do I think this? Because despite leading them to Nathaniel, the orphanage director immediately goes, "oh he's right over here" and awkwardly saves the parents by leading them over to Nicholas, and the parents introduce themselves by saying "hello. We've heard you like to read." This means that the orphanage director A) can't tell the twins apart, because she knew they wanted Nicholas from the beginning, but initially led them to Nathaniel on accident and B) spoke to the parents about the twins earlier, and told them about Nicholas.

Now the question becomes: why would the orphanage director recommend Nicholas to a set of parents who can only take one child? Was it because they both loved reading and were such a good match that it just made sense, and people back then just didn't understand the importance of keeping siblings together? That's one possibility. It's also perhaps the most plausible. If the Glenns were told that Nathaniel was stifling Nicholas (as evidenced by the orphanage performance), and that it was best for Nicholas to be separated from his brother and have his turn in the spotlight, then who were they to argue with the experts?

There is however a darker possibility. In season 2, Nicholas (under the happiness) and Curtain are reminiscing about the science experiments they used to do and the chaos they would cause (they mention making a volcano that exploded everywhere and made Nicholas and likely countless other children sick for weeks). If they were known for causing disruption, the orphanage director might have been trying to get rid of them by any means necessary as quickly as possible (especially since the older they got, the less likely they were to get adopted). She might have done so by trying to push them individually on families that could only take one, but there's something else she might have done.

It's possible that the Glenns were actually initially open to taking both twins, but the orphanage director discouraged the parents from adopting both boys, because she worried that if they got into mischief together and the parents complained, the orphanage would gain a bad reputation. Since Nicholas was the "easy" twin, and his personality matched with these parents, she told the Glenns that it was better for the twins to be separated, because Nathaniel was controlling and it would be healthier for Nicholas to have his own family. It was what was best for him. And the Glenns might have been skeptical of this, but the orphanage director is the expert. And it's not a total lie, Nathaniel did stifle him. And surely Nicholas would say something if he was unhappy with the situation? And Nathaniel had said that it was okay if they could only take one and that they wanted what was best for each other, so surely this must be fine right?

Look, in the scenario where the orphanage director comes out looking the best, the twins aren't getting adopted because there just aren't a lot of parents looking to adopt sibling groups, and they're getting older and there also aren't a lot of parents that want to adopt teens. So she's trying to get them into homes as best she can and separating them was a last resort, or perhaps she genuinely believed it was better for Nicholas to be on his own where Nathaniel wasn't controlling him all the time. Unfortunately, she's overwhelmed, has more kids than she can handle, and can't tell the twins apart, which is what caused to her to accidently introduce the Glenns to Nathaniel before she realized her mistake. Which isn't great, but more understandable. Worst case scenario? She found the twins a nuisance and wanted them gone by any means necessary and was pushing for them to go to separate homes and using the fact that Nathaniel was stifling Nicholas to support her reasoning, even though Nathaniel was only 12 years old.

But there's one thing both of these possibilities have in common: the Glenns would go into the adoption believing they were doing the right thing. That it was better for Nicholas to be separated from his brother. That they would better parents for Nicholas then Nathaniel, because Nicholas shared their love of reading and they had similar interests. That if Nicholas missed his brother he would have said something (obviously they're his parents, they should have just known, but the "expert" told them otherwise, and they're flawed people). They also figured that if Nathaniel said they wanted what was best for each other and the orphanage director said this was what was best, then there was nothing to discuss. It doesn't excuse what they did. They should have seen their son was upset, and should have done more to investigate the problem. Nicholas shouldn't have had to say anything. But I also don't think they necessarily did it maliciously (but they certainly could have, and if you want to have that head canon, you totally can).

Sorry for the rant. I'm not trying to excuse the Glenn's or the orphanage director (she needs a shorter name)'s actions, but I do respectfully think the "Nicholas' adoptive parents were abusive and terrible and the evidence is right there" takes should also consider the way the orphanage was being run. Overall, it was just an awful situation for both twins. They needed to go to home with parents who would teach them proper boundaries and respect their individuality, while also understanding the importance of them being a family. Nicholas admits that he didn't come back because he needed freedom, but the sad part is he could have had freedom and his brother if the twins had parents who would have stepped in and said "hey Nathaniel, we love you, but don't treat your brother like that." But no one at the orphanage ever did that, and Nicholas had no reason to believe his parents would be more hands on and involved than his teachers in that regard, because he'd never had parents before (and probably assumed parents just acted like teachers who gave you room and board and would just allow Nathaniel to continue to treat him like that, because what else is he supposed to think?). So he always thought he could never have both things. And that makes me sad, but in the best way, so thanks Anon.

FINALLY. Your statement on Curtain looking for them. OH BOY.

I haven't gotten to this part in my fic yet (and I don't know if I ever will) so possible mild spoilers I guess, but here's the thing: I think he did.

Because Nicholas promised to come back. And then days turn to weeks turn to months turn to years and he doesn't. At which point Nathaniel can assume two things. The first is to immediately assume that Nicholas didn't come back from him because he decided he was better off without his brother OR to assume that the people that adopted him are bad or abusive and that Nicholas might have tried to come back for him but failed, and he needs to be rescued.

I think you see where I'm going with this one. Nathaniel waits but Nicholas doesn't come. He thinks this is because his brother is in trouble. He runs away to find him. And eventually he does find Nicholas and discovers him living happily with his new family. Without him.

And the rest of the story writes itself from there. Well, actually it doesn't, and that comes later (why must my fic ideas be so long gosh dang it...) but I hope you like this.

Thank you Anon. Sorry this was so long.

[oakwolves]

What's an au you'll never write but still think about alot?

Gilded allegro frozen AU. essentially Ryan is older and assumes Anna’s role while Grace is younger but assumes Elsa’s role in the story. I would say Ryan carries Anna's personality more and Grace does with Elsa's tbh. I havent seen frozen since I was like 12 and I don't really see myself writing a fic about it. I did draw something related to it though (please ignore that I fucked up with the ages)

I actually wrote a long thread about it on my priv twitter that I'm gonna transcribe under the cut. I tweaked a few things about the story lol

I think little Grace didn't quite know how to make awesome snowballs and snowman yet, she just watch Ryan do them and try to copy him. She ends up making a tiny... kind of bell shaped... snow creature with two little rocks for eyes and no other appendages.

Grace looked a little disappointed that her snow-thing didn't look as cool as Ryan's but Ryan's like nooo it’s ok look! We can call it Kez... the snow...bell. And that seems to satisfy Grace for a while.

so everything more or less happens the same in canon (I guess you could assume Grace was adopted into the family?) Either way, Ryan (8) convinces Grace (7) to sneak out into the playroom late at night so they could fool around with Grace's snow powers. And Grace is just so delighted to spend time with her big brother and all, but Ryan gets a little too reckless and nearly slips and falls to his death. Grace narrowly manages to cushion his fall... but not before accidentally striking him in the head with the magic.

Things continue to progress as normal, Grace and Ryan's parents take them to those magical rock trolls to undo the effects of Graces magic and warn them that Ryan should never find out about her powers to keep this from ever happening again.

(to account for Ryan's other siblings, they were sworn to secrecy). So Ryan and Grace more or less grow up isolated within the castle. As far as Ryan knows, they had an accident playing in the snow outside, and now Grace doesn't seem to want to play with him anymore.

And the poor guy blames himself for scaring his sister and he wants to do anything to make it up to her. But poor Gracie, sworn to secrecy, just continues to push him away. And as much as that hurt Ryan, that never stopped him from trying throughout the years

Growing up, Ryan took up things like sword fighting and playing whatever the 19th century version of a guitar is to occupy himself (and also prepare to succeed the throne one day). He became really skilled in swordfighting over the years but his true passion lie in his guitar. It was his source of comfort where he felt painfully isolated.

At some point Grace + Ryan's family went to visit distant relatives overseas. Grace stayed home because she was sick, and Ryan insisted on staying home because he didn't want her to be alone. Of course, like in canon, tragedy strikes, and their family unfortunately perished in a storm, and the two grieved alone.

Eventually came the time for Ryan (now 21) to take the throne as king. Of course, he's estatic because he gets to see other people for the first time in YEARS. Meanwhile poor Grace (now 20) is just TERRIFIED because she's worried about exposing her powers to the public or even worse. To Ryan. But she figures as long as she keeps her gloves on, she'll be fine, and once the coronation ends she'll retreat back to her room

And then you've got Ryan practically skipping, jumping, and dancing all over the palace excited for his coronation... then he bumps into someone at the docks.

She's a beautiful young woman with flowing blonde hair and hazel eyes. Her name is Camila, the only daughter in a long line of sons. Ryan's absolutely enthralled by her. He even asks her to marry him, which she...surprisingly accepts!

The coronation happens as expected and Ryan is declared king and all... then he decides to announce his engagement to Camila! The audience is initially surprised but happy about this announcement... except for Grace. When Ryan is allowed to go into the crowd, he finds Camila. Grace intercepts the two, asking Ryan what the hell is going on, why has he decided to marry (and subsequently make queen) a woman he just met?? The two begin to argue, causing a commotion in the room.

Ryan insists that as King he can marry anyone he wants, not that Grace would even care, shutting her own brother out all these years despite his efforts to get through to her!! This upsets Ryan to the point of leaving the ball in the middle of the party. Camila tries to go after him, and Grace confronts him. In her desperation, grabs on to his arm. When Ryan pulls away from her, the action sets Grace off enough to accidentally expose her powers to Ryan and the other guests.

Terrified, she flees the area before anyone can apprehend her.

Aaaaand that's as far as I got in the AU

[criminalmindzjunkie]

The More Loving One

Masterlist

Summary: Professor Reid finds himself falling for a student. 

A/N: This fic is based on this request. I changed a few things up, but I hope you like the finished product!

Long time, no see! It seems like forever since I got to sit down and just enjoy writing something. And enjoy this, I did. I approached this one a bit differently than I usually do, but I like how it turned out none the less. I hope you all enjoy my take on the Professor Reid arc. The first poem I use in this fic is titled The More Loving One by W.H. Auden, and the second is from a collection of Perry poetry.

Also, I recently hit 2k followers, which is absolutely unbelievable. I can’t even begin to explain how thankful I am for each and every one of you. This fic is my love letter to you. Thank you all so much. 

Pairing: Professor!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: a few swear words maybe?, teacher x student relationship, age gap, exhibitionism (sorta?), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex

Word Count: 4k

           For as long as Spencer can remember, he’s always had a predilection for the finer things in life.

           Spencer attributes the origin of his preferences to his upbringing. In his childhood, before his mother’s disease got the better of her, she exposed him to all sorts of literature. While he ventured to read all types of writings, he’d always been partial to tales of extravagance. A young Spencer Reid sought refuge in the profligacy of it all, as it was so starkly different from his own reality. Forced to bear the burden of household and a sick mother from an early age, Spencer’s own life left little room for reckless indulgence.

           Now, as a single adult male, Spencer makes it a point to give himself up to the finer things as often as he can. Spencer isn’t a rich man, nor is he careless with what hard-earned money he does have. He simply likes to treat himself to the occasional five-star meal, and even more frequently, posh clothing and rare books. Walls lined with hundreds of antiquarian novels and a closet full of Comme Des Garçon cardigans are where the indulgence ends, however, and until recently Spencer was content with this.

           But when she strolls into his life on the very first day of his teaching career, Spencer knows that his small luxuries will no longer be enough to keep him satisfied. The part of him that longs to have only the very best roars to life as he takes in every perfect inch of her. She stands before him, the embodiment of divinity and grace, looking like every fantasy he only dares to conjure up in the late hours of the night. A litany of cliches from every piece of romantic literature he’s ever read spring to the forefront of his mind in the instant that her eyes met his, but there is nothing stereotypical about the way her gaze banishes the air from his lungs. It is as jarring as it is intoxicating. He never wants to look away.

           Unfortunately, she doesn’t feel the same. With a light flush of her cheeks, she turns away from him, and in an equally unfortunate turn of events, she proceeds to shuffle down the aisle and into the second row of seats to the right of the podium. The realization that washes over him feels like ice water in his veins.

           She’s a student. Worse even – she’s his student.

           Spencer wrenches his gaze from her as if he’s been burned, and the fiery shame of his embarrassment makes him tug at his collar. As he struggles to stave away the lingering heat in his chest and even more embarrassingly, the tightness in his trousers, Spencer chastises himself. His own carnal urges often go ignored, a fact that is glaringly obvious as he cowers behind his podium in an attempt to hide his arousal. He feels more than a little bit pathetic. No self-respecting thirty-five-year-old man gets hard just from gazing upon a beautiful young woman.

           When Spencer pulls himself together enough to start his lecture, he positively forbids himself to look her way. It is hard to fight the urge, but every time he catches his eyes wandering to her, he reminds himself that she is an indulgence he simply cannot partake in. No matter how badly he wants to.

--

           It doesn’t take long for her to notice him noticing her.

           In the early days of the semester, she manages to convince herself that the stolen glances are but a figment of her overactive imagination. That, or an unhealthy dose of wishful thinking. But as the semester stretches on and the professor’s eyes linger more and more, wishful thinking gives way to a startling realization that she isn’t alone in her attraction. Professor Reid is, to her complete and utter astonishment, just as taken with her as she is with him.

           This is all but confirmed when a slight brushing of the hands during an exchange of papers leaves them both with flushed cheeks and pounding hearts. Both of their heads snap up, two sets of eyes meeting in a prolonged stare that results in an understanding of sorts. It’s mutual, this thing blossoming between them. She can see her own hopes reflected in two velvet pools of brown – can see the longing, the desire that burns within them. Her heart soars, as she imagines his does, and she accepts the papers with a smile.

           She also imagines that, if he could, he would tell her to wait for him. He would tell her that, for now, their relationship must stay strictly professional.

           This doesn’t stop them from sating their cravings in other ways.

           She makes it a point to stop by during office hours at least twice a week. Her visits always fall under the guise of her studies, but within minutes their hushed conversations stray from the professional and towards a more personal nature. She learns of Spencer’s mother and her condition, of his unusual job and his coworkers that were more like family. In return, she tells him about her upbringing in southern California, as well as her dreams of becoming a criminal psychologist. They never go as far as to discuss what will happen when the semester comes to a close. It is an unspoken agreement that the end of the semester will find them in each other’s arms. All they have to do is wait.

           Spencer can’t voice his affections with words, but he more than makes up for this with his actions. Without fail, every Monday following the very first clandestine brushing of hands, lavish bouquets of flowers arrive at her workplace. Each bouquet is always paired with a notecard inscribed with a brief explanation of the meaning behind that week’s flower of choice. Cherry blossoms to pay homage to her beauty, plumeria to symbolize their new beginning, agrimony to convey his thankfulness that she is willing to wait for him.

           Her favorite bouquet arrives four weeks before the end of the semester. As she steps through the doors of the bakery, a vase full of nine red roses sits atop the counter. The sight of them nearly takes her breath away. She pauses for a moment and runs her fingertips across the velveteen petals before plucking the notecard from its place.

           This week, Spencer chooses to forgo the explanation in favor of a messily scrawled poem;

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

that, for all they care, I can go to hell,

But on earth indifference is the least

we have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn 

with a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

let the more loving one be me. 

           That evening, Spencer receives his first bouquet from her. On his desk sits an arrangement of pale pink ambrosia.

           The meaning isn’t lost on him, but if it were, the note that sits next to the vase makes her intentions clear.

We never had to force love.

We were drowning in it from the moment we met.

--

           Spencer is horribly frustrated.

           A mere twenty feet away from where he stands, the notoriously garish and wholly unprofessional PhD program director is gesticulating wildly to the young woman that stands trapped between him and the hors d’oeuvre table. To find Professor Van Wesep in such a position is not uncommon, due to his penchant for trying to charm (terrorize) the prospective female doctoral candidates. The man is practically a walking harassment complaint waiting to happen. Spencer would abhor Van Wesep even if he weren’t the only thing standing in the way of him and his lover.

           At long last, the semester has drawn to a close. The lonely nights spent longing to hold her in his arms are a thing of the past. By the time the sun rises again, Spencer will no longer have to wonder what her body will feel like pressed against his. He’ll be thoroughly acquainted with every inch of her, and she with him. The thought sends a thrilled chill down his spine.

           The torturous foreplay they’ve been engaging in for the last four months would have surely broken a lesser man. Spencer would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted on more than one occasion to have her during one of her frequent visits to his office. Some days, when her visits came later in the evenings, just as the sun began to dip low in the sky, her eyes would glisten in such a way that told Spencer her thoughts were none dissimilar to his own. That glimmer of lust had him holding on to his restraint by the skin of his teeth.

           And here they were, on the last evening of the semester. Final grades had been submitted and were released hours prior. Spencer would have been content to skip this event altogether, in favor of more… recreational activities, but his lover insisted on attending.

           Initially, Spencer assumed her insistence lay in her desire to mingle with her future peers and mentors. Her true intentions come to light when she breezes into the room clad in a pair of sleek, designer pumps. Her lips, painted fire engine red, curl up into a playful smile at the sight of a slack-jawed Spencer Reid. The devious glint in her eye twinkles sinfully in the light.

           Tonight isn’t a social call at all. Tonight, she wants to play with him.

           And play she has.

           From the second she arrives all eyes are fixating on her celestial beauty. Peers and mentors alike trip over themselves in their haste to capture her attention, if only for a fleeting moment. She works the room flawlessly, leaving a trail of smitten men of all ages in her wake.

           The most smitten is Spencer himself, because he’s the lone recipient of countless heated glances, as well as more than a few knowing smirks. She well aware of what she’s doing to him, and she takes pleasure in watching him squirm.

          Spencer intervenes when Van Wesep makes the ill-advised decision to reach a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. He barely has the time to withdraw his hand before Spencer is upon them.

          “I apologize for the interruption,” Spencer casts a faux apologetic glance at his colleague, before settling his gaze on his target. “Ms. Y/L/N, may I speak to you for a moment?”

           She looks positively gleeful. Perhaps Spencer should have intervened hours ago.

           “Absolutely, Professor Reid.”

           The honorific sends a jolt of heat straight to his groin. He definitely should have stolen her away earlier.

           The two of them say their goodbyes to a confused Professor Van Wesep, whose imploring eyes follow them as they hurriedly slip from the party and down the hallway.

--

           “Where are we going?”

           Spencer leads her down a long corridor, far beyond earshot of the other guests. Pushing her into a dark corner, he positions her between himself and the cold wooden door of an unoccupied office. The only sounds that can be heard are the distant thrum of the music and the eager pants falling from his lover’s lips.

           Spencer pulls her into a searing kiss, one hand tangling in her hair and the other finding purchase on her waist. He worries for a moment that he’s being too rough with her, that he should have taken a more careful approach to their first kiss, but she assuages those worries when she kisses him back with equal enthusiasm. Her hand reaches between them and clutches his tie, then she’s pulling him closer and whining wantonly against his lips. Spencer takes this as an invitation to slip his tongue inside and he finds himself letting out a low groan when he tastes a hint of strawberry.

           Spencer pulls away to catch his breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

           “Oh, I think I do, Professor,” she laughs, breathless. “Probably just as long as I’ve wanted to do this.”

           Spencer jolts forward when her hand slides down to cup him over his trousers.

           “Could’ve done that a lot earlier if you hadn’t insisted on teasing me for the entire night,” Spencer growls through gritted teeth. He’s more than a little proud of his ability to string together a sentence with her hand working him over with slow, steady strokes.

           He trails a line of kisses across the underside of her jaw, before taking her earlobe and nipping it lightly with his canine. Spencer’s actions are rewarded with a full body shudder. He dips his tongue in the hollow at the base of her throat and her hands ball into fists against his dress shirt.

           “Spencer, please.”

           Spencer hums and pulls back to look at her. The hand in her hair lowers, and he trails a thumb across where her nipples are hard against the fabric of her dress.

           “Yes, my love?”

           Her eyes flutter against the weight of her arousal, and Spencer twitches in his pants. The sight of her with her hair disheveled and her lipstick smeared on account of him is a heavenly thing. He doesn’t know how he ever deprived himself of such a splendor.

           “I want you. Right now.” She punctuates her words by pulling him down into a frenzied kiss. One of her hands tangles itself in the hair at the nape of his neck while the other busies with tugging his shirt out of his pants.

           “Right now?” Spencer taunts, mouth against mouth. His hand trails down the side of her breast, caressing her rib cage and her hip before stopping at her upper thigh. Spencer’s fingertips toy with the tops of her lace thigh highs. “But anyone could walk by and see us.”

           “I don’t care,” she argues, fumbling clumsily as she struggles to undo his belt buckle.

           Spencer’s wandering hand dips below the hem of her dress to explore the silky-smooth skin of her inner thigh. She’s soft here, too, he thinks to himself as his hand travels up, up, up. He stops just short of where she wants him most and she lets out a despairing cry.

           “You wouldn’t mind someone walking by and seeing you with your pretty legs spread wide for your professor?”

           Spencer brings life to his words by lifting her leg up, hitching her thigh around his hip and pressing into her. The silk fabric of her dress rustles as he pushes it up and out of the way.

           A breathy moan tumbles from her lips as he rocks against her, dragging his arousal up and down the front of her lace panties. The friction is maddening in that it provides only the smallest bit of relief. It’s not enough for Spencer, and judging by the way she desperately pushes down the fabric of his pants, it’s not enough for his partner, either.

           “Need to get these off now,” she murmurs against Spencer’s mouth. An eager hand tugs at the elastic band of his underwear.

           Spencer places his hand on hers, stilling her movements. “Not so fast, baby. Gotta make sure you’re ready for me first.”

           Her fingers clamp down on Spencer’s wrist, guiding him to the sodden lace between her thighs.

           “Don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” she whimpers as Spencer’s fingers take appraisal of the drenched cloth. “In fact, I think four months of foreplay is sufficient enough. Wouldn’t you say?”

           “Maybe so,” Spencer muses, voice muffled as he sucks at the skin of her neck. “But I’m not willing to chance hurting you our first time together. You’re entirely too precious to me.”

           Spencer captures her lips in a kiss so sweet it has her sighing into his mouth. When he pulls away, he fixes her with a smile.

           “You’re not particularly fond of these panties, are you?”

           Her eyebrows pull together. “No, why?”

           Spencer pulls at the flimsy fabric harshly and it gives way under the force of it. He reaches back to stuff the thong in his back pocket.

           “That’s why.”

           Spencer’s lips come down against hers at the same time his middle and index fingers drag across her slickness. His foresight pays off when his mouth muffles the sound of her cries. As confident he is that they won’t be found, a cry like that would certainly have drawn unwanted attention.

           The swipe of his thumb across her crest paired with the gentle pressure of his fingers dipping into her heat is enough to make her legs buckle. Had it not been for Spencer pressing her against the wall, she surely would have fallen to the ground in a trembling heap.

           “I could get lost in you for hours,” Spencer groans, curling his fingers inside her in such a way that makes her clutch desperately to his shirt.

           “Spencer, oh my God,” she keens. “I need you, please.”

           “You have me, my love,” Spencer whispers the promise against her parted lips. “You’ve had me since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

           Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers until the telltale tightening of her heat warns him of her impending climax. He has to bite down on his lower lip to regain his own composure. The feeling of her tight and wet around his fingers is almost too good.

           “Spencer, I’m getting close,” she whimpers.

           Spencer continues until she’s on the cusp of tumbling over the edge, until one more pass of his fingers against her crest would surely seal the deal, and then he’s removing his hand and taking a step back.

           “Spencer, what the fu-,” she pauses when he promptly shoves his pants and underwear just enough to free himself from their painful confines. “Oh.”

           A dazed smile makes its way to her face as Spencer presses himself against her once more. He sweeps her up into a kiss comprised of pure, unadulterated desire, before pulling away and smirking deviously at her.

           “Jump.”

           It takes a moment for her pleasure fogged brain to make sense of the request, but as soon as it does, she complies without question.

           Spencer’s hands grip her thighs firmly and in one swift thrust he sheaths himself into her fully – an indulgence so grand that all others dull in comparison. Now that he’s had the finest, felt it wrapped around him like warm velvet, he can’t imagine a world in which he must live without it.

           “Spencer!”

           Spencer swears he’s never heard a sweeter sound than her crying out his name as their bodies come together for the first time. It’s synonymous with a siren call, he thinks, because in that moment she could lure him to certain death and he knows he would go with a smile.

           His lips seek purchase on the exposed skin of her chest as he buries himself in her paradise again and again. The sharp sting of her heels digging into his back with every thrust brings out a sort of primal urge in him, spurring him to rut up into her like a man possessed.

           “You feel perfect,” Spencer groans out against the flushed skin of her neck. He presses a soft kiss to where her pulse bounds just beneath the skin before pulling away and locking eyes with her. “When I’m old and gray and can remember nothing else, I’ll remember this. I’ll remember how it felt to kiss you for the first time – how it felt to touch you. How it felt to worship you and make love to your body.”

           Spencer’s voices catches, thick and overwhelmed with emotion.

           “I’ll remember how it feels to love you.”

           Her breath catches in her throat and sharp pang of panic burns hot in his chest. Had he misinterpreted her affections? Did she not burn for him in the same way? Perhaps the ambrosia meant nothing. Spencer’s movements falter, and for several torturous seconds he’s nearly paralyzed with fear.

            She silences those fears with a kiss.

           “Oh, Spencer,” she sighs as she presses her forehead against his. “I love you, too. More than you could ever comprehend.”

           Spencer resumes moving in and out of her, but the frenzied feeling from before is replaced with something else now. Something softer, but no less passionate.

           “Yeah?” he inquires, searching her eyes for any trace of insincerity. He finds none, and it’s a relief. Any hint of falseness in her claim would surely lead to a heartbreak he could never recover from.

           “Yes.” The word trails off into a moan. “I love you, Spencer Reid. I don’t imagine I’ll ever stop.”

           Spencer’s heart jolts and he whines pathetically against her mouth. “I’m counting on that.”

           “I’m close, Spencer,” she pants, her breath hitting his face in warm puffs. “Don’t think I can last much longer.”

           “Me, too.” Spencer nudges her nose with his own. “Reach between us and touch yourself, my love. I want us to cum together. Can you do that for me?”

           She nods, and the hand that clung to his right shoulder dips in between them to rub tight circles against her crest. Spencer doubles his efforts when he sees her eyelids flutter closed, and the resulting tightening of her core leaves him panting hard.

           “Spencer, I-” her breath catches in her throat as Spencer delivers a particularly strong thrust. Her head falls against his shoulder, her soft moans of his name like heaven to his ears.

           “Cum with me, baby,” Spencer grunts out desperately. He needs it like he needs air to breath and water to drink. And once he has it, he knows he’ll need it again and again.

           She gives it to him with a muffled cry of his name and he’s instantly swept away, drowning in the blissful way her body sings for him. His body follows her lead, shattering completely under her fingertips.

           While he’s been through similar acts with previous partners, those instances always felt impersonal and clinical. The caresses and whispered words were all a means to an end, an end that usually left him feeling lonelier and emptier than when he started. But right now, as he feels the beat of her heart pressed against his own, he swears he couldn’t feel fuller - full of adoration, full of affection, full of love. It’s beautiful and overwhelming and everything Spencer didn’t know he was looking for.

           A raucous round of applause erupts from the direction of the party, startling the two of them. Spencer feels her laugh against his neck.

           “It’s almost as if they were applauding us for a job well done.”

           Spencer presses a chaste kiss to the crown of her head.

           “As they should. That was sensational.”

           Spencer carefully pulls out and lowers her to the floor. He wastes no time in tilting her chin up and capturing her lips in a reverent kiss. Spencer hopes his lips convey his gratitude.

           The two of them pull apart and set to making themselves presentable. Their efforts prove to be in vain when Spencer points out a dark purple love bite nestled into the crook of her neck. She counters this by taking note of the smudge of red lipstick on his collar.

           “What an adulterous pair we make, Professor.”

           Spencer rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m not your professor anymore.” He bends down and places a kiss to her lips before taking her hand in his.

           “I suppose you’re not,” she muses as they meander down the corridor. “Whatever shall we do now?”

           As the two of them step out of the dark hallway and reenter the party, Spencer smiles to himself. Visions of wedding rings flit through his mind. Spencer supposes he’ll have to take a break from the posh clothing and rare books in favor of saving his money. He’ll buy only the finest ring for his future wife, after all.

           “I have a few ideas.”

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[thelampisaflashlight]

The ghouls, but I talk about the drabbles from earlier. Below the cut.

-Cloudy-

With this one, the name came first.

Originally, I was going to have Cumulus call Cirrus “Storm Cloud” or something with a bit more of a tumultuous feel to it, but Cloudy felt decidedly more clunky/endearing in a way that I feel nicknames should be.

The dynamic between these two is sort of like if you took a hard candy with a liquid center and I guess... inverted it? In that their jovial/soft interactions are seen more often than what’s going on on a deeper level.

They have a strong connection and have been through a lot together, and their comments about Dew/their “idiots” are surface level teasing at best for the most part.

-Between You and Me-

I tried to think of a way to resolve this without it becoming a much larger piece, because longwinded discussions about emotions are sort of my thing, but alas it was not meant to be.

When Swiss calls Aether out on not asking for help/not talking about himself, I kind of wanted to highlight how others can sometimes feel bad/distanced from a friend even if they often confide in them, because the trust doesn’t run both ways.

Swiss feels bad, because Aether doesn’t tell him things about himself/see him as someone he can have a mutual exchange with.

Whereas Aether doesn’t want to burden Swiss with his less pleasant thoughts and feelings, and would rather just help others instead of being helped himself.

It’s not something that can be “fixed” overnight either.

It takes time and work to overcome the urge to squish down your own feelings and build up trust in others.

And lastly;

-Sleep-

To talk a bit about Dew’s sleepwalking first and foremost, when Mountain states that Dew finds his condition embarrassing, it’s largely because it scares him.

When Mountain talks about Dew being in a vulnerable position during his episodes, in particular his lack of control over the situation, it’s safe to assume Dew, as someone who has been classified as a stoic, would find this sort of thing, well... upsetting to say the least.

Sometimes we might express a more complex discomfort as embarrassment, and that’s exactly what Dew did when he confided in Mountain about the issue prior to the events of the drabble.

I wanted to establish the idea that through being around each other and building up trust, in contrast to the events of Between You and Me, these two were able to discuss more serious matters and implement steps to manage them/keep Dew safe (choosing a room downstairs to avoid Dew having an accident on the stairs to name the example I gave in the drabble) regularly enough that Mountain is well prepared to step in and help.

Moving along, Swiss commenting that he doesn’t like being alone when he’s sick, but also having not told anyone he was still feeling bad, shows a little bit of his own hypocrisy when he’s scolding Aether in the previous drabble as well, though the time of night could easily excuse his decision NOT to wake someone up.

Swiss not knowing how to deal with Dew, but being willing to help was also something I wanted to put forward. He doesn’t have to question whether or not he should help, he’s just going to do it... carefully.

He’s able to see the seriousness of the issue, and acts with caution, and him remarking that they/he probably shouldn’t joke or make light of it shows that he gets that.

The discussion between Mountain and Swiss about Dew’s situation is also important, because it’s true, it’s not Mountain’s place to discuss it, but he also knows he needs to reassure Swiss who has never had to deal with this sort of thing before.

I wanted to write Mountain as being emotionally mature and competent, at least more so than I usually do. He bumbles around a fair bit in other stuff I write, but he’s serious when it comes to taking care of his family.

He’s tired and a bit frazzled when Dew initially starts displaying his condition/when he briefly disappears on him, but he’s clearheaded and aware enough that he’s able to manage the situation with ease, even when taking on more than he bargained for.

[jingyismom]

Time for more sex-cursed Lan Wangji!

a messy, self-indulgent spree imported from twt and lightly edited

explicit, wangxian, 9k, canon divergence fix-it

mild dubcon because of the nature of sex curses (but like, they do their best to communicate around it), and cw for brief thoughts of self harm, no other warnings

This curse's origin is mysterious, perhaps politically guided. Someone is trying to throttle Gusu Lan's alliance prospects by removing Lan Wangji's stellar marriageability after Sunshot. It works, after a fashion.

Wei Wuxian is in the Burial Mounds, farming and hardening his heart as the resentment worsens his health, subsisting on memories of Lan Wangji's single visit.

Lan Wangji is at home in Gusu, pining away while they rebuild the Cloud Recesses.

One day, he begins to burn up with unexplained fever.

The healers examine him quickly and thoroughly and determine first that he's been cursed. This is not entirely shocking, but it of course angers the entire sect. Next they test for the curse's nature. It turns out to be a very classic, very coarse type of love curse.

The afflicted will burn up, losing all their sense and senses, and eventually die, if their body's “needs” are not satisfied by the one it craves most.

The healers are disgusted. Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren are outraged. But Lan Wangji becomes very calm at the news.

Before, he felt anxiety. The urgent desperation of a dying man waiting to be told how to live.

Now he is just waiting to die.

For you see, the choice between throwing himself at another human being—no matter who they may be—and meeting death with dignity, is an easy one.

Everyone else privy to this information disagrees. The argument that follows is short, but heated:

"Well, Wangji?" Lan Qiren begins once the initial furor has died down. "How do you wish to...go about this?"

Lan Wangji, over-warm and aching, looks up at him from the examination bed. Gusu Lan funeral rites are ancient and immutable. He does not understand the question.

Lan Qiren purses his lips and glances around. "We must find the person first," he prompts.

Ah. The person responsible. Yes, Lan Wangji does have business with them before he dies. He stands, only swaying slightly. "I am well enough to exact justice. Let us cast the rebound."

Lan Xichen steps forward then, and gently pushes him back to sitting. "It has been cast. However, justice can wait. Your health must come first."

Lan Wangji looks between his uncle, his brother, and the one doctor allowed to be present. Surely they would not be joking at a time like this.

"I do not understand," he says.

The three exchange a look. "Breaking the curse must be our priority," says Lan Xichen.

Lan Wangji is not sure he heard correctly. But it would be cruel to give him unfounded hope. "I was unaware there was another way."

"...There is not," says Lan Xichen, his gentleness unfailing.

Lan Wangji experiences a moment of deep confusion before the horror sets in.

"You cannot mean this," he says through his shock. "Surely you cannot mean to cast aside so many disciplines at the whim of a base villain."

"The disciplines are a guide," Lan Qiren says, hands behind his back, looking into the distance, "to ensure a life well-lived. They are not meant to inspire martyrdom."

Lan Wangji's mouth falls open. He stares at his uncle, mute with betrayal. He has never heard of any such leeway before, not in regards to disciplines of such a serious nature.

"You can understand, can't you?" Lan Xichen says. "That no rule is more important than your life.”

Lan Wangji disagrees vehemently. "I would not buy my life with such behavior."

Lan Qiren huffs in irritation. "We may perform a marriage in haste, if you wish."

Lan Wangji balks at him. That his uncle should speak so flippantly of...such a thing. It is unimaginable. And besides, forcing a marriage on Wei—on anyone in this way is surely only adding insult to heinous injury.

"I refuse," he says.

Lan Xichen exchanges a look with the doctor, and sits beside him. "Perhaps the other person should be allowed part of that choice."

Ridiculous. "There is no such person." Preventing this course of action is worth one lie, Lan Wangji reasons.

"With respect, Hanguang-jun, if that were true, the curse would not have been able to take hold," says the doctor.

The use of his title feels uncomfortably ironic from a woman who helped deliver him at birth. He glares at her. She smiles tiredly in return.

"Wangji," Lan Xichen says. His tone is beginning to grate on Lan Wangji's raw nerves. "You will at least try, won't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him in disbelief, in anger, in righteous indignation.

"Never," he says.

A hand slaps his shoulder. "Apologies," says the doctor, and the world goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to dark wood beams dappled by lacy sunlight, and a faint smell of char in the air. His head is heavy, his limbs full of lead. He swallows around the dry thickness in his throat.

"Water," comes a familiar voice.

With effort, Lan Wangji sits up. His stomach is roiling, his mind fogged from the coma and the curse both. The doctor, crouching beside him in the carriage, offers him a bowl of water.

He takes it, and asks, "What have you done?"

She sighs.

"My duty," she says, "with the help of your brother."

She draws back the curtain at the carriage entrance, revealing a sea of black, twisted trees and gray tumbled walls.

Lan Wangji's blood freezes in his veins. He just barely stops himself from asking how they knew.

"Why," he asks instead, a much safer question.

She considers him. "Your brother said if he was wrong, he would beg forgiveness afterward. But it couldn't hurt to have an expert in resentment and curses look at you anyway."

A stab of sick embarrassment makes Lan Wangji’s stomach clench.

Has he been so obvious? Is he such a lovesick fool that anyone with eyes can see his shame?

The doctor pats his shoulder gruffly and he flinches, expecting more needles.

"Ah he's your brother, he's bound to know things you don't want him to," she says. "Come on. Out you get."

He allows her to tug him out of the carriage and onto solid ground. The air is stifling with resentment, but he is glad to be free of his bonds. Now he can look for his chance to get away.

There are six Lan disciples flanking them. He eyes them warily, wondering what they know. When the doctor pulls him out of earshot, and pitches her voice low, he is satisfied that they have not been fully informed.

"Your family and I agreed to give you a chance first," she says. "You have 24 hours to take care of this yourself. After that, I will personally tell Wei-gongzi of your brother's message. I have been assured he will not jeopardize your well-being if fully-informed."

Lan Wangji gapes at her. He does not know what he expected to happen, but it was not this...this...mercenary attempt at...forcing...

The curse has weakened him such that he cannot fly his sword. He can hardly walk in a straight line, let alone run. He has very little recourse now that everyone in his life has gone absolutely mad. His heart is racing with the adrenaline of upheaval, of fear, of impending death.

He wrenches his arm from her grasp and stalks off of the road, into the brush. She calls after him, but he does not mean to escape. He cannot manage that alone. Instead, he sits. He takes a deep breath. He sinks into meditation.

"Hanguang-jun," she calls. She approaches, hands on her hips. She sighs. "Well, if it's like that, then there's nothing stopping me from telling him right now."

She turns, and Lan Wangji feels a lurch of helplessness, when a new voice rings clear through the fog.

"Tell what to whom?"

Lan Wangji's eyes snap open. Wei Wuxian is standing on the other side of the carriage, the child A-Yuan in his arms, eyeing the Lan delegation with suspicion. Wen Ning is with him, and the Lan disciples shift nervously just looking at him, but Wei Wuxian sets A-Yuan in his arms, and he leaps away up the mountain.

"Might I assume this little party has come for me?" Wei Wuxian goes on, twirling his flute. His eyes are shrewd and cold, similar to the way they had looked when he had first returned during the war.

At the sight of him, at the sound of his voice, the curse...reacts.

A horrid, uncomfortable shiver of need runs through Lan Wangji's body alongside his own simple relief and joy at seeing Wei Wuxian again, looking relatively well. He fights it, keeping still among the weeds, hoping against hope to go unnoticed.

"Yiling Laozu," the doctor greets him with a deep bow. "We have indeed come to humbly beg your aid."

"I see," he says. "And what will you give me in return?"

The doctor hesitates, clearly discomfited by the context Wei Wuxian is currently unaware of. "We may...discuss that. Once we have informed you of the details."

Wei Wuxian hums, considering. Cold. Detached. "And if I am disinclined to—"

He breaks off. The doctor has moved so that she and Lan Wangji are both in Wei Wuxian's line of sight. Lan Wangji closes his eyes rather than see the moment of recognition, rather than feel the weight of Wei Wuxian's eyes on him, like this.

"Lan Zhan?"

Lan Wangji clamps his jaw shut. It is a struggle not simply to crawl to him.

The renewed ice in Wei Wuxian's voice when next he speaks makes Lan Wangji aware of the warmth with which he had said his name. His curls his shaking hands into fists on his knees.

"What have you done to him?"

The doctor sighs. "We have done nothing. He has been cursed, which is why we brought him here. If you—"

"Daifu," Lan Wangji interrupts, his voice thin.

She stops speaking.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes, but does not look at Wei Wuxian, not yet. If he is careful, and uses his remaining strength correctly, he can perhaps...perhaps guide the situation. Toward escape. With Wei Wuxian's help.

He may have to lie to him. He hopes he will be forgiven, all things considered.

Lan Wangji stands slowly, carefully, considering each movement so as not to reveal the state he is in.

"I will speak with him," he says to the doctor.

She eyes him. "24 hours," she says.

He does not acknowledge this. He thinks they both know it will not come to that, though his idea differs greatly from hers. He judges, from the time they have allotted and his own weakness, that he has perhaps a day and a half, total, to wait them out. Doable, if he is careful and intelligent about it.

He can manage.

He walks over to Wei Wuxian, careful to keep two arm's lengths between them. This close is already too close: a fine, constant tremor has made a home in all of his tightly-locked muscles. He feels the moment his fever begins to rise further. The sides of his throat hurt, the interiors of his ears. He wonders if his hearing will go first, or his eyes.

"Allow me to explain," he says to him.

"Of course," Wei Wuxian answers.

He sounds strange. Cold, still. Lan Wangji wants to look at him, and almost slips, but manages to stop himself. He follows him up the hill, past the wards, through the resentment that clings to them both, now. He keeps his careful distance, following behind.

"What happened?" Wei Wuxian asks, as they walk.

"A curse," Lan Wangji says carefully. "Origin unknown. The rebound has been cast. I did not wish to burden you with this, but they are...they will not listen to reason. Wei Ying, if you would but help me, I would deal with this on my own."

"Oh?"

"I...wish to seek justice. They will not allow it. But you understand. If there is another path off the mountain, if you would show me the way past them, I could—"

Wei Wuxian stops dead, and Lan Wangji, with his eyes in the ground, runs into him. 

For a blazing, agonizing moment, he is touching Wei Wuxian, clinging to him, every element in his body sighing and crying out at once in satisfaction, in the torturous need for more.

He tears himself away, stumbling back, almost falling. Wei Wuxian reaches out as if to catch him, but falters.

"Lan Zhan, you can hardly stand," he says, alarmed, "and you want to go and fight someone?"

Lan Wangji draws himself up taller again, trying hard to stop his shaking. He cannot look at him. He cannot look. He is already dying, now, just from not looking. "It is my right."

"...It is..." Wei Wuxian says at length, watching him closely. "And it still will be once you're well again. Your doctors really couldn't tell what type of curse it is?"

Lan Wangji says nothing, trying to think past the way every inch of his skin feels as if it is burning clean off. The pain of it screams through him, worse than anything he has ever felt. Wei Wuxian is still speaking, but it is hard to make sense of it. When Wei Wuxian begins walking again, slowly, it is all he can do to both follow and stay away from him. This, here, now, is worse than death. If it lasts, he certainly will not be sane when the end finally comes. He lets go of any thoughts of a dignified death.

Fortunately, by the time they reach the cool dark of the cave Wei Wuxian calls home, the pain has subsided to a distant roar. Unfortunately, he hoped never to reach this point. He tries his only play again, unable to think of any new tactic.

"Please show me the way off the mountain," he says without preamble.

Wei Wuxian is quiet for a beat. "You really don't want my help that much?"

Lan Wangji is so confused by this question, and then struck by the irony of it, that he almost begins to laugh. A shivery, jittery feeling fills his chest, and he leans against the nearest solid surface. He wishes he were wearing a loose outer layer over his blue travel robes, the better to hide his shaking. He does not know how to respond.

"You haven't so much as looked at me once since you got here," Wei Wuxian goes on, digging through strange pots and objects on a table, "so I get it. But you'll have to forgive me if I disregard your objection to the kind of work I do, when it comes to your life."

"My life, my life," Lan Wangji mocks, accidentally out loud. Why is everyone suddenly so obsessed with his life? He was ready to give it freely in the war, but chance let him keep it. What difference does giving it now in the name of keeping himself clean of shame make? Why will nobody allow him this choice?

"What shame?" Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji buckles at the realization that he has said all of this out loud. He goes to the floor, to his knees.

"Nothing," he says. "The shame of not having warded off such a simple attack."

"Lan Zhan...you want to die because you didn't defend against a curse you didn't know was coming?"

Lan Wangji lapses into silence. He has said too much already. He does not know how to get out of this. He can only...he can only stay quiet. Refuse to speak or move.

"Lan Zhan...I feel like I'm missing something here. I only want to help.”

Lan Wangji grits his teeth and stares hard at the floor in front of him. He has rarely ever felt so trapped, so utterly helpless. The extended, full-body pain is dulling his mind by the moment. The hems of Wei Wuxian's robes come into view, and it takes everything in him not to fall forward into him, to plead, to beg. His breath is hitching at random intervals now, his heart tripping as it prepares to fail entirely.

There is a soft gust of air, and an odd prickling sensation across his face.

"Now let's see—oh," Wei Wuxian says. "I...oh."

Lan Wangji wilts at his stilted, awkward tone. He knows now, surely. Can see him truly.

"So that's why you want to leave, and why they won't let you. They want me to find another way to break it, to stop you from...ah."

Lan Wangji sorts through the words, trying to comprehend them.

"Sorry," Wei Wuxian goes on. "I...it's unbreakable, otherwise. A very old, airtight spell. You...will Gusu Lan start a war with me if I do just let you go...ah, handle this the old-fashioned way?"

Comprehension dawns. And with it, a way out.

Lan Wangji rushes to agree. "They—" He cuts off. Will they? If they think Wei Wuxian has willingly let him die, rather than...

He takes a breath. Another. Forces his mind past the endless litany of pleas for relief.

"Show me the way " he says, his words breathless and short, "and then tell Lan-daifu what you have done. And why. But give me time to. Get away. And you will be safe."

Wei Wuxian pauses. "How...ah. How far—how much time?"

Lan Wangji tries hard to come up with an answer for that. His progress will be slow. But he need only find a place to hide.

"Half a day," he hazards.

Wei Wuxian seems to vacillate. "Are you sure you can make it on your own?"

Lan Wangji wants to rage. To weep. To curse himself to the heavens for being so depraved toward so endlessly kind a man. His heart hurts, even as his body strains toward him.

This lie may be the worst he will ever tell.

"I will be fine,” he says.

"Alright." Wei Wuxian sounds unconvinced. "I trust you."

Lan Wangji nearly convulses, holding back a sob. How will he ever be forgiven?

He cannot think of it. Only this, only what comes next. Only keeping Wei Wuxian safe from this mess.

"Lan Zhan?"

"Mn," he manages.

"Would you look at me, now? I haven't...used any demonic cultivation on you. It's safe, I promise I won't. I just. Can't we say goodbye properly?"

Lan Wangji has not moved from the floor. He does not move. He should try. A parting gift. Just one look.

But if he is going to leave. If he is going to succeed. He cannot.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says again, frustrated now.

Lan Wangji does not look. He is so close to freedom from the horrible pull, from the way his very veins are trying to tear themselves free to wrap around Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian steps forward, and Lan Wangji's breath leaves him all at once. Suddenly, there are fingers beneath his jaw, kind but firm, tilting his chin up. He has no choice but to look.

(Inspired by this art.)

Wei Wuxian is there. Tall and strong and perfect, tiredness mixed with something bittersweet on his lovely face. Lan Wangji's entire being melts toward him, a deep, sharp tug from inside his bones, a mindless, helpless, straining need that pushes a low, wanting sound from his throat.

Wei Wuxian snatches his hand away and backs up half a step, staring at him.

"Sorry," he says, blank. Confused. "I thought it was...I didn't realize...sorry."

Lan Wangji, now that he has looked, cannot look away. He has overbalanced without Wei Wuxian's support, fallen forward onto his hands, but he cannot stop looking at him. He will look at him, and keep looking; he prays Wei Wuxian is the last thing he sees before he dies.

The most shameful part of this is that none of it is the curse twisting his thoughts. None of this is. All the curse is doing is making the way he always feels impossible to ignore.

"Wei Ying," his voice implores. He does not mean it to.

Wei Wuxian takes another step back and looks down at the bowl of powder in his hand, confused. "I was certain it was that curse," he says to himself. "If I was wrong, then maybe I could break it..."

Lan Wangji tries to scrape his composure back together. He tries. He tries. His fingers scrape on the rough stone floor. He does not reach out for him. That is something.

Wei Wuxian looks at him again, then hastily away. Lan Wangji does not ever want to know what it is he sees.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, as Lan Wangji shakes, and shakes. "Where...where were you trying to go? I thought you...I thought you were, ah, thinking of a certain someone."

Lan Wangji's arms are weak. They are going to give out. He cannot answer him.

"I'm confused, and I...may have made a mistake," Wei Wuxian goes on, still backing away slowly, "but I just want to help. Can you tell me what was happening before, and what's happening now?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head, and the motion shatters his fragile balance. He falls, and curls tightly around himself in the dirt.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian says, suddenly close.

Lan Wangji sees his hand reach out, then pause, and he can't stop himself from taking hold of it, just to be touching him. His body screams for it, and he gasps raggedly at the contact.

Wei Wuxian wrenches his arm free. Lan Wangji wishes he were dead.

"Fuck," Wei Wuxian mutters to himself. "I...I'm sorry. I made this so much worse, I..."

"No," Lan Wangji rasps. He cannot hear Wei Wuxian berate himself thus. His dignity has now died, and he himself will soon follow. This is all that matters. "Not your fault."

Wei Wuxian huffs, crouching beside him. "It is...at least partially my fault, at this point, I'm pretty sure. You wouldn't be...reacting. Like this. If it weren't. Is...can I...do a few more tests? To check what I got wrong, and maybe—"

"You were not wrong."

He does not mean to say it.

His need to reassure has overridden his sense, and his mind is too slow now to piece together what it will mean before it leaves his mouth. The regret once it does is instantaneous. He tries to curl himself yet smaller in the dirt.

Wei Wuxian is silent. Lan Wangji cannot stop making small, pitiful, pained sounds in the back of his throat. Everything hurts. Everything.

"I don't understand," Wei Wuxian says quietly.

Lan Wangji lies shivering on the floor, arms locked around himself to prevent any more untoward behavior. He cannot take it back. He cannot try to explain. There is nothing he could say, regardless.

"Lan Zhan...but you..."

He can hear Wei Wuxian thinking, but it only registers in the far back of his mind. The rest of his consciousness is taken up by pain, and by ruthless restraint.

"You wanted to leave to get away from me," Wei Wuxian says, finally.

Lan Wangji does not answer. He wishes he had his sword. He would use it now to end this.

Wei Wuxian begins to back away again, and Lan Wangji’s body moves without his permission. He grips the skirt of Wei Wuxian’s robes in his fist and drags himself closer, pressing his cheek to Wei Wuxian's knee.

Shameful. Wanton. The small part of himself that is still aware berates the action. But he cannot let go. He cannot move away. The only part of him that is not howling with pain is the side of his face pressed to coarse fabric.

"Lan Zhan, you…," Wei Wuxian is trying to gently pry Lan Wangji's fingers from his hem. "You wanted to leave, remember? You don't want...you don't."

"Want," Lan Wangji croaks, pressing closer. "Wanted to spare you."

"Ah, Lan Zhan...I...I'm still not sure it's that specific curse, it could...there could be other..."

"It is," Lan Wangji says, half-crawling up Wei Wuxian's leg. He wants to stop himself. It is impossible.

"Lan Zhan...you...you shouldn't—"

"Stop me," Lan Wangji pleads, nuzzling against Wei Wuxian's thigh, "Wei Ying, I can't...please. Stop me."

There is a long near-silence filled with harsh breaths, in which Lan Wangji is almost certain he imagines the light touch of fingers brushing his mussed hair back from his forehead. Then Wei Wuxian speaks.

"No," he says. "You'll die, if I do. Lan Zhan. I won't let that happen."

He touches Lan Wangji's face. Lan Wangji whimpers into him.

He knows this will break the fragile repairs they have made to their friendship. He will likely never see him again, at least not on good terms. The thought makes him feel ill. He should protest. Refuse. Flee. He can do exactly none of these things. He reaches for Wei Wuxian's wrist, to hold his hand to his face, but Wei Wuxian flinches away.

"You can't...Lan Zhan. I'm going to help you," he says, "but you have to...you can't...you can't touch me."

Lan Wangji feels another tight clench of shame. He nods against his leg. He understands: he knows any small part of this is too much to ask, let alone bearing his unwelcome, curse-fevered grasping.

"Okay," says Wei Wuxian. He slides his fingers beneath Lan Wangji’s chin again, tipping his face up.

He looks so uncertain. So beautiful in the dim light. Lan Wangji wants to weep with it.

"Lan Zhan, I know it doesn't count for much like this, but you have to tell me. You have to tell me what you need."

Lan Wangji turns his head, pressing his face between Wei Wuxian's thigh and stomach, trying to reach into him, to feel more of him, to stop hurting just enough to think. It does not work.

"You," he breathes, into the scent of earth, and stringent soap, and Wei Wuxian.

A harsh, uneven breath ghosts across his hair, and Wei Wuxian's hands grip his shoulders. He thinks he is about to be pushed away again, but instead Wei Wuxian pulls him up, pulls him close, folds him into his embrace.

Lan Wangji sobs into his shoulder, trying at once to get closer and to hold himself apart, instinct demanding, even now, that he try to conceal his obvious, disgraceful hardness. His muscles quake under the strain of doing both and neither, and Wei Wuxian smooths one hand down his back, pressing him close, pressing them flush. Lan Wangji chokes back a shocked sound.

"Shh," Wei Wuxian soothes. "It's alright."

It is not alright. It is the end of the thing Lan Wangji holds most dear.

But he does not have it in him to argue. He is shifting against him, his overheated body begging for touch, indeed for ravishment. He is mindless with it. The pain is not subsiding but slipping sideways into something more, something different, something necessary.

He is on his knees on hard stone, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this: sweetly, hazily, with and without hope. But never like this. Never sick with remorse, with need, dying and demanding and defiling. His deepest desire twisted into a nightmare.

He whimpers again, his lips finding the soft coolness of Wei Wuxian's throat. Wei Wuxian jerks away again, and Lan Wangji fists his hands tighter at his sides, trying, trying not to overstep again.

"I—sorry," he gasps out. He will never be able to apologize enough. But he will try.

"Don't apologize," says Wei Wuxian. "I—"

He cuts himself off. Lan Wangji does not have enough sense to wonder why. In the same moment, one of his thighs gives under the strain, and he falls against him heavily. They tip over, to the floor, and he reaches out on instinct to brace them both. When he is again conscious of himself, Wei Wuxian is lying on top of him, breathing hard, both of Lan Wangji's wrists pinned to the floor in one hand. Lan Wangji arches against him inadvertently, and turns his face into his own bicep.

"Sorry, I...so sorry," he pants, his hips flexing, searching for friction. "I have...no control...”

"I know," Wei Wuxian says, "I know, I shouldn't have..." he swallows hard. "I'm going to keep you like this. Can I?"

Lan Wangji nods frantically, his eyes shut tight. He does not care. Anything that he can do to make this any less invasive for Wei Wuxian, he will do.

Wei Wuxian pulls away then, his hold still firm on Lan Wangji's wrists. Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stop moving, to stop searching for touch, to stop making such a disgusting spectacle of himself, but to no avail. What feels like centuries later, he hears the telltale sounds of talisman activation. He is too far gone in his pain to look up, to see what they are. He simply lies there, pinned and writhing, his breath catching in his throat. The sounds it makes are small, pitiful, desperate.

Just like him.

Eventually, Wei Wuxian leans back over him, a considering look in his eye. His hand hovers at Lan Wangjis belt.

"I—should I..."

"Yes," pleads Lan Wangji.

He needs Wei Wuxian's skin on his skin. He does not know how discerning the curse is about what happens now, but it feels as if he will die without it. Wei Wuxian takes what looks like a fortifying breath and unties the belt. Lan Wangji, unable to help, instead hinders the process with his ceaseless movement. But Wei Wuxian manages it with deft hands, and immediately unties each layer of robes in quick succession until Lan Wangji’s chest and stomach are bare.

The cool air of the cave does not soothe his burning. It burns like ice instead. Lan Wangji shivers, an ugly whine escaping him.

"What," Wei Wuxian asks, pausing, "what is it?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head. He will bear it. He will not make demands.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, "you need to talk to me, I...I don't want to make this even worse, or, or draw it out longer."

Something small and dark crumples in Lan Wangji's chest. He does not want that either. He will need to speak. To ask.

"Hurts," he says, rough and thick.

"Where?"

"...Not...not touching me."

Wei Wuxian makes a distressed noise and lays both his palms flat over Lan Wangji's ribs. Lan Wangji groans, pressing up into them.

"Please," he whispers, helpless. "Please."

"Oh, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian murmurs, something sad like regret. He leans closer and slides one hand down. Lan Wangji shudders under him. "I'm just going to..."

Lan Wangji nods again, holding his breath to stop the whines from escaping the back of his throat.

Wei Wuxian unties Lan Wangji's trousers and slips his hand inside. Clever fingers wrap hesitantly around him, and he bucks up into them with an obscene moan. It is minor relief from the most consuming pain he has ever felt, and it is simultaneously the most intense pleasure he has ever experienced. All of these sensations, coexisting in his fallible human body, feel likely to rip him apart.

"Wei Ying," he moans again, when Wei Wuxian moves his hand.

He gasps for air, his body twisting into it, his whole being searching for Wei Wuxian. He makes another piteous sound, the torment of it all overwhelming. Wei Wuxian leans down against him then, his own robes open, pressing them skin to skin.

Lan Wangji sobs. It is something. It is something. The pain abates somewhat, and he sighs, turning toward him, his mouth brushing Wei Wuxian's hair. He has the wherewithal now to fight the urge to kiss his head properly, his face, anything he can reach. He holds himself still beneath him instead. And Wei Wuxian touches him, and touches him. The incomprehensible pleasure builds, and builds, until Lan Wangji cannot breathe. But it does not break.

Something almost like soft lips brushes his throat.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says into his ear, "this, is this...will this be enough?"

The pleasure is just another kind of pain, now. Lan Wangji shakes his head as sweat rolls off of him, as he tries and fails to get enough air to speak.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. "What, then?"

Lan Wangji's body knows what it needs. But he does not want to tell.

"Come on, Lan Zhan, after all this? Don't get shy on me now."

He misses the joking tone he is aiming for, but the pure, unmistakable Wei Wuxian-ness of the tease sends a surge of genuine desire through Lan Wangji. He wraps his legs around Wei Wuxian's hips and pulls him down. Wei Wuxian breathes in sharply.

"You just...you want...but only..."

"Please," says Lan Wangji, barely voiced. "In—" he cannot say it. "Please."

"Ah," Wei Wuxian whispers, into his skin. "If—are you sure?"

Lan Wangji whines. He wishes he were not so very sure. He wishes he were not asking Wei Wuxian to do something so intimate, so extreme. He wishes Wei Wuxian had let him die before it ever came to this.

"Alright Lan Zhan, just hold—hold on," he says, and is gone.

Lan Wangji clamps his mouth shut on a scream as the agony slams back into him, worse even than before.

Not soon enough, Wei Wuxian returns to divest him of his boots, socks and trousers. Lan Wangji fights him without meaning to, trying to keep his knees curled up to his chest, trying to minimize the hurt. Wei Wuxian is briskly patient, handling him with aching care he does not deserve.

And then he is upon him, chest and stomach, hips and thighs, smooth and hard and exquisite. Lan Wangji almost forgets the pain in the rush of gratitude, of solace. Their robes trail off them both, gathering dust as they move together in halting fits and starts.

"Don't let me hurt you, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian grits out, a strong hand lifting one of Lan Wangji's thighs by the back of the knee.

It is nonsense. He could not hurt Lan Wangji any more than this. And Lan Wangji could not stop him now if he did.

But the kindness. Even in this. Tears prick at Lan Wangji's eyes. He will miss him. He will miss all of Wei Wuxian with all of himself. He will never stop missing him. He will never move past this regret as long as he lives. How could he? Every breath he draws will be by the grace of Wei Wuxian.

Suddenly there is slick pressure against him, against his most private of places, and he gasps, loud and wretched. Wei Wuxian exhales, uneven and deep, and pushes in, in, in. Slowly. So slowly. Lan Wangji bites down hard on his lip to keep from begging for it. His arms are pinned, as are his hips, Wei Wuxian holding him steady, holding him still. Lan Wangji loses all sense. There is only the weight of Wei Wuxian, the full, stinging press of him, the searing pain, the devastating euphoria of being this close, and yet so very far in every way that counts.

Ages pass before Wei Wuxian is fully seated inside him. By then Lan Wangji's breaths are wet and shallow; scraping, desolate things. He does not know any longer what hurts and what feels good. It is all one and the same. He only knows he needs more, in some primal, wordless way.

He asks with the arch of his back, the squeeze of his thighs. He tries, somehow, to keep quiet, but fails more often than not.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says tightly, "try to relax, I'm going to move. Tell me if it...if it's right."

Lan Wangji manages a loose nod, though he barely understands.

And Wei Wuxian moves. He rolls his hips against him, shifting inside of him, and Lan Wangji groans. Each deep, short thrust pushes air from his lungs, and he lacks the strength to catch it again. It is beyond pleasure. It is ecstatic. To have Wei Wuxian around him, inside him, panting above him. A deep, villainous part of him wants it never to end. The rest of him howls for release.

He is dripping now, steadily, onto his own stomach. He can feel it pooling on his belly, unpleasantly cool. He whimpers between desperate, panting breaths, beyond words.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, breath shivering across Lan Wangji's collarbone, "I can't...can't keep this up, you feel too—" his breath catches, and he pauses. "I'm going to finish. You need to come."

Dimly, distantly, the idea that Wei Wuxian should derive pleasure from this, no matter how perfunctory, gives Lan Wangji a perverse sort of satisfaction. It snuffs out like a candle at the nebulous thought that perhaps in another world, they could have had this for real.

In this world, the fact remains that this has gone on far too long. But Lan Wangji can do nothing about it. He meets Wei Wuxian's thrusts, leans into the pleasure, tries to gain the momentum to go over the edge. He should be able to. It should be easy. He has been so hard for so long, has been given more now than in his absolute wildest and wettest of dreams, and yet he hovers, scant inches away.

Wei Wuxian loses patience, his head dropping to Lan Wangji's shoulder. He grunts softly and fists Lan Wangji's wet cock, quick and merciless. Lan Wangji cries out, shuddering violently with the extended, expansive stimulation, worked both inside and out, helplessly, utterly unmade by Wei Wuxian's touch.

And still he does not crest. He is sobbing steadily now, ugly and jagged, and Wei Wuxian kisses his shoulder, his throat, his cheek.

"Were we wrong?" He asks, breathless. "Lan Zhan please, tell—show me, I...I can't...you...I can't lose you. Lan Zhan?"

Exhausted, Lan Wangji turns his tearstained face toward him, blindly seeking. Perhaps they were all wrong. Perhaps he will die now, like this. And perhaps it is selfish of him, but having heard those words, he finds his regret to be less than it should be. Everything, everything hurts. But Wei Wuxian will miss him, too. Of course he will. They are zhiji. This, miraculously, will not erase that. It is more than he deserves. Wei Wuxian has always been more than he deserves.

Lan Wangji heaves, and writhes, and cries.

Wei Wuxian kisses him. Soft, gloriously cool lips on his.

An odd, fleeting, hollow feeling.

The dam breaks. The pain goes suddenly quiet. Roaring to fullness in its absence is the killing swell of such a long-delayed climax. It is possible that he calls Wei Wuxian's name. It is impossible to know.

The world, again, goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to gray light and distant birdsong. A sharp edge is digging into his shoulder. He shifts, then goes still at the deep ache in his entire body.

He remembers.

"Hanguang-jun should drink this," says a brisk voice to his right.

Wen Qing sits there, watching him. His heart skips a beat and he looks down. But he is fully clothed once more.

Her smile is wry as she holds a cup out to him. Laboriously, he sits up to take it. It is bitter, but familiar. A restorative. He thanks her formally.

She shakes her head. "No need.” She turns to go.

"Wen-guniang," Lan Wangji says. She pauses. "How long has it been gone?"

She turns to stare at him. He knows she knows what he means.

"How? When?"

She looks away. "You'll have to ask him."

The pang of loss he felt upon waking with Wei Wuxian gone speaks for him. "Will he let me?"

 He lies on the slab of rock that serves as Wei Wuxian's bed for too long. It is difficult to tell the passage of time in the Burial Mounds, but it seems slightly brighter than it had...before. He reasons that it could well be the next morning. He wonders if Wei Wuxian slept beside him, then tosses the thought away as gross indulgence. He wonders instead, as he has many times since his last visit, if Wei Wuxian sleeps at all.

First, his excuse to tarry is meditation. He works at it, simultaneously restoring his drained core and healing himself, until the discomfort fades from his every movement to just a specific few.

Once that is done, he has no reason to be idle. But the voice in his head, Wei Wuxian's blisteringly cold one that had called him his proper name all those months ago, keeps him in place. He hears it saying all manner of things in response to seeing him now.

"What more could you possibly want of me?" Wei Wuxian sneers in his mind. And he would be right to do so.

But Lan Wangji does not intend to ask anything of him ever again.

And there is the other thing. The fact that his robes should be uncomfortable, filthy, but they have been cleaned, dried, and arranged back onto his body properly. Comfortably. Almost as if—

He dares not imagine. But at the very least it does not speak of utter contempt.

So he rises. He follows the path Wen Qing told him of. And he does something foolish. He hopes.

After no short while of walking, he comes to a slightly darker, more silent corner of deadened forest. He rounds a bend and sees Wei Wuxian crouched a little ways off, and then hears high, lilting notes as if through water. The energies are strange here, and Wei Wuxian is speaking to with them in their own language.

Lan Wangji approaches until he sees Wei Wuxian go still. He says nothing. Wei Wuxian drops his flute from his lips.

"Are you well?" He asks without rising or turning.

"I am."

Wei Wuxian nods. "Your people are waiting for you."

It is a dismissal. Lan Wangji recognizes this. But he will impose just a little bit longer.

"Your core," he says. Wei Wuxian stands abruptly, still facing away, gripping Chenqing. "Can it be replaced?"

Wei Wuxian whirls to face him, anger and fear warring with the questions on his face.

Lan Wangji has other questions, too. But they do not matter. He is intelligent enough to piece together the cold, empty space where Wei Wuxian's core should be, the tired guilt on Wen Qing's face, and...

"Your scar," he says, dropping his gaze to the scorched earth.

He should not know of it. But he does, now, and he also owes a greater debt than he can ever repay. Wei Wuxian does not respond. How dearly Lan Wangji wants to see his expression. But he will not infringe on any more of his privacy.

The wind howls. He waits.

"You won't tell anybody," Wei Wuxian says uncertainly.

Lan Wangji stiffens. "I will not."

"Nobody told you?"

"Nobody.”

Wei Wuxian pauses, momentarily satisfied.

"You're not going to ask how? Or when?"

Lan Wangji would like to. He would like to know everything of Wei Wuxian, even his sorrow, his pain. But he is not entitled to those things. There is only one point that matters.

"Can it be replaced? Can the procedure be reversed?"

Wei Wuxian sighs. Lan Wangji can tell he does not wish to speak of this.

"So single-minded, Lan Zhan," he scolds, then shakes his head. "The chance of success would be small; the chance of finding a donor, much smaller."

But this is all Lan Wangji hoped to hear. It is enough. He goes to his knees, arms circled in front of his chest.

"Allow me," he says.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian darts forward, trying to pull Lan Wangji up from the ground. Eventually he gives up and goes to his knees in front of him, pushing at his arms. "Lan Zhan, stop this," he says, panicked. "Don't be stupid, stop—Lan Zhan, you can't be serious."

"Please allow me," Lan Wangji repeats, eyes downcast.

"Stop this!" Wei Wuxian shouts. "It can't be done, and I wouldn't take it from you anyway!"

Lan Wangji flinches bodily. He had not considered...but yes. Everything in him is sullied. He bends at the waist, bowing further.

"Apologies for the offense," he says, then snaps his mouth shut. His voice is too obviously strained.

"Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian says, still alarmed.

Lan Wangji needs to leave. He has already overstayed. But he...he has not tried hard enough.

"This debt is too great to repay in one lifetime," he says. "Please inform this one of what he may do to begin."

Wei Wuxian sags, dragging one of Lan Wangji's wrists with him. "Lan Zhan, there is no debt between us."

Lan Wangji only just stops himself from glancing up. He does not understand.

"I owe you my life and more," he says. "You took great pains to save me, even as the situation proved me unworthy of it. I owe—"

"You owe me nothing," Wei Wuxian insists, shaking Lan Wangji's arm. "There were no great pains. Nobody is unworthy. Well...you aren't."

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to protest, but Wei Wuxian speaks over him.

"People have...desires, Lan Zhan. There's nothing unworthy about it."

"But you—"

"Stop," he says. He sounds so, so tired. "If you hadn't been...dying. If we—" He stops. "Just keep my secret," he says, and lets go of his wrist. "And live well."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes. The thought of going back to his home, his life, after this, had not yet occurred to him. It sinks him from his knees to the ground. How can he do this? How can he leave him this way?

"Wei Ying," he pleads. "I must...I must do something. I cannot...I..."

"Why, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asks, not unkindly. "You have responsibilities. People to protect, just like me. Live well, and count things even between us. Why not?"

Lan Wangji’s chest caves in. He does not make the sound clawing up his throat.

"You...truly, you must know why," he says. "After... you must know. I would not leave you in need. I could not."

"Ah, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says sadly. He shuffles forward. Lan Wangji startles at the feel of fingertips on his cheek. "You're too good. But all I need is," he huffs, "political asylum for me and 40 friends? It's not your burden."

Suddenly yet slowly, like the first burst of sunrise, an idea reveals itself on the horizon of Lan Wangji’s mind. It is unorthodox. And likely unwelcome. But it is all he has.

"My uncle made a suggestion," he says. "When my affliction became known. It is true that he did not know what it would mean, but I would hold him to it. If it is not...hateful, to you."

"I don't know what you mean," Wei Wuxian says warily.

Lan Wangji steels himself. "You are perceived as the head of a sect. A proper alliance could protect your people, and Gusu Lan is in need of hands for rebuilding. The person who cast this curse upon me has given the perfect excuse, and made themselves scapegoat. If you would...I would not ask anything of you, if you agreed. It would be a marriage in name only, as you wish it."

Wei Wuxian's silence turns to spluttering. "M—Lan Zh—marriage?? What—how—"

"If the idea is odious, I will not mention it again. But as I said. My uncle suggested it. And under the circumstances, he cannot refuse."

"Your—he—Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, look at me. Look at me, please."

Lan Wangji looks at him. His eyes are wide. Disbelieving. Concerned.

"Your uncle would qi deviate if you even hinted at such a thing," he says. "Gusu Lan is in a precarious enough position, you don't need...I have nothing to offer in return." He pats his lower stomach, empty of spiritual energy, emphatically. “Nothing. Don't be ridiculous."

"It is not ridiculous," Lan Wangji argues, certain now that he is right. "You can offer more protection for us, and we can offer legitimacy. The person who cast this curse can be seen to have forced our hands. Has—has forced our hands."

He stops himself. He should not push this. Wei Wuxian is looking at him as if he does not know him.

"You don't want to marry me, Lan Zhan."

This gives Lan Wangji pause. It is a confusing objection, to say the least. He stares, trying to comprehend. He clears his throat. Takes a breath.

"If you are under the impression..." he stops. Drops his eyes once more. "...that the...impetus of the curse. Is the whole of the way I—”

"Demonic cultivation," Wei Wuxian interrupts. "It would be unhealthy. For you. And your elders! They wouldn't let me, not if I were...attached to your sect. To you.”

A fair concern, and one Lan Wangji has been turning over in his own mind as well. "Is this your only objection?"

Wei Wuxian casts about. "Ah..."

Lan Wangji takes one last plunge. "The elders can be reasoned with, compromises can be made. I am not concerned for my health: being near you could never be harmful to me." He hears himself, then, and amends, "Though you need not. Be near me. That is not a condition."

"You would defend this?" Wei Wuxian asks, bemused.

"Defend what?"

"My cultivation path. You..."

Lan Wangji resists a sigh. "I understand the reason, now. And I believe...if you did not object. We could work toward making it safe, without stripping you of what your hard work has created."

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says. He reaches out, then stops.

Lan Wangji stares at his hand, hovering between them. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his eyes, in his tongue.

"Wei Ying."

"You would let me, though?"

His tone is gently mocking. His head is cocked to the side, the edge of a smile playing across his lips. It knocks the breath from Lan Wangji's chest.

"Let you?" He asks, dazed.

"Be near you."

Lan Wangji's heart stops. It is a moment before he can respond.

"I would. Always."

Wei Wuxian takes his hand, and sighs. "You don't owe me this," he says again.

"I do," Lan Wangji counters, off-kilter. "I owe you. And I want to. I would want to, even if—"

He loosens his tight grip on Wei Wuxian's hand. He is saying too much, taking too much, being too much. He settles himself. Finds the words that matter.

"It would be a thing happily given, with no strings attached, should you wish it."

Wei Wuxian laughs strangely. "Lan Zhan, you really..." He shakes his head. "I'd marry you in an instant, you know," says.

Lan Wangji's neck hurts from the speed with which he looks up at him. Hope, warm and liquid, blooms through his limbs.

"But I can't make this decision on my own," Wei Wuxian goes on. "It's not just my life. We have to talk it over with everyone."

"Yes," Lan Wangji says, surprised, and eager now that he sees the possibility of success. Of doing something of use.

"Alright," says Wei Wuxian, a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. "I can't promise...but it...it could work."

"It will," Lan Wangji says, certain that the strength of his conviction alone will carry them through if need be.

He feels strange and dreamlike, confused but heartened by the turn in this conversation. That Wei Wuxian can stand the sight of him, let alone wish to ally with him personally, seems too wonderful to be true. Another Wei Wuxian hallmark.

"But Lan Zhan, no more talk of strings," Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Wangji sobers and nods. It is unseemly. Of course their understanding must be a tacit one, now.

But his hand is suddenly in both of Wei Wuxian's.

"You need to stop feeling guilty," Wei Wuxian says, looking down at it. "If I were your husband...if I were. We could try all that again, but without the impending doom. We could try it again any way we like, any time—all the time—and we'd—"

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji interrupts, strangled. His heart is in his throat. He cannot comprehend what he is hearing. His ears, his face, are on fire.

Wei Wuxian smiles down at their hands, one part shy, one part mischief. "I think we could get really good at it, if we had the chance, don't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him. "You..."

"Mn," says Wei Wuxian, meeting his eyes.

He shines so bright, even without any core to speak of. He takes Lan Wangji's breath away.

"I take it back," Wei Wuxian says, his voice suddenly urgent. "I like strings. Mine is that if this happens, I want to be your real husband. In name, in practice, in bed, and in your heart. Because you would be, in mine."

Lan Wangji's voice sticks in his throat. He feels...he feels unreal. He does not know what to do, to say. Perhaps they never broke the curse at all and he has simply gone mad. But Wei Wuxian's fingers stroking his palm, the root-knotted dirt beneath his shins, are real. He sways, unbalanced.

Wei Wuxian reaches out. Catches him. Folds him into his arms for a second time. Lan Wangji's breath shudders out of him.

He is on his knees, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this many ways. But never has it been so real, so full of hope. He wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian in turn, buries his face in his shoulder.

Wei Wuxian huffs. "Jiang Cheng is going to be so angry."

Lan Wangji comes back down to earth. It is true he had not thought of this. He makes to pull away. "How should—"

Wei Wuxian clutches him tighter. "I don't care," he says, "I don't care, we can manage him." He pauses, then speaks more softly. "Maybe...I could see shijie's wedding after all. Or—no. It's too soon, I—"

"Yes," says Lan Wangji. "You will. We will go together."

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and lets it out into Lan Wangji's hair.

"Together," he says.

It takes several serious, and at times uncomfortable, discussions, but in the end, Gusu Lan’s Second Jade is indeed thoroughly removed from the marriage pool of the great sects. The curse caster is found and punished. And everybody else lives happily ever after.

The end.

-----

(Thank you for coming on this wildly self-indulgent journey, I hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like to read some actually nicely-polished, fleshed-out fics by me—including another sex-cursed LWJ—check out my AO3.)

[stormblessed95]

Hi Storm. Sorry if this gets long.

I find it interesting how that anon earlier said most JKKers are Jimin biased. I don't know if that can be true. Bear with me here: I am someone who came into BTS from a pretty strange place. Back around maybe 2017/2018, I was SO sick of seeing BTS everywhere on Tumblr that I eventually had everything to do with the group blocked via tag filtering - and SPECIFICALLY Jungkook, the most annoying member of all. He had his own level of filtering above all the others because I KEPT getting him on my tumblr dash, and I was pretty irritated that all the people I had followed for videogames and stuff had overnight become kpop blogs.

Anyway, fast-forward to now... the pandemic happened, I somehow fell in love with BTS (via their choreography and dance practice videos initially but they now dominate my Spotify both as a group and as solo performers) ...and lo and behold! My bias is Jungkook, the very same person I took extra trouble to completely eradicate from my tumblr experience.

So. When watching BTS content, my eyes are naturally drawn to JK. It happens, he's my favourite, I watch him a lot. BTS official content, performances, ITS, Run BTS, but also JKs cover songs and GCFs, etc. And through my watching, I am breaking down YEARS worth of misconceptions I had about Jungkook (and BTS as a whole). I dropped everything I thought I knew about him and said 'Okay, clean slate, YOU tell me who you are, because clearly I was wrong before'. This means, I'd like to believe, that I am watching with my mind open (with a capital O) to whatever I might be presented with, no matter how far it strays from what I originally thought these boys were. Because so far, most of what I have discovered about JK/BTS has brought me nothing but joy, even if some of it was surprising.

The point of all this, and sorry again for rambling, is that I came into the fanbase with zero agenda regarding dynamics between members, but ready to accept anything. At this stage, I didn't know who Jimin was, other than the stunning one with the baby face, who I assumed was the youngest. And while I can't remember the specific moment that made me first go 'huh' with JM and JK, if you truly do watch JK with both love but also an unbiased mind, you will notice who he is always gravitating to, who he spends his time with, who he is always making up silly games with, who he has a seemingly different kind of bond with, before you even get to any of the 'big' moments.

In fact, you would have to be deluded or wilfully ignorant to hold JK as your bias and then say he dislikes JM. Or to pretend that the special dynamic he has with JM is fake/manufactured BUT does still exist between JK and somebody else in the group (only in secret!!). And that's why when I see the loudest Twitter accounts from that other ship, it doesn't shock me at all that most often their bias is not JK, but instead the other member of that ship. Because if you truly like JK, if you watch him with respect and attention, he is not lying to you about JM.

I just cant imagine being a fan who tries to discredit clearly one of the most important people in his life. Whatever the relationship is, no matter if we never get more clarity than we have now. If you're a JK bias, it is so much happier and healthier as a fan to simply believe JK instead of wandering down a labyrinth of conspiracies and #freeJK and one ship covering for another.

I don't think most Jikookers are Jimin biased; I think maybe on the whole, they are of a variety of biases, but importantly they watch original content and do the members the service of believing them when they tell us things.

What a fascinating way to have gotten into the group 🤣😂 wow. Lol I don't have the stats and it would be hard to get those stats, but I don't think you can claim one way or the other that jikookers bias one member over the other. Often times we bias at least one of these 2 because we tend to all pay a bit more attention to those we bias and their interactions. It's only natural, but it's also clear that people who bias one of the other 5 members also still will occasionally notice jikook.

For example. My husband knows all the members. He listens to their music mostly and doesn't really watch their extra content except for the occasionally things with me. Like he sat and watched part of memories with me, it was the behinds for the dance practices that he was interested in seeing. He would watch the occasionally run episode with me when he had time and because he loves me and knows it makes me happy. And he watched the online concerts with me over the past year and half. He is staunchly Hobi biased. Hobi is his favorite for sure. Lol mentions him the most during the little bits of extra content we watch together. When I mentioned a while ago that I felt like 2 of the members could possibly be in a relationship together after I binged so much content, he just looked over at me and before I could say anything else he went, "who? Jimin and Jungkook?" Lol we had never talked about it before, he didn't watch any of the big moments before that such as GCFT or rosebowl or know about anything else they have done. He literally just thought it was them based off the bits of behind content and run episodes he did see. He said "they just are aware of each other the way that I am of you and just seem like they are the closest together. I don't know, it's just a vibe they give off I guess." Sooo it's not like you have to bias them to also see it too.

My friend humors me and is learning about them with me as I slowly introduce her to songs etc. I said NOTHING about relationship statuses and what not. I sent her music videos and songs, she would listen and I would send her info over every member every so often and what they like doing outside of just the band. She fell hard for namjoon. He has stayed rock solid as her favorite and asks for weekly photos of him even though she doesn't really consider herself army yet (I'll convert her). She just likes a few of their songs and loves Joonie. I told her JK made videos and she watched his GCFs, all of them and then asked who his boyfriend was, pointing out Jimin every single time (we hadn't gotten to learning about who jimin was at that point so she didn't recognize who he was by name yet lol). Said they were cute together. People SEE it, it's just the die hard anti shipping fans or other shippers who have a hard time seeing it simply because they don't want to.

Point is, that it's easy to see there might be something there, no matter how well you know them or really who you bias. If you take what they say and do at face value, respect them, their actions and words, it's a much more peaceful life in the world of the fandom. Regardless of what their relationship status is, as long as they are happy, I am happy, and they truly do mean a lot to each other and have a special bond. That much at least is so extremely clear and should be easy to see by everyone.

[scripted-downfall]

Born of Loss

Sad, kinda angsty headcanon… I have no clue if anyone has ever come up with this before but I thought of this, like, a year ago and was just reminded so I’m going to post it now that I have Tumblr.  (To be clear, I’m sure someone has absolutely come up with this somewhere, sometime, but I’m new and I don’t know for sure; so, for the record, I do not claim originality on this idea.  Then again, is any idea ever really original anymore?)

Milah was pregnant when she died.

This idea was initiated by the random piece of rope that Belle finds and uses to track Hook down to the docks after he attacks her in the library (I don’t recall the episode).  To be fair, it is an actual sailing knot called a Monkey’s Fist, and this is a kind of knot with practical uses even off the ship; sailors took to using them as weapons called “slungshots”... but I still feel as though it has a more sentimental value on top of that.  We never see him use it or anything like it as a weapon, and he’s only very rarely (if ever) shown needing a weapon other than a gun/cutlass/hook.  (Also, speaking strategically, I wouldn’t think it wise for him to use a slungshot if he had any of his usual weapons on hand… those are far more effective than the rope equivalent — as I understand it — of brass knuckles.)

So, I posit that it’s far more likely that the fact that the writers chose a knot that looked like a rattle was important.  I mean, we saw the significance of rattles to the storyline with Maleficent, who carried her daughter’s baby rattle around because the baby was killed and it served as a simultaneous memory and revenge-inspiration.  Add that to the fact that we know Killian is sentimental — what with his sketching out Milah’s portrait, his keeping Liam’s satchel, his giving Henry lessons with Bae’s sextant, etc — and the rattle shape seems even more important/intentional.

Then I got thinking about the scenes in “The Crocodile,” where Milah is inexplicably not at the tavern with them?  Like, we’ve seen them interact earlier in the episode and no one has any problem with Milah going to drink and play dice with the pirates.  We also see them, later, interacting with her on the ship, and they treat her like, essentially, a second captain.  Also, Killian and his crew seem to be in especially high spirits, judging by how they show him entering the scene/catching Rumple’s attention.  (We see him in various taverns over the show and he’s not usually quite so energetic.)  It almost comes across as though they’re celebrating… and, if it’s a celebration, why wouldn’t Milah be there?  It’s not like they’d known they’d run into Dark One Rumple there or anything.  (I recognize that the idea of alcohol being bad for pregnancy wasn’t discovered until far more recently than the show seems to be set, but it’s something I noticed… and she could just have felt sick and stayed home.  Or maybe it’s a perk of living in a magical world.  Or maybe it’s coincidence and I bend it as I please :)))  One of them.)

Also, since she chose the outfit she wore to confront Rumple with full knowledge that she was going to interact with her ex-husband, I would assume it was an intentional choice… Which means she intentionally chose a corset that laced tightly around the stomach and would effectively hide any possible pregnancy from him.

I don’t know that this is actually true or anything — I might be wildly off-base — but it strikes me as an interesting headcanon.  It would definitely explain Hook’s kinda-desperate affection for Baelfire over the years, and give Hook even more reason — as if he needs it, tbh, since he had plenty already — for his centuries-long revenge mission against Rumple… I dunno how likely this headcanon is, but it’s stuck with me ever since I came up with it, and even writing a fic with that premise didn’t get it out of my head, so now y’all are blessed/cursed with it!

[orangeoctopi7]

Buzzfeed Unsolved: The Suspicious Crash of Stanley Pines

The theme for @stanuary week 3 is Crime... what about... TRUE CRIME? I started watching Buzzfeed Unsolved this last summer, so I’ve been wanting to do something like this.

If you don’t watch Buzzfeed Unsolved, this is probably gonna seem like a lot of rambling.

On the morning of July Fourth, 1982 in the sleepy logging town of Gravity Falls, Oregon, there was a firey explosion that wasn't part of the fireworks and festivities. A car had gone over the edge of the town's famed floating cliffs.

"Floating cliffs?" Shane asked

"They're like, giant overhangs. They're not just floating up in the middle of the air like Pandora or something." Ryan explained, showing Shane a photo on his phone.

"Oh, that's pretty."

"It is really pretty."

"What a beautiful place for a car to careen over a cliff."

Ryan cracked up.

"You get a lovely view as you plummet to your death." Shane imagined.

Between 6:15 and 6:20 PM, the Gravity Falls Police Department received six separate calls reporting seeing a yellow car in flames drive off the edge of the cliff and crash to the valley below.

When investigators arrived on the scene, they found the remains of a crushed and burnt 1971 Subaru DL Coupe. The police report notes finding that the brakes were cut, and evidence of gasoline being poured into the driver’s seat to start the fire. Strangest of all, no body was found in or around the crash, only a few burnt strands of hair.

“So, right off the bat, real suspicious.” Shane commented.

“Yeah, and it only gets more suspicious from here.” Ryan assured his co-host.

“And I’m assuming there’s no chance that they guy, y’know, got up and walked away from the crash?” 

“Oh, no, no way. You saw the picture of the cliffs.”

“Oh yeah, no way.”

“There’s no way anyone in the car would have survived that fall.”

“And it was on fire.”

“And it was on fire.”

Despite the lack of a body, the police determined from the few burnt strands of hair and an anonymous tip they received at 6:15 PM on the day of the crash, the driver of the car was one Stanley Pines, a 31 year old man from Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. Allegedly, he had been coming to Gravity Falls, Oregon to visit his twin brother, Stanford, who lived just a ten minute drive from the cliff Stan’s car had driven off.

“Wait, wait, wait--” Shane interrupted Ryan’s explanation, “Twin brothers. Named Stanley and Stanford.”

“Yeah.”

“Who the f___ names their kids like that?”

“I know, right?”

“Were they identical twins?”

“Uh, I couldn’t find anything saying they were definitely genetically identical, but, uh, with the way this case goes, it’s safe to assume they were identical enough.”

“Yikes, I feel sorry for them growing up, can you imagine how often people got them mixed up?”

“Yeah, but imagine the kinds of shenanigans they must have gotten up to!”

“Oh, that’s true. There would have been plenty of shenanigans. Lots and lots of shenanigans.”

“If you had twins, would you give them cutesy twin names?” Ryan asked.

“No.” Shane answered firmly.

“I think I’d just do like, alliterative names. Nothing too similar.” 

“Yeah, no I think twins probably have to deal with enough confusion bull___ without having to throw similar names or the same initials into the mix.”

“Interestingly enough…” Ryan started.

“Yeah, I’m guessing from your comments that the twin thing plays into this.”

When interviewed by the police, Stanford claimed his brother never arrived at his house. However, testimonies of other townsfolk reported seeing a red 1967 El Diablo with a distinctive “STNLYMBL” vanity license plate driving up the road to Stanford’s house earlier that winter. The house is out in the woods, isolated from the rest of the town, so no one would drive up that way unless they were going to see the cabin.

“Well what if they just wanted to take a walk out in the woods?” Shane countered.

“It was in early February.” 

“Snowshoeing.”

“In a blizzard.”

“Ok, you do not have a weather report for the exact day they saw this car!”

“Two of the testimonies mention there was a snow storm that day. Plus, the license plate says STANLEY MOBILE.”

“Well, Stanley is a fairly common name.”

“You-you’re just being contrary to bug me now, aren’t you?” Ryan accused.

Shane just grinned.

What’s more, that same red El Diablo was the car Stanford now drove. 

“What!?” Shane laughed with disbelief for a moment before putting on a mocking tone. “Uh, yeah, he never showed up, but, uh, I have his car. I’m still driving it. Y’know, seemed like a waste to just let it sit in the driveway.”

“He didn’t even change the license plate.” Ryan added.

“Oh, of course not!” Shane said sarcastically. “Why go through all that trouble?”

Upon further inspection, the car that crashed was registered to Stanford, and had been reported totaled almost seven years prior.

“It’s interesting that they say it was totaled.” Ryan commented. “Because totalled just means that the damage is more expensive to fix than the car is worth, so it could have still been drivable.”

“And if you’re trying to fake a car crash, what better to use than an already worthless car?” Shane agreed. 

“Exactly.”

Stanley Pines was declared dead by auto accident and the case was closed in September of 1982, due to lack of evidence and quote: “A lack of interest from the involved parties”.

“A lack of interest from the involved parties!? What the h___ does that even mean?” Shane asked in bewilderment.

“It’s odd, to be sure.”

It’s when we look into the background of the presumed dead Stanley, and his brother Stanford, that this case becomes truly bizarre. 

Stanley Pines left home at the age of 17, and had brief but unsuccessful careers as an amature prize fighter and as a salesman, before he turned to a life of crime. Prior to his reported death, he had been in prison five times, in three different countries, and had lived under at least eight different assumed names, with several others that were never confirmed. He had known ties to the mob and drug cartels.

“Quite the shady character. That might explain why the police didn’t look too closely into his ‘death’.” Shane put air quotes around “death”.

“Well, does it? I mean, if they thought his death might have been related to the mob…” Ryan argued.

“They know better than to mess with the mob, even in Oregon.”

“I mean, we have seen in several past True Crime episodes, what can happen if you mess with the mob.”

“Oh yeah.”

“You don’t wanna do it.”

“Nope.”

His brother Stanford was no less strange. He was born with fully-functional polydactyly, meaning he had six fingers on each hand. It’s worth noting that after 1982, Stanford no longer had 6 fingers. He claims that he had them surgically removed, because, quote: “I was sick of people staring.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Shane said doubtfully.

“You don’t believe that explanation?”

“Let’s just say I find it highly suspect.”

Stanford was also a certified genius, graduating with the most PhDs Backupsmore University had ever awarded. As a graduate student, he worked as a researcher and inventor for the US Government. Some sources say he worked on top-secret experiments. 

In 1975, he received a $100,000 research grant, which he used to move to Gravity Falls and become a Paranormal Researcher. When he arrived in Gravity Falls, he was the subject of many rumors throughout the town, due to his reclusive nature and strange area of study. 

“Oh, so this guy was basically you.” Shane pointed out.

“He’s basically me if I didn’t have you.” Ryan agreed.

“Awww, that’s sweet!” Shane placed a hand over his heart.

Many residents reported seeing strange lights coming from Stanford’s home in the woods starting almost as soon as he moved in, as well as strange sounds.

“Well, it seems like Gravity Falls is a pretty small town. People gossip.” Shane reasoned.

“Ok, yeah, but people gossip about who’s cheating on who, or what business secretly sells drugs out the back. They don’t gossip about strange lights coming out of the new neighbor’s basement.”

“They could. It’s gossip. Gossip can be about anything.”

Reports of the lights stopped in late January of 1982. Just four months later, in March, Stanford began opening up his home for tours, and in a matter of weeks, transformed his home into a tourist stop called the “Murder Hut.”

“Oh my g__.” Shane stifled a laugh. “A little on the nose there, don’t you think?”

“He did rename it to the Mystery Shack about a year later.”

“Hmm, yeah I wonder why?” Shane asked facetiously. 

Stanford also exhibited paranoid behavior on several occasions before the crash, especially in the early months of 1982.

One local reported seeing Stanford screaming “No it isn’t, you creeps! I can see you just fine!” down an alleyway. Several other eyewitnesses reported seeing him fall out of his seat at the Triple Digits Truck Stop Diner on Route 14 and scream for something to “get out of his mind” before fleeing the building.

“So, he definitely seemed to think something was out to get him.” Ryan commented.

“Not the words of a sane man.”

“Unless something really was out to get him.”

“Eeeeh, even then…” Shane wiggled his hand in a so-so motion. 

Dan Corduroy, one of the few people who had regular contact with Stanford before he opened the Mystery Shack, had this to say about the sudden change from research lab to tourist trap:

“Oh, he’s definitely been acting differently. He was really shy before, hard to talk to even. He seemed uncomfortable spending a lot of time with people. I’d invite him over to one of my family’s cabins to visit, but he only ever wanted to visit the haunted one while we were all out of town. I’d say it was a good change, though. It wasn’t good for him to be alone all the time like that. I’m glad he’s finally spending time with other people.”

“He only wanted to visit our haunted cabin.” Shane repeated with disbelief. “Hey, do you wanna come over to visit one of our cabins?” He put on a voice. “Uh, that depends, what kind of cabins have you got?’ ‘Well there’s one by the lake, one with a nice view of the valley, and one that’s haunted.’ ‘Oh, I’ll take the haunted one!”

“What gets me is he only wanted to visit the haunted cabin while everyone else was out of town. We’ve stayed in our fair share of haunted places, and it was bad enough staying overnight, just me and you, but there is nothing that could convince me to spend the night in one of those places all by myself.”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure none of the places we’ve been to have actually been haunted, but I see what you mean. It’s not fun to go to a haunted house by yourself. It’s kinda boring.”

“Um, we’re not gonna get into this discussion now, because we still haven’t even gotten to the theories yet, but you’re wrong.”

The case came to light again in August of 2012, when Federal agents arrested Stanford Pines, and detained him for several hours for questioning. By the next day, he had been released, and officials stated that his arrest had been due to a false lead. What exactly that false lead was, however, was never stated.

Now that we’ve gone over the extensive background of this case, let’s get into the theories of what really happened that 4th of July in 1982.

Theory #1: The theory put forth by the police, that Stanley Pines died in a fiery car accident.

“So then how do they explain what happened to the body?” Shane asked.

“It doesn’t say.” Ryan.

“And why were the breaks cut?”

“No explanation given.”

“That’s a stupid theory, those cops ought to be fired.”

Ryan stifled a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

Theory #2: That Stanley killed his brother, made it look like his own death, and took over his brother’s life. This would explain the loss of his extra fingers, the sudden change in behavior that led him to open up the Mystery Shack, and his sudden acquisition of Stanley’s car. It does not, however, explain the lack of a body in the crash.

“He could have disposed of his brother’s body somewhere else, and then just like, left an ice block on the gas pedal and let the car run itself off the cliff.” Shane theorized.

“That’s possible. I was also thinking, maybe the body was gone. Maybe Stanley didn’t necessarily kill Stanford, maybe they met up in the woods, Stanford got eaten by a bear, and Stanley, who was already in trouble with the mob, took advantage of the situation, and faked his own death.”

“How--why did you work your fear of bears into this?” 

“That’s just my variation on this theory.”

“Then why all the secrecy? Why not say that he was the one who got eaten by the bear? Why fake the car crash and then say his brother never showed up?”

“Because if the mob knew he’d talked to his brother before he died, maybe they’d come question him?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a possibility.”

Theory #3: That Stanford killed Stanley and made it look like an accident. People who support this theory say the psychological trauma and guilt of killing his own brother may have driven Stanford to change his appearance and behavior to more closely resemble that of his dead brother.

“That’s… kind of a stretch.” Shane said slowly. “I feel like, Occam's Razor, theory 2 is more plausible.”

“What makes you say that one’s more plausible?”

“I dunno, just saying ‘He killed his brother and took his place’ seems a lot more likely than ‘The other brother killed him and the guilt drove him to act like his brother. I don’t think that’s how psychology works.”

Theory #4: Both brothers are still alive. Stanley, on the run from the mob, came to his brother Stanford for help. Meanwhile, Stanford was worried about someone or something that was out to get him. They came to a solution that would solve both their problems: switching places. They would fake Stanley’s death, throwing the mob off of Stanley’s trail. Then, Stanley would take Stanford’s place in the public eye, while Stanford went into hiding.

This theory is supported by photos that surfaced on Facebook in 2012. Several photos of Gravity Falls after a series of earthquakes did extensive damage to the town show what is supposed to be Stanford. However, another man that looks just like him is seen standing in the background. Interestingly enough, both mens’ hands are obscured in all of these photos. 

While the photos haven’t been analysed by any professionals to definitively determine if either of the men are Stanley Pines, it has been determined that the photos are not edited.

“Would the whole photo recognition software even work on identical twins?” Ryan wondered.

“I don’t think so?” Shane answered unsurely. “I mean, my Facebook facial recognition auto-tag doesn’t even recognize my mom half the time, so I wouldn’t be surprised if twins throw it off.”

“Just looking at some of these photos yourself, what do you think?” Ryan handed a few print-outs from his folder to Shane.

“Oh wow, yeah, they do look alike.” Shane nodded. “Alright, yeah, I’m convinced. We solved it, guys! Video over!”

“We actually do have one more theory.” Ryan informed him.

Theory #5: Stanford was abducted by aliens.

“Oh for f___’s sake--” Shane threw his hands up in frustration. “We have four perfectly good, plausible explanations, and you have to throw that in!”

“This one actually does have some evidence behind it.”

“Bull____, but go on.”

Stanford was a professional paranormal researcher. Although he was very secretive about his research, even to his grant committee, some of his research notes do list looking for proof of ancient aliens visiting the valley before European contact. Could it be the thing he was afraid of was aliens?

“... That’s it?” Shane asked. “When you said this one actually had some evidence behind it, I thought you meant there was a UFO sighting in the same area around the same time.”

“The negative space between the floating cliffs kinda looks like a UFO” Ryan pointed out.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean a random researcher in the 80’s was abducted by aliens! That’s like, if I found a ransom note for you in the office, but I said ‘Well, Ryan was afraid of bears. Bears used to live in California, there’s one on the state flag outside our building. He must have been eaten by a bear.’ That’s the kind of leap in logic we’re talking about!”

Was this a case of fratricide? Or is this the longest and most elaborate twin switch of all time? For now, this case remains… UNSOLVED.

 * * *

“It was really hard for me to stay on topic while I was researching this one.” Ryan admitted as they wrapped things up. “There is a lot of weird stuff related to Gravity Falls, we should go there for an episode one of these days.”

“I’d love to do that, it looks like a beautiful place to visit.” Shane agreed. “Are you sure you wanna do that though? It seems like the place is crawling with haunted cabins and bears.”

“Well, one could argue this entire series is about me conquering my fears, so… Why not?”

[its-kall-the-clown]

Hey, I'm send my ask cause I love your writing style. This is the aftermath I'd sick MK. Pigsy & Tang took him to the hospital while Wukong is in FFM waiting & worried out of his mind. So he flies there & he is in fir a shock when he discovers his kid is so sick & in hospital. Prompt list: #39 & 45.

*rubs clown hands together* yall really want part 3? >:3 its angsty but what else am I know for? XD

in this one Tang gets a chance to be a protective dad again

PART 1 PART 2

Prompt List

I'm Sorry Bud

Rating: G

Wukong wasn't worried. He was the incredibly handsome sage equal to heaven and super immortal. He had no reason to worry Except….maybe he was incredibly worried. No matter how much he tried, his stomach snapped and curled unhappily every time he even thought about MK.

He got a phone call.

Not from MK but from his dad Pigsy.

He didn't even get a word out before hellfire had rained down on him. Call him old school but there were definitely some new curse words that he had never heard before that spewed out of the hog's mouth.

He was flayed verbally so viscously he shuddered under the swearing and even looked over his shoulder to make sure the pigman did not spontaneously spawn behind him.

The call ended with Pigsy talking about taking MK to the hospital and it was HIS fault.

They hung up after that and Wukong hasn't stopped pacing for the past five minutes. MK was sick, running a deadly fever, and in the hospital because of it.

Because of him...

He bites his thumb, his tail lashing wildly behind him, while he continues to dig a trench with his feet.

"Fuck it."

He leaps upward, summoning his nimbus, and speeds off into the sky to the general Hospital. He's there for only a few minutes but it feels like forever. He didn't even wait for his nimbus to stop before he's timing off to the front doors.

He probably scares the poor lady behind the desk with how he practically slammed into it with how fast he was rushing. He asked for MK which got him nothing till he realized he needed to probably give them his full real name. After saying Qi Xiaotian Sanzang they directed him to a room.

He rushes to room 607 but before he can even get a hand in the door he's grabbed roughly by the shoulder.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you…"

Wukong turned around to see MK's other dad, Tang, he's holding a few water bottles under his arm and a can of instant coffee. Looks like they were going to settle on for the night at MKs side, and Tang had been sent out on the errand the get them some drinks.

"Pigsy is still in there, and he's not too keen on seeing your face."

They scan the king up and down with passive eyes that hold a twinge of resentment that makes the fur on the back of his neck bristle defensively.

"I just want to see him…..make sure he's okay." He pleads and the passive gaze melts a little bit sympathetically.

"Please," Wukong begs again, even going so far as to duck his head submissively to the mortal. He just wanted to make sure MK was okay. It was his fault after all that they were sick. He should have never let them egg him on into training in the rain.

Tang looks him over again, studying him with a keen eye. He lets out a sigh eventually and walks forward.

"Okay, but only because MK asked about you once. let me get Pigsy out of the room first."

Wukogn jerks his head upward with surprise. He was actually going to let him see MK?

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. I might not convince him to leave MK's side, wait here and disguise yourself or something." Tang gives him a little head nod before entering the room and shutting the door. Wukong does as requested and transforms into a beatle to cling to the wall.

A few minutes pass and at first, the monkey thinks that Tang couldn't do it and Pigsy wouldn't leave MK's side. But the door opens and the pig demon exits with a grumble about finding a nurse or doctor. Wukong barely has time to fly between the cracks before the door is shut again. He transforms back, landing on his feet.

MK is there.

He looks awful.

The poor boy is laying in a hospital bed, iv hooked up to him to administer fluids and a cooling compress to his forehead. Wukong approaches the bed reverently feeling his heart shatter into a million pieces.

"When they took his temp initially he was running a 104-degree fever," Tang explains walking up beside him and grabbing MK's limp hand.

"He was delirious, crying and shouting Something about being a disappointment before he passed out." They finish, the man rubbing MK's knuckles tenderly. Wukong takes the other side of the bed. And knees there to look at them up close.

"It's your fault you know."

It's like a full-body slam into a mountain. The words were delivered without mercy. He didn't even look at Tang and instead swallowed stiffly.

"You show up out of nowhere, pick MK without any reason that I can understand, and then you make him fill these impossibly big shoes!?" Tang's fist tightens at his side, face growing red slowly and Wukong isn't sure if he prefers this simmering rage of the explosive rage of Pigsy.

"You know how hard it was to build MK back up when we adopted him officially??? He was just a scared timid boy, no confidence! We had to HELP him get where he is now. And then you come along and just-" Tang throws his hands up in the air in frustration "-ruin that in a couple of weeks" he finishes with a growl. Wukogn shrinks further, this feels an awful like when he would get scolded like his master for doing something wrong and he didn't even have a defense for it. All of it was true. He did pick MK for little reason other than he likes the kid's spunk and good heart.

And he was making them fill big shoes. And maybe the big shoes were just too hard for MK to walk in, and maybe he noticed that but didn't help him because he assumed they would get better with time.

"I'm sorry…." He whispers out burying his face into the sheets of MK's bed. He whimpers feeling the guild nash and bites at the lining of his stomach.

"It's your fault...and I don't know if I want ML training with you anymore…."

It was all his fault.

His fault.

His fault.

"Baba...Don't...yell at monkey king."

His head jerks up to find that MK was conscious now, a hand reaches for his head and scratches the top of it like he's a monkey.

"MK…" Tang starts and is cut off by MK who shakes his head.

"Not his fault….he's so lonely." The by comments driving a knife between Monkey King's ribs and stabbing his heart. Those fingers continue to scratch the top of his head deliriously.

"You need to rest, bud. If you don't rest you won't get better." He instructs holding back something in his throat that he realizes is a pur.

"Mmmmkay. Do I look okay?" They asked and Wukong chuckled at the odd question.

"You look fine. Just rest please." He pleads and MK nods his head drearily before drifting back to sleep. Tang and he look at each other, bewildered by the experience. Tang studies him for a moment, eyes drifting over his form at MK's side with the boy's fingers still intertwined with the fur on the top of his head.

Tang must find what he's looking for because his shoulders relax slightly

"You may continue to train MK…." He holds up a finger. "On the condition that you are open and honest with him AND us about his training." He instructs and Wukong nods

"You also cut back to every other evening instead of every night after work. You're going to break him and wear him out. If in a week I decide that's still too much it gets cut back again. Understand?" Tang looks expectantly to Wukong who nods his head up and down quickly. These rules were more than fair, he could do that! Hell, he would tell MK himself of these new rules if he needed to.

The door clicks

"Tang the doctor said those vital signs were normal right now. I TOLD you this" Pigsy enters the room and looks at the display before him. Tang is sitting by MK's side, holding his hand and the window opens slightly.

"Why did you open the window?"

"I-it was a bit stuffy in here" Tang admits looking to where Wukong was just a few seconds ago and then to the window. He must have escaped quickly when he heard Pigsy enter the room. In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Pigsy grumbles something and walks to the window and shuts it. Then he trudges over to his lover's wide and buries his face into it.

"He's gonna be okay…." Tang reassures and the pig demon who lets put a huff through his snout into their chest. Tang kisses the top of Pigsy's head affectionately and that causes them to melt on his hold.

They all were going to be okay.

[eyrieofsynapses]

Alright, YJ peeps, listen up, because I’m sick and tired of seeing constant criticism lobbed at YJ for making Wally slower than his comic canon version, Barry and Bart. There’s a very good reason to do this—and it’s completely in Wally’s favor.

Let me preface this by saying that I sincerely love Wally’s comics. I am one hundred percent on board that Wally deserves to be recognized for the badass he is. His 90s comics established the most important elements of the Flash today. We wouldn’t have the Speedforce if it weren’t for him! It’s been defining the Flash for decades! He gets the short stick over and over. It only rubs salt in the wound that people believe Barry’s faster when it’s been stated repeatedly that Wally’s the fastest person in the DC universe. (There are few faster ways to piss me off than to say Barry’s a better Flash than Wally.) 

But. But. YJ was incredibly clever when they made him slower. Why? Wally has to be more creative than Barry because he’s slower, showing his intelligence and building him up to be a better Flash. Don’t believe me? Take a close look at Bloodlines.

Barry and Impulse figure out how to foil Neutron’s first blast of energy on their own. But it’s Wally who figures out that Neutron’s about to release an even more deadly wave with the help of his goggles, which Barry immediately borrows. Wally hand-made his goggles to compensate for his lack of speed. He wouldn’t have had them if he were as fast as the other two. Nobody would’ve realized how much danger they were in, and everyone would have died.

While comic!Wally is definitely smart, he’s so powerful that as the Flash, he can often solve problems just with sheer power. He doesn’t have to be super clever about it most of the time. In YJ, this is true of both Barry and Bart. They can be clever, but they’re heavily reliant on their powers. YJ!Wally has to compensate for lack of power with intelligence. He diversifies his skillset, using a mixture of science, strategy, and superpowers to solve problems instead of relying on sheer force.

Wally isn’t just slower; he also can’t control his momentum. Barry and Bart can dissipate kinetic energy at will, while he has to find ways to get rid of it. But he turns it to his advantage. 

Pay attention to how he fights. You’ll notice he often cannonballs into people and uses acrobatics instead of flat-out running. He can’t bombard someone with a rain of blows the same way, so he dodges and avoids close combat.

There’s a lot more to that, but in a nutshell: Wally’s fighting style is significantly more complex than Barry’s. I’m not saying Barry never uses those skills, but I can’t remember any time we saw him do it. Wally learned to do that on his own, and he figured out how to incorporate other people’s fighting styles into his repertoire. Remember the acrobatics? Who wants to bet he picked that up from Dick?

Which brings me to my next point: Wally works better with the Team not just because he grew up with them, but because he has to cooperate with others to make the best of his skills. Wally can’t just blaze through things. He has to conserve his energy and make the best of his speed. In the Team, they have to piece together where he’ll be the most effective. It forces him to stop and consider what he’s doing and how it’ll impact the overall picture, taming his impulsive behavior.

Think about his attitude in the pilot. He races on ahead, alerting the enemy to their presence and nearly getting himself killed. Over the course of the season, he learns stealth and patience, which we see repeatedly demonstrated in the last few episodes.

Back to Bloodlines for a moment. When Wally, Barry, and Bart initially show up to the disaster scene, Barry runs headlong into the danger. Bart follows him. Wally, however, stops to talk to the police captain and gather information about the situation. Barry and Bart join them afterward. They proceed to speed-talk at each other, coming up with a plan… and then instead of explaining it to Wally, they just tell him to follow their lead.

Barry and Bart were impulsive while he stopped to think. Wally was a better team player: the other two didn’t include him in their planning, thus missing crucial details and potentially putting him in danger.

Their plan works in the short-term. But when they think they’ve solved it, Wally takes a second look, analyzing the situation and double-checking that they’re finished. If they stopped ahead of time and took a moment to consider what was happening, they might’ve noticed the energy problem sooner and come up with a better solution.

Worst of all, Barry rushes in again to pull Neutron out the second time. He only survives because of Bart. Yes, it’s because they’re short on time, but again: this might’ve been prevented sooner if they thought things through.

What does it say that Wally patiently paid attention to detail and was more thoughtful than his experienced mentor?

Yes, some of this is stuff he might have learned with advanced speed. But would he really have to be so thoughtful about how he uses his abilities? Not likely. 

Nor would he have incorporated science and gear into his skillset. Among other things, he knows how to make an EMP and recognizes where to apply it in Homefront. Dick’s their tech whiz, but Wally comes up with technological and scientific solutions that he can’t.

But Wally doesn’t only use science and technology in ways his uncle and cousin can’t or won’t. He thinks differently about problems. 

In Bloodlines, Barry and Bart assume the coast is clear after they take down Neutron the first time. They only consider things within the vast range of their powers, assuming that covers everything. Wally thinks about what they can’t see. He’s more limited, so he’s learned to take every piece of a situation into account.

Basically: Wally is much more flexible than his faster counterparts. He adapts far better to adverse situations because he’s forced to make small-scale accommodations on a daily basis. Because of that, he’s able to come up with better solutions, work better in a team, and solve problems without his powers.

And may I remind all of you: YJ Wally GAVE HIMSELF HIS POWERS, but his comic version got them without effort! The Speedforce bestowed them on him without his involvement! 

People, YJ!Wally is a goddamn genius prodigy. We forget it sometimes because of his early-on immaturity and his jokes, but seriously, Wally’s far and away one of the smartest people in the YJ universe. YJ Wally is a distinctively unique Flash character because of his wit and intelligence!

But guess what? Guess what the real cherry on top is? If they bring Wally back in the fourth season at a full speed, he’ll be the fastest and the wisest Flash. He’ll know how to apply his new powers in ways that the others would never think of. Because he’s spent so much time applying science to his abilities, he’ll know how to use his new powers in sync with it, whereas Bart and Barry won’t think on those levels. 

Best of all, Wally’s the best team player. He’ll be incredible with both the original Team and anyone else he has to work with. 

Think about it. A full-speed Flash with Wally’s technological brilliance, intelligence, observance, and teamwork skills? He’ll be unstoppable.

So please shut up about how YJ did Wally dirty. It’s a thousand times more interesting to watch him work out how to solve a problem rather than just solve it in a snap with his powers. If anything, YJ improved his character and made him better.