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robininthelabyrinth · 1 year ago

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The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 22

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

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Wen Ruohan woke up groggy and disoriented.

This did not come as a surprise, as it was not particularly unusual for him: a hundred years and more, infinitely powerful cultivation, and somehow he’d still never quite gotten the hang of mornings. Once he’d become accustomed to sharing his bed with Lan Qiren, who like the rest of his sect preferred to rise at inhumane hours, the other man had routinely been able to get up, go about his morning ablutions, go outside to train, and come back to bed before Wen Ruohan even twitched his fingers in the direction of his clothing.

Not that he usually needed to get up early, of course. That was one of the many benefits of power: the Nightless City might never sleep, but it only really got going when he did. Lan Qiren had remarked several times that he found it unusual that the quietest hours in the day were the early morning, as those were often the hours most generally preferred for chores, until eventually Wen Ruohan had taken pity on him and explained that his servants and disciples had judged it better to do their chores at an hour before they risked waking up their irritable sect leader.

(“Ah, yes,” Lan Qiren had said, nodding. “I had a similar experience when my nephews were toddlers.”

“…toddlers.”

“Yes, they got terribly cranky when anything disturbed their naps. I would always refrain from doing anything too loud during that time of the day.”

“I don’t think I appreciate your comparison.”

“Comparison? I was conveying that I understood – ”

“That was a comparison, and you know it.”

“...perhaps. Truly a strange and inexplicable parallel. Perhaps even an opportunity for you to learn some form of lesson…?”

“Not in the slightest. Clearly I’ll just have to put more effort into making sure you don’t see me as a child. Perhaps something more adult instead.…?”

“Again? Already? It’s not that I object, of course, but sometimes you genuinely make me wonder: do you have no other hobbies?”)

The memory made Wen Ruohan want to laugh.

He opened his eyes, and found, to his puzzlement, that he was not in his own bed, neither alone nor (preferably) with a warm and energetic Lan Qiren coming in straight after his exercise, but rather in his favorite sickroom.

Most people would not be able to say that they had a particular preference in sickrooms, but in this, as in many ways, his Qishan Wen sect was different. His sect had been founded by a surgeon (who’d also been an assassin and a warlord, as the situation required – those needles of Wen Mao’s had been put to any number of purposes, a practicality his descendants had whole-heartedly embraced), and as a result, they had always prided themselves on their medical skills. Naturally, the Nightless City’s sickrooms ought to reflect that pride, which they did in both quality and in sheer multitudinous quantity.

The rooms were always well-equipped, well-staffed, and well-tended to, as befit a sect with their inheritance. His Wen sect disciples had even taken to dividing them up by type of illness: one reserved for people suffering from physical harms such as broken bones or sword cuts, another specializing in treating diseases, a third for cultivation problems…

Wen Ruohan was currently in the one fondly and universally known as the “you fucked up” room.

It was a large room, having at some point in the past been meant to be a warehouse, but it had been filled with room dividers to create the illusion of smaller spaces. Each little nook was supplied with a standard-issue cot, a blanket enhanced with warming talismans and a pillow similarly made to be cooling, a slate at the end of the bed for doctors’ instructions, and little else. This room specialized neither in a particular type of injury nor a particular type of cure, and neither did it make any differentiation between injuries unique to cultivators or more commonplace sorts that anyone could suffer.

It had a singular focus, which was to say, it catered exclusively to people who’d caused their own malady through stupidity.

To be more specific, it was reserved for people who’d hurt themselves through excessive over-exertion, which was commonly regarded as an offshoot of idiocy. Strained muscles, overworked meridians, twisted ankles, emptied dantians…even those scholars who developed headaches from reading too much in poor light, it didn’t matter; they all ended up here. A doctor would look them over, snort in disdain (a requisite and much-enjoyed part of the treatment), and order them to stay, rest, and recuperate, which usually translated to being confined to rest for a given length of time, typically marked out in chalk on the slate that hung over their cot. The room was patrolled by junior disciples still learning the way of medicine, most of them at the stage where they had more enthusiasm than skill, and they were all licensed to meet any attempts to escape prematurely with paralyzing needles, jabbed in as hard as their black little hearts desired.

Wen Ruohan remembered the place fondly.

He’d once been a very frequent visitor, in fact, back when he’d been constantly experimenting – he couldn’t quite now remember when he’d stopped, or why, but it had always been enjoyable. After he’d become sect leader, the senior doctors had used his visits as a means of teasing their juniors. They would archly insist that there was no choice but to follow the iron-clad traditions of the room, without exception, even if the patient was their terrifying sect leader, and eventually one unlucky or suicidally brave junior would be tasked with placing and enforcing the chalk marker beside his bed. Not that Wen Ruohan ever listened, of course, since naturally very few of them really dared to try to jab him (and he just shrugged off the few that did). As fun as tormenting the junior generation was, he simply had too much to do…

Ugh, speaking of which, he was probably falling behind even now. Wen Ruohan squeezed his eyes shut with a groan. He didn’t even remember what he’d been experimenting with to cause him to end up here, but it didn’t really matter. He couldn’t linger. He was the sect leader, there was always something to do.

He mentally reached for the running list of tasks he invariably kept in the back of his head – and then frowned, coming up empty. He couldn’t think of what he had planned to do today. Had his secretaries failed to bring him his schedule the night before? Had he injured himself sufficiently badly that he’d simply forgotten it all, somehow?

What had he been doing last that had led him to come here, anyway…?

Wen Ruohan’s eyes abruptly flew open: Xixiang. The mountain. Lan Qiren!

He sat up in the bed at once, ignoring the sudden rush of vertigo with an effort of will. He remembered Cangse Sanren standing beside him, telling him that he’d blown out all his spiritual energy, but also that she was having people search for Lan Qiren, who had last been seen going to see his brother – had they been found? What state was he in?

Wen Ruohan was in his favorite sickroom, which meant he was in the Nightless City. Hadn’t he last been in Xixiang? How had he even gotten here?

How long had he been unconscious?!

The chalk marker in the room was unhelpfully blank, and the room itself was oddly empty, so there was no one to ask. Overusing one’s qi didn’t usually result in unconsciousness that lasted longer than a few days at most, but Wen Ruohan had always been extraordinary, so he didn’t dare make any assumptions. He got up out of bed – then staggered, unhelpfully, but righted himself with an effort and a hand on the wall – and made his way to the main door of the sickroom, pushing it open to break the binding of the sound-proofing spell so that he could try to find Lan Qiren by listening for the sound of his voice, however futile –

Oh.

There he was.

“How can that possibly be your first solution to the problem?!” Lan Qiren was saying…no, that wasn’t quite right. He was bellowing, in fact, and from somewhere not far away; Wen Ruohan thought he might have been able to hear it even without sharpening his hearing to try to find him. Lan Qiren’s voice rang loud and clear, immediately identifiable, as welcome as the sound of a rooster crowing in the dawn after a night-hunt gone wrong.

He sounded fine.

He might not be fine – as if being “fine” were possible, given that Lan Qiren had successively suffered the Fire Palace, the shock of realizing what his brother was doing, and then his brother himself – but he sounded fine, or at least uninjured, unharmed, alive…

Wen Ruohan arranged his clothing and ignored how sore he somehow still was in favor of following the sound of yelling.

“I cannot believe that any reasonable person would think that to be an appropriate proposal. It doesn’t even fix the actual underlying issue. It barely even postpones it! I cannot believe…no. No, no, no. Simply no. Denied.”

A fainter murmur, some unimportant person that Wen Ruohan didn’t care about saying something in response.

“This is me trying to keep an open mind!”

The noise turned out to be coming from the Wen sect’s receiving hall, where Wen Ruohan usually sat in the main seat and received petitioners, including his subordinates, or else visitors. It was used exclusively for sect business. It seemed to be full, which puzzled Wen Ruohan briefly: what sect business could there possibly be happening right now, with him not there…?

He let himself in through the back, managing to avoid notice only by virtue of the fact that everyone inside the room was looking at Lan Qiren.

Wen Ruohan was looking, too. Lan Qiren – one side of his face was badly bruised, with a black eye that definitely hadn’t been there before, and a bandage was tied high on one of his arms, binding both upper arm and shoulder. As injuries went, it wasn’t too bad, and the colors on his face suggested that he was already well along the path of healing, that extremely pure golden core of his already ameliorating the worst of it. It certainly didn’t seem to be slowing him down in any way.

On the contrary, Lan Qiren seemed to be in particularly fine form today, with an especially fierce scowl and face red enough that he looked on the verge of trying to breathe fire. Oddly enough, he was seated on the main seat, where Wen Ruohan usually sat, glaring down at the usual run of petitioners and high-ranking Wen sect subordinates as if he wanted to order them all away – wait.

Wait.

Was Lan Qiren attempting to deal with sect business? With Wen sect business? Was that what was going on now?

It was.

Wen Ruohan felt a sudden surge of tremendous fondness fill his chest, making him feel warm. He could see Cangse Sanren perched on the floor next to the main seat with a gigantic shit-eating grin on her face, looking for all the world like a vulture watching its next meal struggling to its death right in front of its eyes for its amusement, dinner and a show combined. That explained an awful lot: Wen Ruohan distinctly remembered having mentioned to her, in a fit of bitter pique, that in the event of his untimely death, Lan Qiren’s status entitled him to the right to rule the Wen sect as his widow.

Cangse Sanren was the sort of person to find the idea sufficiently funny that she’d encourage Lan Qiren to do it while Wen Ruohan was merely incapacitated, and Lan Qiren sufficiently duty-abiding that he’d assume he had no choice but to agree, even if he didn’t think himself fit for the role. And thus, presumably, they had ended up here.

Wen Ruohan couldn’t blame Cangse Sanren one bit, though. This was hilarious.

Poor Lan Qiren. Ten years of leading the virtuous (or, well, mostly virtuous) Lan sect had clearly not prepared him in the slightest for what he was dealing with in the Nightless City.

Not that he was doing badly.

In fact, he’d even apparently somehow managed to deal with Wen Ruohan’s wives, which in the normal run of things Wen Ruohan would have assumed to be his biggest problems. However, instead of jockeying for position or fighting Lan Qiren for the right to lead, they were contentedly in their usual positions for the rare times they attended to matters of sect management.

Practically, this meant that Lu Qipei was putting on a show of pretending to supervise but mostly just displaying herself to best effect to win the admiration or envy of the female disciples in the audience, wearing something that was no doubt going to be the peak of fashion in another month or two once everyone copied her look, while Shen Mingbi…well, Shen Mingbi was currently preoccupied smiling at a man wearing the insignia of a Fire Palace guard and a face that for whatever reason vaguely reminded Wen Ruohan of Lan Xichen, while he in turn ignored the ongoing proceedings in favor of smiling back.

Ugh. Not another one! How had Wen Ruohan managed to marry women with such poor taste?

At least Lan Qiren didn’t have that problem.

“Go back and think once more on the issue and how to solve it, then bring me a proposal that does not include threats, blackmail or gross negligence of your duty as a cultivator and, for that matter, as a human being,” Lan Qiren said crossly to one of Wen Ruohan’s lieutenants, who looked abashed. He was presumably the one who’d presented the idea that had so raised Lan Qiren’s ire. “In deference to the customs of your sect, I am not excluding the options of using bribery, petty theft, and crimes at around that level – ”

Wen Ruohan choked down another laugh.

This was amazing. He’d have to find a way to reward Cangse Sanren for having thought of it.

“ – but you have to at least start with something remotely palatable. To human beings. Yes, even human beings of the Qishan Wen sect. Am I understood?”

He was.

“Good. Dismissed. Who’s next?”

There was then a brief silence, during which Wen Ruohan’s very brave Wen sect disciples looked at each other with expressions suggesting that they’d rather volunteer for the Fire Palace than volunteer to become the target of Lan Qiren’s attention and Wen Ruohan himself continued to try his absolute best not to laugh audibly. This was far too funny to interrupt.

Eventually, someone cleared their throat and stepped forward – it was Wen Yingjiu, Wen Ruohan’s hapless nominal head disciple. Presumably he’d been pushed forward as a sacrificial lamb by his peers.

“A gift has arrived for Sect Leader Wen from Lanling Jin.”

Oddly enough, that made Lan Qiren snort in what sounded like audible disdain.

“I see,” he said, with what sounded almost like a sneer. “I take it that Sect Leader Jin has received my letter indicating my displeasure regarding his sect’s participation in framing our Wen sect and that he is now trying to go above my head. Is that it?”

Our Wen sect.

Wen Ruohan felt a delightful little shiver of pleasure to hear Lan Qiren call it that. That was as it ought to be, of course – they were married, and Lan Qiren’s marriage vows meant that he rightfully ought to treat his new sect as if it were his own – and of course Lan Qiren was never improper in public, not even when Wen Ruohan occasionally wanted him to be.

He wasn’t foolish enough to think that it meant that Lan Qiren had forgiven Wen Ruohan, or that he was willing to stay voluntarily, or really anything at all. It didn’t signify anything other than the fact that Lan Qiren had good manners and an overactive sense of duty and the sense to preserve face. And yet – and still –

Our Wen sect.

Wen Ruohan liked that.

“I cannot say, Senior Lan. But it is a princely gift: a rare saber from the northwest region,” Wen Yingjiu said, his tone appropriately respectful. Presumably he’d decided to err against calling Lan Qiren “Madam Wen”, which was probably the right move, even if the alternative would have been much funnier. Wen Yingjiu had always had a decent sense of self-preservation, one that outweighed even ambition. “The messenger who delivered it insisted that the Sect Leader would enjoy having it in his possession. The saber is said to be of surpassingly fine quality, beyond anything that can be made in our present cultivation world.”

“Is it really?” Wen Ruohan said, unable to keep from speaking up. He’d always enjoyed receiving high-quality gifts, even when they were obviously meant to be bribes – all good things ought to belong to him, after all, and he wasn’t too picky about how he got them. So what if it was a bribe? Even if he accepted it, nothing was stopping him from betraying the person who’d sent it later on. And since both he and the person trying to bribe him knew that, one could scarcely even call it unethical. “I’m not sure what the Nie sect would have to say about that. How does it compare to theirs?”

The sound of his voice was like dropping a rock into a still pond, the effects of it rippling outwards in waves: everyone turned at once to look at him once they heard it, rows of heads all moving one after the other. Even Lan Qiren, seated up at the main seat, twisted himself to look in Wen Ruohan’s direction, and as he did some strange emotion flickered over his face, only visible for a moment. Wen Ruohan couldn’t quite distinguish what it meant.

“I cannot say, Sect Leader,” Wen Yingjiu said, saluting him at once. He seemed relieved to see him, which said something either about his loyalty or, more likely, Lan Qiren’s ferocity. “The messenger from Lanling Jin sang its praises, and from my humble appraisal, I would agree that it seems to be exceedingly well-made.”

Wen Yingjiu was head disciple of the Wen sect and possessed perfect recall, which meant that he had a pretty good sense of judgment as to what made a good weapon. That meant the saber probably really was exceptional – one of those wonders that were sufficiently impressive that even the ridiculously wealthy Lanling Jin thought them worth keeping in their treasure room. It had probably pained Jin Guangshan immensely to part with it.

“How nice,” Wen Ruohan said, smirk curving his lips as he thought about Jin Guangshan squirming in discomfort but ultimately giving in to reality, knowing that he needed to appease Wen Ruohan’s anger. “Perhaps we should invite Lao Nie over to see which one is the better.”

He was only speaking lightly, thoughtlessly saying what he would have normally said as if nothing had changed, but he had reason to regret it the second it came out of his mouth: the room went completely silent, and Lan Qiren’s face abruptly froze over into complete neutrality.

Wen Ruohan wanted to smack himself. Was he some novice at politics, not to realize that he’d inadvertently implied that he might be willing to accept Jin Guangshan’s bribe and override the expression of disapproval that Lan Qiren had sent out in their sect’s name, in his name? Accepting the gift suggested that he would be willing to cast aside Lan Qiren’s hard work on his behalf, to put someone else’s word over his yet again – a subtle but effective way to put Lan Qiren back in his place, as Jin Guangshan had laughed to him during the discussion conference.

It was certainly not a good way to start making things up with Lan Qiren.

Wen Ruohan immediately wanted to take back his words, but he didn’t know how. Showing weakness in front of so many of his subordinates was impossible, especially when he genuinely felt weak – humor aside, his body felt immensely sore and somehow also too light, as if the usual heavy cloak of power he usually carried with him everywhere was gone. Anyway, it would be inappropriate to admit that he was wrong, because that would be admitting too much. He hadn’t actually said anything out of place or inaccurate, merely a little tone-deaf.

And yet, having Lan Qiren think that Wen Ruohan valued Jin Guangshan over him…

“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” Cangse Sanren said helpfully, if by helpfully one meant it in the sense of throwing fuel onto an already blazing fire. “I mean, really, Sect Leader Wen! You just fought a mountain. Is it really still necessary for you to argue with Sect Leader Nie about who’s got the bigger dick?”

The tension in the room shattered.

Lan Qiren slumped in the main seat with a groan, putting his hands over his face, while the petitioners all burst out in choked-off guffaws and sniggers, some notably less choked-off than others.

Wen Ruohan smirked.

“Well,” he drawled. “Actually – ”

“No,” Lan Qiren said firmly. “Absolutely not. This conversation is not going there.”

Wen Ruohan shrugged, putting aside the uncalled-for burst of relief he was currently feeling. It was only natural that he would find a way to salvage the situation, even if it was with assistance.

“Very well, have it your way,” he said, purposefully casual, as if his comment earlier had merely been meant as a joke. “I suppose Cangse Sanren has a point. There’s no point in comparing anyone to me, now, is there? Yingjiu, under the circumstances I think you’d better send the saber back. We wouldn’t want Jin Guangshan to get the wrong idea.”

“Yes, Sect Leader! At once!”

Lan Qiren looked begrudgingly appeased, and the rest of the room looked profoundly impressed. There, that ought to do it: he’d erased the implication of his earlier statement, and publicly reaffirmed his support for Lan Qiren’s disapproval of Lanling Jin. Now that would make Jin Guangshan really squirm…as was only right. What had the man been thinking, joining forces with Qingheng-jun to scheme against Wen Ruohan and his sect like that?

If it had been Wen Ruohan up in that seat right now, he wouldn’t have limited himself to a mere letter of disapproval. At a minimum he would have demanded a whole cartful of treasures, or maybe even some land, a subordinate sect or two sacrificed to his ambitions…Jin Guangshan ought to count himself lucky!

“Should you be here?” Lan Qiren abruptly asked, frowning at Wen Ruohan. “I thought the doctor said that he intended for you to rest for a while longer? Someone said something about a chalk marker…?”

Wen Ruohan smirked at the idea that someone had had to explain the rules of the “you fucked up” room to Lan Qiren, hopefully in terms as colorful as the way he’d always heard it – though actually, now that he thought about it, he did rather feel as though he might want to go back to bed relatively soon. What was wrong with him? He’d never been this weak after exerting himself.

Though he supposed it had been rather a long time since he’d done himself in this badly…

“Enjoying your new work so much that you’ve decided to get rid of me?” he drawled.

Lan Qiren didn’t rise to the bait. “If that were my intention, I would tell you in advance.”

He probably would, the ridiculous man. Wen Ruohan could imagine it now: Lan Qiren all puffed up like a albino bird of paradise, solemnly stating that he regretted to inform him that he had decided he had no choice but to kill him and that he would appreciate it if Wen Ruohan would be so kind as to make himself ready for the attempt.

It was an oddly comforting thought.

“However, assuming you have just violated the doctors’ directives, I suggest you return to your sickbed, or at a minimum to your room, to continue resting,” Lan Qiren continued, looking annoyed. Or possibly concerned? It was hard to tell with him, sometimes – and for whatever reason, Wen Ruohan had the sudden feeling that Lan Qiren was being deliberately dismissive of him, almost performatively so. “Unless you want to take over managing sect business…?”

Wen Ruohan looked at his subordinates, who looked at him hopefully.

“No, I think I’m enjoying this too much,” he said thoughtfully, and smirked when their faces all fell.

“Well done, Sect Leader Wen!” Cangse Sanren cackled. “Milk that invalid status for all that it’s worth! At least one more day, please. You see, you just missed Qiren-gege threatening everyone to start the morning session at yin shi – ”

“At chen shi, not yin shi! A shichen after dawn, not before!”

“Was that it? I couldn’t tell from the way everyone looked like you’d threatened to murder their first-born sons. Remember, it’s only called the Nightless City because they’re all insomniacs!”

“Oh?” Wen Ruohan said, arching his eyebrows and allowing his tone to become a little dangerous, just for fun. “Is that what someone has told you…?”

The entire room full of petitioners took a step back away from him.

Lan Qiren’s eye twitched.

He turned to Cangse Sanren and said: “Take him away before I throw something at his head.”

And then, to Wen Ruohan: “Take her away before I strangle her.”

“Shall we?” Wen Ruohan asked, offering her his arm. She jumped up and trotted over to take it.

“We shall,” she said with a grin. “You promised me a tour.”

Wen Ruohan was fairly sure he had done no such thing. And, indeed, the moment they had left the main room behind by some distance, Cangse Sanren said, quite casually, “The tour can wait. I want to yell at you. Where’s a good place for that?”

Wen Ruohan opted to lead them both back to his bedroom, since it would be private and he was certain that Lan Qiren, unlike his wives, would think nothing of him taking a woman there to talk. Also because he was feeling increasingly dizzy, and he preferred to be weak somewhere he had protected with many, many layers of protective arrays. Technically the sickrooms were similarly protected, but he had no interest in returning there – someone would undoubtedly come to find him there now that he was awake, and he wasn’t in the mood to listen to complaints.

“How long was I out?” he asked as they walked.

“It’s been a few days,” she said promptly. “Not too long, really quite usual. We had the senior doctor that Qiren said looked least likely to gossip examine you – Wen Dairong, I think his name was – ”

That was fine. Wen Dairong usually preferred research to patients, but he’d kept his hand in with doing the rounds in the sickrooms enough that his skills hadn’t deteriorated, and he was notoriously close-mouthed. Best of all, he was one of Wen Ruohan’s more trustworthy cousins, having always very obviously set supporting his beloved research as the price of his loyalty, and no one could meet that price better than Wen Ruohan.

He wondered if Lan Qiren had been worried when he found out that Wen Ruohan was unconscious. He was fairly sure that Cangse Sanren wouldn’t tell him even if he had.

“Anyway, he confirmed that there’s nothing seriously the matter with you – well, nothing the matter with your health – other than qi exhaustion. Well, other than extremely severe qi exhaustion.” She glanced at him sidelong and waited until they were in his room, with its privacy arrays activated, before she bluntly added, “You completely emptied not only your active supply of spiritual energy but also your reserves, and you dipped pretty heavily into your life force, too. Nothing that will cause long-term damage, but I’m telling you, you were dry. No matter how ridiculously quickly you accumulate more through cultivating – I’ve seen the charts, by the way, so well done there – there’s simply no way you’re getting back to normal until at least a few months have passed, if not more. Welcome to the world of us mere mortals.”

Wen Ruohan scowled.

Unfortunately, after he sat at his desk and took a moment to examine himself, he was forced to conclude that Wen Dairong was right. He didn’t just feel weak, he was weak – not quite down to the level of a common person, but certainly around the level of a common (if still very talented) cultivator. He had woken up too quickly and without guidance, and hadn’t realized the level of his weakness when he’d headed out. No wonder Lan Qiren had made such an effort to get him out of the receiving hall, with Cangse Sanren playing along to make it seem as though neither of them had any concerns for Wen Ruohan’s health or strength.

The information would get out eventually, of course. But their apparent dismissiveness would deceive people for just long enough – long enough to give Wen Ruohan a little more time to decide how to best control the narrative, to ensure that the rest of the cultivation world remembered that while he was weakened, he would only be weakened for a short while, and that in the interval he still had his army and nearly half of the cultivation world at his beck and call.

And also to remind them that when he returned to normal, he would be even more powerful – and extremely vengeful against anyone who dared to try anything in the interim.

“What happened with Qingheng-jun?” he asked Cangse Sanren, who had seemingly forgotten her plan to yell at him in favor of poking around the bedroom with an expression of profound interest. At the moment she was perusing one of Lan Qiren’s annotated copies of the Lan sect rules, which had been carelessly left on the bedside table after Wen Ruohan had grabbed it for a (purposefully rather ostentatious) consult during one of their more contentious bits of bed-play.

That had been a good day. Lan Qiren had been so incredibly annoyed to have lost the argument, and Wen Ruohan had enjoyed every moment of it – as well as every moment of Lan Qiren taking it back out on him later on.

“Qingheng-jun? He’s missing,” Cangse Sanren said, turning back to look at him. “Possibly after having some sort of nervous breakdown? It wasn’t entirely clear. Lan Qiren only saw him leave, and since then he hasn’t been seen anywhere, not even by his own sect, which is starting to be more than a little nervous about it…to make what is undoubtedly a long story short, I’d say our Qiren won that encounter hands down.”

“He hurt him. Lan Qiren’s face – ”

“There’s nothing we can do about that right now, so stop thinking about it. Between you and Qingheng-jun, which one of you just fought a mountain again…?”

Wen Ruohan rolled his eyes.

“The whole world saw you do that, you know. It’s going to have some interesting consequences.”

“Let it,” Wen Ruohan said dismissively. “How is Lan Qiren doing?”

Cangse Sanren gave him a look.

“Oh, yes, please, let’s talk about that,” she said acidly. “The Fire Palace? Really?”

“I concede that I erred,” Wen Ruohan said stiffly, not appreciating her insolence. How dare she think she had any right to scold him? “Also, this is a discussion I will be having with Lan Qiren, not you.”

She arched her eyebrows. “You don’t want advice on how to make up with him?”

On second thought, Wen Ruohan was a practical man from a practical sect; he knew how to be flexible when necessary. With someone as complicated and rigid as Lan Qiren…he could probably use all the help he could get.

He gestured for her to sit.

Cangse Sanren perched herself on his chair, once again resembling nothing more than an over-large bird, probably of a corvid or a vulture. She tapped her distinctive fingernails on his desk, drawing his attention.

“All right,” she said. “You’ve already gotten to the point of admitting that you fucked up, that’s better than I expected. It’s still not going to help you. You really fucked up.”

Wen Ruohan was aware.

“So what’s your plan? You have to apologize.”

Wen Ruohan grimaced.

“Apologize and be punished,” she clarified mercilessly. “The Lan are big on exacting justice.”

Wen Ruohan was aware. Unfortunately, he still wasn’t sure what type of punishment he could offer up that would actually mean anything to Lan Qiren.

“…Lan Xichen suggested I write an essay,” he finally said, all too aware of how pathetic the suggestion sounded. “Laying out what I did wrong and explaining that I wouldn’t do it again.”

“That’s not actually that bad of an idea. He’d probably find it charming,” Cangse Sanren said, to Wen Ruohan’s surprise, but then almost immediately afterwards she made a face. “Well, assuming you were actually willing to do it properly. What’s your proposal for the ‘never doing it again’ bit?”

That had also been the part that had tripped up Wen Ruohan. He was always going to be sect leader and Lan Qiren was always going to be just the sect leader’s spouse – even if one accounted for the unique husband and wife dynamic they’d chosen, there was always going to be an imbalance between them.

Wen Ruohan was always going to have more power.

“Become omnipotent and therefore no longer make mistakes?” he offered, only half-joking – he knew it was unrealistic, but the thought was so very appealing. He was already so powerful, surely if he only tried a little harder, he would finally get to the level where all his problems would be solved. Right?

Cangse Sanren groaned. “Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say. No essay. It’ll just make it worse.”

“I’m open to alternate suggestions.”

“Nice try. He’d know if it came from me rather than you, and I’m not the one you want him to forgive.”

That was extraordinarily unhelpful.

She hummed. “You are at least aware that at least one part of the problem is that you even have a torture palace to begin with, right?”

Wen Ruohan scowled at her.

“I’m just saying, it’s a lot harder to throw people into your torture palace if you don’t have a torture palace,” Cangse Sanren said with a smirk. “Also, have you ever considered knitting? Or embroidery?”

Wen Ruohan stared at her.

“You know, because you like stabbing things…?”

“Out,” Wen Ruohan said flatly. “Now.”

“Listen, if you would just get another hobby – ”

“Out.”

After Cangse Sanren left, Wen Ruohan opened a drawer in his desk and dug around until he found a very old set of acupuncture needles that he hadn’t used in any number of years, then got up and went to the garden to find a sunny spot to meditate. It had been quite a long time since he’d needed to cultivate the old-fashioned way, but he still remembered the tricks he’d used to do it faster than his peers. Though technically speaking, jabbing yourself with acupuncture needles to help you process spiritual energy faster wasn’t so much a trick as it was an incredibly unwise medical procedure. But that was only if you didn’t know what you were doing…

(He refused to consider if this counted as part of a hobby of “stabbing things.”)

He'd only been meditating for half a shichen when a noise pulled him out of it.

Several noises.

“Are you sure we’re allowed in here?”

“No one’s ever here during the middle of the day, it’s fine.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport.”

“Is this really where Shufu lives now? It’s so big!”

Wen Ruohan opened his eyes and watched bemusedly as a small troop of children marched right into his quarters, with his own little Chao-er leading the way, looking pleased as punch with himself.

For a moment, Wen Ruohan felt rage swelling in his heart, the urge to lash out growing. How dare these children invade his quarters without permission? How insolent they were! He was busy. Didn’t they realize that he had to regain his strength, and quickly? If he didn’t, who would be left to defend his home and his sect –

Well, technically there was now Lan Qiren to do that.

Hmm.

There was something appealing about that.

He took another moment to observe the children, who hadn’t yet noticed him sitting in the corner of the garden. They were sticking mostly to the inside rooms, avidly exploring the various surfaces – the Lan boys were very proudly pointing out everything that visibly belonged to Lan Qiren, no matter how inane, while the other children oohed and aahed appreciatively, and Wen Chao was bouncing around and pointing out things that were characteristic of the Wen sect to equal appreciation.

Interestingly, Wen Chao seemed more comfortable with the younger boys, most particularly the Jiang heir, who he seemed especially eager to impress. It was an interesting choice, given the availability of the seemingly more charismatic Wei boy or the more mature Lan Xichen…or even Jiang Yanli, who was following the others with a surprisingly mischievous smile.

And speaking of smiling, Wen Chao was doing a surprising amount of it, almost to the point that Wen Ruohan briefly doubted that that was his son he was looking at. As far as he was aware, Wen Chao always looked either bitter or resentful, sulking like the spoiled princeling he was whenever Wen Ruohan wasn’t around and cringing and cowering whenever he was. He’d unfortunately inherited a solid portion of his mother’s stupidity, being both gullible and easily manipulated, and those traits in combination with Wen Ruohan’s prickly pride had led him to form grudges against virtually all of his peers in the Nightless City, many of whom had undoubtedly been given ulterior motives by their parents. It wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily, to learn to detect that early on. But unfortunately the result had been to leave him alone, making him a lonely and unpleasant child, willing to lie to get his way but not quite cunning enough to pull it off.

None of that was presently in evidence. Wen Chao looked happy.

How strange. Wen Ruohan had mostly written off his second son, figuring that children mostly resembled their mothers in childhood and their fathers in adulthood, that Wen Chao would therefore improve and acquire more of Wen Ruohan’s own traits as he got older and that there was therefore no point in bothering with him until then. But looking at him now – well, either Wen Chao had very abruptly matured overnight, which seemed highly unlikely, or else the presence of a group of his peers that were not only willing to spend time with him but actively intended to incorporate him into their group for reasons other than their parents’ selfish schemes was doing wonders for his personality.

Wen Chao was practically shining with delight, and with pride. For once, the habitual arrogance of the Wen sect sat upon him naturally rather than hanging off of him like an ill-fitting coat.

Much more like Wen Ruohan than his mother. Good, good. About time!

(Really, if this was the result of Lan Qiren’s casual instruction to his nephews to befriend his son, who by that point he’d barely even met, Wen Ruohan couldn’t wait to see how much active instruction by the man would benefit his son further.)

No, it was better not to interrupt. He wouldn’t want to ruin Wen Chao’s big moment, after all.

“What are these swords doing on the wall?” Wei Ying asked. “They seem pretty nice.”

“They’re treasure swords!” Wen Chao chirped. “Each one of them has a name and a history, a reputation – they’re all famous, every one of them.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to have swords on your wall, though?” Jiang Cheng sounded doubtful. “What if they fall off? Or what if someone comes in and grabs them in the middle of a fight…?”

“My father would grab them first,” Wen Chao said. “And then he’d kill them.”

Good boy.

“It would be awesome,” he added proudly.

Wen Ruohan smirked.

“But why so many?” Wei Ying wanted to know. “Don’t most people only have the one spiritual sword that they cultivate with…? Does your father have a favorite, or – ”

“Children!” Lan Qiren’s voice cracked out like a whip, making them all jump and scatter like a flock of startled pheasants. “What are you doing in here?”

“We were looking around, Shufu,” Lan Xichen said respectfully.

“We weren’t bothering anyone, Teacher Lan,” Jiang Yanli said, and Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying nodded furiously in agreement with her. “We didn’t disturb anything in here, either.”

“We just wanted to see where Shufu lived,” Lan Wangji explained.

“I told them you lived with my father,” Wen Chao put in, very proud. “They didn’t believe me at first, but now they do.”

From where Wen Ruohan was sitting, and because he knew to look, he could tell that Lan Qiren’s ears had gone pink. It was perhaps a little strange for a married couple with separate courtyards available to choose to share one instead – verging on shameless, really, since what it usually meant was that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Hopefully none of the children had picked up on that. Lan Qiren might die of embarrassment.

Also, if he didn’t stop blushing, Wen Ruohan was going to start laughing.

“You still should not have entered these rooms without permission,” Lan Qiren said firmly. “These are Wen Ruohan’s private living quarters. What if he objected to your intrusion?”

“That’s why we came now,” Wei Ying explained. “So he wouldn’t be bothered! He can’t be bothered if he’s not here!”

The children all nodded in agreement.

Lan Qiren blinked owlishly at them with a frown. “What do you mean ‘he’s not here’? He’s right over there, in the garden.”

“He’s what?!” Wen Chao shrieked.

Wen Ruohan smiled with teeth when the children finally looked over at him.

The next ke or so was spent in childish pandemonium – and Wen Ruohan trying and failing not to laugh – until Lan Qiren got tired of it all and ordered them all (excluding Wen Ruohan) to leave.

“And each of you will copy lines for half a shichen this evening,” he added sternly. “Xichen, you will be in charge of selecting which lines, but I expect you to pick something appropriate regarding respecting one’s elders and the privacy of others. Understood?”

“Yes, Shufu! Understood, Shufu!”

“Jiang Yanli, as the eldest, I expect you to both supervise and lead by example.”

“Yes, Teacher Lan. Understood, Teacher Lan.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

Wen Ruohan watched them go with amusement. “You speak to the children in the same tone you use for my lieutenants,” he remarked once the children were gone. “Or should that be the other way around…?”

Lan Qiren glanced at him only briefly, then turned away. “Get those needles out of your wrists. Words will not be able to encompass my displeasure if you manage to further hurt yourself in an effort to recover your power faster.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Wen Ruohan said, though he did remove the needles and get up to come back into the room. Why wasn’t Lan Qiren looking at him? Was this the result of the Fire Palace, now that Lan Qiren had had some time to think about it…? “Why are you here?”

Lan Qiren stiffened. “I live here. Am I unwelcome?”

Wen Ruohan hated the ungainly awkwardness that seemed to have suddenly sprung up between them. It had never existed before, not even right after they had first married – Lan Qiren had been earnest, then, and sincere, even though he’d also been recently traumatized. There hadn’t been any of this…prickliness.

This – wariness.

Wen Ruohan hated it, but he knew he had only himself to blame.

“Not at all,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately light, smooth. “I only meant that I would have expected you to continue to receive petitioners until later in the afternoon. They’re usually especially needy immediately after some major event.”

“I dismissed them early. I wanted to find you to discuss an important matter – we’ve received an invitation to go to the Lotus Pier.”

Wen Ruohan arched his eyebrows. That was unexpected. “What reason does the Jiang sect have to invite us?”

“Not just us,” Lan Qiren explained. “The entire cultivation world. They are holding a celebration…ah, no, let me explain from the beginning. It is about what happened in Xixiang.”

“…they’re throwing a party over it?”

Lan Qiren had the world’s most tired and long-suffering expression. “The cultivation world has unanimously decided that they did not, in fact, nearly go to war, but rather that everyone had merely gathered together to tackle the ghosts of Xixiang.”

Wen Ruohan felt a sudden headache. “Are you joking?”

“I am not. Everyone worked quite collaboratively against the spirits that emerged from the mountain. It is being hailed as an example of the cultivation world overcoming obstacles to unite against evil.”

“That is the most transparent face-saving lie I have ever heard in my life,” Wen Ruohan marveled. “My very, very long life.”

That got a faint smile out of Lan Qiren.

It faded quickly, though.

“Transparent or not, everyone has an interest in maintaining it,” he said briskly, shifting back to impassively discussing politics. “No one had time to question the ghosts, so the secret of the mine remains intact, and the excuse of a night hunt in the area happens to match perfectly with the lie that drew your army there – a large-scale haunting, which they were invited to help eradicate. The aggressive moves by Gusu Lan and Lanling Jin can then be explained away as mere over-enthusiasm and the result of unfortunate misunderstandings, particularly as both sect leaders retreated or left relatively early in the proceedings – ”

Wen Ruohan was deeply unsurprised to hear that Jin Guangshan had gotten spooked by seeing a display of what real power was capable of and ran away, leaving his forces to face the music without him. He’d probably spent the time comforting himself with his current mistresses and putting together a plan regarding who he was going to blame for having gotten involved in the first place. Maybe he’d even re-use Wang Liu, who had undoubtedly outlived his usefulness. Certainly that pathetic display earlier suggested that Jin Guangshan was absolutely desperate to get back into Wen Ruohan’s good graces…

“I have even heard,” and now Lan Qiren’s face was set in deeply disapproving stone, “that some people appear to be trying to claim that the misunderstanding was originally caused by an illusion array, possibly a ghost wall of some unprecedented type – ”

Wen Ruohan snorted in disgust. That sounded like the Jin sect all right. “Face-saving all around, then.”

“Yes, exactly.” Lan Qiren sighed. “The Jiang sect, for its part, wants no one to pay attention to the fact that a war was nearly started with an independent sect so close to their border, particularly since it quite evidently happened without their knowledge. Moreover, they are also using this party as an opportunity to make up for the discussion conference that was canceled…”

Wen Ruohan snorted a second time, this time in amusement. That wasn’t going to happen.

Lan Qiren hummed in agreement. “Unfortunately, this situation presents us with two issues. The first is that we do not know where my brother has gone or what he might do. Putting aside his future actions in their own right, he is still capable of sharing the details of what happened in the mine, which would by itself be devastating – he is the last remaining witness to the actual events of the mine, excluding the Gusu Lan sect elders involved.”

“I assume from that statement that you’ve confirmed that the merchant house that committed most of the massacre was put to the sword in turn?”

Lan Qiren scowled. “None of your record keepers were able to find any trace of them after that time, so I would assume so. Likely in the name of ‘justice,’ as we are dealing with hypocrites.”

Lan Qiren was still furious at his sect elders, it seemed. Quite reasonable.

At least he was displaying some emotion. Wen Ruohan was growing increasingly displeased with the neutral expression Lan Qiren sometimes put on, finding it far more hateful than his unvarnished rage. Now that he had seen Lan Qiren use that deadened face in public meetings with his political enemies, he no longer wanted to see it when they were alone.

“What’s the second problem?” he asked.

Lan Qiren glanced at him again – another fleeting look, there and then gone. “You have been invited as the guest of honor, on account of your heroism in defending the common people of Xixiang. It would be impolitic to refuse.”

Now it was Wen Ruohan’s turn to feel prickly. “Why should we refuse? Are you suggesting that I would be unable to attend? You think I am too weak, perhaps? Or merely untrustworthy…?”

“Ridiculous,” Lan Qiren snapped. “I had only thought that you might not wish to appear in public until you had had more of a chance to recover.”

Wen Ruohan sneered. “Yes, you’re just being considerate, of course. How could I doubt it? When you won’t even look at me – ”

Lan Qiren’s jaw tightened, and Wen Ruohan cut himself off. What was he doing? This wasn’t what he’d wanted at all.

He’d wanted…

“Cangse Sanren said that I shouldn’t write you an essay,” he blurted out.

That got a reaction, at least: Lan Qiren turned to stare at him. “An essay?”

“I asked your nephews how I could make you stop being angry at me after I – after a misstep,” Wen Ruohan explained. “Lan Xichen explained that if it was him, he would write an essay explaining what he had done wrong and expressing that he wouldn’t do it again, as well as proposing appropriate discipline to be imposed. But I could not think of what discipline would be appropriate, and Cangse Sanren said that offering to become omnipotent as a solution was likely to backfire, so – ”

He stopped again, but this time it was because Lan Qiren was laughing.

At first it was only a little, an incredulous little chuckle, but then it got stronger and stronger until Lan Qiren’s shoulders were shaking with the force of his laughter.

“Is this,” he wheezed, “your idea of an apology?”

“It’s not exactly an area in which I have a great deal of experience,” Wen Ruohan said, watching Lan Qiren’s face, all crinkled-up with good humor, and wanting desperately to kiss him. “On account of the fact that I am so rarely wrong.”

That just made Lan Qiren laugh harder.

Eventually he needed to sit down, which he did on the bed – quite promising, really. Wen Ruohan went and sat next to him.

“Tell me,” he said. “Have I beaten out Lao Nie?”

“Beaten…? Oh, you mean in being the most obnoxious man in the world?” Lan Qiren wiped his eyes. “Do not tell me you have gotten competitive over that. It is hardly a title anyone would want.”

“Perhaps I simply wish to be first in your thoughts.”

“Me and the rest of the world,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “I am well aware of your narcissism.”

Wen Ruohan had meant his statement to be romantic, but he had to concede that Lan Qiren had a good point. Also, he’d forgotten that there was no point in romantic subtleties with Lan Qiren; the man was too blunt and literal for that.

He’d have to be equally blunt in turn.

“Your sect believes in punishment that ends and absolves the error,” he said, because he still couldn’t bring himself to force the words I was wrong and I regret what I’ve done through his lips. “Is there something that would be appropriate here? I am willing.”

Lan Qiren’s humor slowly faded away, and he sighed.

“I do not think that it would be appropriate for me to suggest a punishment in this circumstance,” he said. “The purpose of punishment is twofold: deterrence and remediation. Deterrence applies both to the community at large, to show them what is wrong and what is right, and to the individual, so that they never again do what they know to be wrong. Remediation is a matter of balancing the scales of justice, repairing the harm committed so that the victim is appeased and peace restored. While punishment can be imposed and often is – discipline is generic, even-handed, applicable to all, a way to teach and to remind those who err of the importance of the rules that underwrite the basis of our community – it is a little different when punishment is being used as a means of penance. In those cases, voluntary accedence is the most effective.”

Wen Ruohan frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means that you will need to determine for yourself what the appropriate punishment will be. As the victim, I can absolve you of the harm you caused, if I wish, but that is only half of what you must do: there is still the question of deterrence. Only you can determine what you must do now to show your sincerity – what sacrifice you will make that would serve as both payment for the past and a promise to the future.”

Wen Ruohan scowled.

“There are any number of punishments that you can choose from. There are punishments of pain, where you show your sincerity through suffering the pain that you caused others or to use the pain to burn in the lesson to be learned; there are punishments of time, where you devote yourself to writing lines or essays or some other form of contemplation that encourages you to truly think about what you have done wrong. There are even punishments which consist merely of loss – loss of advantage, loss of privileges, or even loss of freedom…though I will say that I would greatly disapprove if you chose seclusion as a punishment.”

“Absolutely not,” Wen Ruohan assured him. “As a general rule, I try not to lock myself alone with my paranoia. It only makes it worse.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes curved in another smile. A lingering one, this time.

“Explain to me what this means,” Wen Ruohan said. “You won’t impose a punishment until I select one that is appropriate? Does that mean we are at odds until then?”

“No, merely that your punishment is not fully complete until you yourself determine that you have completed it. For the half that involves seeking to remedy the harm…” He paused briefly, then shook his head. “There is no need. I am willing to accept your apology and forgive you.”

Wen Ruohan stared.

“You were tricked,” Lan Qiren pointed out. “Anyone can be tricked. I understood at once what must have happened.”

“You were tortured,” Wen Ruohan said. “On my order. You shouldn’t forgive me just like that!”

“And that is why punishment is required,” Lan Qiren said patiently. “You cannot force me to forgive you, but you also cannot force me not to. It is wholly up to me whether I wish to bear a grudge, and I do not. But only punishment will adequately serve to make you believe it.”

That was true in one respect: Wen Ruohan didn’t believe it.

Or, rather, he supposed he did believe it, but it wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want Lan Qiren to forgive him because the Lan sect rules said Do not bear grudges. He wanted something else. Something better.

He wanted Lan Qiren to trust him again. He wanted Lan Qiren to love him.

And that meant, he supposed, that that was what the punishment was really for: to show Lan Qiren that Wen Ruohan meant what he said. That Wen Ruohan was serious, that hereally was sorry, that he really wouldn’t do it again.

Only then would Lan Qiren be able to really forgive him in his heart, rather than merely forgiving him in his head.

“I’ll think of something,” he said, and for the first time really meant it, rather than a half-hearted attempt to patch over the consequences of his actions. “Give me some time, and I’ll come up with a suitable punishment. One that even you won’t be able to say is inappropriate.”

“Do not underestimate yourself,” Lan Qiren said, sounding amused. “You excel above all others.”

Wen Ruohan should not have felt complimented by what was obviously an insult. He was, though. Just a bit.

“Though, on that note, I feel that we should discuss what you did with the mountain.”

Wen Ruohan arched his eyebrows. “I suppose, like Cangse Sanren, you wish to scold me for overexerting my strength and making a spectacle of myself?”

“On the contrary. I wish to praise you. You did a very good thing, saving the common people, and you did it at great cost to yourself.” Lan Qiren shifted a little, and Wen Ruohan noted that his ears had gone red once more. “Perhaps it is arrogance on my part, but I flatter myself to think that I played some role in your decision to do what you did – ”

“It’s not arrogance when it’s true,” Wen Ruohan said. “You’re right. I did it for you. Or – not for you. Because you would have wanted me to.”

Lan Qiren looked at him, and there was that strange emotion on his face again, the strangest mix of pain and fondness.

“That pleases me more than I can say,” he said, and Wen Ruohan smirked proudly. “Well, let it not be said that the rules are not fair. Just as they demand punishment for wrongdoing, so too do they demand that rewards be given for exceptional behavior.”

Reward?

Wen Ruohan brightened. A reward sounded good.

“Of course, we must account for the fact that you have been injured and rendered vulnerable,” Lan Qiren mused. “I would not want to cause you to feel any sense of threat from me, and also we must avoid causing you greater harm…I have been giving the matter some serious thought, and I think I have found a method that would work well.”

This sounded very good.

“Of course, it would require you to consent to being tied up – ”

Forget very good. This was going to be great.

#mdzs #wen ruohan #lan qiren #cangse sanren #my fic #my fics #Megafic

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sapphire-weapon · 2 years ago

Text

Things I didn’t notice until my 10th playthrough of the game:

Leon: You know, after the incident, the world changed. You try to save one person, a hundred others die. I guess I changed, too.

*Some hours later*...

Wesker: All you need to know is a new dawn is breaking. A hundred will give their lives so that just one may live. I am expediting that change.

I don’t know how I overlooked this for so fucking long, but now that I’ve noticed it -- holy shit does it seem very deliberate. Like, in the “this is setting up for something” kind of way.

Wesker is basically saying that he intends to bring the whole world into the reality that Leon’s already been living. And Leon’s saying that he’s changed and grown enough to be able to rise to the occasion.

And I really wish I had something more meta to say about it, but I don’t because Leon and Wesker never interact in canon. And in Remake, it seems like Leon has been kept almost completely in the dark about Wesker’s continued bullshit in the bioterrorism world all together.

You know, I always thought it was weird how, in OG, Leon straight-up calls Ada out for working with Wesker, but then... nothing comes of it. Ever. Chris just goes and blows up Wesker with a rocket launcher in the middle of a volcano, Leon gets trapped in Groundhog Day and develops a drinking problem, and that’s that. So it made sense to me that Remake changed it so that Leon has no idea who Ada’s working with this time around. The W-word is never said.

But then I look at this very obvious, very deliberate-seeming parallel, and it makes me tilt my head to the side and go “huh.”

And then I think about how Ada’s character motivation has changed between OG and RE4make and how she doesn’t go into Remake already planning on double-crossing Wesker -- but rather that it’s a shocking (even to herself) decision she makes at the very last second, so we actually have no idea what she’s going to do with the Amber this time around -- and I tilt my head to the opposite side and go “huh” even louder.

And then I think about how the top leaker in the RE world who leaked RE4make in the first place says that no, actually, a RE5make or CV Remake haven’t been greenlit, that’s not a thing (yet), we’ll see other RE titles long before we hear anything about another remake, and I start to feel like I’m going absolutely insane so I reach up to try to pull my tinfoil hat off and I can’t tell if I keep missing or if there’s actually not one on my head at all.

And I gotta wonder.

Is Capcom going to build off of the remake series? Is it secretly a reboot series? And will we finally get a game involving Leon and Wesker that takes place at some point between RE4 and RE5?

Is Capcom just going to straight-up change what RE5 actually was because they can’t salvage the horrible, horrible racism present in that game?

As someone who’s been analyzing game stories and literature for over 20 years, I just can’t look at that dialogue parallel and say that that’s not foreshadowing -- that it’s there for fun and no other reason.

It’s just

Huh.

#resident evil #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy #albert wesker #ada wong #meta analysis #i guess?#HELP ME OUT HERE GUYS I FEEL INSANE

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generalhumancloudalmond2 · 2 years ago

Text

Rumors

Platonic!Kunikida x Student!Fem!Reader

"Y/n! Stop yawning! Get involved in the lesson, now!"

Another yawn and your bored look. Well, at least you're looking at the board now.

"Well? How much will it be?"

"I don't know."

"I've had enough, Y/n. You're staying after school."

After that, Kunikida returned to the lesson, and you continued to yawn as if nothing had happened. When the bell rang, you, as expected, tried to sneak away, but the teacher quickly stopped it. Pointing to the desk opposite his, he told you to sit down, but you decided to show your character again and sat down in the place where you always sit, namely at the end of the class. Then he himself, with a tired sigh, comes up to you and sits down next to you.

Among all the students, you are one of the most difficult and problematic: you don't study, you trip up, you periodically arrange fights, you smoke. Many teachers have already dropped their hands, and as long as you didn't bring too many problems to other students, they just ignored you. However, there was one small "but", because of which the man wanted to believe that you would start study, namely: you had one hundred percent attendance. Yes, you attended all his classes, sometimes even stayed for extra ones, although you continued to do nothing.

"Y/n, the transition to high school is coming soon, and your grades are worse than ever. You need to pull yourself together and start learning. Now, I will do a quick test to figure out which topics you don't understand. And next week, I'll help you deal with them."

"No thanks, I'll pass."

You start to get up from your desk when he hits it loudly, forcing you to sit down at it again. Kunikida often spoke in raised tones, and it was easy enough to make him lose his temper, but he knocked on the table only when his righteous anger reached the point of no return.

"Y/n, what do you think you will become in the future?! With such grades, you threaten not to get into high school, not like the institute! I'm giving you a chance and I demand to take it! Because at this rate, you will quickly trample yourself into the mud, from which it will be impossible to get out!"

He stood over you and looked straight into your still bored eyes, he could understand from your look that you perfectly understand what he is talking about, just for some reason ignoring the fact of the problem.

"Okay, only if you back off."

Looks like he managed to break through your defenses. This is a success. The main thing is that you take the test seriously, and not as usual. Kunikida gives you three task sheets and continues to sit next to you to follow up. But it looks like you've decided to take the task seriously, since you have tried to solve one of the his mathematical examples for half an hour.

"If you don't know, it's okay, just skip it."

You don't say anything to him, you just keep looking for the answer to the task. To be honest, now he finally saw not your stubbornness, but your perseverance, which could not but please him.

"Y/n, are you doing well at home?"

"Passable."

"And classmates?"

"Yesterday I smacked one jerk from the parallel class."

Kunikida frowns, he doesn't like the way you talk about it easily, but you look exclusively at the sheet and don't notice his indignation at all.

"Why?"

"I just wanted to."

"Y/n, you can't do that, violence is bad, especially if there was no reason for this violence."

"Okay, I won't do it anymore."

It was too easy, but he didn't pursue the subject and decided to stop distracting you. At the end, when you had already handed in your work and were about to leave the classroom, something made him ask you about a rumor that had been walking around the school for some time.

"Y/n, I'm sorry if I'm meddling in my own business, but what is this ridiculous rumor going around the school? About the fact that you have some kind of relationship with the mafia?"

"My parents owed a huge amount of money to the mafia. It's true, if that's what you mean. The postponement expires tomorrow. You can pray for me if you want. Goodbye."

"Y/n, wait!"

You jumped out of the classroom. Deep down, you wanted help, even though you knew that in your case it was impossible, and it was too late to do anything...

On that day, Kunikida urgently tried to find any possible help for you, but no sane organizations and agencies wanted to go against the mafia. It wasn't until the next morning that he found an agency that was ready to get down to business, but you didn't come to school that day.

In the future, Kunikida will take an interest in your parents' case and he will find their bodies, but yours will not be among them.

#platonic bsd #platonic #kunikida doppo #platonic kunikida #child reader #bungou stray dogs #platonic bungou stray dogs #yandere platonic

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revengeofthelobotomyladies · 6 months ago

Note

In England there's a theory test app, half the test is multiple choice on road safety/rules/signs etc and half on hazard perception

It's pretty easy to get a theory tests and you have up to 2 years after passing to get your license before you have to take it so most get it done straight away

The DVLA reckon it takes an average of 45 hours of practice with an instructor (at anywhere between £30-40 an hour) and 22 hours of private practice in your own car to pass with an average 48% pass rate (so technically you can be taught by a random but it's not reccomended lol)

It's near impossible to get a test for at least 7 months in the future (bc of covid and bots) so if you manage to get an official one it'll cost £62, otherwise you need to get a cancellation which can cost upwards of £120

Then your actual test is like 40+ minutes, 20 of independent driving (either using sat nav or road signs, they say on the day) and 20 minutes of instructed driving which involves pulling up on the left & setting off safely at least 6 times and then one of the 4 main manoeuvers (reverse into a bay/drive into a bay/parallel park or pull up on the right & reverse for 2 car lengths) but they can also ask you to do an emergency stop or a hill start on top of that

also 2 "show me, tell me" questions about general car things like how to check the tyre pressure, clean the front windscreen etc

Plus they have hundreds to test routes and it's randomised so you could end up with really good conditions and a great route or shitty conditions and a shitty route which balls you up

You're allowed 0 serious faults and up to 15 minor faults but you fail if you get more than 3 of the same fault, you can fail for all sorts like not driving in a bus lane when it's open etc (a lot is ridiculous stuff that normal drivers do)

Then insurance premiums are sky high when you pass and a lot won't insure you or want millions depending on the type of car

Plus you're very restricted in some senses lile you need separate tests for basically every type of vehicle now and if you learn automatic you have to do the test again if you wanna drive manual etc

so it's definitely not encouraging 😂

So I agree with the anon that says it's about time and money, thats definitely a major problem but they definitely do discourage you by making it so difficult to learn and pass, at least here they do idk about the rest of europe

(It's really interesting to see those videos where seasoned drivers try a modern driving test because they nearly always fail lol)

I would 100% fail there lmao

Here you can get your learners permit by studying on your own or in class. I got mine in high school at age 15 but I think you can attempt the test as early as age 14. You have to get 80% on the learners written test to obtain a learners license. Then you do the 6 (or more I don’t remember, I got my learners 15 years ago🫣) drives with the driver trainer. They give you a little card saying you’ve completed training and you present that when you go for the final road test. If you’re in high school you have to wait until you’re 16 to try, I can’t remember if there’s a wait time if you’re an adult. You’re supposed to be going on practice drives with a licensed driver in this time.

I had a horrible driver trainer who would scream at me and she really scared me out of driving and also no one had the time or energy to practice with me. So, I sat on my learners for 10 years before I went for my road test. It was kind of embarrassing because my training card was dated from like 2010 or something but it was still good I guess. You can practice as long as you need to. I pretty much just taught myself to drive. 😬

It only costs $55 dollars to go for the road test and there is a cancellation fee. If you fail you have to wait a little while before you can try again. It used to be even cheaper a few years ago at $22. Absolutely crazy.

Once you pass there are restrictions for about two years. If you have no incidents in the two years you’re good to go.

I think I’m a good driver compared to a lot of people here. Like it’s really bad here. But the province is like YOLO I guess… 😅😳

#ask #anon #this ams mine

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yoditorian · 3 years ago

Text

cross my heart

eddie/gn!reader

look it’s less than 12 hours until we get vol2 and i’ve convinced myself that this idiot isn’t going to make it - so i wrote a little baby fix it in case something horrible happens (this can absolutely be read in conjunction with crush, but works as a stand alone too)

main masterlist // series masterlist

word count: 2k // warnings: language, injuries, blood, overuse of italics, as a general rule for my work 18+ pls no babies

“You thought now was a good time to ask?”

“Well, we might die.”

“And that train of thought led you to asking me out for ice cream?”

Eddie’s fluttering his eyelashes at you as though you’re not standing in some parallel dimension, ready and waiting to keep a hundred hungry bat things preoccupied long enough for your friends to slip through the gate at the lake. Live bait. Because that’s always gone so well.

“Back me up here, Dust.” You turn to the boy in the vain hope of finding some semblance of reason, praying to anything and everything that he’ll spurt some words of wisdom that might leave room for you to dodge Eddie’s question entirely, but it’s no use.

Dustin reluctantly raises his head from the tangle of cables by the amps and shakes his head with a grimace,“

I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

You glance back at Eddie over your shoulder as Dustin’s plugging the last of the power cables into position, only to find him still looking at you. Eyebrows raised, hands out at his sides, that expectant little smile on his face. Damn it - now you’re fighting to keep your own face straight.

Another life, maybe.

Robin’s voice over the walkie saves you from making a fool of yourself even further, though you stumble a little in your haste to grab it from Dustin’s abandoned backpack.

“We’re in position, whenever you’re ready.”

“Roger that. Eyes on the skies, people” You drop the walkie back into the bag and reach out to wrap your hand around the neck of Eddie’s guitar, it’d be fun if you weren’t all about to risk your lives, “Showtime.”

You take the end of the final cable from Dustin’s outstretched hand, plugging the jack into the guitar, and carry it over to Eddie. Honestly, you’re surprised he let you even look directly at it, let alone pick the thing up. You could have sworn you heard him muttering something to it when he first brought it up.

“Hey,” He puts one hand gently over your own on the neck of the guitar, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just - if there was ever a time to shoot my shot, I guess it’s now, right?”

And this time you can’t help but smile, because he’s not exactly wrong.

“Save the world and I’ll think about it, Munson.” You wink when he releases your hand, sliding the strap over his head and running his fingers over the strings as you scoop up the makeshift spear by his feet to take your position at the head of the trailer. Dustin stands at the opposite end, the both of you ready to swing at any bats that come too close for comfort.

It’s like they know. Dark spots silhouetted in the far distance against the glowing red storm, rising up one by one between flashes of lightning. Growing closer with every note Eddie plays. You risk a glance over your shoulder, just for a second, to watch him throw his head back as his fingers fly over the fretboard. And he was the one who said he was a runner, claimed he’s not the hero type. Bullshit. It takes effort to pull your eyes away, to refocus your attention on the approaching creatures. Adrenaline thrums in your veins, you’re ready.

And then they’re swarming. Swirling around you like a cloud, a hurricane. All gnashing teeth and whipping tails and beating wings, you’re lost to it. You lose sight of the boys, of the edge of the roof, of your own hand in front of your face. Any light that might have filtered through from the distant storm is blocked by the descending creatures. The sound of Eddie’s playing is drowned out by the screeching in your ears, so loud you’re sure it’s the last thing you’ll ever hear.

Their teeth tear at your clothes and skin as you lash out at them with the spear, the accompanying squeals of pain as the spiked tip sinks into flesh is frequent enough that for a moment you think you’re winning. You think you might actually make it out of this almost whole.

Until a tail wraps itself around your ankles, and you’re down. You feel the back of your head split open on the tile of the flat roof as the bat pulls your feet out from under you, drags you to the edge until there’s nothing to catch you. Suspended in the air for one long moment, and then you’re falling. Crashing to the ground in a heap of blood and bruises.

They pull up as one, hundreds, thousands of them, just as quickly as they arrived. Writhing and angry and baying for blood, hurtling back towards the gate at Lover’s Lake, leaving you disoriented. Ears ringing, you can only hope the others had enough time to make it through.

Someone, somewhere, calls your name. It’s weak, but it’s there, though peeling yourself off of the ground enough to look for the source has every inch of your body screaming. You just about manage to lock your elbows, wedge your shoulders in place enough to sit up as the gravel bites into the palms of your hands. But looking around, there’s no one there. You lost sight of the boys in the swarm and the fear that they were carried off sits low and cold in the pit of your stomach. You’re hearing things, you’re sure of it. It’s just you now.

No - someone is definitely shouting for you.

The bones of your neck creak as you lift your head enough to find the trailer, straining to see something when a head of curly hair appears on the roof.

Dustin.

He doesn’t look too worse for wear, barring a cut on his forehead. Thank fuck. He’s sliding the ladder off of the roof and back down over the side of the house the moment he sees you, clambering down faster than you’ve ever seen him move to tackle you into a hug. The cuts sting as he squeezes you, and you’re not sure if it’s blood or tears that are wetting his shoulder, but you don’t have the energy to care. You can buy him a new hoodie if he wants.

“Eddie?” You croak as Dustin finally loosens his grip.

“He’s not moving.”

And your blood runs cold.

People have died before. Every time another monster from the Upside Down rears its ugly head, people die. But you knew something felt different about this time. Nothing has ever reached through before, not without having a link already. The demogorgans’ main concern always seemed to be food, the Mind Flayer was after Will and Eleven, but Vecna? It’s different this time, there’s been a tiny voice in the back of your head since Chrissy died - you knew this one wasn’t going to go the way you wanted. You’ve never been so disappointed in being right.

Now it’s just you, Dustin, and the barely concealed fear in his eyes. Time to be the grown up.

“Alright, help me up.”

And he does, bless him. He hoists you up from the ground and takes most of your weight on his shoulders as you both shuffle around the trailer, towards where Eddie lays. Your eyes are squeezed shut against the throbbing pain in your head, content enough to let Dustin guide you, until you kick a rock that twangs discordantly. You crack them open to find Eddie’s guitar at your feet, utterly destroyed.

But there he is, only a few feet away, curled on his side with his back to you.

Dustin helps you limp over, lowers you to your knees behind Eddie’s head, and deposits himself on his other side.

Every inch of skin you can see is littered with bite marks, his clothes slashed by claws and tails and teeth. There’s a whole chunk taken out of his shoulder, steadily seeping his blood into the dirt beneath him. You’re kneeling in a puddle of it.

“Eddie?” You’re gentle as you shift him onto his back, laying his head on your knees. There’s a deep gash in his forehead, the hair at his temple caked in blood, and he’s cold and pale and - and you can’t let him die. You’re not losing him like this.

Though, you’re not sure when he became yours to lose.

“Well I must be dead if I’m seeing an angel.”

The fact he’s alive outweighs the horrendous pickup line, you have to give him that at least.

“Nobody’s dying today, Munson,” You’re firm, certain, as you ignore your screaming injuries to tug your jacket off and ball it up against the gaping chunk missing from his shoulder, “How are you supposed to kiss me after our ice cream date if you’re dead?”

“You’d let me kiss you? You’re full of surprises.”

“You gotta live first, okay?”

He swipes a thumb over the teeth marks in your cheek, smearing the drying blood over your jaw. Dazed, but mesmerised by the trail his touch leaves on your skin.

“Sure thing, beautiful. Cross my heart.”

And then his eyes slip shut and he’s gone, slumped in your lap, chest barely rising with laboured breaths.

“We have to get back through before the gates close!” Dustin’s doing the math in his head, you can see it. There’s no way the both of you can lift him through the mini gate in the trailer’s roof, and you won’t make it to the lake before it closes. Your only hope is that the others made it through, that they’re waiting in the trailer on the other side.

You take one long look at Eddie’s closed eyes, the very real chance that they’ll stay that way if you don’t get a move on and do something.

“Help me with him.”

It’s five long, long days before he opens them again.

Slowly, but they do. He looks worse under the stark hospital lights. Pale and clammy, bruised and bandaged and squinting against the strip lights overhead. You’re still there, in the chair that you planted by his bedside the moment they let you in. The chair you parked your ass in and flat out refused to leave until he woke up. The boys have been a steady stream in and out of the other chair, sitting by the window, any time they could get in. Robin’s been a regular, bringing you snacks and sitting in your place when you had to pee. It’s safe to say Eddie Munson has been well and truly adopted into this dysfunctional little family of yours.

You fluff the pillows, help him sit up, and pour him a glass of water.

His eyes widen as Callaghan passes the window into the hall, but you’re there with a gentle hand in his hair and that same soft smile you turned on his way back in the boathouse at the start of all this.

“Me and the others have already given our statements about the bear attack. So much for our Spring Break camping trip, right? You came out with the worst of it, so it’s okay if you can’t remember anything. They’ll understand.”

“Bear attack?” He sounds awful. Hoarse and scratchy, but alive. There’s not a lot more you could ask for.

“Mhm, big one.”

He takes a sip of the water, uncharacteristically quiet, and you can’t help but smile at him. The self proclaimed coward, who risked his life for a group of kids from his D and D group and their assortment of mismatched attachments. Who stared demon bats from a parallel dimension in the face and laughed. Who saved the life of every one of your friends. It takes you a minute to realise he’s watching you watch him. You’re so caught up in your own thoughts, you almost miss his next words.

“Marry me.”

Oh, this boy. This boy is trouble. This boy is beautiful, wide eyed, heartbreaking trouble.

“You promised me an ice cream date, remember?”

“Okay, but what are you doing after?”

You can’t help your laughter, can’t help the little tear that escapes the corner of your eye as it finally sinks in that he’s okay. He’s alive.

“Can’t say no to a guy in a hospital bed. I get pity points.” There it is. That smile. The very same one he gave you on the roof of his trailer, guitar in hand, ready to be the hero.

“We’ll see, hotshot.”

taglist (add yourself to my stranger things taglist here):

@bee-dameron @generalfoolish @levylovegood @chicorogers

#501 universe #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #liz does words

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makeste · 4 years ago

Text

this is just a post listing all of the scenes in BnHA which underline Bakugou’s narrative importance and the way that it’s intrinsically connected to Deku and his storyline, because I really want to emphasize that the MORE THAN 300 CHAPTERS OF BUILD-UP just slightly outweigh the literal seven chapters in which he hasn’t played a major role just lately. recency bias is a thing guys, and we should all try to remember that.

not Kacchan establishing his goal and ultimate endgame less than one page after his introduction.

not Kacchan being saved by Deku less than an hour after burning his notebook and telling him to jump off a roof, establishing the contradictory nature of their relationship right from the get-go, and changing Deku’s destiny forever as All Might witnesses this moment and realizes that Deku is more heroic than he ever could have imagined. “you looked like you needed saving.” that’s a line that’s already had at least one callback, and with Deku now struggling in the current manga the time could be ripe for an even more powerful one.

not “win and save” being established as the two cornerstones of the hero philosophy all the way back in chapter 5, with Deku and Kacchan each embodying one of these dual aspects, and being narratively primed to walk opposite paths in their respective hero journeys, only to meet at the middle when they reach the end.

not Deku and Kacchan having an iconic battle less than ten chapters into the series, during which their rivalry is further established and the complicated history of their childhood friendship is expanded on.

not Kacchan’s first childhood flashback revealing that the pivotal, character-defining event of his childhood was baby Deku reaching out his hand and asking if he was okay.

not Deku instinctively reaching out to Kacchan yet again all of two chapters later, making a fateful decision which will have massive ramifications down the line and which will eventually alter the course of Kacchan’s character development.

not Kacchan’s teachers thoughtfully praising his “overwhelming tenacity” and All Might noting his potential for greatness early on the series.

not Deku choosing a hero name originally given to him by Kacchan, but repurposing and reclaiming it, and possibly paving the way for another parallel that’s just waiting to be capitalized on. Kacchan feel free to tell us more about your own hero name’s meaning whenever you get a chance.

not Deku becoming stronger by learning from Kacchan (win to save).

not Deku and Kacchan deliberately being paired together for their final exam and Kacchan having a fucking meltdown until Deku literally knocks some sense into him, at which point he immediately gets his head back on straight because the two of them are capable of getting through to each other in a way that nobody else can.

not All Might being all ��THIS FIGHT SURE IS SOME GREAT FORESHADOWING FOR THE TWO OF THEM TEAMING UP TOGETHER IN THE FUTURE AS FORETOLD BY DESTINY.”

not Kacchan becoming stronger by taking a page out of Deku’s book (save to win).

not Deku being the last person Kacchan sees before the LoV take him away, and the two of them locking eyes until the last possible second before Kacchan disappears and Deku literally falls to his knees screaming in the most dramatic breakdown of the entire series.

not the two of them being singled out in a crowd of hundreds and framed side by side desperately cheering on All Might in his darkest hour in the battle which will change the entire course of the series.

not Aizawa literally saying that class 1-A revolves around Bakugou and Deku.

not Deku and Kacchan having the most iconic battle of the entire series and being all “goddammit I can’t figure out why my entire life revolves around you and it’s driving me crazy” and being fully honest with each other for the first time in their lives, and then having All Might come over and tell them “you two need each other, and you need to learn from each other, because each of you intuitively understands part of what it means to be a great hero, and by working together you will both one day be able to rise to the top.”

not Kacchan, and only Kacchan, being inducted into Club OFA a full two hundred chapters before anybody else.

not Kacchan and Deku obsessing over showing off for each other in the Joint Training arc while All Might looks on like a proud dad.

not Kacchan’s phenomenal progress in the JT arc being traced directly back to the lessons he learned from All Might and Deku.

not Deku being triggered into activating a wholeass new fucking quirk because someone said something mean about Kacchan.

not Horikoshi answering the question of “so what’s next for Kacchan’s character development?” with “he’s going to begin the slow burn process of realizing that he needs to make amends to Deku.”

not Kacchan being focused on Deku during Tomura’s attack on Jakku, and realizing what he’s about to do, and immediately moving in step beside him without the slightest hesitation because he’s determined to stay with him and protect him.

not All Might literally saying “THEY WILL GET A CHANCE TO TALK YOU GUYS SO JUST BE PATIENT.”

not Kacchan unconsciously emulating Deku when he’s focused on saving, and mimicking everything from his exact style of strategizing down to his speech patterns, in the exact same way that Deku starts unconsciously imitating Kacchan’s own mannerisms and speech when he’s focused on winning.

not Kacchan’s milestone “Rising” chapter being explicitly centered around this transcendent moment when he reacts without thinking in order to save Deku’s life.

not Deku activating a wholeass new fucking quirk AGAIN because someone insulted Kacchan AGAIN.

not Kacchan being all “Deku’s not the only one whose quirk goes through Awakenings when he sees that his childhood rivalfriend is in danger.”

not Kacchan having an entire character arc devoted solely to the importance of him choosing a hero name, which he has yet to reveal to Deku.

last but not least, not a whole entire montage of Horikoshi interview quotes with him talking about the thematic importance of “win to save, save to win” (it’s literally what heroism means to him), and talking about Bakugou’s future, and how he’s determined to write an even better ending than the one in Heroes Rising, and how the story will have a conclusion where all of the characters come together in the end.

so yeah. just in case it isn’t clear from all of this,

Bakugou and Deku’s destinies are intertwined in a way that runs deeper than any other connection in the series

the two of them have spurred on each other’s growth throughout the entirety of the manga

their character development has revolved around each other literally from the start

their journeys mirror and complement each other in a way that enriches the narrative

they each represent one half of All Might’s legacy

and their bond is at the center of the series’s emotional resonance

and Horikoshi is not just going to all of a sudden forget all of that and ignore it entirely in the series’s final act. I literally can’t understand why anyone would think that. it’s all right there you guys. 300 chapters’ worth of history and development. this is how it is, and this is how it has always been. like it or not, these two idiots are both in this together, and their respective endgames are inextricably tied to one another. win and save, you guys.

#bnha meta #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku #bakugou meta #deku meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #fifty-one images in this post lol #tumblr you have such a good thing going on right now seriously #why would you want to change that #is it because people like me keep making gigantic posts with fifty images apiece #don't answer that

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szallejhscorner · 3 years ago

Note

This will probably be my last request for a while, cause I’m running out of ideas XD. Staying in that “they-remember-everything” AU from my first request, s/o’s first time visiting/finding Chishiya at the hospital. Basically just make it a happy and (probably pretty) emotional reunion ^^. Maybe also up to the point then he finally gets out of the hospital. If you want, you can also use the forelast chapter of 'HliF' as reference again, because it was so heartbreaking beautifully written 😭

So sorry you had to wait that long! But I finally managed to finish this, and I hope you like it as much as I do (:

Thank you for all the asks you have sent me. I enjoyed every single one of them x3

Reunited

It is weird – pretending that you’re fine even though you’re not. In fact, you’re everything but fine. The images still haunt you; all the blood, the death… the pain. What you experienced in the Borderlands is too much to talk about to anyone who hasn’t been there, but people don’t believe you anyway. You have heard the weirdest explanations for hundreds of people waking up after their heart stopped beating for a minute straight, with the same memories of the same cursed parallel world. They can’t accept the fact that whatever happened cannot be explained.

But you’ll manage to get over it somehow. All you need is to see a certain face, kiss those lips that you have kissed hundreds of times, make sure he’s alive and okay. The only problem with that: Chishiya Shuntarou isn’t stationed in your hospital. You don’t know where he is, and they won’t let you go until you have recovered enough to be exposed to the world outside of those hospital walls again.

So you make them believe what they want to see. The physical injuries aren’t the problem, since most of the wounds seem to be older already. Just another thing people can’t explain, no matter how hard they try. What’s hard for you are the scars cannot be treated with gouge and dressings.

You muffle the screams escaping your mouth whenever you wake up from another nightmare, you eat although you’re not hungry and force every fiber of your body to keep it together so you won’t throw up everything again. You force a smile, no matter how much it hurts your cheeks. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re FINE.

You will be fine, once you’re with him.

With every day passing by, you wonder if he has made it. If he was able to survive long enough to get proper treatment for the wounds that were about to kill him. If he remembers the Borderlands as well.

If he remembers you.

The day arrives, and you chase through the hospital floors like a shooting star. Sunlight hurts your eyes, the noise from the street is almost too much to bear, but you don’t care. Nothing is important right now except one thing.

There’s no need to take out the note safely placed in your pocket. A nurse told you that it had been found in your clothes, but you wouldn’t have needed it. You were given days to find out where his university was located, and the hospital linked to it will be the very first place you’ll start your search. And yet the walkways are too long, the underground drives too slow. People seem to purposely walk into your way to slow you down, and you want to scream and shout at every single one of them. But you don’t.

It feels like hours until you finally find yourself in front of a certain hospital, panting heavily and the pain in your wrists almost killing you. Not that it’d cause you to slow down in any way; you almost stumble over the desk and scare the hell out of the poor reception lady.

“Chishiya Shuntarou. I… is he here? Can you… can you tell me his room number?”

She makes you repeat his name three times until she finally understands enough to search for him in the system, but you don’t like the frown on her face.

“May I ask who you are? His girlfriend?” pale grey eyes look you up and down while you think about how to answer. What are you, now that the Borderlands are left behind?

But the fact that she’s asking in the first place means that you were right about him being in the hospital, and he has to be still alive. So you take a deep shaky breath and nod, which seems to be enough of an answer for the lady. She gives you a room number, tells you to move to the left corridor once you’ve reached the second floor, and something more but you don’t listen any longer because your feet have already started to run again.

Second floor. The elevator takes too long, and you sprint up the stairs instead – less people to cross your way at least. He is here. That means he is alive. He has survived. And now you can finally see him.

Crashing through the door into the second floor, you knock over a petite nurse with full force but manage to remain on your feet. The contents of her tray scatter on the ground, a glass breaks and people shout in surprise, but you don’t have the time to care. You shout an apology and continue to run, shove away shoulders too close to you while doing so.

Room 1504. Why is it so far away? Why did they place him at the other end of the hospital – don’t they know you’re in a hurry?

1544, 1542… 1532… 1522, 1520, 1518… 1506…

There!

You’re about to feint from exhaustion when you press your hands against the wall, panting and breathing heavily although each move of your lungs burns like fire. Ten breaths, that’s all you allow yourself before you lift your head.

1504. This is the room.

As you open the door, dozens of beeping noises greet you together with the smell of disinfectant. Two beds are inside, and you immediately spot the blonde hair you have longed to be with for so long now. Chishiya slightly moves his head to see who has entered, and the moment your eyes meet, you know that he remembers too.

Before your mind can even realize it, your feet have begun to run again and you throw yourself into the embrace of the man you love so much. He groans in pain at the sudden weight of your body, but his hands tighten around your back nonetheless. Even if you wanted to release him from your touch, he wouldn’t let you.

Tears start running uncontrollably, and your body is shaken with sobs, so heavy that it hurts. “You’re alive!” you whisper in between two hiccups and finally move to cup his face into your hands, covering his forehead with kisses. “Thank god you’re alive.”

Chishiya places his hands upon yours, causing you to lock eyes with him. His touch is still weaker than usual, but his hands are warm. They are nothing alike to the cold, weak hands that tried to caress your face back in the Borderlands.

“So are you.” His voice is hoarse, pressed, but it’s Chishiya. The tears blur your sight so heavy that you can’t see him clearly, but that’s fine because you know he’s here without having to see him. “Stop crying now, will you?”

You laugh at the familiar smirk on his face and press your lips against his, and the salty taste brings back memories of the last time you did this.

You bend over his face to plant a kiss onto his lips, and it’s laced with the salt of your tears and the metallic taste of Chishiya’s blood. “I love you. I love you more than anything.”

It feels like an eternity ago that you cried those tears of sorrow while you had to watch Chishiya slowly slip away from the land of the living with nothing you could do. Both of you are here now, and the drops cascading down your cheeks are tears of joy.

A tremble passes through his body, and you can hear how he shakily breathes in. “I… like it when… you say that…”

“I love you.” You have said it a dozen times back then, and you’re ready to say it a thousand times more. “I loved you in the Borderlands, and I will love you here. As long as you’re okay… I’ll be as well.”

Chishiya chuckles softly, and you wonder for a moment how much he remembers from the last hours where you feared for his life. “Alive, yeah. Okay… we’ll see about that.”

“Oh, geez, you really have to do that next to me?”

A sudden voice from the left makes you jolt in surprise, and you realize that you didn’t even care to look who else is sharing this room with Chishiya. But this voice, even though it is weakened and brittle…

In less than a second, you’re back on your feet and cling your hands around a neck that’s covered in bandages. All monitors around you sound the alarm, but you don’t care about the rapid beeping noises.

“You!” The hatred chases away all the remaining tears as you stare into a pair of sleepy and confused eyes. Niragi looks much worse than Chishiya, and yet he doesn’t even deserve to be still alive. The one who almost killed Chishiya, recovering right next to him…

Something pulls you back with a sudden force just in time before two nurses hastily enter the room to check the systems. You realize that Chishiya has reached for you to stop you from doing something stupid, and it shows in his pained expression.

“What’s wrong?” one of the nurses asks while resetting the monitors, and she doesn’t seem able to decide if she should worry more about the heavy coughing attack shaking Niragi or the face Chishiya makes.

You drop down on the side of the bed, unable to move or say anything. How can they share a room and be so calm about it? How can those nurses not see that Niragi is a murderer?

Chishiya pulls away the blanket and you utter a cry at the sight of the dark red spot spreading on the pale blue fabric of his hospital shirt, immediately feeling sorry to have caused him so much trouble shortly after your first reunion. But this wouldn’t have happened at all if Niragi didn’t…

“The wound started to bleed again”, Chishiya quietly explains to the nurse as if this had been the reason for sounding the alarm. He squeezes your hand tight, most likely to keep you from saying anything, but you wouldn’t have been able to anyway.

How stupid! If one of the nurses had caught you strangling one of the patients, you would have been thrown out of the hospital immediately. Surprisingly, Niragi doesn’t give you away, but he seems too occupied with his own coughs to do that anyway. Good for him.

You bite your lower lip while you watch the nurse patch up Chishiya’s wound. It has to be painful, but Chishiya doesn’t show much of it. His eyes are focused on yours, and you can see them twitch once in a while whenever there’s a new sting of pain. With your own eyes, you try to tell him that you’re sorry, and behind your back you can hear the other nurse giving something to Niragi that eases the cough.

It takes them too long to leave, but they do so eventually, and you exhale the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

“I can’t believe he’s still alive”, you hiss with a nod towards Niragi, and said man drops his head back into the pillows with a tired sigh.

“No thanks to you, obviously.”

Chishiya pulls the blanket back up again and shifts a bit in his bed to lie more comfortably. “They found us close to each other and put us in the same room, since we both required intensive care.”

“Yeah, but he tried to kill you!” you shoot back, still confused about how they just don’t seem to care about the past.

Niragi laughs, a dry and cackled sound. “So did he. Never wondered where those burning marks came from?” The laugh turns into a cough, but it’s not so heavy this time.

“We’re even, I guess”, Chishiya smirks and you feel how his fingers start to play with your hair. Oh, how much you’ve missed that! “If only he’d stop that coughing. It’s hard to sleep with so much noise.”

“I’ve already tried to die more quietly.”

It sounds like a joke, but when you throw another look at Niragi, you wonder if it might be the truth. Is he actually dying? Most of him is hidden under the blanket, but his face is almost entirely covered in bandages. There are several tubes and infusion bags connected to him, and you spot a feeding tube as well.

Chishiya still has infusions too, but not nearly as many as Niragi. And he doesn’t seem to need artificial nutrition. “You failed, obviously”, he jokes back, but this isn’t funny to you.

“If you’re actually dying…” the hand in your hair moves down and softly pulls on your shoulder while you speak, “you should hurry up instead.”

Niragi laughs again, but it doesn’t last long before it turns into pained groans and coughs. You focus on Chishiya instead, letting him pull you into a hug while you try to find a halfway comfortable position next to him in the hospital bed.

When you close your eyes and snuggle up to him, it’s almost easy to pretend you’re in the caravan again. In the place that had become your home during the second stage, where you could feel safe despite the cruel world you had been trapped in.

“Don’t worry about him”, Chishiya hums after a while, when a light snoring has begun to sound on the other bed, “if everything’s good, they want to relocate me to a normal room tomorrow. My injuries don’t require intensive care any longer, it seems.”

It is true: when you visit the next morning, Chishiya has been moved to another room in the third floor, which makes the visit way more comfortable. Not only are you allowed to stay longer than only half an hour, which apparently has been a strict rule for intensive care, but there’s no Niragi nearby and no monitors, just a single infusion bag. You don’t know the other patients in the room, but they’re not of any interest and hidden behind white curtains anyway.

The first days you spend mostly with lying in the bed next to him, not talking too much since it seems to tire him. Sometimes he even falls asleep, and you feel like you’re the one protecting him in this most vulnerable state.

Since you tend to spend hours in the hospital now, you start to bring along something to drink and eat. Coffee for you and always something sweet for Chishiya, every day a different cake or pastry. And after two more weeks, you’re the one to support him when he’s allowed to take his first steps.

Chishiya obviously doesn’t like to be so openly called out as weak, with the infusion stand rolling on one side and you on the other while he tries to acclimate his legs to the weight again, but you’re the least person he seems to bother about. It is only a couple of steps at first, but the distance grows longer with every day. Another couple of days pass and Chishiya has become strong enough to walk to the balcony with you, where he drops down into the seat with a heavy sigh.

You pull up another chair and take a seat next to him, reaching for his hand and resting your head upon his shoulder. The view from the balcony isn’t exactly beautiful – it shows destroyed buildings and streets, remnants of the chaos left by the comet. You have become used to the sight of it, but for Chishiya it’s something new - judging by the frown on his face as he examines the city.

“A miracle we actually survived this, isn’t it?”

He hums in agreement, his thumb absently moving over the back of your hand. A very long time ago, you have done the same with his. “It will take years for Tokyo to recover, if not decades.”

“Well… the doctor said I should be able to get back to work soon. And since my old employment has been destroyed, I… I thought I could move closer to you.”

It has felt weird to return to your apartment without Chishiya. Sleeping alone in the hospital has been something else, but the following nights in your own bed, knowing that Chishiya was alive but not next to you… In those nights, when you wake up from just another nightmare, you miss the Borderlands the most, despite everything cruel. But at least Chishiya had been with you to calm you down.

“And you think you’d find a new work here?”

You shrug, a weird move considering your current position. “I don’t have a chance other than to search for something new, and this district is as good as everything else.” Holding tight to his hand, you move it up to your face and press a kiss onto the warm skin. “I’m not saying that we should move together immediately. Although I wouldn’t mind, you know that. But… it’d be easier to live closer to you.”

Without having to work, you can spare the extra hours that it takes to travel from your apartment to Chishiya’s hospital. But once you have returned to a normal daily routine, you won’t have as much time for that.

“Sure, why not?” Chishiya doesn’t go into detail with your idea of moving together, but he doesn’t say much more at all, so maybe he’s just tired again. You continue to sit there for almost half an hour without talking, and more than once you look up to check if he has fallen asleep. But his eyes are open, casually moving over the cranes and scaffoldings covering the city.

Time flies by, but you keep returning to the balcony once in a while just to sit there in silence. The infusion stand is the first thing to disappear, and after a while, Chishiya doesn’t need your support anymore. He still holds on to your hand, though.

While he becomes stronger with each day, the city changes as well. Fragile buildings are torn down, wreckage disappears and streets are being rebuilt. Despite the hard times Tokyo is facing, you find both a good job and a nice apartment not far away from the hospital. And while you can’t spend whole days with Chishiya anymore, you soon find a new routine that works perfectly fine.

Sometimes you tell him about work while he’s eating a strawberry cake, then you both chuckle over some memory from the Borderlands while muffin crumbles cover the floor to your feet.

Winter approaches when Chishiya is allowed to leave the hospital for a few hours the first time, and it leads you to a tea house with fresh waffles which are served with a full ton of vanilla cream and red berries. A couple more times you visit, no matter the thick layer of snow now covering the streets and buildings.

And then, only a few days before Christmas, Chishiya is allowed to finally leave the hospital.

His body has recovered well enough so it doesn’t require daily treatment anymore, and while he’s not allowed to go back to studying medicine for now, he can at least go home. After weeks and months he spent in the hospital, it is definitely about time for a change.

“Feel free to call me whenever there’s an appointment or anything”, you grin while walking along the street together. Chishiya’s hand rests in yours, and you carry the small bag with his belongings over the other shoulder. He has demanded to carry it, but you’re his stubborn for a reason and there are still wounds trying to fully mend, so you end up holding it despite his rolling eyes.

Your breath creates white clouds in front of your face, but the coat and the warmth of Chishiya’s touch keep you warm. He smirks down to you and gently nudges your shoulder without slowing his pace. “And I thought you’d be fed up with hospitals by now.”

“I don’t care as long as it’s about you”, you admit with a shrug. Sure, you really don’t want to smell the disinfectant or see those hospital gowns anymore, but a simple change of dressing isn’t that bad, because it means that Chishiya will be able to go home afterwards.

“Anyway… where’s your apartment? I thought it was located east from the hospital?”

The chuckle coming from Chishiya makes you look up, and he pulls on your hand when you stop walking. “Seems I forgot to tell you. I’ve given notice to quit it already three weeks ago.”

“But… where are you going to-“ you’re stopped mid-sentence by his smirk, slowly realizing what he’s up to. “I don’t even have a bed big enough for two…”

The expression in his eyes makes you laugh, and it’s hard to believe that this is actually his plan, but his next words prove it to you.

“We have managed the caravan. Can’t be worse than that, hmm?”

#chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #shuntaro chishiya #alice in borderland #aib #oneshot #chishiya x reader #reader x chishiya

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merry-thieves · 4 years ago

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Possible meanings of Chain of Iron snippets

Yes, this is going to be a long post.

I didn’t put all teasers here only those where I could actually come up with something.

Alastair looked amused. “Never before have I heard such a concise statement of the ludicrous philosophy with which you and your school friends go through the world.”

So, Alastair is definitely speaking to one of the Merry Thieves

probably James, since Al and Matthew aren’t on the best terms and conversations between Thomas and Al would go in another direction (either fighting or with way more feelings)

it seems like James and Alastair are on quite good terms here if Alastair isn’t snappish and shows his true (happy) emotions

Anna was fortress-surrounded by her friends: tall, handsome Thomas; Christopher, who shared his sister’s stern delicacy of feature, peacock Matthew, who always looked as if he’d just rolled out of an unmade bed piled with silks and velvet. And Eugenia Lightwood, who hadn’t bothered to take off her canary-yellow gloves or hat, as if she were ready to run out the door any moment.

They all eyed Ariadne suspiciously as she approached Anna. Anna didn’t seem to see her at all; she was leaning back with one booted foot braced on the wall behind her. She was all lean black and white lines, her close-fitting jacket following the outline of her slim curves, her head thrown back as she laughed. Her ruby pendant glimmered in the hollow of her throat.

Keep your head up, Ariadne, she told herself. You can do this.

“Hello, Anna,” Ariadne said.

First of all, Eugenia is in this group which is interesting regarding the main characters in Chain of Iron

Is Eugenia part of the main group? Has she an important role to play? (we are supposed to find out the reason why she is disgraced)

We have Ariadne’s pov here, so she might play a big role too in Choi, at least we will have more of her and Anna’s relationship

Also, she calls Matthew “peacock” which is so accurate and funny!

Alastair’s gaze flicked to Matthew. “Why,” he said, “are you not even wearing a hat?”

“And cover up this hair?” Matthew indicated his golden locks with a flourish. “Would you blot out the sun?”

Okay, Matthew and Alastair aren’t brawling which is a good sign

Also, where are they? There has to be a good reason if both of them are attending and standing next to each other

I’m guessing they’re outside since they’re supposed to wear hats

The brave princess Lucretia raced through the marble halls of the palace. "I must find Cordelia," she gasped. "I must save her."

"I believe the Prince holds her even now, captive in his throne room!" Sir Jerrod exclaimed. "But Princess Lucretia, even though you are the most beautiful and wise lady that I have ever met, surely you cannot fight your way through a hundred of his stoutest palace guard!" The knight’s green eyes flashed. His straight black hair was disarranged, and his white shirt was entirely undone.

"But I must!" Lucretia cried.

So, the main thing I want to point out here is that Lucie is crushing so hard on Jesse!

and does she picture him with an open shirt or am I reading too much into this?

James spoke at last, and there was real kindness in his voice. “You must give people time, Alastair,” he said. “We are none of us perfect, and no one expects perfection. But when you have hurt people you must allow them their anger. Otherwise it will only become another thing you have tried to take away.”

Alastair seemed to hesitate. “James,” he said. “Does he think —“

Soooo, James and Alastair are friendly now? (please, please, please)

And who does Alastair have to give time? Matthew or more likely Thomas?

Also, James is one eloquent babe

“I know that you’ve been doing something — something you’re keeping secret. I’m not angry,” Cordelia hastened to add. “I just wish you’d tell me what it is.”

Lucie tried to cover her surprise.

it was about time that those two speak about all their secrets! They want to become Parabatai for Raziel’s sake!

but I have the sneaking suspicion that Lucie is going to deflect the question or is going to make something up to avoid telling the truth

(please let me be wrong)

“Alastair! Cordelia!” A familiar voice bellowed up from downstairs.

Sona went white and laid a hand against the wall to steady herself. “Elias?”

I’m not sure about you guys but going white and bracing oneself against a wall doesn’t seem like someone is happy

So, I guess Sona isn’t really happy that Elias is back

is there another reason besides the drinking why she isn’t

and is Elias mad at his children? I mean he is bellowing

also why is Elias mad at all? All his charges were dropped and he is a free man once more

Cordelia shivered a little, though it was not cold in the room. “There is something weighing on you, Matthew,” she said gently. “A secret. Will you tell me what it is?”

She saw his hand go to his breast pocket, where he often kept his flask. Then he lowered it stiffly to his side and took a deep breath. “You do not know what you are asking.”

“Yes, I do,” she said. “I am asking for the truth. Your truth. You know mine, and I do not even know what makes you so unhappy.”

Cordelia told Matthew everything about her father and maybe about her feelings for James

if we’re lucky Matthew tells Cordelia about the poisoning and someone can finally help him (I think CC said that Matthew would tell Cordelia everything in Chain of Iron, hopefully that’s true)

also, Matthew doesn’t want to drink after Cordelia told him the story about her father

Matthew also found out why Alastair had been so mean in school and that Matthew can't really partially blame him for what happened with Charlotte

Jesse glanced out the window. They were passing through Piccadilly Circus, nearly deserted at such a late hour. The statue of Eros in the center was lightly dusted with snow; a lone tramp slept upon the steps below it. “Don’t have too much hope, Lucie. Sometimes hope is dangerous.”

“Have you said that to Grace?”

Jesse shook his head. “She won’t listen.”

is there a possibility that Lucie won’t try to raise Jesse from the dead and instead tries to stop Grace from doing so? (the parallels between this and qoaad are uncanny)

I don’t think that there is anything that will stop grace from trying to perform necromancy other than force

“I’ve been trying to hate you,” Thomas said quietly, “for what you did to Matthew. You richly deserve to be hated for what you have done.”

Alastair’s dark eyes glittered. “It wasn’t just his mother I slandered. It was your father, too. You know it. So you don’t have to—to act all high-minded about this. Stop pretending you are only upset on behalf of Matthew. Hate me on your own behalf, Thomas.”

he is calling him Thomas!!! Ahhhh! (so they’re probably alone)

Thomas doesn’t really hate Alastair at this point but also hasn’t fully forgiven him

at least he hasn’t thrown Alastair into the themes

maybe Thomas is trying to suppress the fact that Alastair also wronged Thomas’s own family and it’s easier for him to direct his attention to Matthew’s family?

His golden eyes were fixed on her, fierce as a hawk’s gaze. She said, "It doesn’t matter what I said. I wanted them to leave you alone —"

"I don’t believe you," he said. She could feel the slight tremors running through his body — tremors of stress, that meant he was holding himself very still. Holding himself back. "You don’t say things you don’t mean, Daisy —"

Okay now, what did she say? I’m guessing something quite flattering or that she loved him maybe?

also, who didn’t want to leave James alone? Some bigoted Enclave members?

is James trying to fight against the bracelet’s spell? Or is he breaking Cordelia’s heart yet again?

James closed his eyes. Against the back of his eyelids, he could see the city take shape—the minarets flung darkly against a blue sky, the silver river. Cordelia’s voice, low and familiar, rose above the clamor of his nightmare. He followed it out of the darkness, like Theseus following the length of thread out of the Minotaur’s labyrinth. And it was not the first time. Her voice had lifted him out of fever, once, had been his light in shadows. . . . A sharp pain spiked through his temples. He blinked his eyes open: he was firmly back in the present, his friends all looking at him worriedly. Cordelia had already moved away from him, leaving behind the lingering scent of jasmine. He could still feel where her fingers had rested against his shoulder.

JORDELIA! (Sorry; I just had to get that out)

What city is this? One in a demon dimension?

And does James have some kind of visions now? Interesting...

I love the connection between James and Cordelia

Apparently, the gracelet is trying to suppress James's feelings and memories of Cordelia...but please tell me he notices here that he is in love with her?

Also, Cordelia is trying to stay away from James :(

Hands caught his wrists; he was hauled up roughly, an arm around his back. he smelled brandy and cologne.

“Matthew,” he said, in a dry voice. “James needs water,” Christopher said. “Do we have any water?” “Never touch the stuff,” said Matthew, settling James onto the long sofa. He sat down next to him, staring so intently into James’s face that, despite everything, James had to stifle a laugh. “I’m fine, Matthew,” said James. “Also, I don’t know what you expect to discover by looking into my eyeball.”

Okay WHAT IS UP with James in the latest snippets?!? I NEED answers!

Is James follwing in his father's footsteps? Regarding drugs you know...

Also, Matthew has a tendency to stare into Jame's face (not that I blame him)

Christopher!

Okay, I'm devestated that James knows it's Matthew because he smells of alcohol. I'm NOT okay!

Also, what kind of stuff is this?

“You should have told us,” said Thomas. “We would have helped you move your things. I’m exceptionally good at carrying large objects.” “And think of all those hairbrushes you would have had to relocate,” Lucie said. “Haven’t you got six or seven?” Matthew glowered at her affectionately. “I try to be at least as stylish as our local ghosts.”

I think it's clear that Matthew just moved and didn't tell any of his friends of his plans...Why Matthew, why?

Also, Thomas and Lucie are just so wholesome how they try to brighten the situation with their comments

Sooooo, is Thomas also good at carrying people *cough*Alastair*cough*, just asking...?

How many Hairbrushes does one need? Seriously, what kind of purpose do seven hairbrushes serve?

Don't worry Matthew, only Magnus can beat your stylishness

That’s all for now! Should I add anything else in your opinion?

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peachyteabuck · 5 years ago

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ceo chronicles. pt iii ~ wanda maximoff

series summary: a set of fics based off of the main au of sugar baby/mommy or daddy dynamics and ceo aus. each fic involves a separate universe wherein each character is the ceo of a different company and you’re their sugar baby. sexy times ensue.

fic summary: something goes very, very wrong at one of wanda’s business dealings. you are left to help her pick up the pieces - no matter what that means.

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

words: 2398

trigger warnings: possessive wanda, anger-fucking, collars, spreader bars, riding crop, ball gags

notes/other: this was done for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor ‘s “old hollywood” writing challenge, my prompt was “Must I always wear a low cut dress to be important?” - Jean Harlow and has been bolded within the fic!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Wanda storms into the penthouse, her stiletto heels clacking against the dark, hardwood floors.

She’s angry, furious – and whether or not it’s aimed at you doesn’t matter, your heart picks up in your chest either way.

“That two-timing sun of a bitch!” she screams, throwing her purse on the ground. Her coat follows shortly.

You watch her, eyes wide in terror, as you stand in the kitchen. She bought the place for its open floor plan and, initially, you had liked it too.

Now, though, with nothing to hide behind, you regret not going with the more closed space in SoHo.

“That motherfucker undersold me,” she screams, standing in place as she yells to no one in particular. “He told me the piece was worth one point two fucking million, and it sells for less than a hundred fucking thousand!”

Oh fuck. If you weren’t scared out of your goddamn mind before you sure are now.

There are two things in this world no one should fuck with when it comes to Wanda’s possessions:

The first is you.

Once, a man accidentally brushed against you at a gallery opening and Wanda nearly bit him – throwing red wine on his white shirt and screaming at him to leave.

Once he was out of her sight, she dragged you to the nearest bathroom, leaving a deep hickey high enough on your neck that you couldn’t hide it before making you show it off to the guests for a few more hours.

The second, is her money.

It’s not that Wanda’s not charitable, far from it; she claims millions on her taxes every year.

It’s just that she’s in charge of those things. She decides who gets what and when, she controls when her Black card is used and why. When people promise to bring her a certain amount of profit, they better fucking deliver, or else…this happens.

This meaning her getting so mad she looks like she could cause wildfires. All those earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, everything – those aren’t tectonic plates, no, they’re something much more powerful.

Wanda’s anger can move mountains, make species go extinct.

And, most important by far, it can make you shake in fear.

“That fucker, I should have known when he asked that I wear some fucking,” you can hear the venom in her voice, spitting over everything as she grabs the Stoch – the nice stuff, from the lockbox deep in the cupboard. She throws the bags of junk food – the chips you like and the cookies she loves – across the kitchen before stabbing in the code with her perfectly manicured nails. She doesn’t speak until she’s had two sips straight from the container, face wincing slightly before she sets it back on the counter. “To wear some fucking slip to the meet up, as if he needed to see me in anything at all! Ugh!” she scoffs, taking another long swig. “Must I always wear a low-cut dress to be important?”

You don’t reply, staying silent and inert as what could be the scariest thing unfolds in front of you.

Out of nowhere, she stills, taking exactly three, ten-second-in and ten-second-out breaths. It’s after that that she steps over to the large navy-blue sectional, sitting on it with her feet flat on the floor.

“Get on your fucking knees,” Wanda hisses.

You drop to the floor without hesitation, petrified.

Wanda watches you intently for a moment, jaw clenching as she moves to sit on the couch, feet flat against the floor. She pats her right hand against her right knee twice, and you immediately understand what she wants.

You fall across her knees, one arm grabbing her ankle while the other folds behind your back for her to grab – each action desperate to be obedient, to try to throw a fire blanket over the ravenous, burning thing that’s overtaken her.

There’s very little warning before she’s pulled the sundress up and bunching it into your fist, giving you little warning before leaving a slap against your ass – barely covered by the flimsy cotton underwear.

She ignores you, when you cry out, ignores you when tears begin to stream from your eyes and when blood spills from your bottom lip when it gets caught between your teeth.

It isn’t until your ass feels like it’s been branded when she lets up, inadvertently giving you a moment to breathe as she clenches her fists in front of her.

“It’s not enough!” Wanda screams, pushing you onto the floor. You fall against the wood hard, making you cry out in pain as she stomps away. “It’s not enough! Why isn’t it enough!”

Through the ringing in your ears you can hear her in the bedroom, the distinct sound of a six-bolt padlock being clicked open ricocheting in your eardrums. The only thing locked with that sort of hardware is the chest Wanda keeps all your kink-related items in, separating into layers by the degree of play.

It starts light at the top; blindfolds and a few cute collars with equally cute pet names engraved onto small heart-shaped nameplates. One of them is even diamond-encrusted, PROPERTY OF WANDA spelled out in bold print across pink faux leather. You can picture them even as your brain becomes fuzzy, can see them vividly against a distinct white velvet Wanda picked out especially.

The second layer, and the third (due to the size of the collection) are dildos, vibrators, butt plugs of more sizes and varieties than you can count. You can hear her removing those two shelves hastily, tearing through the rest of the box until she gets to the last level, the one you fear the most:

They’re rarely used, only barely broken in. A spreader bar Natasha got Wanda as a gag gift about a year ago. A riding crop Wanda bought at a kink convention awhile ago on an intoxicated whim. A thick collar meant for posture made of pure, soft leather and a solid gold latch. And, lastly, a fine leather ball gag, deep and black and beautifully handmade.

All four of them stiff and mean, just like Wanda in times like these.

She calls you into the bedroom with a shout, smiling when she hears you rushing from your felled position in the living room.

You can see the last fleeting moment of it when you cross the threshold, see that her anger has an end and this is not some permanent fixture in your still-budding relationship.

“Down,” she says simply, and you drop, sitting back on your heels.

Your hands remain palms-down on your thighs with your spine straight as one of those expensive paintings that decorate so many of the walls in the place you and her call home.

It stays that way – your spine parallel to the walls – as the collar is dangled in front of your eyes before being secured around your neck.

“Too tight?” Wanda asks, emotionless.

You shake your head as she sticks two fingers, the pads pressed into the soft skin of your neck. “Good.”

The ritual is repeated for the ball gag, the toy wrapped around your head and subsequently checked for fit.

She then instructs you to get on the bed, perpendicular to her as you lay on your back. You can’t see it – but the rustling and distinct clacking sound of metal pieces moving together can tell you she’s grabbing the very toys you’re terrified of the most.

The plain white ceiling gives you something to stare at, to fixate on as you feel the soft leather cuffs tightening before being checked. It’s almost sweet – the little ritual – if it didn’t immediately lead to your imminent torture.

You can feel her stepping back, heated eyes raking up your body slowly, surely. She watches carefully as your cunt pulses under her heated gaze, watches each muscle twitch as you anxiously await her next move.

Wanda looks at you the same way you think starving lionesses look at zebras separated from the safety of their heard. Her eyes zero in on her pulsing cunt, watching for the perfect moment to-

SMACK!

The riding crop comes down quick against your center, a sharp pain causing a fiery heat to spread up your ribs and down to your toes.

“Does that hurt, baby?” Wanda coos, twirling the end of the crop between the fingers of her nondominant hand.

You nod, trying desperately to gasp for air as drool spills out of the sides of your mouth. “Mmm,” is all you can get from behind the plastic. “Hngf.”

Wanda just laughs down at you, smacking the end light enough not to hurt but hard enough to tease you.

“Aw, my pretty little thing,” a faux pout paints itself across her face. “Such a sensitive baby.”

You whine, overwhelmed and desperate and oh so desperate to press your thighs together for any kind of pressure where you need it most. But no, of course not. Wanda wants to see you struggle, looks down at you with a smirk playing across her lips as you twist and beg, hoping she’ll find it in herself to give you mercy.

Given how the hours previous had gone, though, you doubt she’ll give you any.

“I’m going to give you one of these,” Wanda snaps the crop against your left inner thigh and smirks when you yelp. “For each hundred thousand I lost today.”

You do the mental math – whole body tensing. Nineteen. You’re about to get whipped nineteen times with a toy you haven’t broken in…

Shivers run up your spine and each muscle in your body tenses – whether in fear or anticipation, you don’t know and don’t really care to find out.

The first one comes down against the same inner thigh as before, sure to leave angry hot welts that will need constant care in the next few days. The second goes against the opposite side – skin previously untouched now screaming.

The third and forth are against your hips, fifth and sixth hitting just above your knees.

You lose count after that, mind numb as your wetness pools onto the freshly cleaned comforter. Between your racing heartbeats and the blood in your ears you assumed Wanda had finished with you, but coming to for a breath of fresh air only makes to bring the final blow – this time against your cunt.

With the gag the only sounds that reverberate off the walls come from deep in your chest, screams remnant of a horror experienced from another room. Wanda smiles as she watches you squirm as sparks of pain jump across your center and thighs.

There a few moments of silence as your panting curbs to low breaths, giving you a moment for recovery as your vision clears and the ringing in your ears stops.

It’s only then that Wanda gets up, trailing her fingertips across your sweaty skin as she walks past you.

“C’mon kitten,” she murmurs, stepping out of sight and back towards the chest of toys. “Let me make you feel good…”

Your brow furrows in confusion, pulling weakly at the restraints until you hear a plug being insert into an outlet, and the distinct sound of a long, long cord being unraveled.

The sound of the vibrator makes you groan in anticipation – ecstatic and terrified of how Wanda will use it on you. If she thinks you’ve been good, maybe she’ll be nice – get you off with it pressed against your clit with three of her fingers buried deep inside of you.

Or, if she remains unsatisfied with your performance, she could keep you just on the edge or pushing you over it until your begging meets expectations or she gets bored enough to stop.

As the head is pressed to your clit you nearly scream with relief – the soft vibrations and even softer words hitting you like droplets during the first rainstorm after dry season. It washes over you, coating your skin in delicious relief as your buck your hips and cry out.

Each word, each scream, remains muffled by the sphere in your mouth, but Wanda coos down at you nonetheless.

“Such a pretty little girl you are,” she says, watching you with the same hawkish gaze as before. It feels more reserved, though, as if she was watching over you rather than attempting to pin you down. “Such a pretty little girl for me.”

She climbs over you, then, never letting the toy leave your body as she pulls your head into her lap. Wanda looks down at you as you fall apart, watches you with eagle eyes as you cum.

As the initial waves of pleasure subside, you sigh in relief.

That is, until the head of the toy is pressed to your center once more. The next orgasm, and the one after that, and the one after that and-

They’re nearly painful as they hit you like a spray of bullet, like you’re being tased. You’re crying and doing your best to wail as you writhe around, Wanda cradling your face the entire time.

Your brain is numb when Wanda decides you had enough, whole body limb in her arms when she switches the soaked toy off.

She unties you with quick fingers, allowing you to slump against her as she takes off the rest of the restraints that litter your body.

“Rest up,” she tells you plainly as you nuzzle into her side. “I’m still pissed.”

You smile into the bare skin of her ribs, leaving a small kiss on the warm skin. Despite her tone, you can tell there’s not much behind it – fury that had settled just beneath her skin long dissipated into something she can save for the next time that man dares show his face in her presence.

There’s a pause once you stop adjusting, a heavy beat of silence that neither of you feels a need to fill. It’s a long while before either of you says anything, and even then the words are quite soft-spoken despite the two of you being the only ones in the large house.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Wanda whispers into your hair.

You give a small nod, unable to move because of the soreness attacking each of your muscles. “Yeah,” you mumble, voice equally low. “Yeah. I love you, too. Do you know that?”

Wanda smiles. “Yeah, yeah. I do.”

#roosoldhollywood #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #lukis writes stuff #writing challenge entries

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corpsentry · 4 years ago

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WHEN THE WAR IS OVER AND I AM LYING AMONGST ANGELS, WAITING FOR YOU TO FIND ME: a spoiler-filled addendum

because i buttfucked the timeline harder than nintendo and That’s Mildly Concerning ao3 link

q: what the fuck is this a: this fic is the answer to the question, ‘how can i reconcile the events of breath of the wild and age of calamity into a coherent narrative?’.

q: what the fuck happened a: age of calamity was a dream zelda had while partying in ganon’s apartment for a hundred years.

q: [you point a nerf gun at my head and smash my knees in with a hammer concurrently] what the Fuck happened a: link has a line near the end of chapter one which goes something like ‘my mother used to say dreams are the memories of people from another world’. this is the core concept of the story. while age of calamity is a dream to botw zelda, who saw it unfold over the course of a hundred year nap, it’s also real. in my incredibly fucked up version of things, it happened- just not in the same universe as botw. when botw zelda settled in to drink cheap beer with ganon for a hundred years, her consciousness drifted across time and space to the age of calamity timeline, where she proceeded to live out someone else’s life for a few months. are the other characters in aoc aware of this? link is. at the end of chapter two, when he pleads with zelda to ‘rebuild the old world with [him]’, he falls out of character. he betrays the real purpose of this timeline and his place in it, which is to salvage what botw could not.

q: what the fuck is up with the space-time continuum thing a: inspired by the multiverse theory (note that i know nothing about multiverse theory apart from the fact that there are multiple verses), i decided it would be fun if i added a third dimension to the botw/aoc pair. the inhabitants of this third universe are aware of the existence of multiple worlds. they are also aware of the prophecy of calamity ganon’s return, but for the purpose of this essay it does not matter if calamity ganon will rise in their world. the primary concern of zelda in this third dimension is whether she can engineer a universe where link does not die. as she says in chapter two, there are a thousand possible outcomes, but only two fulfill her requirement: the outcomes that constitute botw and aoc. we can assume she went to enormous lengths to uncover these universes, as described by impa, who says with some disbelief ‘you destroyed the space-time continuum for a boy?’. zelda destroys the space-time continuum. she moves through timeline after timeline, tweaking dialogue and moving the hour-hand ever backwards, and at the end of it all, for all her suffering, what does she actually achieve?

q: okay so what the fuck is up with the scene where link kisses zelda and is like i had a dream where i died and then nothing happens a: first of all, you’ll find this scene near the end of chapter two if you’d like to take a second look at it. as for who exactly this zelda and this link are, it’s unclear. maybe after botw zelda woke up, the original aoc zelda and aoc link lived happily after the war. maybe the zelda in the third dimension missed a positive outcome in her thousand-bullet-pointed list. maybe this, too, is a dream someone had, while lying in a field of flowers somewhere. your call.

q: rabbit???????? a: the story about the rabbit is a framing device. first introduced at the end of chapter one when link tells zelda a story on the bridge at night, it eventually comes to parallel botw zelda’s experiences, but in reverse. the rabbit is happy in her reality. she has a dream where everyone she loves is gone, becomes immersed in it, and is eventually saved by the voice of some-god-or-another. zelda is not particularly happy in her reality (botw). she has a dream where everyone she loves survives, becomes immersed in it, and is pulled out of the dream by some-god-or-another. the important thing to note here is the second rule the rabbit lays out in the story, which is that you, as the dreamer, can’t tell anyone that you’re dreaming. self-awareness is a sin in these lands, but the greater and far worse sin is to attempt to share that self-awareness with someone else. this is why link is so adamant that zelda not finish speaking at the end of chapter two, when ganon is defeated and they are standing on the balcony. he wants her to stay. he’s in love with her. he doesn’t want her dream to end because in a way her dream is his dream too; they want the same things (peace, living champions and family, each other). unfortunately for him, zelda has to leave the aoc world behind, because even a hundred year nap has to end, and so she says what she has to say, she says it feels like she’s dreaming, and she wakes up.

q: please explain, in plain english, whatever the hell goes down in chapter 2. a: chapter one is a relatively straightforward retelling of the first four story chapters in hwaoc. chapter three returns the reader directly to the botw timeline, where link shoots a glowing arrow at ganon’s ass, killing him instantly. chapter two is the glorious fuck that lies in between. in short, it splices the events of aoc and botw together with overlays and meta commentary from the third universe mentioned above, where zelda is trying to engineer a happy ending, and the ambiguous fourth one where link is the one who sees the dream. i made use of several batshit devices here, but the most prominent one is, i hope, the encore. the [ENCORE] is initially used to signal that a scene will be set in the botw timeline. it makes its first appearance before botw zelda and botw link’s journey down from mount lanayru, which, as we know, does not take place in aoc. this is played straight up until the halfway mark or so, at which point i swap out ENCORE for encore and finally ****** (still says encore though). this distinction is lost altogether once impa begins dragging link’s body up to the great plateau. up until now, ENCORE and [these brackets] have been used to distinguish the botw timeline from the aoc one, which is not an encore and is not in [these brackets]. the next segment, concerning the battle on the great plateau, flips them. now impa and co’s funeral procession is ‘real’ and the charge zelda leads to the temple of time is ‘fake’. i wonder why.

q: ‘the lights are BLUE or YELLOW or PINK’. explain. a: what’s a play? a pretense. what does it take to pretend? actors. what is zelda doing? dreaming.

q: fourth wall breaks. explain. a: the interview segments are an homage to the seven thousand articles about age of calamity i read before playing age of calamity because this game was effectively my reason to live for the months of october and november. sooga talks about google maps because he’s dead (possibly dlc?) and dead people have the right to say fuck-all. every device in this story was implemented for a vaguely coherent reason. and then i fucked it up for fun.

q: what is the state of zelda and link’s relationship? a: in the botw timeline i imagine they’re involved with each other even before calamity strikes. in the aoc timeline i imagine they’re working their way towards something, but several important trigger events in botw don’t take place in the aoc timeline and the stakes overall feel significantly lower, so i’d hesitate to say their relationship develops to the same degree it does in the botw timeline. this is all personal conjecture, so you’re free to disagree.

q: why does the last line sound like a hannibal lecter line? a: [dab] god’s plan

q: why does zelda say there are a thousand possible outcomes, and only one where link lived in chapter 3? a: the first rule of time travel: don’t.

this is everything i can think of off the top of my head that might have confused people, but i did unfortunately write this thing so if there’s something else that made you go ‘the fuck?’ please don’t hesitate to drop me an ask or a line in the replies, i’d be happy to help. also, if it isn’t clear as day, i have a lot of fucking feelings about both of these games, so if you want to talk lore, theories, or just miscellaneous zelink fuckery, hit me up. i’ll go sleep now. take care everyone.

#fic blogging #my stuff

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exciting · 4 years ago

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As requested, books / series I read in 2020 in the order I read them, with a few brief thoughts. (This took me a hot second because there are a few and also I moved cities) Should I keep a consistent goodreads? Yes I should but I didn’t think of that at the time, so bone apple teeth & sorry if I offend you abt your faves x

P.S. I can’t figure out how to do a read more on mobile so long post ahead!

A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J Maas - This is one of the most vivid published fantasy books I have ever read... I read it twice in rapid succession. The fandom POPS off. I must say I have issues with certain aspects e.g. fae lore completely ignored à la Twilight, all love interests 500+ years old and technically a different species, etc (I’m not going to deconstruct the entire series here but just know that I could... Nesta deserves better)

Cruel Prince by Holly Black - This fucking slaps, HB clearly has done her research, the lore is near immaculate, and it explores the Fae in such a unique way, tying it to the modern world subtly and seamlessly. My only qualm was that the books felt quite short; truly wish there had been more content.

Throne of Glass by Sarah J Maas (6/7) - So basically I read this in one single, hyperfixated fit which meant I literally locked myself in my room for three days straight and read all six books back to back in a row from morning to the wee hours. Which is not to say it was spectacular; although it was a VERY rich world, sometimes it was too much... this felt like 6 stories in one. Ik she was young when she wrote this but it is my humble opinion that SJM needs a better editor & I personally think Rowan is a grade A asshole / straight up abusive (& personally think the ACOTAR Tamlin plot was born from that?). It’s good but not as good as ACOTAR. Skip-read the last book.

Grishaverse (Shadow and Bone) by Leigh Bardugo (3) - This is essential to read before SOC but was very much simply a YA fantasy book, although the world was cool and the way the love plot played out was, imo, a subtle middle finger to the fantasy trope. Felt very much aimed at younger readers though? Really liked the sandwhich structure of the Proluge and Epilogue, especially in #2

Six of Crows series by Leigh Bardugo (2) - INCREDIBLE continuation of Grishaverse, better than the original series by a mile. It has the range, the diversity, the representation (the male lead is a disabled asexual and still the most cunning of the entire cast of characters), the plot is phenomenal, and it manages such a well rounded plot in only two books which means nothing is stretched out or squeezed in more than need be. Deserves all the praise it gets.

King of Scars series by Leigh Bardugo (0.5/1) - Personally I don’t consider this book canon, and while it’s nice to see the rest of Nina’s journey & the world again & everyone else, I don't like it. I will, however, be reading book 2 when it comes out, so shame on me, I suppose.

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo (1/1) - this was incredibly cool although it went off in a completely different direction than I thought it would based off the first few chapters? One of my favourite YA-author-debuts-New-Adult novels in 2020 though!

Crescent City by Sarah J Maas (1/1) - This was supposed to be SJM/s New Adult debut, although personally I would put her other series in New Adult, and I can’t say a remarkable amount was different with this except they said “fuck” and “ass” a lot. WHY is the romantic interest 500 years old AGAIN. I just... don’t... I just don’t think it was necessary... the world was cool though, and the last half of the book was riveting, but the beginning was quite slow and I thought the sword thing was predictable. I am interested to see where this goes though.

A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab (3) - This world is so fucking cool... four Londons aka parallel universes & the one in ‘our’ world is set in industrial era London. Magic, girls dressing up as boys, thieves, pirates, royalty... it all just slaps. Schwab is an incredible writer & I was completely immersed.

Midnight Sun by SMeyer - I didn’t think anything could possibly detract even further from the Twilight story but I was sorely mistaken... seeing the stalking from Edward’s POV - and it was worse than depicted in Twilight, for the record - completely obliterated any sort of romance the first half of the original book may have portrayed. I still hold the opinion that the entire series would have been better if some kind of vampire lore had been abided by, if only to see all of the villains thwarted by someone dropping a bag of rice on the ground, forcing them to have to count them all.

An ember in the Ash by Sabaa Tahir (3/4) - This was just a very stereotypical ya fantasy series, emphasis on the YOUNG... it wasn’t anything to write home about but I remember quite enjoying it at the time.

The Power by Naomi Alderman - This book is FUCKING incredible and EXCEPTIONALLY thought provoking... essentially women alone develop a power of electric shock etc. and then take over the world from men, and it explores feminism and the balance between equality & tipping the scales in the other direction. Written by a friend of M.Atwood in a similar tone to handmaids tale, I would say? Content warning; there are some exceptionally graphic scenes in the latter half of the novel.

Hamlet by Wllm Shksp - I can’t believe it took me this long to finally read it but Ophelia is my favourite name in the entire world & we love to see a woman go batshit (although she didn’t deserve that).

Catherine House by Elisabeth Thomas - this was unsettling in the best sense of the word... it was a little slow & honestly more of a concept than a big reveal, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it after I finished it? A Secret History vibes but make it blurry like the memory of all those dystopian novels you read when you were young?

The Invisible Life of Addie La Rue by V.E. Schwab - This is without a doubt my book of the year, and probably the best book I read in 2020? I stayed up all night on a friend’s couch reading it, got a book hangover and reread the ending, and then thrust it upon my mother who doesn’t usually read but read this, and loved it just as much. HIGHLY recommend and you HAVE to read it, it’s beautiful and endearing and just plain wonderful.

Captive Prince by C.S. Pacat (3/3) - I went into this knowing it was going to be terrible, because I had received a blow by blow telling me as much; although I must say that it did learn a remarkable amount of new words, the books did get better as the series went on, and it did have a rather charming ending? BIG content warning for almost everything.

Sapiens by Yuval Harari - mind-expanding & must recommend for everyone, there is everything in this and I daresay everyone should posses this kind of knowledge? I listened to it as an audiobook (which I recommend because it’s rather hearty) but will be buying this in hardcopy & rereading it with annotations.

Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller - Without a doubt, one of the most beautiful novels I have ever read, and certainly the most beautiful portrayal of the story of Achilles and the battle of Troy I have ever seen. Patroclus deserved the justice that was given to him in this book; indeed, all of the characters were written with justice and grace. Highly recommend.

Trials of Apollo by Rick Riordan (3/5) - Apollo is my favourite Greek God, and the sexiest greek god, and Rick Riordan’s writing slaps, as always. It did pain me to see Apollo, the sexy immortal, have to be forced back into a 16 year old’s body but everything else? Whimsical & wonderful, as expected.

These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong - a retelling of Romeo and Juliette, except it’s set in Shanghai in the 1920′s, and the protagonists already have a history. Very well done, characters are incredibly diverse in race, sexual orientation, gender, and ability / disability (and honestly, representation has never appeared so effortless and elegant). Also it includes a monster and possible magic. Incredibly underrated and highly recommend.

The Once and Future Witches by Alix. E Harrow - this was such a unique concept, and truly captivating, the story was charming, and felt like the kind of beautiful fairytale you would read as children but with more grit? ABSOLUTELY recommend this one

The Pisces by Melissa Broder - I hated this so much, not my vibe at all. Mermaid smut x therapy but make it cynical and judgemental (I know there was a moral in there but that’s not my point) also the dog dies.

Library of the Unwritten by A.J. Hackwith (1/2) - really interesting & unique concept (all unwritten novels / ideas reside in a special library that is part of Hell and then sometimes the books can come to life) however, my first thought upon reading this was “this reads as if it’s stemmed from one of those writing prompt tumblr posts” bc of the tone and whatever and as it turns out I was somewhat correct, it did stem from a short story (not bad just obvious). It did kind of settle down as it went on but I found reading it kind of a drag, and I don’t think I will read the second one.

Abandon by Meg Cabot - 1. Meg Cabot’s writing always fucking slaps 2. Hades and Persephone but make it modern & very 2000′s & somehow kind of unique 3. I literally loved this, sue me

Medusa Girls (Sweet Venom) by Tera Childs - Like Percy Jackson except they are descendants of Medusa so they are Gorgons and have fangs & venom (hence the title). Gave me very 2000′s vibes? Quite cool but tbh I found the books quite short (like two hours each, if that)? Do NOT read the GoodReads description of the book before you read it, you will spoil it for yourself.

Bring me their Hearts by Sara Wolf - In my opinion, this is one of the most underrated YA series I read in 2020. The heroine is endearing, self aware, witty, and loves to look pretty even while kicking ass which in my opinion is an incredibly underrated trait. Also, immortality without being hundreds of years old? VERY sexy. HIGHLY recommend.

A Deal with the Elf King by Elise Kova - High commendation to be given for the fact that it is a standalone and yet manages to fit in the plot of what would usually be a full fantasy trilogy without cutting corners or being a million miles long? Also sweet storyline & beautiful ending? If you liked ACOTAR you should read this as a “what would have / could have been had SJM had a different editor” (No shade I promise).

The Iron Fae by Julie Kagawa (4/4 + novellas) - Incredibly detailed faerie set around the modern world & our current use of technology & iron in it. Very neat adventure-style series, by the time I read the last novella I was well and truly done with the world (aka provided enough content to be fulfilling). Was definitely aimed at a younger audience though, NO smut / smut was brushed over.

The Modern Faerie Tales by Holly Black (3/3 SS) - This is technically the prequel to Cruel prince, set in the modern world, but with the fae world inside it as it traditional? All I have to say is that it is excellent & I highly recommend it.

Bridgerton series (The Duke and I) by Julia Quinn (9/9) - I read this after watching the Netflix show twice through and I am obsessed, although the books were not quite as elegant as the show, and some parts that made me cringe either by their portrayal (it is very firmly set in the 19th century and thus some things are not handled with tact or grace), the characters were exceptionally loveable and I am so excited to see where the show takes them! Lovely language & an abundance of words I had never seen before (always a plus).

#the number of these which I hate with a passion now #fuck my life #HATE SJM #MAD about grishaverse #ASHAMED of bridgerton and the feminism leeched from my soul after reading this

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girlboss-molina · 4 years ago

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Be Who You Are (No Compromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 2: A Tale of Punches and Pancakes

AO3 Link

Words: 9389

-----

Alex POV

...

The jet ride was nice from a glance, but insufferable for Alex. His wish to leave his anxieties in Tambor? Yeah, he knew that was bullshit. As the miles passed, his stomach bubbled and knotted more and more until he had no room for the small wrapped chocolates in the dish at the back of the plane. The fluffy clouds seemed to taunt him with their serenity, making him feel out of place with his disgust, anxiety, and anger.

Why, why, did he have to be put in an arranged goddamn marriage when he was nineteen? The gods hated him, for sure.

He was back to considering options in his fake-your-death-to-get-out-of-it plan when Luke finally broke the silence.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Have a guess.” The sarcasm in his voice was tangible.

“Yes?”

“Have another guess.” Alex barely smiled at Luke’s laugh. “I just… I hate this. Julie’s awesome, dude, she’s one of my best friends. But I don’t want to marry her.”

“I feel you,” Luke responded. “I really, really want to get you out of it.”

“Thanks.” Alex went back to staring at the clouds.

…

As the plane touched down, the rumbling shook up the nerves in Alex’s stomach, and he had to shut his eyes and focus on his breathing and the feeling of Luke’s hand on his. He did his best not to crease his vest as he leaned over, holding on tight.

When he felt the motion in his ears stop, he carefully opened his eyes, relieved when he wasn’t nauseous. Of course, he couldn’t get rid of the anxiety.

They’d landed in the runway behind the Dahlia palace, and thankfully, the small amount of vision he had out his plane window only showed the back of the palace and, on the other side, the tall, forested mountains in which he and Julie had run around in many times when they were younger. The scene was calming, and settled his nerves.

As the doors opened, sending a crisp blast of cold Dahlian air in his face, the familiar smell of petrichor and honey reminded him of when he and Julie would run for hours, climbing trees as high as they could, despite Ray’s constant warnings and pleas for them to be careful. How simple it would be, really, to run out the plane door and across the runway until he was back, surrounded by the branches. It would be a nightmare, of course; he barely knew how to make a fire, which was definitely a skill he would need if he were to survive on his own in the cool Dahlian climate. Surely he could figure it out, though. It couldn’t be that hard. And the motivation of not having to act straight for the rest of his life would certainly help. He wondered just how fast he could run-

He was jolted back to reality by Luke excitedly hitting his shoulder.

“Your highness, as your Royal Best Dude™ I am legally required to get you up and moving so that you don’t start spiraling. Plus, I’m hungry.” Alex rolled his eyes and laughed despite himself.

He wasn’t going through this alone.

…

He should’ve expected the cameras, really. But the bright flashes startled him as soon as he stepped out of the plane, and he had to quickly struggle to compose himself. He gave small smiles and respectful waves, walking across the long runway to the limousine waiting for him. He would be making a round past the palace gates before formally entering the palace from the front. So he climbed into the lush leather seats, with Erik and Luke right behind him, and sat down, squeezing his hands into fists and then running his fingertips over the indents from his nails.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as he tapped his foot. He wouldn’t admit it, but the feeling of Luke’s and Erik’s hands on his shoulders helped. A lot. Tension melted away from him, and while he was still nervous, he somehow managed to stand and steadily walk out of the limo, a smile breaking out on his face as he saw Julie.

Alex wasn’t sure why he was surprised at how beautiful Julie was, there really was no paralleling her beauty. And yet, his heart swelled with pride at seeing her elegant violet dress, embroidered with dahlias.

“Alex, why the hell do you walk so fast?” asked Luke, breathing heavily and trying to keep up.

“I’m gay. Next question.”

“That’s fair.”

As he ran to Julie, Alex was so caught up in the euphoria of seeing his friend in person that, for a moment, he lived in a world where the paparazzi wasn’t a thing. But he didn’t care. Julie saw him and ran through the gardens, a huge grin visible from hundreds of feet away. She ran to him, her gown flowing in the breeze, and as soon as they were within a few feet of each other, Julie jumped and Alex let out an “oof” as he caught her in a hug, spinning around and laughing.

“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, and Alex nodded.

“Yeah, you too! Even though we, you know, FaceTimed last night.”

“Eh, details. Besides, the press wants a happy reunion.”

“Fair.”

“How was the plane ride?”

“Amazing,” Alex said. “Nothing better than being on the edge of a panic attack while you’re thousands of feet in the air.”

“I’ll fight your anxiety,” Julie decided. “Tell it to meet me behind the Denny’s tonight.” Alex snorted.

“I’d rather you didn’t punch my brain. I kinda need it.”

“Do you?” Alex gasped in mock offense.

“Okay, rudeness aside, I think this is the part where we walk around the garden and pretend we don’t know there are photojournalists hiding behind the bushes.” Julie nodded and took his arm.

As they strolled around the gardens, the aroma of flowers settled some of Alex’s nerves. He never turned around to make sure Luke was there, but he somehow knew. It was the Royal Best Dude™ telepathy, probably. And Erik was probably bringing his suitcase up to wherever he would be staying. So, Alex did his best to relax and hang out with his friend.

“Ava’s going to be ascending soon,” he noted. “She’s pumped. Though I’m not sure how good of an idea it is to let a twenty-three year old run a country.” Julie laughed.

“I’m happy for her! And I’m sure she’ll be fine. She knows how to party, for sure, but she’s also responsible. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, I’ll let my anxiety know.” Julie burst out laughing, and Alex soon followed.

“Her Royal Majesty, Queen Ava Mercer of Tambor,” Julie said. “It has a nice ring to it.” Alex nodded.

“Yeah. I’m excited for her, too. All jokes aside, I think she’ll make a great queen.”

“Definitely.”

A few moments passed, including Julie gently picking a rose from the garden, one with a pale pink coloring, and sticking it behind Alex’s ear. When it wouldn’t stay, she scrunched her nose and carefully tucked it into the breast pocket of his vest.

“You look absolutely dashing, your highness,” she said with a fake, posh accent. Alex giggled and rolled his eyes.

“You’re a dork.”

“I know.”

…

His room was really something.

After he and Julie had finished their walk around the gardens, they’d given each other cordial bows (of course tied with a friendly wink, because they were just Like That), and Erik had shown him up to his quarters. Luke followed, and Alex noticed his cheeks were considerably red.

It was chillier in Dahlia than it was in Tambor, though, and Luke had never been Plus, a breeze had flown in during the last ten minutes of their walk, on which Luke was shadowing. He was probably flushed from the cold air.

He was down the hall from Julie’s room, in one of the guest rooms he’d used when playing hide-and-seek with Julie when they were kids. But it had been completely refurbished, since he would be staying there for a few months.

The soft carpet was a creamy tan, and the large, full-length mirrors let in sunlight that cast gentle shadows from the posters on the giant bed, which was adorned with blue sheets and pillows, with gold and pink accents. The dark, forest green walls gave the room a soothing effect, and the twinkling fairy lights were like fireflies in a meadow. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, glittering with diamonds and gold. A mahogany record player sat on a media table, along with wireless chargers for his phone and laptop, next to the sliding door that led to a huge bathroom. The tiles were light tan and grey, peppered with flecks of quartz that shimmered in the light. A giant tub sat near a tinted window, as well as a vanity with a majestic painted mirror. The shower could’ve fit his entire bed.

Even though he wasn’t keen on marrying Julie, he wouldn’t dislike his stay here.

“Dude,” Luke whispered. “Your room is awesome.”

“I know, right? Definitely nicer than my room in Tambor.”

As Alex went to his giant suitcase full of neatly folded clothes, beginning to tuck them into drawers and onto hangers, Luke helped out.

“So,” Alex began, breaking the silence. “How are you liking Dahlia so far?”

“It’s great! Kinda cold, but I’ll get used to it. And… Julie seems really nice.”

Alex definitely didn’t miss Luke’s blush when he mentioned the princess, and his lips raised into a smirk.

“Yeah, she is. You should get to know her at dinner tonight.” Luke cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. Definitely.”

“You good?”

“Totally,” he insisted, though his voice rose an octave and Alex couldn’t suppress his laugh.

“Sure.”

…

The dinner was incredible. Platters of roast beef sat next to giant bowls of mashed potatoes, and the bread appetizers were soft and delicious. And, even though he was legally allowed to have alcohol based on Dahlian laws, he thought better of it, instead filling his glass with water. He noticed that Julie did the same.

“Not a fan of wine?” he asked.

“Nah, not really. It always gives me a stomachache.”

“Same.”

Alex went back to his food, before noticing a man around his age eyeing him. He had dark hair and was dressed in a red vest and dark grey shirt. He seemed quite kind, if the small smile on his face had any say.

“That’s your brother, Reggie, right? I think I’ve only met him once.”

Julie followed Alex’s gaze. “Oh yeah! You would get along great, I think.”

“Cool.”

…

Before dessert was brought up, everyone in the grand hall got to mingle for about twenty minutes and let their food settle. Alex let Julie introduce him to Reggie, with whom he immediately hit it off.

“No way, you play the drums?” Reggie asked. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I’m no good.”

“Yeah, I do! You said you play bass?”

“Yep!”

“That’s awesome, dude.”

Their conversation lasted a bit longer, and Alex felt confident that he and Reggie would be good friends, especially because of his lighthearted demeanor, and their bro-hug before Alex was pulled away to talk to another nobleman.

He was bounced around like a ping-pong ball, being chatted up by guest after guest. Soon, though, he needed some air, so he searched to room for King Ray.

“Your majesty?” he asked, jogging over. Ray turned to him and gave a warm smile, shaking his hand.

“Hello, Alex. You can call me Ray. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, thanks. I was just wondering if I could sneak out the back for a moment? I need some air.” Ray laughed.

“Of course, son. I told them to give you some space,” he noted, guestering to the nobles, “but I doubt they were able to contain their excitement.” Alex nodded, grateful for Ray’s chill vibes. “Try to be back in ten minutes?”

“Of course.”

Ray nodded and patted his shoulder, and Alex stepped through the back door of the grand hall, grateful when he didn’t see anyone. He took a deep breath, fiddling with the hem of his vest.

A voice caught his ear.

“-yeah, don’t worry, Alyssa. The mousse is in the refrigerator-”

Alex whirled around, searching for whoever had spoken, but before he could…

WHAM.

A cold rush of air blew from behind him as a door opened, and someone ran into him.

Hard.

Alex stumbled forward, trying to catch himself but to no avail. His momentum swung him forward, leaving him on the ground.

“Whoa!” he started, looking at the person who’d ran him over, and…

Oh fuck, he thought. He’s hot.

“Agh, sorry, I really need to watch where I’m-” the man cut off, his cheeks flushing. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, your highness.” He scrambled into a bow, and Alex blushed.

“No, you’re good, bro.”

Alex got a good look at him, and felt his cheeks flush. He had long, silky brown hair that fell over his shoulders in waves, and smooth brown skin that had darkened in a blush. His dark eyes were kind and playful, adorned with long eyelashes.

Alex inhaled slowly, trying to ignore the rising gay panic.

“Are you okay?” the man asked.

“I’m fine, yeah. Thanks. Just trying to clear my head. Until you, you know, tried to crack it open.” To Alex’s surprise, the man giggled, and holy fuck, if he wasn’t already adorable, that would’ve been the tipping point. Creases folded at the corners of his eyes, and his perfect smile turned lopsided as he laughed.

“I did pancake you, huh?” Alex tried to laugh, and the man cleared his throat. “Sorry. Oh, uh, I’m Willie. It’s nice to meet you.”

Alex reached for his hand. “Alex,” he greeted, still hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“Well, I’d better make sure we’re clear to bring up dessert. But I’ll see you around, your royal pancakeness,” Willie said with a grin, spinning on his heel and going back to the kitchens. Alex nodded, even though he was already gone.

-----

Julie POV

...

As soon as Alex’s plane touched down, Julie couldn’t hide her excitement. She rushed through her photos, and as soon as she could see him, she took off running, a huge grin on her face. The silky fabric of her dress flapped against her shins, and she sprinted even faster, ignoring the goosebumps on her arms.

As soon as she reached him, she jumped into the hug, laughing as he spun her around. They might have FaceTimed the day before, but it just wasn’t the same as seeing him in person. He was one of her best friends, and the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in so long was frankly biphobic.

But as she spun around, finally opening her eyes, Julie caught sight of Alex’s guard. She’d never formally met him, and she’d always thought he was cute, but wow.

He had deep hazel eyes and pale skin, cheeks flushed from the cold, his wavy brown hair neatly styled, with a touch of personal flair. His chiseled jawline cast a shadow on his neck, and his biceps were visible through his dark jacket. Julie tried to look away and focus on her friend, because now was the literal worst time to develop a crush on someone she barely knew.

Not that she had a crush on him, or anything.

Julie forced those thoughts out of her head, and scolded her stupid heart for fluttering when she caught his gaze. She turned back to Alex, laughing when he insinuated that photojournalists would be hiding behind the bushes.

“Ava’s going to be ascending soon,” Alex told her. “She’s pumped. Though I’m not sure how good of an idea it is to let a twenty-three year old run a country.” Julie laughed, silently agreeing.

“I’m happy for her! And I’m sure she’ll be fine. She knows how to party, for sure, but she’s also responsible. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, I’ll let my anxiety know.” Julie burst out laughing, soon followed by Alex.

“Her Royal Majesty, Queen Ava Mercer of Tambor,” she said, letting the words flow off her tongue. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah. I’m excited for her, too. All jokes aside, I think she’ll make a great queen.”

“Definitely.” There wasn’t a doubt in her voice, either.

Julie had met Ava when she was eight. Ava had been thirteen, and was the coolest thirteen-year-old ever, in little Julie’s opinion. She vaguely remembered hanging out in her room with her, and thinking she was just the coolest ever. Then again, she was an eight year old. To an eight year old, all thirteen-year-olds are cool (or gross, but we don’t talk about that).

Julie walked with Alex, chatting about random things, including plans to get out of the arranged marriage, each more complicated than the next. Julie couldn’t stop herself from laughing when Alex brought up his temptation to just run into the woods with no supplies or survival skills, and just be a gay forest cryptid. She was quite fond of it, to be honest.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have any plans that didn’t involve either faking their deaths, or something treasonous, neither of which would be good. At least, not in anyone else’s opinions.

…

After Alex went up to his room, Julie did the same, and immediately flopped on her bed, finally allowing herself to process her thoughts about, well, everything.

God, she wanted out of this marriage. She knew Alex did as well. They’d talked about it endlessly over FaceTime, texting, and just now, in person. But neither of them could come up with an actual plan or a good enough reason to halt it. Because, you know, the people actually getting married never get a say.

Plus, it did not help that Alex’s guard, who she’d learned was named Luke, was really cute. She furrowed her brow. She’d never even had a real conversation with the guy. Not that it mattered, of course. She remembered when she was fifteen and had already decided that Nick Danforth-Evans was a sweetheart, even though she’d only had one real conversation with him.

But this felt different somehow. She couldn’t help but feel like Luke was actually really nice. She just got those vibes from him. She cursed her stupid heart for making her feel things. No, Molina. There’s no such thing as liking a cute guard.

It didn’t work.

She stared at her ceiling, watching flecks of dust float around the air, and jumped when Flynn and Carrie walked into her room without knocking. It wasn’t like she actually expected them to knock, but she’d zoned out and the sudden sound took her by surprise.

“I know that look,” Flynn said matter-of-factly. “What’s the crisis about?”

“What isn’t it about?”

“Uh uh, don’t try to deflect by answering my question with another question,” Flynn scolded, and Carrie bit back a laugh.

“I just…” she searched for an excuse. “I love that Alex is here, but I don’t want to marry him,” she said, remembering that the best lies were based on the truth. “And he’s gay, so I know for a fact he doesn’t want to marry me. Plus, you know. We’ve expressed that multiple times. And I know there’s really nothing I can do about it, because it’s all arranged, and bitching about it does nothing to help, but honestly? I’m just feeling bitchy.”

“As you should,” Carrie agreed, to Julie’s surprise. “If anyone deserves to be a little bitchy, it’s you. I mean, come on. You’re a teenage girl who never actually got a normal life because you’re frickin’ Princess Julie Molina, heiress to the throne of Dahlia. And you’re stuck in an arranged marriage with one of your best friends, and neither of you want it, but you can’t actually change it. I’d be bitchy too.”

“Thank you for summing that up,” Julie deadpanned. “But… it helps. Thanks.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“She’s right, Jules,” Flynn agreed. “Be the bitchy bisexual you deserve to be.” That elicited a laugh, and Julie couldn’t help but leave the smile resting on her face.

“Alright,” she decided. “We have self-defense in half an hour, so we should get ready.” Flynn nodded and pulled Julie off of her bed, leading her to the giant walk-in closet, searching the hundreds of options, but steering clear from the gowns.

Flynn and Carrie must’ve known she needed cheering up, because they sarcastically suggested the biggest, poofiest gowns Julie owned, tied with a tight shawl and the wobbliest heels imaginable. Julie laughed despite herself, especially since she could barely walk in the shoes they’d picked. She was also taller than six feet, which was a plus, but she would pick stability over height any day, especially when she was going to practice kicking people’s asses.

Eventually, she settled on flexible black leggings with a purple stripe going down the outside of each leg, and a simple white tunic that starkly contrasted her dark skin. It was fitted but she could move easily in it, stretching into a backbend to make sure.

She sighed and allowed Flynn and Carrie to take either arm and lead her downstairs to the training arena.

…

The training arena was a huge room, the floors completely covered in mats, aside from the giant gymnastic trampolines at the far corner and the running track that traversed the perimeter. On the far side opposite the trampolines were sets of weights and treadmills, as well as other equipment like bars and benches. Punching bags were hung sporadically around the martial arts area, which was also used for tumbling and floor routines.

Lady Athena gave a smile as they walked in, soon followed by Reggie and Mira. Lady Athena was a tall, muscular woman with silky black hair that was always in a high ponytail. Her bronze skin glittered with sweat, and her two-piece athleisure outfit left her chiseled abs on display.

“Alright,” she said, clapping her hands. “Reggie, since you’re bigger, you’re with me. You four, pair up and practice your hand-to-hand skills. Remember the blocks we learned last week.” Julie nodded and paired with Flynn, immediately getting into position.

“Head’s up,” she warned with a smirk, before lunging with a punch that would’ve hit Flynn square in the chest if not for her catlike reflexes. She knocked Julie’s hand out of the way, and Julie had to twist to avoid Flynn’s counterattack, letting herself lean backwards. But when she almost fell, she used it to her advantage, hopping backwards onto one hand and spinning, tripping Flynn by kicking her feet out from under her. Before Flynn could recover, Julie pounced over her, grabbing her shirt collar and pulling her fist back, ready to attack. She didn’t follow through, obviously, but she knew she had good form.

“Well done, your highness,” praised Lady Athena. Julie blushed.

“Thanks.”

“Whatever,” Flynn grumbled, and Julie laughed. “Rematch?”

“You’re on.”

…

Julie had defeated Flynn four times to two, and was feeling very confident. It must’ve helped, exercising, because her worries about Alex and Luke were far away as she battled Carrie and then Mira. Or, they were until a certain brunette guard walked in the room in a sleeveless shirt and shorts that showed off his muscles.

She shouldn’t have let herself get distracted, though, because in her haze, Mira managed to throw her off balance and win their round.

“Hah! That’s two each!” She outstretched her hand, which Julie gratefully accepted, pulling her up.

“Good job,” she said, still distracted but keeping her eyes far away from Luke.

“Hi, is this the self-defense lesson?” Luke asked, and Julie could no longer ignore him.

“It is,” Lady Athena confirmed. “You’re Prince Alexander’s guard, correct?”

“And certified Royal Best Dude™,” he added with a grin that was so adorable it made Julie flush. By some miracle, nobody noticed.

“Alright, why don’t you train with Reggie? He can show you what we’re working on. I need to go make sure nobody’s going to throw out their back at the weights.” With that, Lady Athena stalked off, her ponytail swaying behind her.

Luke walked over to Reggie, and Julie did her best not to stare as Reggie guided Luke, and they began sparring. Luke was surprisingly agile, but he was too enthusiastic, reaching for every possible blow, not realizing where he left himself vulnerable. But his puppy eyes when Reggie defeated him were too cute.

Julie cleared her throat and turned away.

“Tiebreaker?” Mira nodded, and they went to sparring. Julie ducked and dodged every hit of Mira’s, even getting in a few herself, but she was thrown off when she heard Luke laugh, a musical, joyful sound, and Mira took advantage of her momentary slip, finally beating her.

“Yes!” Mira jumped and pumped her fist, then helped Julie up.

“Nice job!” Julie grinned with the words, high-fiving Mira.

“Alright, break time.”

Julie walked to the edge of the wall where she’d left her water bottle and towel, almost choking on her water when she heard Luke’s voice behind her.

“Your highness?” he asked shyly. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met.” Julie smiled and outstretched her hand, shaking Luke’s. “I’m Alex’s guard, Luke.”

“Hi! You can call me Julie,” she said with a smile, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too! Oh, by the way, great job during your fights. I saw your takedown on the other girl, the one with the braids.”

“Oh, that’s Flynn.”

“Cool. But yeah, I saw your fight, and that was really impressive. I doubt I could spin on one hand like you did.”

Well.

If Julie hadn’t been blushing before, she certainly was now. At least Luke’s cheeks were only red because of the intense workouts.

“It took me forever to get that move right,” she admitted. “I only just got it down, if I’m being honest. I still slip up sometimes, too.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he complimented. And oh, his smile really was a beautiful thing.

“Alright, break time’s over,” called Lady Athena. “No more flirting.” Julie’s stomach dropped, and she inhaled, a denial already on her tongue, before she realized that her coach was looking at Flynn and Carrie, who were chatting animatedly, both blushing.

She practiced a bit more with Carrie, doing her best to ignore the boy next to her. When the class finally ended, she hurriedly thanked Lady Athena before rushing up to shower.

Letting the hot water wash over her, she pondered how the hell Luke had wiggled his way into her heart so quickly within one conversation.

Was she being brainwashed into liking a guy she barely knew?

Was this some elaborate trick that whatever higher being existed had orchestrated as a ploy to get her out of the arranged marriage?

… And more importantly, would it work?

The thought made her laugh. Not that she didn’t slightly believe this was all some sort of elaborate trick to get her to commit treason and fall in love with someone she wasn’t supposed to, but it was funny nonetheless.

…

After she’d done her best to set the record for hottest, soapiest shower possible, Julie wrapped herself in a towel, massaging peach lotion into her skin, the scent matching her shampoo. As she rubbed it into her hands, she imagined what it would feel like holding Luke’s hand, before quickly banishing the thought away to the depths of simpy hell.

This was worse than she thought.

She changed into her evening gown for the dinner, allowing Mira to lace up the back. It was all navy blue, a long strapless dress that reached her ankles, with a see-through tulle layer over top that went up to a sleeveless halter neckline, leaving the rest of the tulle layer to flow down neatly over the rest of the silky dress, which tightened at the waist. Tiny diamonds had been sewn into the tulle at her waist, high in concentration before gently tapering off the lower in the skirt they went.

“Okay,” Carrie said, walking in with Flynn beside her. “I think I speak for everyone when I say, damn. That dress is fine.” Flynn nodded enthusiastically.

“I know, right?” Mira said excitedly. “I actually helped tailor this one! It was one of my favorites to make.”

“And for a good reason,” Julie agreed. “Mira, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Not quite,” she said, turning Julie towards the vanity. “I’m thinking we do something simple but elegant for your hair?”

“I vote for that,” Flynn interjected.

“Sure!”

Mira set to work, combing through Julie’s hair with her fingers. Julie closed her eyes. She’d always loved the feeling of people playing with her hair, and as Mira wove her dark locks into two thick braids that soon joined together, letting the rest of her hair poof at the base of her neck, Julie was transported back to her mother’s room when she was five. She remembered the feeling of her mother braiding her hair like it was yesterday, the gentle tugs and nimble fingers on her scalp. It wasn’t the same with Mira, of course, but it was refreshing and comforting at the same time.

“Hey, Jules?” Flynn called from her closet.

“Mm?”

“Mind if I steal that asymmetrical dress for tonight? The jade one,” she clarified.

“Feel free!”

The dress in mind was a slim-fitting jade green dress that reached her knees, but the hem was cut asymmetrically, leaving one side longer than the other. It had golden ribbon-like threads spun around it with no particular rhyme or reason, and a built-in sash made of pale, spring green tulle roses. The thin straps showed off her shoulders, and when Flynn walked out with it on, Julie noticed Carrie blush.

“Dude, you look awesome,” Julie complimented. Flynn twirled, letting the light play off of the shimmery fabric.

“Thanks!”

Mira finished doing Julie’s hair, and held up a mirror for her to see. Julie admired the thick, smooth braids that gently rejoined at the base of her neck, letting the rest of her dark curls loose in an elegant fashion.

“It’s amazing, Mira! Thank you so much.”

“Of course! And thank you for letting me do it,” she said with a giggle. “Your hair is so fun to style.” Julie blushed.

…

The dinner was rather uneventful, thankfully. Julie wasn’t sure if she would’ve had the energy to constantly be answering questions. Instead, though, she got to introduce people to each other, and relax and eat, and try to keep her eyes away from a certain hazel-eyed guard.

She was grateful for the relatively simple task.

-----

Luke POV

...

Luke had heard about the self-defense classes in the training arena, and he was itching to get moving, so he changed into workout clothes and headed down there.

The spiral staircase was wide and glittered with colored glass, the silver banisters gleaming in the light. He trailed his hand down it as he made his way down.

When he reached the training arena, he closed the door behind him and went to set down his water bottle and towel- but not before noticing Julie.

At the self-defense class.

Thankfully, she didn’t see him. He hung back for a moment, watching as she sparred with another girl with long braids. The way she moved was incredible, like water flowing in a current, unpredictable and smooth. Of course, if anyone asked, he was most certainly not admiring it. He could silently appreciate her skills, though.

As she dodged hit after hit, throwing her own blocks and blows, it looked like the girl with braids had gotten the better of her, but as Julie leaned backwards, she hopped and - holy fuck - caught herself on one hand, spinning around in the air like some sort of ethereal breakdancer, and knocking the other girl’s feet out from under her, before pouncing, grabbing her shirt collar, and pulling back her fist, before freezing and laughing.

Whoa.

So not only was she a wicked beauty, Luke realized, she was a human wrecking ball, too.

He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from the beautiful badass in front of him, tuning out Lady Athena’s praise in favor of clearing his head before approaching to join. Not that it worked. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Julie. The other three girls (and the guy, if he was being honest) were all stunningly fit and agile, but there was something about Julie that enchanted him. The way she was always smiling even in the middle of a training fight, how, even when she was defeated, she brushed it off with a laugh, how she was light on her feet like a cat as she dodged and spun, how she was needlessly extravagant with her self-defense and yet somehow always made it work. Maybe that’s just what princesses were like; even when defending themselves against possible attackers, they had to be as beautiful as ever.

Of course, right now, Luke knew she didn’t look how she normally would, in her silky gowns and expertly styled hair. Now, she wore matching athletic clothes and had her hair pulled back into a ponytail, with some strands coming out in a sweaty frizz. And yet, that somehow just made her even more breathtaking. Even when she was sweaty and working out, she managed to look like an angel.

An angel who could easily kick his ass, he remembered as she pulled the upside-down-one-handed-breakdancer move again, this time on a redheaded girl he didn’t recognize.

Before he could stop himself, he approached Lady Athena.

“Hi, is this the self-defense lesson?” He asked the woman.

“It is,” Lady Athena confirmed, and he nodded.. “You’re Prince Alexander’s guard, correct?”

“And certified Royal Best Dude™,” he added with a grin. He would never let go of that title.

“Alright, why don’t you train with Reggie? He can show you what we’re working on. I need to go make sure nobody’s going to throw out their back at the weights.” Luke nodded again as Lady Athena walked away.

He walked over to Reggie, shaking his hand.

“Hey, I’m Luke,” he introduced with a smile. Reggie shot one back.

“Reggie!”

“Nice to meet you! So, do we just… fight? I’m not sure how this is run here compared to in Tambor.” Reggie laughed.

“Yeah, pretty much. You good at hand-to-hand?”

“I’m not bad,” he admitted. “But I’m no expert.” He couldn’t help looking at Julie. “Is she always that much of a badass?” Reggie followed his eyes to Julie.

“Pretty much,” he said with a laugh, and Luke dearly hoped he wasn’t blushing.

“Good to know. In that case, if I introduce myself to her, how scared should I be?” He asked it with a smile and a joking tone, but he was actually a bit nervous. But, you know, just because he now knew that she could kick his ass seven ways to Sunday.

No other reason.

“Oh, don’t worry!” Reggie assured him. “She’s actually really nice. I’ve known her since she was eight,” he explained. Luke nodded, grateful for the reassurance.

“Alrighty then,” he said, hopping into a fighting stance. “Let’s get cracking.”

…

By “let’s get cracking,” he was hoping he wouldn’t be cracking his ego, but he was sorely mistaken. Reggie didn’t seem like it, but he was really strong, and really good at fighting. Luke was more agile than him, and strength-wise he could compare, but the Dahlian style of fighting was so different from the Tamborian style. They were similar in many ways, of course; they had the same moves and strategies. But the ways they moved were so different, the ways they executed their moves had an uncanny grace and deadliness.

He did his best, reaching for every blow he could, trying to get the upper hand. And, to his credit, he won a few rounds. But he accidentally left himself vulnerable most of the time, leaving perfect opportunities for his opponent to strike, because Of Course He Did.

When they called for a break, Luke wiped his forehead with a towel, grabbing a drink of water. Then, he swallowed the lump in his throat and approached Julie.

“Your highness?” he asked shyly. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met.” Luke tried not to blush when she smiled and shook his hand. “I’m Alex’s guard, Luke.”

“Hi! You can call me Julie,” she said with a gorgeous grin, and Luke knew he was a goner. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too! Oh, by the way, great job during your fights. I saw your takedown on the other girl, the one with the braids.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he mentally kicked himself. Not smooth, Patterson. What if she thought he was creepy?

Thankfully, though, she smiled.

“Oh, that’s Flynn!”

“Cool,” he said, relieved. Nice and smooth, Patterson. “But yeah, I saw your fight, and that was really impressive. I doubt I could spin on one hand like you did.” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck nervously, and he couldn’t help but feel accomplished when Julie’s cheeks flushed. Of course, his were probably just as red, but hopefully he could blame it on the workout.

“It took me forever to get that move right,” she admitted. “I only just got it down, if I’m being honest. I still slip up sometimes, too.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he complimented with a smile. And it wasn’t a lie, either.

“Alright, break time’s over,” called Lady Athena. “No more flirting.” Luke cleared his throat, getting ready to insist that he wasn’t flirting, before he realized that Lady Athen was looking at Flynn and another redheaded girl, who were chatting animatedly, both blushing. He sighed in relief.

As he went back to sparring with Reggie, zoned out but fighting just as well as he was before, maybe even better, he pondered Julie’s abilities. How did she manage to be so beautiful, so graceful, and yet so kind and badass? It shouldn’t have been possible for any one human to do that all, much less a teenage girl who was already juggling the responsibilities of being a princess.

Julie was, Luke realized, even more incredible than he’d ever thought possible.

…

All throughout the dinner, he was trying not to stare at Julie. Her dress was absolutely gorgeous, and the way she flitted around the room like a butterfly was absolutely ethereal. Tie that with the diamonds sewn into her navy blue dress that looked like fading stars and twinkled in the light, and she looked like she was wrapped in starlight. He knew it was appropriate for that star of a woman, but still, he thought it should’ve been illegal for anyone to have that effect on him.

His cheeks were red, and he stared at his plate, inhaling the scent of roast beef and mashed potatoes, along with the aroma of warm bread from his appetizer.

Even with the cool air of Dahlia and his thin shirt and suit vest, he was still sweating. He was absolutely gone for a girl he’d only had one conversation with, a girl he’d only known for a maximum of five hours.

A girl who his best friend was being forced to marry.

That was the worst part of all of this. His best friend, who would never be in love with Julie no matter how good of friends they were, had to marry her because of goddamn international relations, and there was nothing he could do about it. And, a selfish part of him thought, it means you never had a chance. He shoved the thoughts out of his head, hating the lingering ache they left in his heart.

Not that he would’ve ever had a chance anyway. She was a beautiful, badass princess, and he was just a guard she didn’t even know.

-----

Reggie POV

...

As soon as the plane landed on the runway behind the palace, Reggie smiled at Julie, letting go of her hand as she readied herself.

He understood her worry. No matter how close you are with someone, being set to marry them - especially when you didn’t want to - was daunting. Of course, he’d never been through the same thing, but he was always an empathetic person, and he could practically feel his own sister’s worry and ache.

He saw Prince Alexander walking to the gardens, and smiled when Julie broke into a grin, running to him. He twirled rose petals between his fingers, letting out a small laugh when she jumped into Alex’s arms. He didn’t want to seem like a helicopter brother, though, so he went back inside, leaving Jules with Prince Alexander.

When he stepped inside, he nearly ran into Ray.

“Whoa, sorry!” Ray laughed.

“You’re perfectly fine, mijo. Everything okay?” Reggie sighed.

“I’m just worried for Julie. I’ve never really gotten to know Prince Alexander, and-”

“I’ll stop you there,” Ray said. “Believe me, I know what you mean, and if I could stop it without huge consequences, I would. But Alex isn’t someone you need to worry about. That boy is one of the sweetest, kindest people I’ve ever met,” he assured him. “And while I know neither of them want to get married, I know that they’re both mature, and good friends.”

“Thanks,” Reggie sighed. “I just wish I could get her out of it, you know? I mean, that’s my little sister.”

“I understand,” the king agreed. “But unfortunately, there isn’t anything to be done other than let Alex settle in.” Reggie nodded glumly. “Hey, wasn’t there a progression you wanted to show me? On your bass?” Ray clarified. Reggie immediately lit up.

“Yeah! Julie and I have been working on a song called Icarus, and she’s got a killer piano melody worked out. I went off of some of her chords and found a super cool progression on my bass that adds a really nice line underneath hers, and it sounds-” he did the chef’s kiss thing with his hand- “divine.”

“Alright, well now I’ve gotta see it!” Reggie’s grin lit up even more and he ran to his room, followed by Ray, who was jogging behind him.

Reggie’s room was huge, the walls painted dark blue. He’d always found the color soothing. He snatched his red and white bass guitar from its stand, spinning on his heel as he ducked under the strap, letting it settle by his waist.

When Ray met him there, Reggie grinned, plucking the strings animatedly until he remembered the notes. He didn’t bother grabbing his phone to try and find them from wherever he’d written them down in the endless scrolling of his notes app. Soon, though, his chaotic ADHD brain remembered, and he began excitedly plucking specific notes in a rhythmic pattern, his fingers stretching to reach each fret as he hopped from the E string to A, then G back to E and D. He smiled even brighter when he saw Ray grinning and tapping his foot to the beat.

“So, it kinda just goes like that, until we get to the chorus. Then, I come in with a little…” he slid his finger down the string, letting the note slide down before he hopped back into the rhythm, the same notes as before, but ordered differently, giving a new feel to the music.

He hopped around, spinning as he played his bass, humming the lyrics under his breath.

“That sounds super cool, mijo!” Ray exclaimed, one eyebrow furrowed, as was custom for him whenever he was excited. Reggie hopped up and down happily, fixing the cuff of one of his sleeves.

“Thanks! Julie and I are gonna try to record it. I’m trying to learn how to play the drums, to add a steady beat, but I can’t seem to figure it out.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it soon.” Reggie beamed. “I’m so sorry, mijo, I have to go. I’d love to hear more later or tomorrow, though!”

“Okay,” Reggie said. “Bye!” He continued playing marking down cool progressions he found, and just hopping around to get out his wiggles.

…

At the self-defense class, he sparred with Lady Athena. Sometimes he would spar with Julie or Flynn, but even though she was no doubt better at fighting, he was also bigger, and she was paired with Flynn.

Lady Athena was amazing at fighting, and Reggie got his ass kicked most of the time, but he was able to win a couple rounds, which he was quite proud of. Lady Athena complimented his form, and he had no doubt that he would be gathering serotonin from that compliment for weeks. Even then, though, he got plenty from seeing his badass little sister master her insane breakdance-style move, with which she completely demolished Flynn in a few seconds. His chest swelled with pride when she won.

Soon, though, a man named Luke entered the studio, and Reggie definitely didn’t miss Julie’s blush when she looked at him. She might’ve been supposed to marry Alex, but it wasn’t like either of them wanted it. Plus, he was always down for a little treason, especially if it was with Julie.

Lady Athena paired Luke with Reggie, perfect timing for her to go check on some of the other people in the arena.

“Hey, I’m Luke,” the man introduced with a smile. Reggie gave his trademark grin.

“Reggie!” He outstretched his hand, and Luke shook it.

“Nice to meet you! So, do we just… fight?” Luke asked. “I’m not sure how this is run here compared to in Tambor.” Reggie laughed. He’d never sparred with anyone from Tambor before, so this would be fun.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You good at hand-to-hand?”

“I’m not bad, but I’m no expert.” Reggie followed his gaze as it shifted over to Julie. “Is she always that much of a badass?” He asked, clearly in awe.

“Pretty much,” Reggie replied with a laugh, grinning at Luke’s blush.

Simp.

“Good to know. In that case, if I introduce myself to her, how scared should I be?” Luke was fiddling with the hem of his shirt by that point.

“Oh, don’t worry!” Reggie assured him. “She’s actually really nice. I’ve known her since she was eight,” he explained.

“Alrighty then,” he said, hopping into a fighting stance. “Let’s get cracking.” Reggie grinned and reciprocated, taking the first strike.

The first thing he learned was that Luke was very opportunistic in his fighting style. He went for nearly every possible blow, even if it meant leaving himself vulnerable. Reggie, of course, took advantage of this. He had to make sure his new friend (and sister’s possible future treasonous boyfriend) knew he could protect people.

Luke pouted, and Reggie couldn’t help but admit that he had adorable puppy eyes.

He helped him up, laughing. A few more sparring rounds passed, and Luke turned out to be quite adaptable. He found ways to get past Reggie’s blocks, and even put some up himself. Soon, they were evenly matched, and Reggie was impressed. Although, he soon found that he could get in another blow by telling a horrible joke, then striking when Luke laughed.

He thought it was pretty genius.

…

The dinner was rather uneventful. He did, however, get to meet Prince Alexander, which he was very happy about - even more so now that he was confident in Ray’s assurance that he was a good person. They’d chatted about politics and whatnot, before both admitting that they were bored. Somehow, the conversation strayed to music.

“No way, you play the drums?” Reggie asked excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I’m no good.”

“Yeah, I do! You said you play bass?”

“Yep!” He beamed, making a mental note to ask if he wanted to see, sometime later.

“That’s awesome, dude.”

“Thanks!”

They talked for a little while longer, before Alex was pulled away to talk to some other Dahlian nobleman whose name Reggie kept forgetting. Plus, Alex seemed tired; unsurprising, given the long day he must’ve had.

Reggie eventually settled down and ran through his thoughts.

He knew he couldn’t protect Julie, not like he wanted to. Plus, she didn’t need protecting, he’d come to realize after Luke’s “badass” comment at the training arena. Julie Molina wasn’t just a badass in self-defense, she was also a badass in every other sense of the word. She was a teenage girl, the heiress to the Dahlian throne, juggling her academic lessons and royal lessons, along with making time for her friends, free time, and she managed to (usually) get enough sleep. She was a complete badass who didn’t need protecting.

She needed support, instead. That was something Reggie could do. He could be by her side every step of the way, no matter how hard it got. He was her brother, and he loved her more than life itself, loved every crooked smile, every curl of hair, every eye roll after one of his famously bad jokes. She didn’t deserve any of this, but by God, he’d do his best to make it bearable for her.

-----

Willie POV

...

After lunch, the burn on Willie’s hand had calmed. Rather than the angry red mark it was earlier, it had shrunk into an annoyed red streak. Still a nuisance, but he didn’t really care.

As Willie whipped the mousse, his mind strayed to Prince Alexander.

What was he like? Was he as cute in person as he was in photos? Probably, Willie decided. Photos never fully captured someone’s beauty unless they knew what they were looking for, and that was always more of an emotion. Photojournalists aimed for lighting and composition. There were always emotion in the photos, yes, but they never actually got to see the people in the photo.

He wondered if he would get to meet him. Would it go well? Would he like the bread he’d so carefully baked? Would he enjoy the mousse cake he was whipping up right now? All of these questions whirled around in Willie’s brain as he whipped the mousse, letting it become airy and fluffy. Sprinkles of cocoa powder dusted the counter next to his mixing bowl, but it was fine. It would all get wiped up later.

He grabbed a tub of fine cinnamon, sprinkling in a pinch for a little bit of kick. It was barely noticeable, but it gave the mousse an extra depth that it normally would’ve lacked. He’d never told anyone his secret, despite prying from Lilian.

Sprinkling in a tiny bit more to account for the large batch, his thoughts wandered again.

How was Princess Julie dealing with all of this? Willie had never had a real conversation with her, but she seemed to be very well put-together. She managed everything so well, at least from the outside. Though he knew better than anyone that, no matter how organized someone may seem, there’s always a storm underneath.

Willie finished up, putting plastic wrap over the mousse and sticking it in the giant refrigerator, before taking off his apron, washing his hands, and heading for the door.

“Willie?” Called Alyssa from behind him. He turned around, walking backwards.

“Yeah? I’m just going on break.”

“Did you finish making the mousse?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Alyssa,” he said, walking out the door. The mousse is in the refrigerator-”

WHAM.

Willie let out a slight “oof” as he ran into the person in the hallway.

He stumbled, catching himself before he fell, though not as gracefully as he would’ve liked. He’d fared better than the other person, though.

“Whoa!” The man said.

“Agh, sorry, I really need to watch where I’m-” Willie cut himself off, his cheeks flushing as he realized he’d just ran into Prince Alexander.

Well, so much for making a good impression.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, your highness.” He scrambled into a bow, and blushed.

“No, you’re good, bro.” Willie was taken aback by the casual response, but he wasn’t complaining.

Willie finally got a good look at him, and wasn’t at all surprised when he found that he was even more stunning in person.Of course, it made it a whole lot harder to hide his gay panic.

He had blonde hair that was expertly styled, and a crisp, blue suit vest with minimalistic gold embroidery that brought out flecks of blue in his eyes and highlights in his hair. His muscles were defined and visible through the sleeves of his white dress shirt, and even when he was frazzled after just having been knocked over, he still looked as handsome as ever.

“Are you okay?” Willie asked, concerned.

“I’m fine, yeah. Thanks. Just trying to clear my head. Until you, you know, tried to crack it open.” Willie couldn’t help himself from laughing, and dearly hoped it wasn’t the wrong move. But the prince had a small smile on his face and pink dusting his cheeks, so he had a feeling it was okay.

“I did pancake you, huh?” He tried to laugh, and Willie nervously cleared his throat. “Sorry. Oh, uh, I’m Willie. It’s nice to meet you.”

Willie outstretched his hand, delighted when the other man shook it. “Alex,” he greeted, still blushing a little bit, which could be chalked up to the embarrassment of being plowed over. Willie was worried things would get awkward soon, so he searched for an excuse, hating that he had to leave.

“Well, I’d better make sure we’re clear to bring up dessert,” he said. “But I’ll see you around, your royal pancakeness,” Willie added with a grin, spinning on his heel and going back to the kitchens, hoping Alex hadn’t noticed his internal gay panic.

…

“Well, that was a quick break,” Alyssa pointed out.

“Yeah, I guess it was,” Willie agreed, not fully listening.

He’d fucking pancaked the prince. Prince Alexander Mercer of Tambor. And Willie, despite his constant hoping for a good impression, ran him over because he wasn’t even watching where he was going.

How the hell was he such a mess? And even more, how would he ever be accepted by literal royalty who was way too cute to even exist?

Willie shook his head, letting his hair fall over his shoulders, ignoring the feeling of Alyssa’s eyes on him as he walked into the giant refrigerated room, grabbing the huge bowl of chocolate mousse and scooping it into a piping bag, grabbing some of the chilled cakes.

His hands were steady and meticulous as he gently piped the mousse onto the cakes, making a thick layer on top of each, then lifting into a swirl that peaked in the center, adorning each cake with a bit of wafer and chocolate. He set each one on a tray, waiting for Alyssa to pick it up. Plating was her specialty, because according to Lilian, any time Willie did plating, it ended up “chaotic” and “messy” and “unorthodox.” Personally, he thought it was cool. But, not everyone could have taste, he supposed.

…

Later that night, as he wandered into his small room in the chefs’ quarters, laying down on the soft bed, his mind wandered to Alex. Despite constantly being on the news, he was a mystery, an enigma, a puzzle Willie had the urge to solve. What were his interests? His desires? His hopes, his dreams?

Of course, he would never be able to act on his feelings about the prince, how adorably awkward he was, how gorgeous he was in any outfit, no matter the style, how even in one simple conversation, Willie had become so enamoured that he wanted to know everything about him. Not in a creepy way, of course, but in the way one wishes to know someone they’ve just met, who intrigues them to no end.

That night, his dreams were haunted by a familiar face, a shy smile, and a piercing set of bluish eyes.

#bwya tag

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littlemisslol-fic · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: Two years after the events of Barviel Keep, Varian has tried to adapt to the expectations brought by being a King’s Ward, with mixed results. Haunted by ghosts, Varian is forced to face the demons he tried to leave behind in Bayangor when his abdication is forcibly stopped by a third party, out for revenge against the Bayan Royal bloodline. On the run, with few allies left to turn to, Varian finds himself chasing a ghost through a series of tests that only a true heir of Demanitus could ever hope to pass.But the shadows are ever present, looming and dark, and not everything is as simple as it might seem.

Notes: Magic doesn't like to give up its secrets. Sacrifices must be made.

Varian almost sobbed in relief when the first torch sprang back to life.

Light, flickering and dull but there, began to creep into the hallway again. Varian caught sight of Rapunzel and Eugene, the two of them looking stricken at the sight of the massive pile of stone and earth that was covering their only way of accessing the surface. The torchlight played across their faces, weak but enough that Varian could see the way Rapunzel’s eyes were wide in fear, the way Eugene’s jaw was set. Varian knew he mustn’t look much better he could feel the way dust had settled onto his cloths and skin in a thin layer.

"Ah, Sun above," Eugene cursed, "We just had to go down the creepy staircase, didn't we?" He approached the blockage, gently pushing at it with a flat palm. It didn't budge, the stone firmly wedged.

"I don't think we can get out that way," Rapunzel said, her voice nervous. "Unless we find something to leverage some of the rock out of the way."

Varian looked between them, listening as Eugene kept pushing at the rock and Rapunzel fretted, before turning and looking down the hall. Ruddiger weaved around his feet before climbing up onto his shoulders, the raccoon looking down the hallway with his master. It seemed endless, the stone leading off into the inky black that could only come from being underground, but something about it was off. He watched the bangs in front of his face flutter a little, a subtle air current flowing from the dark.

"Guys," he got their attention, "There's wind."

"What?" Eugene asked. Varian turned to him, pointing down the hall.

"There's an air current," he said, "Which means there must be an opening down there somewhere."

Eugene sniffed at the air, nodding. "What are you thinking?" he asked, turning to his wife.

"It could be our only chance," Rapunzel said grimly, "I don't think we're moving these rocks any time soon."

Varian twisted at his gloves nervously, looking out into the dark. Just because it was the best idea didn't mean he was super excited to wander into the depths on a hunch. Eugene shouldered their bag, which had made it with only a few small scrapes and burns, and slapped the boy on the back.

"Alrighty then," he said with forced cheer. "Let's get going then, because I don't want to freak anyone out, but my skin will get pale if we stay down here for too long, and I will cry about it."

That did it- Varian and Rapunzel both snorted, snickering as the tension finally broke. Varian couldn’t help but be grateful for it; they’d been in more dire straits before, and they’d made it out. A little levity was exactly what they needed.

"Come on," Rapunzel said, taking the lead. "Let's see how far this goes."

Varian followed behind her, making his way through the pitch-black hallway. Torches on the wall burst to life as they walked, snuffing out once they were a few meters ahead. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust; as they walked, they left a trail of dark footprints, the onyx stone under the layer of white dust shining in the dim light. The halls were cold, freezing even… but the chill crawling up Varian’s spine had more to do with the looming dread, then it did the temperature. The caves felt oppressive, dank and musty and dark; if Varian didn’t know better he’d swear the walls were shrinking, threatening to crush them all.

They walked for what felt like hours, taking short breaks but still working forward. It was hard to gauge time in the hall, with no sunlight to work with. Was it evening on the surface yet? It was midafternoon when they'd descended, surely it would be getting dark up top. Time felt useless in a place with no sunlight.

Varian shuddered. It was cold, this deep underground. He quickly did some quick math in his head- if the stairs had been about a hundred feet long, at an angle of around thirty-seven degrees, multiply by… they were about sixty feet underground. The thought made him colder than the chilled air around them.

Varian looked up from the ground at the sound of dripping water, the echoes of it loud in the distance. Echoes like that… indicated a bigger space. Somewhere bigger than the halls, at least. He began to pick up his pace, smelling the air. It smelt a bit less stale, a little more like actual air and not just dust. Varian squinted through the dark, seeing something finally emerge through the ink.

As he kept pace, he could see that the hallway ended abruptly, a large, open doorway of iron and marble standing tall. It was gossamer white, standing out in the darkness like a lighthouse. Varian approached it with caution, eyes on the ground to look for another tripwire or some other type of trap. He didn't see anything, thankfully, and took a timid step into the room beyond the arches.

It was a wide-open space, at least thirty meters across; the ceiling towered high above Varian's head, so tall that it seemed to vanish into the darkness. Torches burst to life, just as they had in the hallway, but in such a large space they didn't do much for keeping the shadows at bay. Across the vast expanse of the room was a series of large tiles, half meter squares of polished stone with odd, raised grout in between the slabs. The entire space reeked of musty air and dust— it took everything in Varian not to sneeze violently.

Eugene didn't have such hesitations, sneezing loudly into the room. It echoed, disturbing dust and dirt from the ceiling and making particles rain down. Varian squinted in the dark; even though their eyes had more than adjusted, the murky black was hard to see through, but he could still tell that there was something off about this whole space. One of the tiles, in the far distance, seemed to be missing, but the black spot it left behind looked nearly... hm....

"I don't like this," said Eugene, echoing Varian's thoughts. "We already know the place is rigged. A space this big with nothing in it? Suspicious."

"Maybe it was a ballroom?" Rapunzel asked, trying for optimistic. "This place is defiantly big enough to live in, maybe they all just moved away!"

Varian paced parallel to the door, scanning the ground. The couple behind him continued to throw out theories, from supply rooms to meeting halls, but the alchemist had a theory. He found what he was looking for, stooping down to pick it up, and returned to the others.

"Oh maybe it was an art gallery!" Rapunzel cooed, "Wouldn't that be amazing?"

Varian looked out over the floor, noting where the odd tile out was. The rock in his hand was heavy; it took a solid amount of effort for Varian to reel back and throw it across the room, launching the stone at good few meters away. Eugene yelped when he did, saying something about traps, but Varian watched with satisfaction as the stone sailed through the air and slamming into the tiled floor with a bang.

The noise was loud enough to echo in the room. The boy grit his teeth against the sudden burst of sound after such a long time with nothing but soft voices for company, but grinned as the stone punched through the floor tile it landed on, shattering it and caving it inward.

The whole tile fell inward, revealing that the floor was built above a gaping expanse of darkness. Eugene and Rapunzel blinked in shock as the tile fell away, showing what, exactly, the trap was.

"The floor's rigged," Varian said, a hint of smugness in his voice. "I think it's hollow, underneath. Like in Flynn Rider-"

"Book number eight: The Count of Eskea!" Eugene cut in, "Kid, you're a genius!" He paused, tapping at his chin. "Hm, how are we going to get across?"

"There must be a safe path through," Rapunzel mused, "But I don't think we have enough rocks to find it... maybe we could try and find another way?"

"We've been down here for too long already," Varian argued. "If my mother is down here, then we're wasting time. She may have heard the traps go off and bolted already." His stomach sank at the thought of justmissing her, but he shrugged it off; if they'd missed her then he'd just have to chase after her again. "We can test the floor by being careful."

Eugene made a rough cough, shaking the duffel bag as he did so. "Cough-NotMuchFoodLeft-Cough," he added, not looking Rapunzel in the eye. The princess looked between them, sighing when she saw she was outvoted.

"Fine," she grumbled, like it pained her to give ground. "Fine. But we're going to look around for more rocks first, and only try it once we get a good amount— fair?"

Varian nodded, already looking back down the tunnel they'd come from.

"Fair," he agreed.

Thankfully, with how the tunnels had fallen into neglect and disrepair, it was easy enough to gather up a few good stones in a blanket for testing. Within minutes they were standing at the threshold of where the floor, and therefore the pit underneath, began. The three of them looked at it in apprehension. Eugene took a stone, throwing it down onto the first tile. They all jumped back as it punched straight through, the brittle tile falling away like crumbling cards; the stone fragments disappeared into the darkness below, vanishing without so much as a thud.

They repeated the process again, to the same result. The third time fared better, with the stone hitting the tile but staying in place. This was their starting point, it seemed, but they wouldn't know for certain until someone actually stepped out and tested it. There was an unspoken tension in the air, all three of them nervous to take the first step. The alchemist finally sighed, knowing they wouldn't get anywhere unless one of them did it.

Varian finally started to move, only for Rapunzel to throw out an arm in front of him.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Her voice was tense, frantic. "Maybe Eugene or I should go first; it's dangerous."

Varian scoffed at that, pushing her arm down. "I'll be fine-" he started to argue, only to be cut off.

"-And besides, we're older, we weigh more, so it only makes sense," Rapunzel prattled on, obviously grasping at straws.

Varian pushed at her arm again. He was fed up with this behavior from her; he wasn't invalid, no matter what she seemed to think. Poor Ruddiger seemed to be on her side, tugging at Varian's pant leg to stop him as well. The boy sighed, shaking his head and gently tugging free.

"I'm going first," he said firmly, "Because it's my fault we're down here. And I weigh the least, so I'm least likely to break it."

And like that, he looked her dead in the eye, and took a step forward.

Even if he wanted to act brave, Varian couldn't deny how he held his breath as his foot made contact with marble. He sent a small prayer to the Sun above that he wasn't about to bite it out of sheer spite— but that breath came out in a relieved sigh when the tile remained intact under him.

"See?" he shrugged, going for nonchalant. "Easy. Just another..." he looked to the tiles, counting a five-by-ten grid, "Nine more. Nothing to it."

Rapunzel was pale, her hands outstretched like she was waiting for him to fall. Varian ignored her, using another rock to smash the tile directly in front of him. In theory, he thought to himself, the right one will be one to the left, one to the right, or one of the three in front of me, including diagonals.

One by one he tested the tiles, smashing through three until the one on the left-diagonal proved to be solid. Varian gently moved forward, hopping from the first tile to the second.

Two down, eight to go.

He could hear Rapunzel and Eugene following him, Eugene on the tile behind Varian with the rock collection, and Rapunzel taking up the rear. Every tile she passed she drew an X with her chalk, marking the correct tile should they ever need to come back the same way. Varian sighed, holding out his hand to Eugene, and nodding when the man wordlessly passed him another stone.

The third tile was directly in front of him, the fourth diagonal to the right. Fifth and sixth were both forward, seventh and eighth a pair of contrasting diagonals. Nine was a step forward. With every jump Varian began to feel more confident, holding his breath until the tile under him proved to be safe. The alchemist did his best to keep calm, working methodically through the choices.

At long last there was only one more tile to hop before they would reach the other side of the pit. Varian could see a doorway nearby, a wide, gaping hole in the earth much like they one they'd come from. He paused for a second, turning a little when he heard Rapunzel's voice echo through the massive cavern.

“Are you sure this is the right way?”

Varian scowled, whipping around on his heel to glare at her. "Are you kidding?" He threw his hands up in the air, "We're so close and you still want to turn back?"

Rapunzel sighed, shaking her head. Varian felt his hackles raise when she opened her mouth again, but shrank back when their third member finally lost his patience with them.

"Guys!" Eugene snapped, "Is this really the time for this?"

The boy sucked in a breath through his teeth. Eugene was right, this wasn't the place. He shuffled a bit, turning around-

And stepped on the wrong tile.

Varian shrieked as the floor gave way under his foot, sending him toppling to the floor. His hands flew out to grab himself, his entire body dropping down into the void above and only stopping when he latched onto the sharp edges of the broken tile. The teenager hissed in pain as the razor edges cut through his gloves; he let out a primal noise of fear when his fingers began to slip on the polished stone.

His legs swung wildly in the void, kicking frantically in open air in an attempt to somehow push himself back up. Varian's heart beat at a mile a minute, a racing beat in his ear as he clung to the ledge with all the strength he had left.

"Guys!" he screamed, "Help, help would be very much appreciated-" His voice pitched higher than he'd hit in years, at least since he was fourteen, the panic making him squeaky in pure distress.

Eugene was the first to move, already running the second Varian dropped. His knees slammed into the tile; the man skid to a stop in front of the drop, dropping everything to grab onto Varian in a rush of panic.

"Hold on!" Eugene's hands grabbed him around the wrists, holding tight, "I got you, kid!"

There was a shower of stones that fell past Varian as Eugene grabbed him, probably their spares. Varian didn't think about it, instead focusing on clinging to Eugene's forearms with all the energy he had left; his stomach swooped uncomfortably as Eugene hoisted him up and out of the pit.

Varian felt his knees hit tile and nearly wept. He pressed his hands onto the stone, reveling in the feeling of solid floor underneath him as he tried to get is panic back under control. He shuddered, avoiding thinking about the drop he’d almost had at any cost, and slamming his eyes shut to block everything out.

"Thank the Sun," he gasped, "No more traps after this, never again. I want to go to my lab and live there forever-"

Eugene patted him on the back in consolation, a grounding touch as Varian wheezed into the floor. Ruddiger scampered around Rapunzel's skirts, worming his way between Varian's head and the floor with a concerned noise. The boy gently scooped up his pet, forcing himself up onto his knees. He was met with Eugene's wide eyes, the man looking shell shocked.

"Are you okay?" he asked, the hand on Varian's shoulder wrapping into a one armed hug. The alchemist could feel the way Eugene's hands shook though his cloak. "Sun, that was close."

Varian coughed out a little, hysterical laugh, leaning into the hug. "Good catch," is all he said in return, a huff of strained air that he pressed into Eugene's coat. The fabric was rough under his cheek but he clung to it nonetheless, shuddering. Under the stink of travel and smoke, he caught the smallest scent of the soap that was used in the palace laundry, and he tried to focus on it. Ruddiger was warm in his arms, but a small chitter from the raccoon drew Varian into looking up from where he was hiding himself.

Rapunzel stood nearby, pale as a sheet. Varian saw the way she shook, her hands clenched tightly at her side. She looked like she'd stared death itself in the face. It made a chill run up his spine, the sight of her so shaken, so unnerved. Varian pushed himself up and off the floor; he could see how she hesitated in trying to reach for him after the spat, and wasn’t sure exactly how to react. Hell, she'd caused him to almost fall; if she hadn't been trying to convince him to turn back, he never would have stumbled— but also all he could see was his sister in need of comfort. He could put aside the arguments for a second, couldn't he?

"Rapunzel," He held out his hand to her, offering. "I'm okay, nothing happened..."

She seemed hesitant, her hands twitching, but to Varian's surprise she only drew him into a quick hug. He felt a long kiss get pressed into his hair, shaking breaths ruffling the strands.

"I'm okay," he said again, at a loss for words. He'd never been good at comforting others, always awkward and stumbling, pointing out the obvious and being unable to see beyond that— but Rapunzel seemed to understand, the woman hugging him tight one last time before letting him go. It still made something in his skin crawl to have her coddling him, a thousand ants buried in his flesh as she babied him.

She clung a little tighter when he tried to pull away, only letting go when Varian coughed into his hand.

"One more to go," he said, trying for a joke.

Eugene huffed a laugh into his hand, covering it up with a yawn when Rapunzel glared at her husband. He elected to shrink under her ire, handing Varian another rock.

The alchemist took it, moving back to the front of the line. He brought it down on the left diagonal space, sighing with relief when it stayed in one piece. He took the last hop, stepping onto the tile and immediately hopping off of it and onto the solid ground of the other side.

The knot in his chest finally started to come undone with the feeling of strong earth at last, the pit finally left behind. He heard the soft footsteps of Eugene and Rapunzel behind him, the both of them making it along the last step and out of the trap in once piece. Varian rolled his eyes as Eugene dipped low to the floor, loudly kissing at the marble.

"Oh, thank you," he gasped, "Thank you, thank you, we are neverdoing that again."

Varian was inclined to agree, dipping his head in a gesture of concession. If they could avoid going back the way they'd come, he'd take it for sure. Ruddiger seemed to agree, if the way he clung to Varian’s shoulders were any indication. The poor animal was shaking, wrapping tightly around his human’s neck. Varian reached up and gave him a comforting scratch, which was met with a purr. Varian sighed, looking up at long last.

The alchemist looked at what lay on the other side of the pit at long last. Much like the doorway they'd come from, a structure of marble and iron stood tall in the center of the wall. The difference, this time, was that a large door was set into the frame, made of thick stone and looking heavy as all hell. Varian walked close to It, tilting his head in curiosity, and noting a series of intricate carvings on the door.

"How are we supposed to get it open?" Rapunzel asked, sizing up the door. Varian was at a bit of a loss, to be honest. The door was nearly four meters tall; a cursory push to the center of it was met with unsurprising failure. He sighed, inspecting the door with a curious eye.

"I have... no idea," he admitted.

"Well, if you're busy having no idea, then I'm going to have some dinner," Eugene said, flopping down onto the ground. Varian didn't bother to look away from the door; he could hear his companions begin to sort through the last of their rations with soft clinks of glass on glass. The teenager toyed with the hem of his cloak, scrutinizing.

The door had a series of intricate carvings, all jutting out from the surface of the stone in an almost three-dimensional effect. There were a variety of scenes depicted; Varian could see armies, marching on what looked like a large island. The raising of a massive castle of cold stone and lofty ceilings— he blinked, stunned. The image of Barviel Keep stared back at him, an ugly, jutting block of stone that stabbed into the sky like a sore thumb.

He grimaced at the sight of it, looking away. The other carvings showed a tall man with a flowing cloak holding a massive staff, a large crystal embedded in the top. The style of the carvings was minimalist, but the face of the man looked somewhat familiar. He couldn't place it, but the nagging feeling persisted the longer he looked at the carving.

Varian felt himself reach into his pocket, pulling out the adder stone. He'd nearly forgotten it, in the scramble to avoid falling rocks and dropping to his death, but it was worth a try to use the stone again. It was warm even in the cold of the cavern. Like a little coal in the palm of his hand. The alchemist brought it up to his eye, looking at the door.

The air was infused with the same blue glow as the graveyard had been, though it was much thicker down in the caves than it had been on the surface. It was thick, like pea soup, nearly impossible to see though; wisps of the energy seemed to leak through the door, curling outward like smoke from a fire. Whatever was the cause of the magic in the area, it very obviously was behind the door.

The glow was so strong that Varian nearly missed the appearance of lettering appearing on the direct center of the door, glowing a brighter blue than the rest of the area. Words, surrounding the image of a full chalice. He peered closer, squinting through the glow, struggling to read through the oppressive light.

"From the scion, a sacrifice," he read out loud, his voice quiet. It still seemed to echo; the clinking noises from behind him stopped.

"What?" Rapunzel asked. Varian didn't turn to look at her, letting his hand drop.

"There's an inscription, like on the note. It says From the scion, a sacrifice."

Rapunzel looked put off by the wording, pursing her lips.

"That sounds ominous," Eugene pipped up. He unscrewed a lid off a jar, shaking the provisions inside. "Hopefully it's a metaphorical sacrifice, because you know the raccoon is going to try and kill me first."

Ruddiger let out a chirp, sticking out his little tongue at Eugene, who returned the motion. Varian sighed, stuffing the adder stone back into his pocket and walking the few feet to his friends. When Eugene passed him the jar, filled with dried meat, he took his share without complaint. Now that he was able to sit, Varian felt the exhaustion of the past day all at once—a weary ache that dug deep into his bones and make his legs feel like jelly. He sighed, something tired, and chewed on his food, looking away from the door for now, and resigning to taking a break.

In the dim torchlight, they finally were allowed to rest.

>>>><<<<

"I have a question."

Eugene's voice was quiet, but still rang over the sound of gentle flames. Varian looked up from where he'd been inspecting the door. The man wandered over from where he'd been relaxing, taking a small rest before they'd continue. Varian couldn't begrudge him that; they'd been walking for hours before finally hitting this room, and then after the near-death experience with the trap... well, he should probably be resting too.

Not now, though. Too much to do.

"Shoot," he said, turning back to the door.

Eugene flopped down on the stone next to him, shuffling a little to get comfortable. Varian peered closer at one of the carvings, one of what looked like Barviel Keep in mid-construction... odd, it seemed to be documenting history from ages ago, almost like it was someone’s life story from that time. Interesting, to say the least. Rapunzel had wandered off a time ago, hoping to find something of interest out in the dark. Varian hadn’t seen her in almost a half hour; a part of him felt badly for the relief it brought him.

Eugene popped his lips a bit; Varian sighed a bit at the sound, knowing it meant Eugene was trying to figure out where to start. Meaning this conversation wasn't going to be quick nor painless.

"I have to ask," the man started, "Are we positive that your mom is the one down here."

Varian bit his lip, turning away from the carving all together.

"I don't know what else could be."

Eugene didn't seem to like that answer. "Look, I know that you think it's her, but don't you think this whole thing is a little extreme? We're in a labyrinth, under a graveyard, on a barely populated island. How would she survive down here for so long?"

Varian paused. He hadn't really thought of that, caught up in the swell of excitement. Eugene... had a point, much as he hated to admit it. He bit at his lip, not saying anything.

Eugene persisted, gently. Much gentler than Rapunzel had been, at least. "I want it to be her, too," he said, "I do. But at the end of the day, we're in the dark about a lot here. We don't even know if the note's real-"

"I know." Varian's voice was barely above a whisper. Eugene seemed taken aback, blinking, but Varian didn't falter. "I know. It's a long shot, and it's irrational for me to keep... chasing this." Eugene opened his mouth to interrupt, but Varian didn't let him cut in. "It is, don't lie to me. I know that Rapunzel's probably right. But even if it's not— even if it turns out that it's something else, I'm here for a reason. The note was addressed to me, Rapunzel said it was left in my lab. Whatever is behind that door... I dunno, maybe it'll help me find the ending of all of this. Let me put it to bed."

Eugene nodded; his eyes were sympathetic. "You know better than that," he said, not unkindly. "You do. You know that things don't just... end, they don't stop when you think you're done."

"I want them to," Varian admitted. "I wanted to leave home so I could force it."

Eugene huffed a small laugh, patting him on the back. "I wish, kid. I have more than one day I'd love to forget. But we both know that’s not how things work. Gotta keep going, one day at a time, right?"

Varian didn't reply, looking back at the door. It was as solid as ever, taunting him, mocking him. Whatever it was he was looking for, it was behind that wall of stone. He knew it was. Varian pursed his lips, his expression turning sour.

"Right."

There was a pause, not awkward, but poignant. Varian couldn't help but feel a little... raw from having this brought up again, but Eugene always seemed to know how to keep things calmer between them. When it was Varian and Rapunzel, usually things ended up swept under the rug, left to be forgotten. Nothing ever really got addressed, unless it was with a big blowup between them. Eugene, at least, was willing to hear Varian out, and consider his side of things.

"Think of it this way," Eugene continued. "If you had left, like you wanted. Would that make Quirin not your dad?"

"No, but-"

"And would sunshine and I just stop being your friends?"

"Of course not." Varian could see where this was going, "But it would make people stop looking at me like... they'd stop being weird, around me."

"Kid, I'm going to break it to you, they're all weird, in general. That's just how they are. But the point is that no matter where you vanish to, the good things won't leave you behind. Neither will the bad. Now, I think you're a big boy now." He jabbed an elbow into Varian's side, "And you can handle yourself. So, if you decide, after this, you still want to go… I'll help you pack your bags. Just remember to come back sometime, yaknow? There's only so long I can hang out with Stan and Pete before I snap."

Varian snorted a laugh and shook his head. "I don't know what I want," he admitted. "I want to go home, for now at least. I... I want my dad, a lot. I want to forget Bayangor ever happened," he muttered, "And everyone expects me to, but I just can't."

"And that's why you're chasing this?"

The alchemist nodded. "It's a... a goal. Something I can work toward. Something solid." He toyed with the edge of his boot, thinking.

Eugene pursed his lips. "And if it's not her?" he asked, "Then what?"

"Then I deal with it then," the alchemist replied. "And we see where to go from there."

Eugene smiled, bumping his shoulder. "That's my boy," he said quietly, "Ever the optimist."

Varian snorted, reaching over to run a hand along the carvings. Nothing had changed in the time he'd been inspecting it— just the same carvings and the same, strange clue.

"From the scion, a sacrifice," he murmured, lost in thought. The door remained closed; it obviously wasn't a password. "Hm. It sounds familiar, but I can't place it."

Eugene squinted at the door, tilting his head. "Was it something that Ori guy said? He was a magic guy. Or Xavier? I wouldn't blame you for forgetting if it were Xavier, I love the guy but most of his rambles just go right over my head."

Varian shook his head. "No, not them." He had half an idea, but he didn't enjoy the implications. "I think it was Meave."

"The woman who took care of you?"

"She was the librarian," Varian's voice was a million miles away, the boy pushing to his feet in thought. "I think she just enjoyed having a captive audience for her rambling, but yes, she helped me a lot back then. And she was also F-Aldred's main source of magical information. She was the one who got the, uh, the crown. Working."

He trailed off, feeling awkward after trying to explain. Meave had been kind to him, but that certainly wasn't her job— she'd been nice to him because she wanted to be, and he felt that was important. Varian turned away, looking back to the door.

The carvings were focused around one person, it seemed. A man, who started in the Wildshore Isles and moved on to Bayangor with a large army. In his hand he carried a large staff. It seemed to glow, from the way large rays of light were flowing out of it. From the look of the inscriptions, the man had left the island with another man, the two of them leading a large army to Bayangor. If Varian had to guess, it seemed like the two of them took the area for themselves, establishing a city and building what would eventually become Barviel Keep.

Varian pondered, rubbing at his chin. It had been months since he'd thought back to the more insidious things Meave had been forced into while they knew each other; he preferred to remember her for her wide knowledge of herbs and the mythical side of things, electing to let the darker aspects fall into memory.

"Ah, right." Eugene looked concerned. "And we want to listen to the crown lady because?"

"Because she knew what she was talking about," Varian replied. "When she was getting the crown ready, I remember it took time because... because it needed blood."

"Excuse me?"

"It was like a... transfer. A transaction. She fed the curse a little blood every day— because she was stalling for time. She wanted to give you and Rapunzel as long as possible to get to the Keep before it was ready. But she said that all spells take a trade of some kind. Like memories, or energy." He began to slowly take his glove off, looking to Eugene.

"Or blood."

The man flinched, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Isn't that a little extreme?" he asked, trying to joke. Varian didn't take the bait, holding his hand out.

"Only if you're not serious about it," he replied. "Can I borrow your knife?"

Eugene went white. "I don't like where this is going."

"You don't have to."

Eugene pushed himself to his feet, holding up his hands. "Okay, how about this." He rubbed his hands together. "I'll do it, that way you don't hurt yourself."

Varian paused, before shaking his head.

"I think it has to be me," he admitted. "It says from the scion. A scion is a descendant, an heir. if my theory is right, it won't open for anyone's blood, only people who are related to the guy from the carvings. It has carvings of the Keep on it— I can’t see anyone else being the right choice."

Eugene's frown only got bigger. "I know I just said that you're a big kid who can take care of himself— but that doesn't mean we just get to go hurting ourselves and feeding our blood to the big, spooky door on a hunch!"

Varian scoffed, wiggling his fingers. "You know it's not like that, I just explained it. And I'm just going to poke my finger, barely worse than a paper cut. I'm the one who's scared of blood, Eugene, c'mon." The man still didn't seem ready to budge, so Varian switched tactics. "You wanna get out of here, right? This could be our only shot. It's through that door or back to the stairs and trying to dig them out."

That did it. Eugene grimaced but still took the small knife from its place on his belt. The man shook his head; wincing when Varian quietly turned the blade on himself and pressed his thumb into the blade. The boy didn't make a noise, gritting his teeth against the slight sting and pulling the blade away to reveal a small cut deep in the pad of his thumb. Blood, thick and ruby red, welled immediately, glistening in the torchlight.

Satisfied, Varian passed the knife back to Eugene. The man absently wiped the blade on the edge of his jacket before stowing it away in its sheath; Varian tried to ignore the way the red stuck out against the ceremonial gold. The boy held his hand awkwardly, trying to keep the blood from dripping all over the floor, and approached the door.

He scanned over the carvings once again, including the area where the inscription was. Varian's eyes were drawn toward the chalice in the center of the clue, the gears in his brain turning already. Worth a try, he thought, reaching up and pressing his bloody thumb to the very center of the carving. Eugene made a small noise, the man obviously uncomfortable with the direction this whole thing had taken. It echoed in the cavern. Both males waited, breath caught, for something to happen.

Varian slowly took his thumb away, leaving a small splash of crimson on the grey stone; a poppy in a sea of santolinas. He took a step back, apprehensive. He had no idea what would happen if he was right— or, more specifically, if he was wrong.

There was a split-second pause— enough for Varian to start doubting himself— before, with a great shuddering crack, the door began to glow.

Bright white light, pure and brilliant, began to illuminate the carving of the chalice. It began to move along the divots of the door, filling the crevices like water in a trough. Varian was forced to throw an arm up, covering his eyes from the blinding light with a splayed hand. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Eugene do the same. Varian might have screamed, he wasn't sure; a heavy rumbling began to shake the room as the light hit the outer border of the door.

The cracks between door and threshold lit up with an aggressive glow, worse even than the rest of the light. Rumbling shook the floor below Varian's feet. He stumbled, nearly knocking into Eugene behind him as he tried to get his footing; the older man caught him by the arms, keeping Varian upright. The shaking only got worse, disturbing rocks from the ceiling and sending them dropping to the floor. Eugene pulled Varian to the side with a yelp, the two of them narrowly dodging a falling stone that fell to the floor with a great crash.

As soon as it had started, the light suddenly cut off, the room going dark. Varian blinked the spots from his vision, feeling nearly blind after being exposed to such a bight brilliance after so long trapped in the dark. His night vision was shot, so he couldn't see much in the weak torchlight, but he still was able to hear a great groaning noise, like the grumbling of a slumbering beast that had just been rudely awoken.

The noise of stone grating on stone filled the cavern, and Varian's vision finally cleared enough for him to see as the door began to split down the center in a clean line. With a great, shuddering creak the door opened; a rush of air blew past Varian and Eugene, nearly strong enough to knock them off their feet. Eugene definitely shouted something. Varian registered Eugene throwing a protective arm out in front of his charge, pushing the alchemist back a little and blocking the worst of the wind with his own body. Without thinking, the boy latched onto his friend's arm— lest he get swept away in the wind.

The wind died in a final puff. Varian uncurled himself from where he'd been huddled close to Eugene, blinking and waving the dust away from his face. He coughed, pushing back a sneeze as the air began to settle. Varian looked up to Eugene, blinking in shock before snorting through his nose. He covered his mouth, holding back a laugh at the sight of the man.

Eugene's brunet hair was wild, sticking up in every direction from the wind. His eyes were wide, blinking in shock at the sudden quiet, and his clothes were covered in dust. When the man caught sight of Varian trying to keep from laughing, he scowled, pushing playfully at the boy.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he grumbled, "Last time I use myself as a meat shield for you."

"I'm sorry," Varian snickered, "I'm sorry, are you okay?"

Eugene grumbled wordlessly as he fixed his hair. "Do you know how long this takes to get ready?" he whined, "I don't just wake up looking like this, kid!"

Varian shook his head, laughing softly. He heard rushed footsteps from the side, looking down another hall to see Rapunzel sprinting through the dark.

"Are you guys okay?!" She skid to a stop, arms reaching for Varian. The boy sidestepped her, ducking around her hands, and walking toward the doorway. He tried to ignore her hurt face, instead opting to focus on the area that had been hidden behind the door. Varian stood in the threshold, mouth wide open at what lay within.

"We're fine, sunshine," Eugene said, patting his wife's arm consolingly, "Varian just figured out how to get the door open— hey, kid? Are you okay?"

The boy didn't answer, taking a step into the large, open space behind the door.

"Varian?"

"Kid?"

He ignored both of their worried calls, entering the room properly and looking around with wide eyes. If there were anything he'd been expecting to see... this wasn't it.

The space behind the door was massive, a circular room of nearly fifty feet diameter. The floor was carved out into layers, each one descending deeper into the earth and covered in large tiles of polished marble. Though the torches lit up the same as the rest of the cavern, they weren't the main source of light; in the center of the ceiling was a massive dome of glass and iron, allowing bright moonlight to shine through and into the room. In the light, Varian was able to see the entire space. Spaced around the outside wall in perfect increments were large boxes of stone, each surrounding what looked like a large door. They were all at least six feet tall, by about two feet deep, jutting out from the wall and into the room.

In the very center, bathed in the white light, was an ornate box, the same size as the others, with one key difference. While the others were covered in gold and fine carvings, they had nothing on this main structure, set on a large podium and surrounded in intricate mosaics. Varian took another step into the space, his stomach slowly dropping as he realized what, exactly, the tunnels were.

They weren't, as he'd originally thought, a bunker system, nor were they the remnants of an old civilization like Rapunzel had hoped. This room confirmed his worst fear. They weren't standing in a secret hideout.

They were standing in a tomb.

Varian was unable to tear his eyes away from the coffin in the middle of the room. A sudden feeling of dread started deep in his gut, a feeling like he'd just made a terrible mistake. He couldn't shake it, the feeling digging deeper and deeper into his chest and dragging more doubt to the surface.

He heard footsteps behind him, turning to see Rapunzel and Eugene had followed him into the amphitheater. They were both pale, surely coming to the same conclusion Varian had.

Aisha wasn't here. From the look of the dust on the floor she'd never been here.

The foreboding feeling only got worse.

"Well, this is... unexpected," Eugene said, peering up into the night sky. When his head tilted back down he must have seen the look on Varian's face, as he forced a smile onto his face. "At least we found a way out, right?"

"...Right," Varian replied. He drew closer to the main coffin, on a pedestal down a short flight of stairs, and looked over the carving on the lid. It was a perfect visage of a man, probably the same one from the carvings on the door. He was lying on his back, as if asleep, holding a stone chalice in both hands. In full detail, however, Varian could see the similarities in jawline and nose structure to his own; if that weren't enough, the very obvious stripe in his hair, a carved piece of turquoise, was enough of a clue.

It wasn't Aldred. But it was someone he'd seen the painting of, in Barveil's halls.

Geldam of Wildshore, the man who'd taken Bayangor. Who'd built Barviel Keep. Who'd betrayed Ori— and Merrick's— ancestor, and gotten their bloodline cursed. Branded his bloodline with teal and raven hair.

Varian felt the sudden urge to scream.

He was so caught up in the fact that he'd been effectively duped, tricked into opening the grave of his unwanted ancestor, that for a second Varian nearly missed a loud CRACK ring out from the room behind him. He still turned, however, when he heard Eugene curse.

The boy turned, locking eyes with a male figure. He stood tall, leaning on the doorway between the grave room and the trap outside, deceptively casual. Varian felt himself lock up in terror, horrified blue eyes meeting with toxic green.

Merrick looked smug, smirking at the three Coronians with malice. He didn't move when he was noticed, acting like he had every right to be there.

"Well, well, well..." he said with a mocking laugh. "Isn't this interesting."

#tangled #varian #tts #tangled the series #fic

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avian-writes · 4 years ago

Text

The day we decided to live

The Days: Part 1

Content Warnings: depression, thoughts of suicide

words: 3039

In hindsight, when we had to park the car on a dirt road with only a government power strip on it and cross the barren back road to reach the GPS location, we should’ve known it was a bad idea. But it wasn’t like we were worried for our lives. We never have been.

It had been a long day: my car broke down after a 10 hour shift and my best friend, Darian, had to come pick me up. Neither of us could figure out what was wrong with it so I called a roadside mechanic who said he could come out and check it out the following day. Tired, we got food and went to my apartment to hang out. We hadn’t done that in weeks, we didn’t have the time or energy. What time we didn’t spend working was spent in bed, not wanting to get up to see the other.

It was during this that Darian asked, “Hey Jake, attractor, void, or anomaly?”

“...What?”

He turned his phone towards me and showed me a screen asking the same thing. “It’s Randonautica.”

“It’s what now?”

“You haven’t heard of it? It’s been all over the internet, mostly Tik Tok.”

I shook my head. I hadn’t been paying much attention to anything lately. “What is it?”

He explained it was an app that gave you a random location and you just...went there. He almost mentioned something about manifestation but I had already agreed and was taking his phone out of his hand. I needed something to do and distract myself that wasn’t my own anxiety biting at me.

Most of the screen was taken up by a GPS map with a radius of 2km. At the bottom were the choices of Attractor, Power, and Void. I hit Void then ‘generate’.

The screen turned black and white text appeared. ‘What would you like to find?’

“Something interesting.” Something that made moving worth it. Something that made life worth living.

‘Imagine it. Manifest it.’

Because we were good young adults, we did as we were told and closed our eyes, trying to manifest a reason to live. Not like we didn’t spend every day doing that already. When we opened them, an owl took up the screen telling us to prepare and I didn’t even get the chance to move when the map came back up.

‘Generated point; Void Anomaly’

Under it was an address I didn’t recognize. Zooming in on the map I could see the point was in the middle of woods. “Is that private property?” Darian asked, squinting.

“Sure is! You ready?”

I grabbed my Emergency Drive bag, a bag containing my portable charger, an extra cord, granola bars, chapstick, a notebook and pen, and a water bottle. It was solely for the purpose of when things got bad in my head and I just needed to get in my car and drive. I used it more often these days.

Less than twenty minutes later, we’re both standing on the side of the road across from the point. Darian had to park on a dirt road a ways off, parking on the side in our city would’ve been a horrible idea, and we walked over. We waited for the road to be clear and darted across.

On the other side, there was a ditch directly off the pavement filled with lumps of dirt similar to snake pouches all along it. It was the only way to the woods with a treeless stretch of tall grass. We both stood at the top of the drop off, staring down into the thorns and possible snake pits.

“Maybe we’ll find a dead body,” I said, referencing one of the stories I had read on the way there. With my phone plugged into Darian’s car charger of course. No way was I going into this with it even on 99%.

“Hopefully it’ll be one of our own.”

I didn’t comment. Especially when I agreed with him.

A sewer pipe went right underneath the road, leading into the overgrown bank. The grass went up to our knees and it wasn’t until we were already in that we noticed the briars growing along ankle-height.

“Welp, here we go!” I said with only a slight tint of enthusiasm. I started through the briar patch and Darian reluctantly followed me. Since we had come right from my apartment and neither of us were known for thinking things through, we weren’t exactly dressed for the occasion.

I had on short shorts and Darian had short pants as well as sandals; at least I had on tennis shoes. As we walked, I could feel every little cut on my legs as the briars dug into my skin and scratched along until I was past. Long cuts of red were scattered on both of our legs.

Finally, we got through and we were on the edge of the woods. Darian pulled up the GPS and handed it to me since I could read a map better than him. I turned it so it matched where we were facing and held it parallel to the ground. “Look, see! It’s the middle of this pathway where there aren’t trees.”

“Unless we want to deal with more briars, we’re not going straight there.” Darian pointed ahead of us and sure enough, grass taller than even him along with even more briars grew everywhere in the stretch. The woods it was.

I took the lead and we headed into the woods. It was only short in width as it bordered a farm; it was the woods on the other side of the stretch that was formidable. It went on for miles according to the GPS map and neither of us were good with directions when everything looked the same and we couldn’t see the sun.

All throughout the small journey to our destination, I laughed as Darian stumbled his way over fallen logs and small creeks of water going criss cross all along the dirt floor. He nearly tripped right into a tree and I caught his arm.

“Didn’t you say you grew up on a farm in a rural area? Did you never go exploring in the woods?” The thought baffled me, someone who had spent 85% of his childhood and high school years in the woods, playing pretend and just going on forever until the darkness pushed me back home.

Darian shook his head. “Our woods weren’t really woods like this. I never went in them much anyway.”

“What did you spend your time doing?”

He smiled at me, a real genuine smile I hadn’t seen in months. “Playing video games.”

It was a sweet bonding moment that got ruined real soon. I spotted something dark through the soft, brightly lit grass and leaped out into the strip. I darted over and stumbled back just as fast.

Darian followed me and lurched back. An animal carcass was strewn across the only patch of short grass, torn apart and unrecognizable. Hundreds, maybe thousands of flies swarmed the area and we both took heavy steps away.

Flies. Hundreds of little flies. I batted at them, but I could feel little flicks all over me as they flocked to me and Darian. I pressed my lips together in an effort to keep them from getting in my mouth. Waving my hands around in a feeble attempt to get them away from me, I accidentally smacked Darian right in the shoulder.

“Feck, sorry dude.”

He didn’t answer me. I blinked through the swarm and if I had eaten that day, it would’ve come right back up. The dead deer was laying in the small patch of short grass, right in between us and the rest of the easy way through the stretch.

I’m from the mountains, my family is a combination of hillbillies and rednecks, and I had a vulture as a best friend back home. Dead animals were a common occurrence as well as roadkill being the main feature of dinners at family reunions.

But this was much worse than simple roadkill. This was a mutilation. An attack on the poor thing. It’s entire body was torn open, entrails and organs spilling out into the blood-caked grass. Bones were almost licked clean and we could see the skull through a hole in the neck.

I felt Sick. I backed away and ran back to the woods, Darian right on my heels. As soon as we entered the dark, shady, and death-free safety of the trees, I keeled over and crouched in the dirt. Burying my head into my arms and trying to take deep breaths. Beside me, I could feel Darian doing the same.

A pricking at the back of my head nudged at me and I violently shook it away. A pleasant but jealous feeling that I didn’t feel like psychoanalyzing. “Alright, that’s enough for today. Want to go to another location?”

Darian shook his head and pointed at his phone screen. “We’re not too far from the coords. Might as well go all the way and make this worth it.” He pointedly didn’t look at the corpse when speaking.

I thought about it for only a moment before shrugging and nodding my head. We continued on through the woods and kept going around the strip. In complete silence, we followed his offline GPS until we were directly across from the bright red point.

We looked at each other then stepped out of the woods and crossed the barrier further into our nightmare. Not even 10 footsteps away was stomped grass that led back into the woods. This was where the point was supposed to be. Broken glass littered the ground, quite literally; it looked like someone had littered.

“It’s probably nothing, Jake. Someone else must have gotten these coordinates too.”

“Aren’t they randomly generated?”

“We’re not that far from the farm. Probably one of their kids hiding their drinking from overbearing parents.” But even he didn’t sound convinced. I didn’t know why, but something about the area didn’t seem right. Maybe I just wanted to believe that since it was a new place and something was odd about it. I bet if someone came into my backyard, they’d feel something was off too, but it would just be the overturned lawn chairs we hadn’t bothered to pick up after the last storm.

I bent down and carefully picked up a piece of glass, holding it up to eyelevel to inspect it. It was thin and after looking closely, was curved just a bit. My stomach dropped and I looked around, spotting a broken piece of long, slender plastic.

“This wasn’t a beer bottle. It was glasses. Like, eyeglasses.” I looked up at Darian through my own glasses and he blinked at me through his. This had gotten too creepy and it seemed he agreed with me as we both started lightly sprinting for the woods.

As we ran, something hit me. Nothing physical, nothing stopped me from running. But something for sure hit my chest. I stopped of my own accord and turned back towards the strip and started walking. Why?

Good question. Wish I had an answer for you.

Behind me, I could vaguely hear Darian asking what the feck I was doing but I just kept walking. Just like when I drive down random roads at night with no real direction, when I go on walks through town and take random turns, it was like something was telling me to go that way. That I needed to see what was there.

As I broke through the clearing, I regretted it immediately. A circle of mowed grass amongst the overgrowing field of weeds wasn’t what we were expecting to find but alright. Just to add to the weirdness factor.

“What the fuck is going on, Jake?” Darian’s voice sounded ten miles away and right at my ear, still incredibly tired.

All I could do was shake my head, an overcoming sense of dread took me over and I turned and booked it. Praying Darian was behind me, I skipped along back into the woods and looked all around me. There was still plenty of daylight, I knew this. My phone said 3:46 pm with no reception. But the sky was growing darker already. Not even in the Winter did it get night this quickly.

I started running and dodging trees, reaching out my hands to feel for bark and shoving myself out of their way. My foot caught on a log and I went face first onto the ground. The warm, soft ground.

All at once, my body relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever. I rolled onto my back and took in a deep, deep breath. I almost didn’t need it; I couldn’t breathe but also could breathe finally. Nothing held it back, nothing weighing on my heart to keep it from beating at a steady, normal pace.

The overbearing, sinking feeling over took my chest; begging to drag me down into the depths of the woods. The trees closed in over head and the sun was successfully blocked out. No light streamed in, the only source being from the far off tower strip.

I tried to move but couldn’t. I raised my arm and it just dropped back to my side, it was af it was light as a feather, with hollow bones, and filled with lead at the same time. I let my head hit the dirt as I leaned back as all my motivation to stay up left me.

But it wasn’t scary. Only…strangely comforting. It didn’t feel like it wanted to harm me, simply take away any preexisting pain. Take away everything until nothing was left, including the sadness. Dull all my senses. Block out the noises. Silence the humming noise and voices.

I could just not move. Let it consume me, take my spirit and mind away. It would be so easy…

“JAKE!”

Darian’s voice cut through every thought I had. Any resolve I had to let whatever it was take me broke away. My best friend needed me, and as much as I wanted to die, he needed me to live even more.

I scrambled to my heavy feet and took off into the strip. I dashed through the grass, ignoring the broken glass, leapt over the decaying deer, waved off the flies, and ran until my legs ached and my chest was burning.

“JAKE!”

The grass cut at my legs and arms, sharp searing pain akin to getting sliced with a knife covered me from head to toe but it was miniscule compared to the building anxiety rising in my tightened chest.

I broke into the circle and there Darian was. Just laying there, staring up at the open blue sky. His arms and legs outstretched as if he was just sunbathing on a lovely day. But the fear striking his face and pulsing veins streaming from his clenched fists and neck told me otherwise.

I fell to my knees next to him and yanked an arm around my shoulders. Darian had a good five inches and 70 pounds on me, but the shallow breathing and returning clawing feeling in my brain gave me just enough strength to lift my best friend up to get the feck out of there.

We finally made it past the deer and Darian suddenly slipped away from me. I started to panic until he grabbed my hand and we both took off. We ran in the slim space between the woods and strip, leaping over logs and doing our best to avoid briars.

It was the most terrifying time of both of our lives. Especially with the feeling now rising out of the ground to pull at my ankles, trying desperately to drag me back down. I ignored it the best I could until I couldn’t.

I briefly stopped, yanking Darian to a stop, and stomped on the nearest stick. It broke right in half and the feeling vanished with a cold, fleeting pass. I slipped my hand around Darian’s wrist and dragged him through the strip.

Then we heard the sweetest sound, calming music to our ears: cars. Driving past at fast, back road “no cops around, speeds. We ran faster and the road finally came into view. We only slowed down enough to step on the rocks and climb up and over the sewer pipe. Darian pulled me up and we took one step onto the road.

“Well, we did find a dead body.”

“Shut up.”

Probably dangerous to stand on a road at night, but nothing could’ve felt more dangerous to us than those woods. The pavement felt like heaven to us at that moment. We caught our breath and walked across the road in silence. Back to the car, got in, and just sat there.

Darian started the car and switched on the headlights. The two of us stared into the dimly lit dirt road ahead of us, neither of us wanting to speak. If we did, then that made it real. What we experienced had been real and we had really almost let ourselves be left behind.

We had almost died. We didn’t know what about what we felt led us to believe death was the end goal, but neither of us doubt we would’ve died if we hadn’t just gotten up and left. No matter how hard it was to do so.

Something we had both wanted for so long. But given the chance, we didn’t let go. It didn’t feel like the other attempts, to me anyway. I had been in control then.

“You good?” I managed to croak out.

Darian huffed out a weak laugh. “Not in the least bit. You?”

“I’m never going into the woods again.”

Eventually, he put the car into drive and we left. Back to my apartment. I had work early in the morning, but we didn’t want to be alone that night. So we slept on my floor where I held tight onto his jacket sleeve until the sun rose. Neither of us brought up him choosing to call for help nor me answering that call.

#wip #writeblr #depression #the days #mentions of suicide #the day we decided to live #part one #wtwcommunity

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