#this is just so i can draft this stupid settlement deed right

[sarah-yyy]

the worst part of this job is client interaction because i can really be out here asking y/n questions and my client will literally tell me every single thing EXCEPT the answer to my question

[sundiscus]

wangxian dragon age au: ficlet

[part of a larger au i’ve mapped out + started drafting, but want to post as snippets for now! i’ve taken many liberties with the worldbuilding, and as such i think most can be inferred with context if you’re unfamiliar with dragon age.

part one now here

this snippet: the meet-ugly, ~1.7k]

✨✨✨

When Lan Wangji wakes up, he isn’t alone.

He doesn’t realize it right away. The first thing he notices is that, this time, there are no shackles. He shifts his hands the slightest bit, enough to confirm they are indeed free. The movement pulls at the little cuts on his fingers and forearms from where the shackles shattered apart, already scabbing over—so he has been unconscious long enough for the magebane to burn out of his system, which he confirms, finding his meridians free and clear. He’s lying on his back, something that feels slightly too soft to be a stone floor under him and something that feels slightly too rough to be a blanket draped over him. An odd green light pulses against his eyelids and the only sound is a muted, continuous hiss, like a distant waterfall. Wherever he is, it isn’t the cell from earlier.

It doesn’t matter. He won’t be here long.

He takes one more slow breath, listening closely. There. To his left, a few paces away, he hears a tiny, cut-off inhale. Now he knows where to aim. His eyes fly open as he launches himself upright, summoning his sword into his raised hand, and—

It’s like expecting the ocean and finding only a puddle. His sword flickers into existence for the barest moment, its glow illuminating a circle of stone walls, a pallet beneath him, and then Lan Wangji’s lungs stutter, pressure squeezing his temples, as if all air has been sucked out of the room. Bichen dissipates and Lan Wangji is left gasping, one hand still raised uselessly in the air.

From the shadows, someone says: “Ah, that’s not going to work.”

Lan Wangji is already looking to the side. He sees only a figure at first, because when his sword disappeared so had the strange, omnipresent green glow. The glow returns now, slowly illuminating a young man curled against the opposite wall, his hair a dark, tangled wave over his shoulders, wrists chained together with thick iron manacles. For a moment his eyes, staring right back at Lan Wangji, are the brightest thing in the room.

“What do you mean?” Lan Wangji demands, finding his voice. “Is there a suppression array?” It must be powerful to choke off his magic so finitely. If he can see it, though, he can figure out how to undo it.

The man wrinkles his nose. “Not exactly. But—ah, ah,” he says as Lan Wangji starts to stand, “don’t move too fast, the blowback from that is going to be pretty harsh.”

Lan Wangji understands almost instantly as a wave of vertigo hits him. His knees buckle before he’s halfway to his feet and he collapses back on the pallet, bracing his weight on his elbow to keep from falling entirely. When his ears stop ringing he can hear his own ragged breathing.

Enough, he thinks, and forces himself to even his breaths. To shift focus. Clearly whatever precautions Wen Chao and his soldiers have taken to secure this room go beyond magebane and a simple suppression array. He won’t be able to escape by sheer force like last time, but this will still be no more than a brief detour on his journey. He will make sure of it.

Yesterday—was it yesterday, now? The chamber has no windows, just the eerie green glow emanating from the walls—Lan Wangji had been traveling with a retinue of junior enchanters to retrieve research texts from the Circle in Hedong, where scholars claimed to have promising studies related to fade rifts. They were nearly there when a raven alighted on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, bearing the message: Siege on Gusu Circle. Reconvene to the north. He’d sent the junior enchanters ahead and turned back before the raven even took flight.

(The note had not mentioned his brother, so his brother must be alive. Rumors were already spreading outward from Gusu as he rode, saying Wen Xu had an archdemon, Wen Xu burned the Gusu library to the ground. They did not say Wen Xu killed Zewu-jun, Wen Xu killed a mage with a glowing hand. So his brother must have escaped. Knowing this did not stop Lan Wangji’s heart from racing as he spurred his horse faster, past refugee settlements and Templar camps, toward the distant gash in the sky.)

And then: a poisoned arrow biting into his arm, his horse crumpling on a hardpacked road outside Lingchuan. The Wen soldiers, ready for him. (Not ready enough, when at least six of their bodies fell before Lan Wangji did.) One day in the first cell, his failed escape attempt.

And now: magicless, trapped in a strange room with a strange, sharp-eyed prisoner watching him struggle to sit upright, the slow crawl of time a physical weight on Lan Wangji’s shoulders.

“Honestly, just ride it out,” the prisoner is saying. He has his chained hands up and open, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal. “You’ll feel better in about an hour. Maybe less, if you’ve had a good meal recently.”

Lan Wangji’s head spins sickeningly. He ignores it, pushing himself up until he can prop himself against the wall, putting himself eye-level with the prisoner, at least.

“Or sit up anyway, I suppose,” the prisoner says. His voice has a ragged edge, as if it’s scraping its way out of his throat. “Sorry, I’d offer you some water, but I drank it all before I knew I’d have company. What are you doing here, anyway?”

If First Enchanter Lan wants his nephew back, he’ll have to lend us a few books, Wen Chao had mocked from outside the first cell. And if he wants you back with all your limbs attached, he’ll have to throw in trading deeds with the eastern lyrium mines for good measure. Do you think he can deliver that before you die here?

Wen Chao wanted demonic texts, Lan Wangji had guessed, the ones hidden deep within the library. No doubt for some dangerous, power-hungry scheme, and no doubt connected to the rifts. From there, it wasn’t hard to piece together that the attack on the Circle was meant to discover which texts were critical enough to be rescued and transported away, and likely steal them in transit. There are protocols for such events, Lan Wangji knows, and his presence here means the raid was unsuccessful, and he will be used as leverage for a second attempt.

If Wen Chao meant to scare Lan Wangji with his demands, he had only succeeded in doing the opposite. Because if all they want from Lan Wangji’s family are books and deeds, it means they don’t know about his brother yet.

Lan Wangji doesn’t share any of this. “Political prisoner,” is all he says.

“Ahh.” The man nods. “I figured, what with the…” He gestures at his own forehead, chains clinking as he does. “You’re obviously a Lan. Someone will pay well to have you back home.”

“They should not have to pay at all,” Lan Wangji bites out. Something about the prisoner’s casual attitude grates at him. The world outside is quite literally falling apart at the seams, and Lan Wangji doesn’t have time to be used as bait in Wen Chao’s small-minded games.

The prisoner shrugs. “Yeah, but there’s not much choice at the moment, is there? For now you’re stuck here with me. I’m—my name is Wei Ying, by the way. What should I call you, while we wait?”

“Do the Wen soldiers enter this cell often?” Lan Wangji says instead of answering. “Is there a chance of overpowering them?”

A grimace. “Often enough. And no, I’ve tried. They’re stupid, but they’re prepared.”

Lan Wangji casts another glance over the man—Wei Ying—and carefully keeps any skepticism out of his expression. Then he looks around properly for the first time. Wei Ying is right—there’s no visible array on the floor, no glyphs on the circular stone walls. The green glow fades as it climbs the wall, leaving the ceiling cloaked in shadow and dizzying to look at, like an endless tunnel. Disturbingly, there isn’t a visible door, either. There isn’t much of anything but the one straw pallet, a lidded pot against the wall, an empty bowl next to Wei Ying, bone-dry, and Wei Ying himself.

“A Lan,” Wei Ying says when Lan Wangji is silent for long enough, pitched low, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I’m surprised Wen Chao would be so bold. He has to know that won’t go over well in the long run, I wonder if his father has any idea? No, he would’ve sent Wen Xu. Maybe Wen Chao thinks that by the time someone comes for you, he’ll have—” Wei Ying cuts himself off. Blinks. “You are real, aren’t you?”

Lan Wangji narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you’re not…” Wei Ying waves a hand at the room around them. “But, ah, why would I dream up a whole Knight-Enchanter? A Lan at that? You felt real enough, when I dragged you onto the pallet, but it’s still hard to tell.” Lan Wangji must have some reaction to that—to knowing this stranger’s hands have been on him, when he was unconscious—because Wei Ying adds, defensive: “What was I supposed to do? They left you on the floor.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t have an answer to that.

Wei Ying tips his head back against the wall. “Well. Your Circle, they have your phylactery, right? They’ll find you. Pay the ransom, or lay siege to Wen Chao’s little fortress here. That would be nice.” He casts his gaze over Lan Wangji again. “Looks like our captors were gentle enough in the meanwhile.”

There’s dried blood tugging at the hair of Lan Wangji’s temple, and he still has the nauseating sense that if he moves too fast he might collapse again. Gentle isn’t how Lan Wangji would describe his treatment so far. But it is also far below the threshold of what he can withstand, so it doesn’t seem like a point worth arguing. “And you?” he hears himself say.

“Uh.” Wei Ying shifts and holds up his shackled hands. “Less gentle, I suppose.”

“I meant—who will be paying your ransom.”

Wei Ying drops his hands into his lap. “Oh. No one.”

“Then,” Lan Wangji says, “why are you here?”

For the first time, Wei Ying flashes a smile. A hooked dagger in the dim light.

“I have something they want.”

[gray-autumn-sky]

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished, Chapter 2- Trapped

Salem Witch Trial AU for Spooky AU

The thrill of the escape didn’t last long.

He held her hand as he led her into the woods, weaving between trees as they moved deeper and deeper into the dark woods and away from the center of town. Still, even when they were far away enough not to be seen or heard by anyone from the village, he held her hand--and she found that she was glad for it. It wasn’t that the stranger’s hand brought her comfort or even that she was afraid; she didn’t worry about getting separated or what would happen if someone caught a glimpse of her running through the woods, but she was glad because if it hadn’t been for him dragging her along, she’d have collapsed long ago.

The mud was thick and her bare feet stuck in it, making each step a struggle. The rain was icy cold and the wind swept up underneath the burlap dress that hung on her shoulders, chilling her to the bone. She hadn’t quite realized how tired she was either, or how weak she felt from lack of food and water, and it wasn’t like she had a destination in mind; and, of course, if she collapsed and died in the middle of the forest, she’d be no worse off than she would’ve been staying in her cell.

Her heart pounds and her head is dizzy, and she feels like she’s having some sort of out-of-body experience--then, before she can even so much as chuckle at her own private joke, the masked man stops abruptly.

Looking around, she wipes the rain from her face and squinted--and when she didn’t see anything other than trees around then, she looked to him with a questioning gaze.

“Why--”

“The rain’s getting thicker.”

She blinks. “So?”

“I can barely see a measure in front of us.”

“What’s there to see?” she asks, panting as she again pushes the rain from her face. “Besides--”

“Come on!”

He tugs her away from where they’d stood, in the opposite direction and she squints in an effort to see where he’s taking her--but still, all she sees are trees. She wants to ask, but she can’t quite catch her breath enough to question where he’s leading her or why this direction is better than the previous--and then, once again, he stops suddenly and this time, he grins at her.

“We’ve arrived.”

Blinking, her eyes settle on a broken down, dilapidated little cabin that’s no more than a mound of rubble of wood and stone, and as she looks to him, he gives her hand another tug and leads her around it.

“The cellar’s still in tact,” he tells her, finally letting go of her head as he reaches into his pocket, withdrawing a pin and jamming it into the lock. “It’s dry… well, mostly.” She nods as she watches him, her brows arching up as the lock pops open. “You first.”

“How do you know about this cellar?”

The masked man sighs. “I’ve… stayed here once or twice when--” He stops, sighing in frustration as the rain pours down around him, dropping from his eyelashes, nose and chin. “Can we talk about this at another time?”

He takes her hand again, but this time she pull back, and her feet plant down in the mud as her stomach lurches as she thinks of the dark closet that Leopold used to lock her in. “How do I know that--”

“I’m not going to murder you?” he asks. “Well, I suppose you don’t. But if you don’t trust me and get into the cellar, someone else will.”

“But--”

He shakes his head, pointing up to the sky. “It’s nearly daybreak and I’m sure someone’s discovered your empty cell by this point.” She shifts nervously on her feet, biting down on her lip as she looks to the dark cellar. “How long do you think it’ll be before a search party is sent out?”

“I don’t know, but--”

He doesn’t give her the opportunity to finish. Instead, he tugs on her hand, dragging her toward the cellar and, in spite of her own worries, she finds herself stepping down onto the first step--and as soon as she’s down far enough, he pulls the cellar doors closed and darkness surrounds them.

She reaches the last stair and takes a few tentative steps, holding her breath and ignoring the fact that breathing is suddenly difficult for her. She closes her eyes, pinching them shut as she take a few more steps, the sound of the closet door echoing in her ears after Leopold’s eerily cool tone tells her to repent. The sound of rustling interrupts her thoughts, and she’s glad for it--and then, a moment later, a flame sparks.

Her eyes widen a little as she turns toward the light and she sees the stranger holding a torch of bound up pine branches--and a little grin tugs up at the corner of her mouth when she sees that he’s pulled back his hood and removed his mask, revealing a strong but relaxed jaw, glittering blue eyes, and dark blonde hair that curls a bit in the front.

“Where are we?”

“That’s a secret.”

“Is it?” she asks, her brow arching as she looks around--and then, her breath catches. They’re in some sort of lair. She takes a few steps away from the light, looking at a golden brooch pinned to a rope that hangs from the ceiling and a jewel-handled cutlass lies propped up against the wall. “What is this place?”

“Uh, just… a place I come to occasionally and--”

“Where did all of this come from?”

“Here and there,” the stranger tells her, shrugging his shoulders a devilish little grin edges over his lips. “You know…”

“I don’t, actually,” she says, her shoulders squaring as she recognizes a brass box that’s passed around at church on Sundays. “I…”

“I’ll kindly remind you that I just broke you out of prison,” he tells her. “That you were on death row.”

She blinks as she looks up at him. “And what does that--”

“Well, from one alleged criminal to another--”

“I’m not a criminal,” she tells him, her voice full of indignation as her shoulder square. “I’m--”

“A witch.”

At that, she pouts. “And you’re a thief.”

He shrugs, unbothered by the title. “Well, I’m more than that, but--” He laughs out and shakes his head, and it makes her feel a strange both uneasy and calm. “I’ve just realized I know so much about you and you know nothing of me.”

“How?” she asks, taking a step forward as her eyes narrow with curiosity. “How do you know anything at all about me? Why would you--?”

“Risk everything to break you out?” Her shoulders relax as she remembers that he’s on her side, and she nods. “Well, I know that you’re innocent.”

“Even though I failed every test?”

“Those tests are assinine and…” Shaking his head he sighs. “Those tests can’t account for everything.”

“Can’t they?”

Again, he shakes his head. “I’ve, uh… I’ve been watching.”

“What?”

“The man who broke into your home--”

Warmth rises up the back of her neck and her eyes wide. “That was--”

“Not me.”

“But--”

“I’m not the only thief in Salem.”

Her eyes darken and she looks away, remembering the draft she’d felt from beneath Mary-Margaret’s door and how she’s privately chided the girl for leaving her window open as she reached for the doorknob to the girl’s room--and she also remembers the way her heart had practically stopped as she saw a man standing over the girl’s bed. “I… don’t think he was a thief.”

“Each of us has our own agenda.”

“And yours?”

“I take what I can and pawn it off in another village, and--”

“What do you do with the money?”

“Whatever I want.”

“And what do you want?”

He grins. “Right now, I want to keep your neck intact and--”

“No need to be so graphic.”

He blinks. “That was hardly--”

“So, this intruder…”

“Wants a bit more than just some sparkly items that some governor’s wife will drool over.” He sighs and takes a few steps deeper into the cellar. “You aren’t wrong.”

“Would he have hurt her?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But he’d been watching the house for awhile and--”

“That explains the missing pitcher.”

The man’s eyes narrow as he sits down on a little bench. “Pitcher?”

“Two days ago, a porcelain pitcher went missing and--” Her eyes press closed as she remembering Leopold’s firm grasp on her arm, his fingers pressing into her skin hard enough to leave bruises beneath her dress as he dragged her up the stairs and told her she was evil. “We didn’t know what happened to it. It was just… gone.”

He hesitates for a moment, and she watches as he draws in a breath. “He blamed you.”

She feels her brows arch and her eyes widen. “How--”

“I told you. I was watching.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, her eyes casting down as her cheeks flush, wondering what exactly he saw, but too afraid to ask. “I didn’t--”

“That was the point,” he interjects. “For no one to know.”

She nods, and suddenly, her chest feels tight, and she can’t bring herself to look at him. She’s embarrassed, mostly, she realizes, and though it’s stupid, she prided herself on her secrets--prided herself on never looking weak to anyone and going through life with an air of importance and power. But this stranger knew the truth. He’d seen things he wasn’t meant to see, and he knew how vulnerable she was--and she hated that.

“I’m Robin, by the way,” he tells her, his voice softer as he stands up and moves slowly toward her. “I was… I was at the trial, too. I know that you’re innocent and, what’s worse, I know that you were framed. Your husband knows it, too.”

At that, she looks up. “How could--”

“He saw the intruder.”

“He said he didn’t. He told everyone--” Her voice cracks as tears fill her eyes, and Leopold’s testimony echos in her ears. “He said--”

“He lied.”

“And… and… Mary-Margaret.”

“I think… I think she thinks she’s telling the truth, and I think she wants to please her father.”

“She always does.”

“She’s a child.”

Regina shrugs. “She knows more than she lets on. She sees it all and… looks the other way.”

“She’s a child, Regina.”

She looks up at sound of her name, and nods. “So, that’s… that’s why you broke me out?”

Robin reaches for her, gently taking her arm and leading her to the bench--and it’s not until she sits down that she remembers how tired and cold she is. “I know people,” he tells her. “People in other villages, people at other settlements. I know Natives and--”

“What?”

“They’ll help you.”

“Oh,” she murmurs. “I… I can’t imagine…”

“We’ll stay here until dark. No one will look here.”

“Not even with the open lock.”

“No,” he murmurs. “Our tracks will have faded from the rain and so will our scent, and…” Robin chuckles softly. “If you were here, it’d only make sense that the owner was harboring you.”

Regina’s head tips to the side as he sits down beside her, again smiling at her in a way that makes his blue eyes sparkle. “Someone owns this… pile of rubble and…”

“Gold.”

“Gold,” she repeat. “You mean…”

“The man who sentenced you owns this property. It was his first home before… well… before he rose in power and status, and before he moved into the village.”

“I see.”

“And you know how these angry mobs are… always looking for any connection, any reason to accuse.”

Nodding, she grins. “That’s true.”

“So, we’ll be safe here until night falls, then we’ll be on our way, and you’ll be a free woman.”

“Free…”

“Not trapped in a marriage to a cruel man. Not trapped under his watch or the watch of the church. You’ll be free to… do as you please and…”

“And practice witchcraft?”

He grins. “Well, if that’s what you choose--”

“It’s not all cauldrons and sacrificing and--”

“So, it’s true.”

She hesitates, biting down on her lip. “You didn’t anticipate being trapped with a real, live witch, did you?”

“That’s actually exactly what I anticipated.”

Her cheeks flush and suddenly, she’s glad for the dark--and then, when he sinks down beside her and drapes his arm over her shoulders, she can’t help but turn into his embrace and let him hold her, suddenly very aware of how cold she is. He’d been wearing layers, and he’d peeled the first one off, revealing a thick woolen cloak that’s mostly dry. She edges closer as his arms wrap around her, his hands rubbing over her back in an effort to warm her up. Her eyes close and she cuddles closer, feeling safer than she should in his hold, and as she feels herself floating toward sleep, he shifts to blow out the pine needle torch, sending the cellar back into darkness--and her last thoughts before giving into her exhaustion is that, for the first time, she’s confined to a dark, small space, yet she feels completely at ease.