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publicenemy212 · 2 months

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Part 2 of Love Potion (dom!Velvette x f!sub!reader)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

woo boy this ended up a lot longer than i expected! this is Part 2; Part 1 brings more context to the story!

Read Part 1 here

warnings:

not beta'd, porn w/ plot, dubcon, aphrodisiacs, a mix of degradation+praise, edging, oral, strapless dildo, floor sex, power dynamics (boss x employee)

word count: 4611

Also on AO3!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The grand tower overshadowed you. Neon lights glimmered in the red sky, mixing with the city smog to create a glowing cloud surrounding the already-intimidating building. You weren’t even past those glass doors yet and you could already feel the stifling power emanating from the Vees’ headquarters, choking your breath and your soul.

You took a deep inhale to calm your screaming nerves. All that time you’d spent building a following, perfecting your aura, your looks, your energy: it was all about to pay off. If everything went according to plan, you would be well on your way to living the true high life by the end of tonight.

As you gazed upwards at the top of the building where the three giant V signs blazed, you steeled yourself for the rapidly-approaching meeting with your long time idol.

Ignoring the random sounds of the hellish city behind you, you stepped forward to dial in the callbox next to the locked entrance.

Your nails clacked against the brushed steel of the keypad. After a few moments of static, a voice crackled through the tiny speaker. “V Tower, how may I help you?”

Clearing your throat, you responded, “I’m here for an interview with Velvette.”

A brief moment of silence passed as the concierge fiddled with the door lock controls. A clicking sound preceded the large modern doors sliding open, granting you entrance to the overlords’ abode.

Heart pounding, you swallowed the excess saliva that had formed in your mouth and stepped into the V Tower lobby.

The lobby itself was already lavishly furnished, showcasing wealth and power to no end. The shining tile floor reflected everything as perfectly as a crystal-clear lake, undoubtedly polished and cleaned by the multitude of assistants whose souls were tethered to the Vees’ iron grips. Several potted plants were masterfully placed around the expansive lobby, bringing an air of class and cleanliness that was absent from the world outside these decorated walls. So this was true power. The ability to create and maintain a relatively civilized and clean bubble amidst literal Hell.

As you marveled at the sights, a rather insignificant looking figure approached you. Another poor pest without a soul, you thought, pitying their sorry state. Of course, you couldn’t be as arrogant as you normally were while in the presence of the Vees, so you tried your best to tone your reactions down. Instead of a sneer, you only casted a rather cool gaze down at the sinner. “Yes?”

The sinner shuffled their papers awkwardly and cleared their throat. “Velvette has asked me to take you to her. Follow me, please.”

You nodded once and quickly fixed your clothing, smoothing any wrinkles or rumples that formed during your commute, before following the assistant to an elevator. You made sure to maintain just the right balance of an air of vanity, as was your brand. You certainly could not afford to drop that in front of Velvette. After all, she chose you only based on the image you created of yourself on Sinstagram. Deviate from that, and you might just get yourself dismissed.

It wasn’t too hard, anyway. Your ego was quite large and you wholeheartedly believed yourself to be a god among men, especially when around lowly nobodies like that frail assistant mumbling over their papers. However, you also recognized when you were that weak nobody in comparison to somebody else—somebody like Velvette. In such scenarios, you made sure to act your place. Picking your fights wisely was what got you to success in the first place. Only after you had amassed more power would you even consider biting back.

The elevator dinged as it reached Velvette’s floor. In the corner of your eye, you noticed the assistant shiver briefly. What a loser.

You stepped out of the elevator, taking another deep breath. The air smelled like a clothing store and strawberries and… a tinge of blood. You paid it no mind. Sinners killing other sinners was commonplace. It was even less surprising here, since this place belonged to not one, but three bloodthirsty overlords. As you continued walking towards the center of the room, you discovered the source of the smell: several models, whom you recognized from Velvette’s fashion shows, were torn limb from limb and left strewn across the room. You raised an eyebrow at the sight.

“Hey you! Get your arse over here, I don’t have all day.” A cocky voice sounds from the left end of the room.

That’s Velvette’s voice. No doubt. You instinctively straightened your back and lifted your chin ever-so-slightly as you walked over to meet her.

She was even more intimidating in real life; gorgeous, too, of course. As to be expected from the fashion overlord.

She sat in her director’s chair and tapped away on her phone. As you neared her chair, her eyes lifted from the screen to meet yours before looking you up and down. A smirk crept up onto her face.

“Well, at least you don’t disappoint me from the first impression.”

She stood up from where she sat and slid her phone into her pocket, her skull earrings jingling softly. “You gonna hand me those photos or what?”

You dipped your head. “Of course. Here’s my portfolio.” You reached into your purse to procure a small folder filled with your best modeling shots and handed it to Velvette. She snatched it rudely from your hands and shuffled through the carefully-selected photos with little care. You watched her eyes expectantly, desperate to take note of any hint of emotion.

After a minute, Velvette scoffed, slamming the folder shut and throwing it behind her back. You cringed slightly at her obvious rejection.

“Are you joking? These photos are shit. Did you take them yourself or something?”

You blinked and took a breath. “No, ma’am, I hired a photographer for these images.”

“Really? Then I hope you killed them afterwards, because this work is worse than the pictures I took as a five-year-old.”

Before you could think of something to say, she roughly grabbed your arm and dragged you down the hallway. Bewildered, you simply stumbled along. “Sorry, but where are you taking me?”

“We’re taking new pictures for you. Ones that will actually look professional, instead of whatever dogshit you showed me earlier.”

You bit back your tongue. Though you were no overlord, your power still wholly outmatched most sinners you came into contact with in your day-to-day life. Anybody who spoke to you like how Velvette was speaking to you just now would’ve been killed already. You hated disrespect, but now was not the time to fight. Lashing out would not only mean an end to your career but also to your life. Sure, sinners couldn’t truly die at the hands of another sinner without being hurt with an angelic weapon, but regenerating over the course of two weeks or so was a torturous ordeal you’d rather not go through.

By now, Velvette was intrigued. It wasn’t every day she recruited a new model who could hold their temper against her harsh remarks. Maybe only about 30% of interviewees. However, these were exactly the type of people she needed on her team. She absolutely refused to deal with any bitchy narcissists who thought they could go against her. Which, unfortunately, was the majority. Then again, these people were all in Hell for a reason. She couldn’t really expect there to be many humble sinners out there. No, humble wasn’t the right word: rather, people who knew their rightful place.

Once the two of you entered the photography studio, Velvette reached for her phone and called in one of her assistants to retake your pictures for your modeling portfolio. You waited patiently, unwilling to stir any conflict.

Velvette broke the silence. “Y’know, you’re lucky you’re still here and in one piece. I would have had you sent away after you presented those pictures to me, but that bitch Valentino ripped through a good half of my top models during one of his hissy fits again. Were it not for that, you would certainly not be here!” she declared snarkily, ending her comment with a cocky laugh.

It took everything in you to not roll your eyes. Self-control was, fortunately, one of your strong suits—unbeknownst to you, Velvette was watching your every reaction to her words and actions.

Today had been a slow day for Velvette. She only had her second-rate models to work with, and none of them satisfied her standards for the shoot she had in mind. Of course, now that there was fresh meat well within her grasp, she decided to have a bit of fun with things. Just how far could she push your buttons before you fought back?

The photographer she called finally arrived at the studio. Velvette exited the room without another word, her eyes never leaving her phone screen. All these awfully boring notifications to go through, clients to respond to… leave it to Val to ruin her entire fucking week. Everything had to be pushed back after his latest idiotic tantrum. Velvette groaned as she leaned against the wall.

She opened the camera app and set it to selfie mode. At least her hair and makeup were still perfectly in place. After finding the perfect angle under the hallway lighting, she snapped a few pictures to post on her Sinstagram story.

Suddenly, her screen flashed with an incoming call from Vox. Velvette rolled her eyes, slightly miffed at the interruption.

“What do you want right now? You know today isn’t the best time to be calling me.”

Vox sighed over the phone. “Just letting you know that I’ve placated the pissbaby.” He droned on in a rather exhausted tone.

“Great! Now keep him that way, I can’t afford him storming down here and ruining my next best candidate for the shoot.”

Velvette tapped the red button to hang up the call, mumbling expletives under her breath. Just the thought of Valentino bringing his idiotic rants into her business made her blood boil. You’d think he would be calmer with all those cigarettes he smoked all the time, but that clearly wasn’t the case.

She finished editing and posting her newest selfies to her story before going back to handle all of her unread messages.

After another ten minutes, she barged back into the photography studio. “You’ve taken long enough, let me see those photos.”

The assistant imp meekly stood up and made way for Velvette to look at the digital files on the computer. You stayed in the corner, waiting for Velvette’s next orders, albeit with much more dignity than that trembling imp.

After a few moments, Velvette walked back to the doorway. “Good enough, now scurry along and get those printed.”

The imp didn’t hesitate for a second before taking the laptop and scrambling away, head down the entire time. You found it rather amusing how these lowly assistants didn’t even bother trying to keep their pride intact. Of course, you knew better—you understood how to bow to a stronger power but still respect yourself in the process. You understood the art of keeping an image.

Your self-control didn’t go unnoticed by the overlord in the room. In fact, the entire time ever since you two met face-to-face, she’d been toying with the idea of how to break that carefully curated composure of yours. It would be some much-needed entertainment after the shitty day she’d had.

Velvette stopped at the studio exit and turned to face you. “You. Follow me, I think you deserve a rest after all this work.” She turned around and kept walking without looking back to see if you followed or not. She didn’t need to; from what you’ve shown so far, you were quite the obedient one.

“Of course.” You tailed her down the hallway until she stopped in front of another room. The two of you entered what you soon realized was the company break room. The warm aroma of coffee filled your nostrils and she gestured to you to sit down.

“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee would be great.”

To your surprise, Velvette poured a cup for you. A rather shocking act of politeness from the overlord compared to all the interactions you’ve had tonight.

She handed you the mug before sitting at the table across from you.

“So tell me more about yourself. Why’d you want to be scouted by my company?”

You stared at her peppermint-like eyes. Her face betrayed no ill will. Taking a sip of the warm coffee, you respond candidly. “Well, I would say I’m quite the catch. I wouldn’t want to join just any random bullshit agency out there. That would be a waste of my talent.”

Velvette smiled amicably. “That’s true. And I did select you for a reason, sweetie. Glad to see you own up to it. I certainly cannot deal with any bitches who either have egos smaller than their dicks or ugly creatures who somehow think they’re the shit.”

As Velvette continued to inquire about your life and goals, you couldn’t help but notice a strange buzz welling up inside of you. You drank coffee every day; you had definitely built a tolerance to caffeine by now. There was no way one cup of coffee was affecting you this strongly.

After the short interview in the break room, Velvette led you back down the hallway into a changing room. Something was wrong. Your muscles trembled ever so slightly, your legs weak with each step you took. Not to mention how you could feel your body temperature rise. Did Velvette drug the coffee? You silently cursed yourself for not realizing that earlier, but it was too late to do anything about that now. You had come so close to realizing your dreams. There was no way you were going to let everything down the drain now.

As she walked you down the hall, Velvette grinned ever so slightly. She almost couldn’t believe you just accepted that cup and drank it without a second thought. How the fuck did you survive for so long in Hell? What a goddamned idiot.

She could tell from the slight twitches in your stride and your face that the Love Potion she had slipped into your drink was kicking in. Now, she just had to see how long it would be before that poise of yours came crashing down.

In the changing room, she riffled through the endless outfits hung up in the walk-in closet to select one of her newest designs for you to try out. You took the chance to sit down and rest your shaky legs. Blood pounded through your ears as if they were drumbeats announcing your advancing demise. You gritted your teeth, determined to tough it out. You had gone through worse before. Fighting against chemicals in your bloodstream was nothing… right?

Doubts began inching up your mind like worms as the effects of whatever drug Velvette fed you only increased. Sweat began to bead up along your brow and your cheeks felt hot to the touch. Worst of all, there was a growing ache between your legs that only seemed to get worse with every second that passed.

You swallowed the saliva that had pooled inside your mouth. Even your vision was starting to blur. Fuck.

Unexpected images of Velvette kissing you and fucking you flashed behind your eyes.

“Hello? Helloooo? Wake up!”

You snapped back to reality to see Velvette inches away from your face. “I’m so sorry, I’m not sure what’s gotten into me,” you uttered weakly before clearing your voice and straightening yourself. “Apologies.”

She scrutinized you for a few moments before leaning back and handing you a pile of clothes. “Well, while you were busy daydreaming about god-knows-what, I’ve been asking you for the past minute if you could wear this outfit.” Your pupils were dilated beyond control. How cute.

You fumbled with the fabrics before standing up to get changed. Yet, to your horror, you felt the coolness of air hitting a wet spot between your thighs. A matching damp mark was on the chair where you were sitting.

Velvette feigned shock and disgust. “What the fuck is that?”

Shame pulsed through your entire body. “I—I don’t know why this is happening, I swear,” you tried to speak with an even voice, failing miserably as your voice croaked in the middle.

Velvette scowled in revulsion. “Well, quit it. You have a job to do right now. I don’t have all day.” She was intrigued. Most people would’ve been reduced to a nonfunctional pile of lust by now, especially at the dosage she gave you. She wondered how much more she could put you through before you finally fell apart.

She exited the room to give you privacy to change into the new clothes. Tapping on the Vmessages app, she decided to give Vox a small update on her newest prey.

Slipped 50mg of Love Potion extract into her drink LOL

The changing room door creaked open and you stepped out, wearing the clothing Velvette chose for you. She turned off her phone and spun around to face you. She circled you like a vulture, her watchful eyes assessing whether the design was acceptable or not. “Not bad. At least it isn’t too far from what I had in mind.”

Satisfied, Velvette beckoned you to follow her back to the photography studio. Your legs threatened to buckle with each step. It took every ounce of your waning willpower to keep a straight face and a normal stride. The world swam before your eyes.

One foot suddenly knocked into the other. You gasped and tumbled to the floor helplessly. Right before you hit the floor, Velvette caught your arm. You panted heavily, a mix of overbearing, unplaced lust and adrenaline pounding through your chest.

She hauled you back upright before glaring at you. “What’s the matter with you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound could come out. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath to regroup your thoughts. Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, you exhaled, expecting it to be silent—you were just breathing, for fuck’s sake—but your vocal chords were just tense enough to involuntarily generate a soft, needy moan.

Your eyes flew open with horror at your own body’s blatant betrayal. Velvette stared directly at you and raised an eyebrow.

“I take it that you’d like some help right now?” She smirked.

By now, your self-control had dissolved into oblivion. You could hardly even think coherent thoughts anymore. The only thing left on your mind?

You nodded profusely.

To your dismay, Velvette laughed in your face and shoved you forward. “Then that’s too bad. Keep walking, filthy whore.”

You whined, your legs pressing together. You tried to keep walking forward, but you tripped and fell to the polished tiles below not two steps later. Groaning in need, you tried to lift yourself back up, only to fail pitifully. It seemed like your sense of balance had left you as well. Everything felt like getting drunk, only ten times worse and ten times hornier.

Velvette’s heels clacked closer. She bent down and smiled at you. “Looks like you finally broke.”

Your bleary eyes stared back at her in confusion. She scooped you up from under your arms, letting you lean against her for support as she walked you back to the changing room.

Once you two were alone inside the room, she sat you on a bench and locked the doors.

The red-haired overlord returned to stand over your trembling self. She crossed her arms and stared down at you. “How about a deal, hm? I’ll help you relieve this suffering this time, and in return, you give me your soul.” She stuck out a hand.

Her words went through one ear and out the other. Everything was lost on you except for her offer to help you. Mindlessly, you accepted the deal.

You grasped her hand, solidifying the exchange of your soul to her control. Velvette grinned maliciously before leaning in towards you and kissing you.

Purple light and energy flickered in the air surrounding you both. The soul deal was complete.

She lifted you up to make it easier for the two of you to deepen the kiss. Her tongue flicked around inside your mouth, brushing against yours in the process. Her hands gripped the sides of your face as yours snaked around the back of her neck, your fingers running through her hair. There was no space left between you and her, your bodies pressed against each other as tightly as possible. You bit her bottom lip and licked it to taste her strawberry-flavored lip gloss. Although Velvette didn’t expect to find herself so into you when she first thought up the plan, she couldn’t deny how much she also wanted this. It was nice to have another plaything.

A string of mixed saliva connected your lips as you broke for air. You gasped to catch your breath.

You two continued to kiss soon after. Her black lipgloss smeared over your bare lips and soon enough, your neck as well. Each kiss and bite earned a whimper out of you as you clutched onto her weakly. Everything was a reminder as to how small you truly were in the presence of an overlord.

Velvette pulled away suddenly. “Sit down.” She commanded you, shoving you back down onto the bench. Your chest still heaved for air, your breathing labored and impaired from the spiked coffee.

“Take off your pants.”

You frantically obliged, desperate for any kind of stimulation to your aching clit.

She kneeled in front of you, holding your inner thighs apart. Her puffy pigtails tickled your legs.

“Vel, please, I—I need…”

Any other words you had were cut off by a sharp gasp as she shoved her face to your cunt without warning. Your already-moist vagina combined with her slick mouth with both hers and your own saliva from making out made for the most unholy, wet noises as she ate you out. Your back arched and you gritted your teeth at the sensory overload from your hypersensitive, drugged nerves firing waves after waves of pure bliss. Velvette’s tongue alternated from swirling around your clit to dipping inside your hole, fucking you nonstop. Your thighs tightened around her head, her own hands holding your legs over her shoulders. One of your hands propped you up while the other one gripped Velvette’s hair.

“Fuck, I—oh god,” you managed to gasp out.

Her red eyes glanced up at you. “Enjoying yourself up there, you whiny little slut?” She chuckled with her mouth still against your cunt, the vibrations adding fuel to the fire. Her tongue thrust back inside of you to work you closer to the edge.

You moaned through your teeth once more. Velvette could feel your walls tighten around her tongue. You were close, and that was also her sign to stop. She pulled back as briskly as when she dove in.

You blinked away your tears and wiped your drool with your hand that was on her head. “Wha… why?” Your voice cracked a little with unfulfilled need.

Velvette wiped her own mouth with her hand to get rid of your slick and her drool. She grinned at you. “Aww, sad that you didn’t get to cum? Don’t worry, darling.” With that, she turned around to rummage through one of the dressers.

You blinked, confused and unable to think properly. In your incapacitated state, you were willing to do anything Velvette said if it meant you could reach your high. Nothing mattered in the world but sex.

You sat there stupidly until Velvette returned with a strapless dildo. Your eyes slid from the dildo and back up to the overlord’s lustful gaze. The end that would be going into you… it had to have been a good seven inches long. Smiling, she leaned towards you and handed the silicone toy to you. She pointed at her end of the toy. “I want you to coat this part nice and good. Don’t leave a single spot dry.”

You stared at the silicone cock for a moment before bringing it to your mouth. You dragged your lips and tongue over the toy lasciviously, slathering it with your saliva as you were instructed before handing it back to your boss.

She hummed, satisfied with your obedience and drugged stupor. “Good girl.” Velvette patted you on the head mockingly.

Her own pants fell to the floor as she inserted the strapless end of the dildo inside herself, moaning in the process. The sound itself caused another pulse of pleasure through your own lower regions. You breathed heavily as you watched the silicone cock bounce before your face. Velvette’s right hand grabbed your hair roughly, pulling your head back just enough to face her dick. Her other hand guided the tip to your lips. She grinned at the feeling of complete dominance over the previously well-composed sinner. “Suck.”

You parted your mouth, giving her full access to your throat. Without hesitation, she thrusted as far as she could, forcing you to gag and choke. Saliva oozed out of your mouth and down your chin while she fucked your mouth brutally, ensuring to unwind you even further. To ruin you even more.

Your hands grasped at her buttocks for some semblance of support. You groaned and whimpered as drool dripped everywhere.

Once Velvette was happy, she pulled out to admire her work. The dildo glistened under the changing room lights, and best of all, your expression was utterly priceless—your eyes unfocused, hair tousled, mouth slightly agape and slobber essentially everywhere.

“Beautiful. Now get on the floor. On your stomach.”

You slid off the bench and laid face down. Velvette soon followed suit, kneeling on the floor behind you. She grabbed your hips, lifting them up with surprising strength. Your knees dug against the cold tiles. A hand pushed the small of your back back down towards the floor, guiding your body into the perfect arch. You couldn’t see much but you soon felt something cold and wet prodding your entrance.

Velvette thrusted into you in one powerful stroke, hilting herself almost immediately. “That went in surprisingly easily… been wanting this, huh?” her voice taunted you from behind. She began to thrust back and forth, your hips colliding and sending loud smacking noises across the room. Both of your moans joined the wet slapping sounds. Your hands clawed uselessly at the smooth tiled floor, the lack of support adding to the overpowering stimulation and feeling of a loss of control. Velvette laughed at your pitiful state, her own ecstasy from that power trip and the two-way dildo mixing into a pleasurable cocktail of emotions.

You came multiple times, the stimulation now so immense each movement brought tears to your eyes nonstop. A white ring of your cum formed around the base of Velvette’s cock, adding to the lubrication from your slick and saliva. At some point, you began to fade in and out of consciousness, which only added to Velvette’s amusement. Velvette only stopped once she felt her own fatigue creeping in, her stress successfully alleviated for the day. She pulled out of your limp body with a sigh and pulled it out of herself after. Tossing the toy aside, she cast another glance at your spent body before taking out her phone.

Vmessages 6m ago

Vox

So, how’d it go?

Velvette smiled, tapping on the notification to send a reply.

Made a new deal. Found ourselves a new keeper. x

#hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin smut #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel velvette #velvette x reader #velvette smut

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dystopianam · 8 days

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[DOWNLOAD] 3T2 CALLBOX AS BURGLAR ALARM (DEFAULT & CUSTOM + 42 RECOLORS)

When I was a child I didn't know about burglar alarms having never seen one, so I thought they were callboxes... and this explains the reason for this cc!

This is a conversion from The Sims 3 Late Night, It has three original EA colors and everything else are textures that I recolored myself (they're not perfect, I don't know much about graphics, I'm not at all skilled at editing images but it's better than nothing!) you can delete the recolors you don't like and leave the ones you want. (By default it uses an EA color as the base, the other EA recolors have "EA" written in the name. So if you only want the EA ones delete all the recolors that don't have "EA" in the name.)

The texture isn't beautiful but that's not my fault, it was already low quality itself ;;

Everything works! Even the flashing light bulb, the special effects and the sound!

Thanks again to @jacky93sims who explained so many things to me, I'm a bit nervous because it's my first cc ;; Let me know if you find any problem!

REQUIRES

The CEP (Otherwise the recolors don't work)

This MOD by @midgethetree (Otherwise the custom version doesn't work)

I placed both the compressed and uncompressed versions in the folder. They weren't very high poly, so I couldn't decide which one to upload and I uploaded both!

Please, choose only one version! You can't have default and custom together! (They work but besides making no sense the recolors of the custom version don't work otherwise)

SMALL PROBLEMS

By default the game doesn't allow you to put the burglar alarm on the wall outside the house. Activate moveobjects to resolve.

If you are unable to grab the object after placing it, click where the lil flashing light is.

DOWNLOAD LINK (SFS)

#the sims 2 #the sims 2 default #the sims 2 buy mode #3t2 #the sims 2 download #the sims 2 cc #my cc

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wangxianficrecs · 4 months

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once upon a time, 很久很久以前 by gentil-minou (Flyingsuits)

once upon a time, 很久很久以前

by gentil-minou (Flyingsuits) (@gentil-minou)

M, WIP, 52k, Wangxian

Summary: Once upon a time, there lived a magical boy who was lost far, far away from home… Wei Wuxian is perfectly ready to celebrate another mediocre birthday alone when a ten-year-old shows up on his doorstep claiming to be his son. This kid is convinced they and everyone in his town were dragged away from their xianxia world and cursed to live as ordinary citizens in a mundane small town, and he's certain that Wei Wuxian is the key to saving them all. He sounds insane, but, well, Wei Wuxian likes him. Besides, what else can he do but follow him? (A Wangxian AU based on the show Once Upon a Time, no prior knowledge of said show necessary) Kay's comments: This story is super fascinating and has me completely hooked! Set in a modern setting, Wei Wuxian lives quite the miserable and lonely life until A-Yuan suddenly appears and basically leads him into a little village where he encounters Lan Wangji amongst other familiar characters and things are actually more than a little strange in that village. Wangxian's relationship starts out incredibly well only to immediately crash and I'm so looking forward to how they will find their way back to each other. Excerpt: Until he hears a quiet cough and looks down to see a little boy. At first, he thinks maybe he’s a trick-or-treater who got a bit lost, but Wei Wuxian’s building is secured with a key and callbox entry. Plus, although he’s been wandering streets alone since forever, he’s pretty sure a kid this young would have a chaperone with him. He looks behind the kid and doesn’t see anyone else there. But instead of asking something sensible like where his chaperone may be or even if the kid’s lost, he blurts, “How did you get in?” The boy tilts his head and replies, “The front door. It wasn’t locked, I just walked in.” So much for secured entry. But that doesn’t really answer why there is a human child at his door at nearly midnight. There’s definitely a law somewhere that says that’s illegal, probably. The kid, who can’t be more than ten years old and really should have learned about stranger danger by now, beams up at him, as if technical breaking and entering is something to be proud of. Which, okay, maybe Wei Wuxian is kind of impressed by that.

pov alternating, modern setting, modern with magic, transmigration, amnesia, mystery, somebody lives/not everybody dies, wei wuxian has self-esteem issues, sad wei wuxian, lonely wei wuxian, single parent lan wangji, developing relationship, lan wangji/others, fluff and angst, slow burn, mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, once upon a time fusion, curses

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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aggressivelyclueless · 2 years

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@starfleetrambo this one was for u ^_^

in which martin calls in sick and jon feels the heavy absence of his insufferable assistant. he tells himself he just needs to make sure he's not being haunted by another flesh hive again as he heads to martin's apartment carrying ingredients for soup and his favourite tea.

For an early Tuesday afternoon, the train was quiet. Jon shifted the bag from one hand to the other, checking its contents yet again: potatoes, onion, carrots, beans, ham-hock. . . he couldn't possibly have forgotten anything. That was absurd. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it wasn't like there was any difficulty to it.

But this was stupid. It was probably nothing.

Probably.

When he'd grabbed his coat and left the Institute an hour prior, he hadn't thought he'd be taking the whole afternoon off. Just an extended lunch, he'd told Tim on the way out -- you and Sasha both, eh? Tim said, feigning surprise, leaving me unsupervised? Y'think that's wise?

Perhaps it wasn't, Jon mused, although he wasn't going to say so. He told himself he just had to get out of the Archives for a while, that he'd spent too many hours shut into his office, that it was somehow too quiet that day, that maybe he was finally driving himself insane and he needed a break.

That must have been it.

Kindness? Of course not. Jon couldn't even stand him.

The train carried a chill but the cold drifted in, bitter, when the doors opened, and by the time Jon ascended the steps to street level he'd pulled the collar of his coat up as high as it would go. Wishing for gloves (ah, perhaps he had forgotten something after all), he went into a trot down the sidewalk, clutching his little bag of supplies and heading the handful of blocks across Stockwell. It was due to snow after nightfall, said the weatherman, but Jon didn't see it.

Clouds, maybe. Snow? Probably not.

The flat was a square building comprised of battered red brick, and the naked hedges out front shivered under a line of twinkling net lights as Jon made his approach. He didn't envy them. He tread carefully, minding the ice, and paused at the front door.

His thumb smashed the button on the callbox, inches away from numb at this point with his nose and the tips of his ears to follow. The hand tried, almost successfully, to make a dash for his coatpocket; it might have gotten there if the little light on the callbox hadn't blinked on. The other hand, closed stiff around the bag, was condemned to suffer for another minute until he got inside.

Assuming he got an answer, anyhow.

But the crackly callbox speaker came to life, although it didn't sound healthy. "Hullo?"

"Martin? . . . it's Jon. Can I come in?"

Audible surprise from the speaker, which may or may not have dissolved into a coughing fit as the sound cut out. A moment later, somewhat recomposed: "Jon. . . ? What are you doing here? It's Tuesday -- ?"

"Yes, I know," said Jon, convinced that his hands were never going to forgive him for such horrible abuse. His fingers had given up on feeling: the one planted on the callbox was retaining the indentation where the button had been pressed, but refused to acknowledge any sensation of it whatsoever. Lovely.

But Martin, damn him, took his time. "Thought you had work to do. . . ?"

"Erm, well," said Jon, knowing the longer he hesitated, the longer it would be until he could get any functionality in his fingers back. He closed and opened them a few times, minding that he didn't pull the new scar on the back of his hand too tightly. "I. . . heard you were ill."

". . . so you came all the way to my flat?"

Jon sighed. "You remember what happened the last time you took sick leave?" He hoped that Martin wouldn't press it, and that this reason was one he could stick to. He didn't; it was; the front doors clicked open a second later. Jon let himself in, taking in the warm air for a moment, trying to coax his hands to regain any shred of dexterity. The stairway to the left, its banister assaulted with tinsel and lights, took him right to the landing for Number Three.

The door had been left ajar.

Jon gave the wooden frame a few raps with his knuckle. "Martin?"

"S'open," came the reply from the pile of blankets on the sofa, only visible as Jon pushed the door open further. Martin was in there somewhere, presumably -- only once the blankets shifted did Jon actually see his face.

"Oh, good lord, are you doing all right?" said Jon, swinging the door shut again behind him. Martin looked to have slept less than Jon had (if that was at all possible), which became doubly obvious without his glasses on; his face was paper-white, his eyes somehow dull. The smell of sick hung lightly about him.

"Yeah?" Martin croaked, squinting for a second; remembering the glasses on the coffee table, one hand came out from under a corner of quilt and retrieved them. "Yeah, I'm okay. Will be, I mean, I've been taking it easy. . . " He elected not to mention the three hours he'd spent that morning almost-throwing-up. Since then he'd had nothing but juice, and even that was only when he could drag himself to the fridge to refill his glass. That hadn't been for a while.

"Yes, well," said Jon, setting the bag on the counter so he could shirk his coat off. "I brought you something -- ah. Well. Some things. I thought they'd help."

"What?"

"It's all right, don't -- no, don't get up. Stay there." Jon looked back at Martin, who had already shifted one leg over the front of the couch; at Jon's command, he froze. "Stay there."

Martin complied, too confused not to. Was this another fever dream? he wondered. He was fairly certain he was conscious, but then again, Jon-inviting-himself-into-his-flat seemed like it should have been in that sort of territory. At least it wasn't as panic-inducing as the one from earlier where Elias had left him a voicemail saying he was fired (he'd had to check his phone no less than four times after coming round from that one). So, really, it could have been worse.

At least it was Jon here. Fever dream or not, Martin didn't think he'd be able to handle it if it were anyone else.

"Jon?" he said carefully, having settled back down again amidst the least-sweat-damped of the blankets. "What's this about, really?"

Ah, Jon wasn't getting off the hook after all. He should have known. "Excuse me?"

"Why are you here?"

"As I said. I had to know nothing happened to you," said Jon patiently, having decided well in advance that that was the reason he was sticking to. Any other justification for it was unnecessary, definitely not worth thinking about (oh, but the Archives had just been so quiet) and even less worth mentioning.

"And. . . it hasn't?" said Martin, and Jon got the feeling he was expected to elaborate.

He did not.

"You're still here?" Martin spelled out, and added before Jon had a chance to misinterpret him: "And you've got. . . what's in there? Potatoes?"

"Erm, quite." Jon's hand pulled one out, didn't exactly know what to do with it just yet, held onto it. "I didn't want to have wasted the trip, seeing as you're -- well -- " The vague gesture he made to the sofa nest said it for him. "I thought making some soup might help."

"Soup?"

"Well you've got to eat something," said Jon, frowning at the taste that left in his mouth. He didn't like having to say it, especially after the number of times Martin had caught him right after a statement to say the same (at least he had the decency not to interrupt these days, although the idea of him sitting around and listening right outside Jon's office door didn't appeal too much either). "Besides, you'll have leftovers after so you won't have to make anything for a few days if you're not up for it."

For a moment Martin just stared, as if his brain had been shorted out and was in the process of redirecting his entire train of thought. Once it was back on its tracks again, he found his voice, although it was faint. "You'd do that. . . for me?"

Jon said nothing, only nodded once.

"But I thought you hated me. . . ?"

Jon was not prepared for how badly that stung. Admittedly, he'd made no secret of it -- not at first, not to Tim and Sasha, not on tape, not for months. At least once (probably more, he suspected), he'd made Martin cry; he was more than capable of voicing that dislike to his face. . .

. . . but it wasn't really true anymore, was it?

Why had he come out here, again?

"I don't," said Jon at last, but he found he couldn't look Martin in the eye now. What's he good for; useless ass; can't he get anything right; and that was just the beginning of it. "Maybe I shouldn't. . . "

No, there wasn't room for the maybe.

"I shouldn't have been so hard on you."

It's just that. . .

Jon bit it back. Let the stress stay at the Archives -- please, just for a few hours -- lord knew he'd be back. There were a hundred excuses he could have made, a hundred things he didn't dare to tell anyone. He wanted to; holding that much distrust was tough. But he couldn't. Not yet.

But, damn, how much damage was he going to do in the meantime?

"Martin. . . I'm sorry."

Martin said nothing.

He didn't have to. Jon knew what he must have looked like -- how many nights he'd spent whispering things into his tape recorder that no one but him was allowed to hear. What he wanted -- what he said he wanted -- was no more secrets. But did he, really?

His eyes went down again to the scar on the back of his hand, barely healed.

Wasn't he becoming another one of them anyway?

The loud, wet sniffle from the couch made Jon look up: Martin was staring at him, now pink-faced, those huge eyes brimming with tears. "S'alright," he said, barely above a whisper. "I know you're -- "

"No," said Jon, "it's not alright. I. . . it's been a rough few months. Since -- well." He sighed. Count that twice now he'd made Martin cry. "I know I've been -- ah, off -- and I'm sorry. I want to help. Honest."

Martin ran the back of his wrist under his eyes, regaining his composure for the most part. Exactly what to make of this, he wasn't sure just yet -- but, sick or not, he couldn't turn down the idea of Jon maybe being a little less bristly for once. "Okay," he said, and Jon visibly relaxed.

"Do you think you could stomach some tea? I could put the kettle on for you."

"Maybe," said Martin, indicating the looseleaf cabinet with a glance. "And maybe a nap, too."

"Okay," said Jon, "take your time. Now, how about I'll get that soup started? so it will be ready for you by dinnertime."

Martin nodded slowly, tugging the blankets a little more closely around him. "All right. . . but you'd better have some too. I'm not the only one that's got to eat, you know."

"I know." Usually, Jon would say it only to get Martin off his back, but this time he was right. He'd forgotten about lunch, having been busy at the market, and he'd be an irritable prick (moreso than usual, at least) if he skipped dinner as well. Yes, Martin was right about that.

More than just that, he supposed. He looked over; Martin had settled back down again, no doubt minutes from dozing off. Jon let him. He really had needed to get out of the Archives, needed to take everything in his mysteries-box and just put it down for a few hours. He hadn't realized how heavy it had gotten, only the things he kept dropping into it.

Besides, it was still going to be there tomorrow, and every day after that. He had plenty of time to sort it all out.

Maybe, once he stopped making so many excuses, he would allow himself to have a little help doing it.

Outside the window, the first stirs of snowflakes had begun to drift down from the clouds.

#tma #fic #emma u can read this one

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memecucker · 11 months

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Anyway helpful tip to help people ordering food delivery to make things easier for them and many drivers but a lot of drivers are immigrants who do not speak English or even read the Latin alphabet but are able to work because the delivery apps use AI translation for text instructions and communication (and it does work pretty well from my experience delivering to non-English speakers)

This means they can understand written instructions in the app and can understand text based communication in the app but phone calls or assuming they’ll understand visible instructions at an apartment callbox aren’t gonna work so don’t assume “well the box clearly says to buzz a unit just punch in the unit number” so just mention “my room is 310 and the code to buzz me is 310” it’s a small thing but it’ll help you get your food faster and make their jobs easier

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mostlysignssomeportents · 11 months

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Who’s asking?

[Image ID: An "are you a communist" wheatpasted handbill on a red London callbox, in the style of an Uncle Sam Wants You poster, with Karl Marx substituted for Uncle Sam.]

#pasteup #karl marx #communism #red london

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love-toxin · 2 years

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ix. "C'mon, pick up, please pick up..." xix. "Dude, open the door!" With Eddie and sad/depressed girlfriend reader? Like where he’s been driving himself crazy because he hasn’t been able to speak to you in days and he knows in an uncomfortable place in his gut that something is wrong

waoh!!! 🥺🥺

ellie's sentence starter prompts

ix - "C'mon, pick up, please pick up..."

xix - "Dude, open the door!"

(cws: depressed reader, fem pronouns, depressive episode)

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon..."

Eddie bounces impatiently on the balls of his feet, eyes darting from the receiver of the phone he's got tucked under his ear to the front porch of the house across the street. He tried at home, and then he tried at school, and now he's trying here--his free hand propping him up against the callbox as he waits and waits for the phone to stop ringing. But it doesn't, just keeps going, nothing but silence. You don't even pick up and hang up, which is what really worries him. He hasn't seen you in days, since he dropped you off after your date this past Sunday...and when you didn't show up to school today, on Wednesday, Eddie finally couldn't take it any longer.

"C'mon, baby, pick up, please pick up...." He mutters, fingers tapping against box as he stares down that house he's facing. The car is gone and the lights are out despite it being the middle of the day, so he knows your parents are at least out of the house. But are you?

"Fuck it,"

Finally he gets the balls to slam the phone down on the receiver, stepping out from the phonebooth and into the chilly autumn air that he instinctively pulls his jacket tighter around him to combat against. Your parents would never let him in the front door, but a sleight of hand check and a bobby pin do the trick just right, the lock clicking open for him to slip inside. Shoes on, cause he can't wait, he navigates down the hall and up the stairs to your room, spotting the door as easily as he would an orc in a room of halflings--but just when he reaches for the handle and moves to open it slowly, it stiffens and stops in a way that says fuck off. It's locked.

"Dude, open the door!" He's got no time for pleasantries, not that he cares for them anyways--the worry is coming out strong in his voice, he knocks but there's no shifting or groaning to indicate that you're inside. It's just silence, aside from his own frantic knocking. "Baby, if you don't open this door, I'm gonna break it down. Seriously, you're scaring the shit out of me!"

Nothing. The paranoia has grown from an inkling to an all-consuming terror, and Eddie's had just about enough of it.

"Gonna count to three, and then I'm coming in!" He doesn't want to push you, but he's scared. Terrified. Afraid of what he might find behind that door, if anything. "One!"

If he was scared shitless already, watching the door in front of him swing open without warning nearly tears a shriek from his throat. But instead he jumps back, startled, before his eyes adjust to the darkness inside the room and the miffed girl standing between him and it. A gentle, quiet "baby..." slips out of him, and like he hasn't spent the last two days worrying over you so much he couldn't sleep, Eddie throws his arms around you and squeezes you tight without so much as a warning. "Baby, what happened?" He whispers into your hair, noting silently how mussed and tangled it's become in just the span of a day or two. You must've been sleeping a lot and brushing it very little.

"I didn't want you to see me like this..." Your voice is a croak, a product of not enough drink in your system, and all at once it dawns on him that he doesn't need to know the gritty details. There's no need to press you for why and what happened and how could you do this to yourself--you need serious care, serious love, and there's nobody that gives it to you like he does.

"See you like what?" He pulls away, brushing your hair aside to graze your cheek with his hand, and it's glorious. Like he's been fed after weeks of starvation. "All I see is my beautiful girl. Feels like I haven't touched you in ages."

"It was a couple days, Eddie..." You mumble, trying in vain not to meet his eyes.

"Couple days too long." He grins, able to breathe a sigh of relief for once. You're safe, at least. This is a problem he can help fix, thank god. He looks past you into your room, peers through the darkness to see how much of a mess it is, but your bed is full of blankets and pillows and soft things, things you like. He can spot one of his t-shirts from here, and though you open your mouth to say something--probably to apologize for the state of your room--he speaks first and gets ahead of it before you can get a word out.

"Can I come in?"

"You don't want to, Eddie. I-"

"I wanna be with you. If you're in there, that's where I wanna be." In all honestly, there's nothing you could say to deter him from coming in either way. He would've skirted past you and flopped on to your bed anyways, no matter the state of it or you or anything else in your room.

But you don't deter him. You move aside, let him kiss your unbrushed teeth and sit back on your sweaty sheets, and even let him hold you, unshowered and weak from getting absolutely zero sunlight, and remind you that he loves you. Not that this isn't okay, or that you're wasting your days away because you're "just sad", or that you should be getting it together and quit being lazy. He would never say something like that, and that.....it makes you a little more amiable to help. Helps you lean into taking a shower together and letting him brush your hair and drinking the water and eating the food he hands to you, and when you're ready, you'll be able to come out of your own volition. And Eddie will be waiting there with open arms for you, no matter if he got his attendance all marked up with tardies and absences because he wanted to help you, no matter if you're not magically happy again and back to normal. He'll just be there, sitting in the open door of his van, swinging his feet and taking a puff of his cigarette as he waits for you. And those brown eyes will sparkle so brightly when he sees you coming, a toothy smile sheathed in a loose cloud of smoke waiting to greet you, as well as a kiss so warm it'll keep away that autumn chill and any others that you feel creeping up.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie's angelface #st 4 #stranger things #ellie writes #ellie's sentence starters #anons

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david6of7 · 2 years

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Callbox

Photography by David Velez

#davidvelez #david6of7 #photo #originalcontent #newyork #nyc

#street #callbox #emergency #fdny #nypd

#Callbox #Photography by David Velez #davidvelez #david6of7 #photo #originalcontent #newyork #nyc #street #callbox #emergency #fdny #nypd #original photographers #photographers on tumblr

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gentil-minou · 8 months

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Gosh I need to edit this more before I actually start posting but I'm just so excited so here's a preview of my wangxian OUAT au, featuring wwx as emma, lwj as regina, and ayuan as henry (though are veering far away from both canon in both cases so no need to be familiar with the show to enjoy)

----

The doorbell rings.

He blinks once, then twice. Wei Wuxian isn’t normally one to get visitors, especially at this time of night. He tries to remember if there’s a no-candle policy in his lease his landlord might nag him about when the doorbell rings again.

He scrambles to his feet and stumbles to the door, already preparing an apology for something he probably didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to do and another apology in case he did know. He opens the door and sees….nothing.

Until he hears a quiet cough and looks down to see a little boy.

At first, he thinks maybe he’s a trick-or-treater who got a bit lost, but Wei Wuxian’s building is secured with a key and callbox entry. Plus, although he’s been wandering streets alone since forever, he’s pretty sure a kid this young would have a chaperone with him. He looks behind the kid and doesn’t see anyone else there.

But instead of asking something sensible like where his chaperone may be or even if the kid’s lost, he blurts, “How did you get in?”

The boy tilts his head and replies, “The front door. It wasn’t locked, I just walked in.”

So much for secured entry. But that doesn’t really answer why there is a human child at his door at nearly midnight. There’s definitely a law somewhere that says that’s illegal, probably.

The kid, who can’t be more than ten years old and really should have learned about stranger danger by now, beams up at him, as if technical breaking and entering is something to be proud of. Which, okay, maybe Wei Wuxian is kind of impressed by that.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” the boy asks, his smile so sweet and unassuming that before Wei Wuxian even realizes it, he’s turned to the side and let the boy in.

The kid is wearing a blue puffy coat and carrying a white backpack that has homemade floppy ears made of felt that make it look like a bunny. They bounce up and down as the boy walks inside and slips his shoes off. Wei Wuxian very maturely resists the urge to tug on those floppy bunny ears, though only just.

Shoes off, his socks patterned with fluffy white clouds, the boy turns back around to look up at Wei Wuxian. His entire face beams up at him as if he were a sunflower facing the sun, which wow what an ego-boost. He’s got dimples, little baby dimples that are very cute and look very pinchable but that doesn’t matter because there is a baby in his house! And okay he’s at least ten years old but regardless why is there a whole entire child in his apartment? What is one supposed to do when some random kid shows up at their doorstep and invites themselves in?

“Oh shit uh, wait not shit,” Wei Wuxian stammers. “Shit, sorry. Um. A drink, you want a drink?”

Ask the random child if they want something to drink, apparently. Perfect.

The kid nods, still giving him that doe-eyed look. Wei Wuxian doesn’t have much by way of child-friendly beverage options, but he wasn’t exactly expecting something like this tonight. He settles on milk that looks like it hasn't gone too bad yet. Besides, expired milk builds immunity and character in children, that's how it works, right? He pours a glass for the kid, making sure to give him the cleanest one even though there’s a tiny crack on the surface.

He guides the kid over to the coffee table and hands him the milk. The kid takes the glass and sinks onto the deflated beanbag while Wei Wuxian perches on the edge of the couch. He grabs a can of beer from the six-pack still on the floor beside the table and takes a sip. Wait, is that allowed? Can he drink alcohol in front of children?

The kid doesn’t seem to care. He takes a tentative sip of his milk and makes a very polite face that fails to mask his disgust, before putting the glass down on the table next to the forgotten cupcake. Fair, it’s nice to see him asserting boundaries and all that.

"Okay," Wei Wuxian says, amused despite the situation. "Who are you and why are you in my house at—" he checks his phone for the time"—five minutes to midnight on a Friday night?"

The kid doesn't answer right away. His eyes are still focused on the cupcake, but in a way he probably thinks is sneaky. Wei Wuxian tilts his head to get a better look and sure enough, there’s a furrow between his eyebrows like the kid is trying really hard to ask a difficult question. After a minute, it becomes clear he hasn’t worked out a nice enough way to ask, but it’s a good thing Wei Wuxian knows enough about being a hungry child to recognize one.

He nudges the cupcake over to him and says, "Help yourself." Immediately, the kid grabs the cupcake with all the care in the world, like it’s a priceless artifact and promptly devours it. Wei Wuxian can’t help but smile as he eats. Suddenly the cheap cupcake feels like an excellent choice.

When the kid finishes licking the last bits of frosting and crumbs off his fingers, he sits politely with his hands in his lap and looks longingly toward the kitchen. He’s still too nice to ask forthright, but Wei Wuxian knows better and he isn't a monster.

Wei Wuxian gets up and opens one of the cabinets to look for something that’s probably child-appropriate, pulling out a bag of his least spicy chips. Chips are made of potatoes which are vegetables which means it’s probably not that bad for kids. Either way, the kid takes the bag gratefully and eats the chips with relish, even though they’re definitely way too spicy for someone his age.

“Alright, alright. You’ve been fed. Now tell me, who are you?” he asks again, though he can’t stop the tiniest bit of fondness from creeping into his tone. It’s just that everything this kid does is so cute! He can’t help himself!

The kid stops eating and tries to speak, but what comes out instead are the quietest little coughs Wei Wuxian’s ever heard. He’s been eating these spicy snacks and slowly turning as red as they are, but he’s so polite he hasn’t said a thing about them.

All at once, Wei Wuxian realizes he likes this kid, despite knowing practically nothing about him. It’s strange. He hates the kids the customers at his job will bring sometimes, especially when their parents just let them loose like it's a daycare and not a coffee shop. Wei Wuxian isn’t mean or anything, it’s just that wrangling kids is way above his pay grade. He didn’t even get along with other kids when he was a kid. All the other foster kids stood clear of him pretty much as soon as the social worker told his foster parents he was known for being “emotionally dysregulated” and labeling him a problem child.

But this kid is different from all the others, even though Wei Wuxian can’t quite put his finger on what’s so special about him. He seems like the kind of kid who would politely ask for steamed oat milk and say thank you, then ask his parents to let him give Wei Wuxian the tip. When he finishes, he’d probably throw his trash out without anyone asking and call goodbye to him one last time before he leaves. Even just imagining it makes Wei Wuxian feel wistful for something he’s never really wanted before.

It doesn’t help that this kid’s got what must be the fluffiest hair he's ever seen, and those dimples! It takes all of Wei Wuxian’s self-control to keep himself from pinching those chubby cheeks.

He doesn’t quite succeed and leans forward anyway to ruffle the kid's hair. "Ask for water, you silly,” he says, already standing and heading back to the kitchen.

When he hands him the glass, the kid just looks up at Wei Wuxian with his big, bright brown eyes filled with wonder. He’s looking at Wei Wuxian like he has the answer to everything. Wei Wuxian doesn't, but it's nice to feel like someone thinks he knows what he's doing.

The kid drinks half the glass before clearing his throat and finally answering Wei Wuxian’s question. “I’m Sizhui, but you can call me A-Yuan. Or even Little Radish, if you want! You called me that before.” He says it all in one breath, practically vibrating with energy by the end.

Wei Wuxian pauses in the middle of taking a sip of his beer. He’s not sure why he would ever call anyone a radish, and he’s pretty sure he’s never met this kid before. Does A-Yuan have mistaken him for someone else? Could this kid have some weird memory loss, except one where he gains fake memories instead of losing them? It’s definitely not the strangest thing about this whole situation.

Like all problems Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how to deal with, he decides to ignore that for now and asks, “Okay, A-Yuan then, why are you here?”

“Because,” A-Yuan starts, leaning forward and looking at Wei Wuxian with all the seriousness someone pre-puberty could possibly possess. “I need your help.”

“…Okay…” Wei Wuxian replies. The world must truly be fucked if someone is coming to him for help. He hasn’t had a vegetable in a week, unless pizza actually does count. “What do you need help with?”

He’s expecting the kid to say something normal like “my homework” or “getting to the train station”, you know, normal things a kid would ask a stranger to help him with.

He’s not expecting A-Yuan to respond gravely, “To save the world and everyone we love.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, speechless. A-Yuan doesn’t seem to notice, continuing to speak as he lifts his backpack onto his lap and rummages through its contents. “My family’s in trouble, our family. Everyone we know is, and you’re the only one who can fix it. Look here, see, I’ve got this book, it’s all written here. There’s a curse that’s affecting everyone and we need to break it.”

He plops the book down on the coffee table. It’s not at all what Wei Wuxian expects. It’s hand-bound, with a simple red fabric cover that’s blank except for the title that’s written in Chinese calligraphy. It’s written entirely in Chinese, in fact, completely by hand with the same impeccable calligraphy. Inside are what appear to be a bunch of stories or folktales. There are beautiful gongbi illustrations on every other page, inked in bright colors with an incredible level of detail.

Wei Wuxian can’t help but be impressed. The book is something he would expect to see at a museum or in a period drama, not on his coffee table with its chipped surface and water stains.

A-Yuan flips to a picture of a man with long hair dressed in black and red robes. He’s playing a flute as shadows dance and twist around his frame. Then tendrils lift high into the sky and block out the sun. He’s standing on a pile of human bones, to really sell the whole villain energy this guy’s got.

A-Yuan points at the guy. “That’s you, you see?”

Wei Wuxian does not see, he’s pretty sure he would have noticed if his body was covered in shadows. Also, he would need way more conditioner for that length of hair.

The kid continues, interpreting Wei Wuxian’s stunned silence as something else entirely. “You’re the only one who can help them, who can save us all.” A-Yuan thrusts the scroll out to Wei Wuxian, who’s too floored to do much more than take it from him. “So, I’m here to bring you back.”

Wei Wuxian has to admit, the guy in the picture does look pretty badass. But it’s still just a drawing, and there’s little to suggest this looks anything like him at all.

He glances up. A-Yuan smile is so bright and excited that Wei Wuxian wishes he could feel his excitement too. The guy in the picture does look super cool, like someone he’d want to dress up as when he was A-Yuan’s age.

But all he feels is concern and confusion. Before, he was actually starting to enjoy spending time with this kid, but something is wrong, though it’s not what A-Yuan thinks. There’s a random kid in his apartment late at night, making up stories. And whether he likes it or not, Wei Wuxian is the adult here. He has to remember that.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says, and the smile slowly drops from A-Yuan’s face and Wei Wuxian feels like the absolute worst person on the planet for doing that to him. “But I don’t know what this is, or who you are. I want to help, you’ve just gotta give me some actual answers. Where are your parents? Do they know where you are?”

A-Yuan looks down and mumbles, “I was so sure you’d remember if you saw this, if you held it.” He tightens the hands on his knees into fists and looks up at him with a startling conviction. “But that doesn’t matter. I know it, I know who you are. You’re Wei Wuxian. This is you. And you’re the only person who can save us.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his temples and contemplates chugging the remainder of his beer. He holds it in his hand, wishing he’d gotten another pack. “Look, I don’t know how you know my name, maybe you saw it on some mail outside or something, but—"

"You're my dad!” A-Yuan hastily interrupts. “That’s why, that’s how I know!"

Wei Wuxian drops the can. There's a splash of something spilling all over the carpet and he should probably make sure it’s not too bad. He's too busy trying to figure out how he could have a ten-year-old at twenty-five when he was definitely still a virgin at fifteen.

The initial shock slips away, leaving him only more confused. He raises an eyebrow at A-Yuan, willing him to explain.

"Not my real dad," A-Yuan says, rolling his eyes like somehow Wei Wuxian is the one claiming something impossible. "But you're my dad in every way that counts."

Wei Wuxian wishes he hadn't dropped his drink. He'd really like to take a sip of it now. And several more, maybe the rest of the cans, too.

This day needs to end. He should have stayed home and drank his way to oblivion, so he’d have been too far gone to answer the door in the first place.

TBC

#i need to remind myself it's okay if no one reads this #i have very little presence in this fandom #but im so excited for this au #mdzs #wangxian #mdzs fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #wei wuxian #a-yuan #wen yuan #bushy writing #i need to throw this in the void and then not think about this post ever again sgfsdfjs #this first chapter is 10k words by the way which tells me its only going to get worse #apparently my idea of short preview is 2000 words oops #also i only did a cursery read through and brief error check so if there's something glaringly bad please tell me #im hoping to have the first chapter up sometime in the next week if you want to follow me on ao3!#okay now im gonna go melt away #how obvious is it that i haven't shared my writing with anyone else in over a year

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sammysvanfeet · 1 year

Text

Secret Soulmate || Chapter Six

Jake x Reader - Soulmate AU

Word Count: 3.5k

WARNINGS: MDNI! mentions of injury, smoking/alcohol, death, weapons (mentions of guns/daggers), allusion to prostitution (nothing explicit)

When Polly had her mind made up, there was no changing it. I’d known her my entire life and if there was one word to describe my sister it would be stubborn. Like the time when she was ten and became obsessed with rollerblading, convinced she could master it without any practice and thus ended up in the hospital. That didn’t deter her though, she kept trying and trying and well… four more doctor’s visits and countless medical bills later, my parents finally put their foot down and told her no more. There was no stopping Polly now though. Once I’d mentioned Josh’s grave, she was hellbent on visiting. I don’t think she even understood why she felt the sudden need to go visit what was supposed to be a stranger to her – but of course, I did.

Jake looked pained the entire time, tugging on her sleeve like a lost child, imploring her to rethink this. I wanted to snicker at his futile attempts but I knew now was neither the time nor place. My mother quickly took care of the bill and attempted to smooth things over with the other guests at the table while the three of us waited outside the restaurant. I lit a cigarette and puffed on it in an attempt to conceal my nerves, not even earning a chiding from Polly. I would say I was shocked but right now my existence was merely a blip on her radar.

The heavy restaurant door pushed open and out came my mother, wrapping her thick wool coat around her to protect her from the elements. I didn’t even register the cooler temperature, probably thanks to the wine I had indulged in. I glanced down at my skimpy sparkly dress, far underdressed for this weather. As if on cue, a drop of precipitation hit the ground in front of me. I hoped I didn’t catch a cold.

“Put that out right now!” My mother shrieked, pulling the cigarette from my lips and throwing it to the ground before stomping on it aggressively with the toe of her patent leather heels. I was so lost in thought that I forgot that I had been smoking right in front of her.

I rolled my eyes and walked away silently to the car, the squabbling voices of the two ‘love-birds’ not far behind me and the angry clacking footsteps of my mother hot on my own heels. I felt almost numb at this moment, nothing could prepare any of us for what was surely to come next.

“Polly, please. This is your last chance to rethink this. Let’s just go back to your mother’s, pack our things and head home.”

“If you loved me, you would do this.” Polly challenged. What a conundrum, Jake wasn’t doing this because he loved her, he was doing this because he loved his twin.

Jake sighed deeply, a sign of him relenting to the fact that he was in an impossible situation. His hand had been forced, no thanks to me. He trudged to the drivers side of the car and climbed in dejectedly, starting the car once all of us passengers were seated. As we began our drive up to the graveyard, light drizzle soon turned into a downpour, the windshield wipers doing little to help with the visibility. Jake drove at a sensible speed, I’m sure he was thankful for the conditions as an excuse to prolong the journey.

The car traveled through winding back roads shrouded in darkness. The whole trip felt ominous, even more so once Jake signaled for a right turn and pulled up to a pair of giant wrought iron gates. ‘Garden’s Gate Cemetery’ the sign read. I shivered, despite the heat on full blast in the car. This was it, this was Josh’s final resting place in this lifetime.

Jake rolled down his window and reached his arm out to punch in the access code into the callbox. The sleeve of his blazer was soaked through as he retracted his arm and quickly closed the window back up. The gates squeaked loudly, even audible over the thudding raindrops pounding on top of the car. It felt like they were opening agonizingly slowly, adding to the tension we all felt inside of the vehicle.

He proceeded to enter through the gates, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. A few minutes later the car came to a halt, my mother and I turning to Jake to await further instruction.

He hung his head, picking at his nails nervously. I daren’t even breathe, lest I break the silence, but Polly began to exhale shakily.

“Pol, are you okay?” I furrowed my brows, suddenly concerned.

“N-no. Something’s wrong.” She clutched at her head, a pained look crossing her face. Her breathing became more rapid, panicked.

“I told you this was a mistake.” Jake directed at me, but his gaze was fixated on Polly with concern.

“What’s going on?” Mother interrupted, “Polly, dear, calm down.”

She ignored my mother’s pleading, instead reaching for the handle and clambering out of the car into the sheets of rain, drenching herself immediately. My mother protested, bequeathing her to grab an umbrella, a coat or something, but it fell on deaf ears. Instead, in the flash of an eye, she took off running into the night.

*Flashback - Circa 1850, California*

Polly placed the last of my curls neatly atop my head and secured it with a bobby pin, stepping back to admire her handiwork, “You’re definitely going to find a husband tonight.”

I hit her arm playfully, “Pol, you know I won’t settle for anything less than my mate.”

“Do you know the current ratio of men to women in California? Hmm? It’s 15 men for every one of us women. The likelihood of either of us finding our soulmates here is very slim. But that makes us powerful, we are a commodity and I bet we could make a pretty penny for ourselves without ever having to get our hands dirty.”

“What you are suggesting is filthy in and of itself!” I responded, appalled.

“Oh, my sweet innocent sister. I’ve heard that the men in saloons are simply paying for a woman to sit with them! No expectations and nothing untoward!” She explained, but I was still skeptical. “They’re all so lonely and downcast, these goldmines have melted many men’s sunshine – but we can offer to sit with them and lift their spirits… for a price, of course!”

I took a final look at myself in the mirror, pleased with my hair and painted face. Admittedly I looked good and I knew I was about to get a lot of attention. Compliments and drunken declarations of love would maybe satiate me for tonight, but I was determined to find true love. One way or another, I would find my soulmate.

Polly and I linked arms as we stepped outside of our shared apartment, strolling leisurely down the bustling street. The sun had started to set and the men were returning from another grueling day searching for a jackpot. There wasn’t much to do in California besides drink at the many saloons, hundreds of them opened up in San Francisco alone. Other men found themselves at brothels or gambling houses, throwing away what little money they had left in search of short term gratification. The gold rush was not for the faint of heart, people came from all parts of the world with a dream of striking it rich, but many failed and lost everything they had in the quest to find a fortune.

We decided on drinking in The Golden Star Saloon tonight and pushed through the batwing doors, all heads turning rapidly towards us. Men’s eyes practically popped out of their heads, hushed whispers and intense stares followed us as we walked up to the bar. A smiling woman greeted us warmly, perhaps the only other female in the vicinity right now.

“I think my prayers have just been answered.” The woman introduced herself, “I’m Edith and this is my saloon.”

I gasped, “Can a woman own a saloon?”

“Women can do anything! Here, let me get you gals a drink and take you somewhere quieter so we can talk. I have a proposition for you.”

We followed Edith into the back of the establishment. She led us through a door with a sign above it declaring ‘NO ENTRY WITHOUT PERMISSION’. It was obviously her office – tasteful paintings were hung on the walls and beautiful oak chairs surrounded a grand desk. There was a fire crackling in the corner, adding a coziness to the room. I’m not sure what I expected the proprietor of a bar to be like, but she certainly wasn’t it. She seemed refined and intelligent, warm and kind. I already knew that I liked Edith. She reached for a bottle of dark brown liquor, what I was assuming to be whiskey, and poured a drink for each of us.

“I’m going to be frank with you, the men around here are starting to lose hope. With that, they’re spending less time mining and are coming back with less money to spend in my establishment. I’ve been operating at a loss, unsure of how I could turn profits around. I think you two might be the answer to that.”

“I’m not a prostitute!” I choked around my sip of whiskey, the burn traveling down my throat.

“I wouldn’t care if you were. But that’s not what I’m propositioning. Have you heard of ‘saloon girls’?” We both shook our heads ‘no’ as Edith continued, “Well, that’s no matter. I’m going to pay you to sing and dance, to brighten the desolate atmosphere of my bar, to get these men excited to make their money and spend it here again. Encourage them to buy drinks, encourage them to laugh. If you’re in, I’ll pay you a generous portion of what they spend.”

“And that’s all we have to do? Sing, dance and encourage men to drink? That seems too easy.” I responded.

“Men are simple creatures and us women have been under their thumb for so long. Now it’s our turn to have the money and the power. I’ll need you to come back tomorrow evening dressed a bit… different.”

“Different how? Do you know how long we spent on our hair and faces tonight?” Polly said defensively, gesturing to our perfectly curled heads.

Edith smiled, “That’s not what I meant. Your dresses tell me you two grew up on a farm. Modest, simple. They’re very nice dresses but they’re not exactly giving men the impression that you two are fun.” She paused, considering her words, “Think brightly colored skirts, ruffles and tassels and feathers galore.”

I raised my eyebrows skeptically, “It sounds like you want us to wear some kind of costume.”

“Well in a way, yes. It is a costume in a sense. When you’re here, you’re playing a part.”

“I think I need some time to consider this.” I admitted, sheepishly.

“I’ll give you til tomorrow night. If you’re in, come back dressed to impress and I’ll pay you a portion of the whiskey commission and if sales are up – then I’ll give you up to $10 by the end of next week.”

My head was swimming with the promise of money, I felt no better than these men hoping to strike it rich. $10 each would pay our share of rent and allow us to feed ourselves generously – with money leftover to save or spend as we pleased. Our parents couldn’t make that on the farm in a month! Polly and I shared a silent look, both of us being seduced with this offer.

Polly downed her drink and placed it on Edith’s desk, “We will see you tomorrow.”

That evening, the two of us stayed up into the early hours of the morning hand-dying our plain old dresses. Beet juice to give us shades of pinks and reds, turmeric and marigold flowers ground down and boiled to give us bright yellows and deep golds. We ripped up our lace curtains and sewed ruffles into our newly-hemmed skirts, our hands aching and sore by the end of the night.

I tried on my creation once it was done, looking down and marveling at the way the bright colors contrasted against my skin. My thighs were exposed slightly over the tops of my boots, but I’d never felt more naked. It was freeing, in a sense, not to be confined by layers of petticoats and linens – but this feeling was foreign. Would I be judged by other women? Would I be objectified by men?

“You’re not showing enough skin.” Polly commented. “You need to show more bust, and get rid of those long sleeves.”

I worried my lip nervously, “I don’t want to look too promiscuous.”

“Here, let me help you. You will still be covered enough, we’re just accentuating your breasts and arms. Men will be looking, but I will not let them touch you.” Polly reassured me, getting to work with her seam ripper, picking out the stitches of my shoulder. She slid the remaining fabric down my arms, before unbuttoning the two buttons by my neckline and helping me secure a bodice over the top of my dress. “Now go look at yourself in the mirror, add some red lipstick too.”

I dipped my brush in the small pot, applying the red waxy substance to my lips before tapping some into the apples of my cheeks with my fingertips. Admittedly, I felt like some kind of circus performer with the bright crimson emphasizing my facial features but Polly reassured me that I looked good.

My breasts were pressed up high, practically threatening to spill over my top. My arms looked long and slender, my thighs full and meaty. So much of me was on display, I felt vulnerable in a way I hadn’t before.

Polly could tell I was feeling uncertain, so she came to stand next me, admiring her own reflection with a confidence I wish I could replicate, “We can’t back out now. We’ve put in all this effort. Just give it one night, and if you’re not happy with the money or you feel uncomfortable then we won’t go back – neither one of us.”

I nodded, feeling her arm wrap around my shoulder affectionately, “You’ve got a deal.”

Our first night at the saloon went off without a hitch. We walked through those same batwing doors to whoops and cheers, wolf whistles and applause . I felt like royalty in my newly fashioned dress, all eyes on me as I bought glasses of whiskey to the patrons. News traveled fast about the new Gold Star saloon girls, more and more men flocking to the bar each night. With the larger crowds inevitably came some trouble, but Polly and I now confidently owned our own weapons. We never had to brandish our pistols or daggers, just remind the men that they were there if we had to use them. That was enough to keep the drunks in place.

Polly took the role of entertainer, confidently singing and dancing while I brought drinks to the men and sat with them patiently while they regaled stories of the wild west. She reveled in the attention, her performances becoming renowned, until one night a case of nerves struck her. She refused to come out of the broom closet-turned-backstage changing room, securing a chair under the handle of the door and effectively barricading herself in. I worried for her, this was so out of character for my sister. I pounded and pleaded behind the door for her to let me in, only when I began to sob did she relent, cracking the door just enough that only I could join her.

“Polly, you’re scaring me. Did something happen? Are you hurt?” I frantically checked her for bruises or blemishes, but found nothing indicating she was injured. “What is it?”

“I–I feel funny. My head hurts and my stomach is in knots. I feel this magnetic pull, like my body wants me to go out on stage but the closer I get, the more it hurts. I’m scared.”

“Oh my goodness.” I inhaled sharply. “Polly, do you remember the story our mother told us when we were little girls? About how she thought she was dying of a mysterious illness the moment she met father?”

“She said her head felt twice its size, like she thought it might explode until he put his arm on her shoulder.” She recalled with a shaky voice.

“Is that how it feels for you now?”

She shook her head profusely, denying what we both knew was true, “I know what you’re trying to say, but there is no chance that my mate is out there.”

“Polly, you have to go out there, you have to at least see for yourself–”

A commotion behind the door cut me off, both of us turning to the source of the sound. Edith’s unmistakable voice was berating a patron, probably some drunk that was overserved and had wandered into her private office.

“I have a pistol and I am not afraid to use it.” Edith confidently stated.

I cracked open the door and peered out, the back of a curly headed man immediately in view and before him, a stone-faced Edith pointing the barrel of a gun into the man’s face. His hands were held up defensively, his stance was balanced and not indicative of a man inebriated.

“Please, ma’am. You don’t understand. I need to be back here, something is calling to me.” The man explained.

“And what exactly is that? My safe? My crates of liquor?”

“All across the west I’ve traveled wayward for, to find the weight of dreams in gold. But I think I’ve found what I should have been searching for this whole time, something no riches could ever afford me.”

“It’s him.” I whispered, unsure of whether or not Polly heard me. She joined me to peek out the crack of the door at the same time the man turned around, locking eyes with Polly instantly.

He moved to come closer to us, causing Edith to fire a warning shot up into the ceiling. The sound of the bullet firing echoed, causing a ringing in my ears. The man crouched to the ground in shock, to which Polly scrambled over to him desperately.

“Are you hurt? Please tell me you’re okay.” She checked his body for wounds the same way I had previously scanned hers.

He uncurled from his stance and smiled up at her sheepishly, a boyish charm emanating from him, “I’m fine now that you’re here.”

“I–I’m Polly.”

She held out a hand in introduction, which he brought to his lips and planted a soft kiss atop it, “I’m Josh. I’m your soulmate.”

Present Day

Mother, Jake and I all looked like we were in mourning; huddled under a single black umbrella, solemn expressions on our face. I no longer had to explain to my mom what was going on. From the scene in front of us, I could tell she knew – such a wicked deja-vu for her to have to relive through her own daughter.

Polly was curled up in a ball, shivering and drenched, wailing like I’ve never heard her before. Before her lay a marble headstone with ‘Josh M. Kizka’ etched into it. A single white rose rested atop, no doubt left by Jake.

“Why?” My mother whispered, trembling at the sight.

I didn’t know how to answer, so Jake did instead, “He made me promise.”

I felt so helpless, this was not the outcome I had expected nor hoped for. This was everything Jake had warned me would happen. The guilt was insurmountable, as I stood above my broken sister I felt utterly responsible for changing the course of her life.

I stepped out of the shelter of the umbrella and crawled across the muddy ground to envelope my sister. She was too heartbroken to protest, so I held her as she cried, wishing I could take away the pain she was feeling.

“I know nothing I say will ever heal the pain you feel. You know the truth now, I know you’ve seen glimpses of the past.” I began to cry with her. “You held me just like this, back in the war when I lost my own soulmate. When I lost… Jake.”

“Why did he do this?” Polly begged me to answer. She looked me in the eyes, despair and vulnerability swimming inside of her own.

“That’s for Jake to answer, but I think we should get you home. You need to change and get warmed up and then he can tell you everything.”

“I’m not leaving him!” She whimpered like a hurt animal.

Jake crouched down to our level, his expression full of anguish, “I can bring you back first thing in the morning. I promise you. You can stay as long as you like, but Josh wouldn’t want me to leave you here like this. Please, let’s just get you home for tonight.”

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